It was beautiful, truly contrary to the Joker's words. The memories, the images that came to Trish in her dreams that night were like rain, or an artist's canvas, they were beautiful and untouched, unblemished in a way like never before.
She dreamt of the boy from her dream, she relived those precious moments where they'd conversed about their goals and ideas, others where they'd simply sat in beautiful, comfortable silence. Then there was the laughter, and what a lot of it there was. The most painful thing to revisit was the separation, the slamming door, the nights she couldn't wake him from dreams that made him weep and scream, and the sense of drifting farther and farther. She recovered the feelings from that time, he was at war, torn by some battle deep inside and she'd wanted to understand, oh how she had, but she just never would. He was the only person she could never read. Something, whatever it had been, had finally driven him away and the last words he said to her stung in her lucid dreams, "Humans are fragile, and they always break." He'd said solemnly, and then he'd slammed the door in her face. A fellow humanitarian was what she sensed, but that day, that moment he was one no more. He'd spent time slowly slipping away from his hope, just as she was now.
The first months since the other half of her had disappeared through a poorly painted doorway were the harshest and coldest. He was everything; friend, lover, fellow believer, and his leaving left her empty for a long time, cold with hatred at the world. She'd somehow overcome it, of course, she overcame everything in time, and she was strong like that. There was a void however, a void she'd shielded and filled with her job, her problems, Dave, but now they were gone and it was open, that was what allowed her to indulge in these memories. What was it the Joker said about filling emptiness? About love being a made up emotion meant to fill bottomless minds? Maybe he was right!
That was what woke her eventually, arousing her from the deep slumber she'd managed, even on the couch. Her muddy clothes stunk, and she smelt of grease and oil…and face paint, reminding her she'd just barely made it back from her half-abduction the night before. It took her some time to dig up the motivation to get up and shower, she was just in a state of shock, all of these discoveries, all of a sudden! God, she thought as she let the hot water cascade down, relishing the awakening effects of her stinging wounds, that boy probably killed himself. She was still sure though, that it had not been her fault. She couldn't even remember his name, but she had not done anything mentally abusive and though she couldn't say whether or not she was 'ugly" she sure hadn't been then, not in the least, nothing was ugly then.
It must have been something bigger than both of them, she reasoned silently, not able to pull her mind from the long gone relationship, she needed to figure it out so badly! It must have been a dark, evil force with more power than the United Nations, but where did the Joker fit in? How could he know? She dropped back onto the couch, "It was a big bad powerful evil thing called life, honey!" She muttered, rubbing her temples, "Wedding girl…" If he knew about these things she'd forgotten, no wonder he'd gotten such a kick out of her marriage.
How dare they lock him up, how dare they shut his joy in a metal box, how dare they put him in jail! The Joker raged silently to himself, sitting peering darkly out at the crowded holding cell. They had ruined his fun, ruined it and shut him up in here with a bunch of lumbering, bumbling little babies. They had no idea what they could possibly amount to; their perception of their supposed insanity was…cloudy at best. And every single one of them would have crapped kitties before they actually understood what this simple game meant!
It was no matter though, he told himself, as the shudders of depravity set in. No matter, he'd already taken care of it, no worries, no problems…just BANG! He suppressed the urge to jump up and cheer, excited as a child the day of his birthday, and oh how he was beginning to miss his city, Batman! Yes, he missed that moral, frowning rodent like a lost little pet, and a slow, precisely timed smile spread across his face, beneath the oily mask. He had explosives, he had batman out breaking his rules, hell; he had this city under his thumb, but another long awaited, and assuredly Priceless event loomed on the horizon. Wedding Girl was breaking!
Oh how he'd miss her, such a pity she had to remember all of those mistakes she'd made so suddenly. He shrugged, what could one really do, but just look back and laugh.
"Hey Crazy-Shit!" The big man at the far corner of the cell… some highly "dangerous" criminal supposedly, had turned in time to see the lunatic grin. "What's so funny? Huh? You crazy Mother-Fucker!" He lifted the relatively small light man with a swing of one giant bulging arm, and backhanded him with the other. "Is that really the best you can do sweetheart?" The Joker cocked his head to one side and smiled innocently. "Don't you pull that shit on me!" The large gent yelled. "You ugly little clown, you know, your not scary, you wouldn't scare horse shit! You're loopier than a…a Fruit Loop™!" The liquor was very apparent on his breath. Hmm, thought the Joker, shall I take a few punches? Shall I do it for the chance that I'll have fun? Why yes, he concluded, I shall. "Swing away my friend!" He managed through his laughter. "I shall enjoy every second of both my pain…" The grin widened, red lips peeling back to reveal sickly yellow teeth and suddenly, Fred Slaw realized he'd picked up more than he'd bargained for. A creepy grin became threatening, the demented gaze was suddenly intelligent and sadistic, and with that, the little man in purple added: "And yours!"
Trish ran, tripping, doggedly avoiding the pedestrians of Gotham as she fled for work, praying with what little faith she had left, that it was not as bad as it seemed.
It was. Bruce was gone, weeping in the dark of some exclusive room. Rachael…dead, and her former fiancé, also Trish's recent employer, Harvey was being treated for having the left half of his face practically burnt right off, the Joker was in jail… "What?" Trish had screamed at her unfortunate co-worker as the situation was described to her. "Oh yes, he was caught last night, by Batman!" The witless woman agreed, "Good thing too."
Trish found herself stunned, her mind unable to work around this huge obstacle. No, some part of her cried desperately, I need to know what he knows, but she silenced this, the Joker was in jail, that's what she'd wanted: Good riddance. "You know it's going to be a media circus!" Her oblivious friend carried on, "Circus…" Trish muttered, deep in thought, trying to decipher what she was feeling. Well, she decided, if you go by your recent judgement, you'll have to listen to his advice, and that means, all that's left is to laugh. She chuckled at her reasoning under her breath. See how good laughing feels? Her conscience continued, but was cut off. "Oh, Trisha, Trisha look! Oh look how horrible it is!" Trish didn't look up at first; she was still trying to add two and two. "Trisha: what you call yourself…" She muttered, and then risked a glance at the television. "All hospitals are being evacuated and the employee, whose identity cannot be revealed, for safety reasons, is being transported to a secret location." The reporter babbled, apparently baffled by the happenings. Trish let her eyes widen and her jaw drop, forgetting that control was important to her. It was like some awful art film, the point being how barbaric people were, and she couldn't have agreed more. "What do we do?" Christie panicked, pulling at her hair. "I don't know," Trish shook her head. "I guess we just wait for the human race to break." Christie glared daggers at her and muttered something about practicing what you preach, as Trish lost more and more and next to all of her faith in the city, and then she asked sheepishly, "What do you think he might do…if we all broke down?" Trish studied her face and her unrealistic fright, "I don't know," She answered, "but it'll be the day they burry me." And she meant it quite literally.
Cold determination, it was one thing that made people so fun. The Joker didn't have to ask Harvey Dent what he'd do when he left this hospital, he already knew. Predictability and determination, which was how he'd nabbed the stubborn cop in the first place; a little observation goes a long way you know. He made his way down the hospital hallways, void of scrambling nurses and weak, laugh less patients, thinking to himself that he was in a way back home, home to the place of a second birth, where he'd discovered that good old smiling face and liked it so much he'd wanted to keep it. Of course, he'd exclaimed this with the fascination of a four year old finding a frog in a stream, and that's when he realized how much humanity needed to lighten up.
In the parking lot, he moved ahead to item two: a certain little bride whose time was sadly, but definitely up. "You got boring wedding girl!" He muttered to himself in mock sadness, "Now the last thrill will be to kill you, though it's a real shame." He triggered the explosives. Fortunately it's never too late for a big finish.
Trish had to get out of her car and walk as she got closer to the harbour, but she had to stop the Joker. She was basically the walking dead, even within the hordes of brainwashed civilians, her time was ending ever so slowly and she knew it, it was clearer to her than ever. She had to though; she had to go put her neck in the noose this one last time in an event that she might save many, many others from the hangman's wrath. The only question was: How?
Her mind raced in an anxious frenzy; what would she do to save all these people? How would she succeed where she'd failed twice? And lurking in the back was the possibility she was walking into a suicide, with no end to the slaughter and no hope in hell? Most likely. She wiped a few tears off of her face, anyone would be scared the least bit, walking to their death, she was no exception, but she felt a slight twinge of joy when she stuck her hand in her pocket in felt a small sharp knife. She wouldn't be able to do it, but she'd convinced herself a minute ago she could and at least she got momentary pleasure (before her cynical conscience kicked in) in thinking this: No way is some screwy clown going to make me smile!
Sorry, that chapter ended up being mostly filler, but it was important none the less, a transition. Tune in next time for more action, and maybe an ending, it depends.
Disc: I don't own Batman or anything related.
Also: this is coming close to an end, but as my story reads "It's never to late for a big finish!"