Disc: I Don't own batman or anything related.
Please enjoy this latest chapter of my fanfic.
Trish awoke startled the next morning, startled to have dreamed the dream she had. It was completely unrelated and yet somehow deeply concerning what was happening at present in her life and that's what scared her: the lack of apparent importance and yet there was an intense feeling that this was meant to held her in some way. She had seen the face of a young man, though no one she knew. He was somewhat handsome in an oddly charming way, and an odd little smile, a mischievous smile, a fairy smile, turned the corners of his lips upward, and that's what was so wholly familiar about this man was this funny little gnomish smile: a smile that plainly promised an indefinite amount of harmless fun. It wasn't sadistic as the Joker's painted grin, it wasn't Bruce Wayne's superficial, showy business smile and it wasn't as obvious as Harvey Dent's confident little telltale smirk. This was the enchanting smile of a playful child.
The young man had fairly striking features, from the length bouncy, messy hair, to the way he tilted his head, but his eyes caught in Trish's memory as she stared into her morning espresso. They were deep, dark like a black marble Trish had once seen strewn in with a box of other toys and they had many captivating levels just waiting to draw in and trap someone like her. The first level, reflecting the light of a sunny day, was all fun, strictly how much laughter and joy could be accomplished, but looking deeper, there was something different. A kind of faded gleam, which suggested fun, was all there had been in those eyes just a short while before, but now something darker had moved in. There was a kind of serious passion, a motivation, hidden by a dim layer of despair, providing only a moderate barrier beneath regular seriousness and contemplation, combined with a sort of drifting, sleeping quality, which was really as vague and indescribable to her as it sounds now to you. That passion was what woke her up and drove her into momentary fear, that passion hidden beneath, that desperation. She hadn't realized until later that morning that she had been staring down a monster in that man's eyes and thing so fearsome, it outweighed fear itself, becoming first on the list of things to fear. Trish supposed combined with the desperation, there probably was a little fear, but it all seemed to have no relevance. She did however remember describing her ideal partner as serious but knowing how to laugh: two other features the face displayed. The image however, was so clear she was sure it had to be somebody she'd seen before, but she decided to forget it all for a while and salvage what was left of the working week.
Work was like a feeding frenzy, everyone wanted to ask her something, and they were intent to keep asking until she gave them the answers they wanted. Her social life had gone down the drain, but she kept right on going until she reached her office and she locked the door behind her. "I thought you were off for the rest of the week." A voice buzzed over the intercom. "I can't be bothered to laze around and I can't even go anywhere without getting stared at, so I can to hide." Trish answered soberly, and then added, "How much "work" I actually do is questionable." So she did a bit of work, and then flipped idly through a magazine, wondering if going out for lunch was a bad idea. She decided to go down the street and people could either get used to her presence or mind their own damn business and so she headed down the street to her favourite café. That was her first mistake. The atmosphere was tense and unpleasant, as people turned to try and get a look without giving themselves away. Trish's humanitarian's instincts let her on to their worry, worry they had no right to. She ate rather quickly because of this, and left without a word to anyone, even the people she'd come to know after a year or so of eating there.
It was walking on the streets that relieved this, because everyone flat out ignored everyone else, something she usually found uncomfortable but was thankful for today. So she passed the rest of the day quietly in her office, her shame buried. " I'm failing miserably at this," She muttered as she sat down to a glass of wine that evening. She felt terribly alone confiding solely in herself and Bert the goldfish, but it was the overwhelming sense of freedom that drowned that out. Here she was, an evening with no phone calls, a tomorrow where she could either stay home or go to work without hearing a single word from Dave, here she was, and she was free to toy with death as she pleased, like before except this time no one would annoy her about it. A walk, she thought, I'll go take a walk through the park, and the park is well lit and fairly safe. She paused as she headed to the door, a funny thought crossing her mind and if I'm not drawing the public eye, the Joker should be out of my hair as well. She smiled, "Hold down the fort Bert!" She called, a bit of laughter fighting to surface. "I'll be back soon." She headed down the stairs and through the front door, walking briskly, all of the weight she'd been carrying temporarily lifted.
The park was wet, but pleasant, though their seemed to be no birds or animals around. Trish whistled to herself, mostly because no one else liked it when she did, or understood why. It seemed childish and naïve to them, but she wasn't in range or their scolding any longer, broken free of the cloud of senseless misery they surrounded themselves in, she enjoyed the rest of her walk.
Not at all surprised to hear himself humming along with Trish's happy little tune, the figure in purple, waited, judging the absolute best moment to jump out of the tree. It was incredible fun, waiting, watching, sitting perfectly still even though it was agonizing to do so. It was a lovely game, one where you tried to guess: can I wait just that second longer? If I do, she'll think she's safe, and then oh what a scare she'll get! Or course, if one waited too long, the prey would be prone either to look back, prepared, or they may not notice at all, a situation playable from only one angle and he was none too good at sneaking when he was so excited. Tomorrow was hours, oh so many sleepless hours away and he'd finished trying the limits of the mob for tonight; this was the only chance left for excitement until tomorrow. He knew an employee of Wayne enterprises was going public tomorrow, and he knew he had a ton of explosives sitting around so he had a little something in mind, but that was all he knew, just like now, he had something in mind, but fun was fun, you didn't have to plan it. Hear we go, exactly the right moment and his feet touched the ground with a thud.
Trish worked hard not to scream, though it would have been smart, however that was exactly the sort of thing she wasn't doing tonight. She was smart, she didn't scream when killer clowns attacked. "Oh Wedding Girl?" The voice of the only menace she hadn't yet rid herself of rang out through the darkness, dangerously close to her right ear. He's not that strong, she reminded herself, maybe, just maybe he doesn't have some sort of weapon out already. She spun wildly and caught the clown square in the face, but it was just that, only one of the masked henchman, obviously carrying a microphone of some sort. "No, no, sweaty, I'm over here!" The voice purred again, and Trish looked around, but saw no one. The streetlight went out, leaving her completely in the dark. I'm going insane, she thought, putting her hands out, hoping she would find a tree to sit against. I'm just hearing things, seeing things, pretty soon I won't be able to make a like of sense out of anything! But she could hear something in the dark moonless night surrounding her, growing slowly louder as the damp smell of bark and a decade's worth of decaying leaves closed in around her, it was like walking through a tunnel, with no end, no beginning and definitely no light.
The Joker leaned against a tree where he could just barely make out his opponent fumbling towards him. Smart, witty, fiery, but she's as blind as The Bat himself, he thought with vague surprise. He reached over, smiling and ran his fingernails across the oak tree's crumpled bark. This was the fun of the game, playing even-Steven in the lightless forest, no one had an advantage, it was all just skill and luck, and he still had the upper hand! Yes, that's right, he thought as Trish's nearly blind eyes focused on him, seeing him only because she'd heard him first. That's right, come here, don't be afraid to lose the game.
Trish headed towards what she saw only as a dim outline, though her eyes were adjusting to the light, or lack of. Not voicing her thoughts aloud as she sometimes did, just to calm herself, she crept cautiously through the trees, trying to stop her heart from beating so quickly, because she was afraid,not that she would admit it, she was afraid of what absurd, twisted, mangled corpse she might find here in the Joker's playground. What sort of slaughter or gruesome sight she was slowly stepping up to, it wasn't perhaps fear for her physical being, but maybe for her mental state. She heard a crackle of life in front of her, and wondered; who was going to find whom first, but the sound of claws, or rather fingernails, across the large tree just ahead of her corrected her. She, had been found, she had lost, and now, well now he expected her to go down fighting. Fine, Trish thought, her shaky breath flickering in and out between her dry lips, I'll give him what he wants then, and she continued on. Funny, she reflected as she crossed what appeared to be a small campsite, I won't follow my parents' or fiancé's advice, but I'm quite obliged to respect the wishes of some circus-class terrorist. She kicked herself for the circus jokes, they weren't the kind of thing she should be using to fight her battles, they weren't "dignified" but she smiled a bit anyway, they were funny enough.
The giggling she'd been following rather stupidly had died off, but she could here breathing, and thought the light was too dark to see much, she could see gentle movement. Knowing whom she was dealing with, she classed the nervous twitching she could just barely see as that of an excited child, on who knows he has won the game. She could only guess however that she had done the unexpected, when she brought up her hand: mostly to see if she was about to run into a tree, and at the same time, the figure she knew was there somewhere moved and her hand came into contact not with a tree, but with something oily, almost lumpy in texture, and above all, there was a somewhat jagged line seemingly carved right in.