Thanks to everyone who reviewed, including: blackmoon1209, Moonlight Calls, Madness is me, ghut, Royal shadow1, PureDarkMagic, and Trisha!
I tried making this longer, just finished my AP exams so I'll have more time to write. Thank you again for the reviews, they're wonderful!
Chapter 11
The look in those black-rimmed eyes made me want to do exactly what I wasn't supposed to as the daughter of an accomplished mob member—run.
The Joker leered at me, slowly advancing, dramatizing his entire approach to undoubtedly make me more nervous.
"Why are you all the way over there-uh?" He pointed an exaggerated finger in my direction, popping his painted lips.
I decided to stop being a coward and act like my father's daughter, rolling my eyes and grabbing a pillow to put on the floor.
He laughed, clutching his sides as he doubled over in his purple suit.
I barely had time to register as a knife was thrown, embedding itself in the wall mere inches from my head.
Glaring at him, I uttered my first few words in a while. "Why did you do that?"
He just shrugged, leaving the knife embedded in the wall as he abandoned his suit-jacket on the floor and climbed onto his bed in his god-knows-how-old pair of pants, paint still smeared on his face. He patted the empty space next to him as I wrinkled my nose.
"No thanks."
Another knife whizzed past my ear, closer this time. Valuing my life, I scowled and climbed to the farthest section, turning over.
"Stop throwing knives and go the fuck to sleep."
For a second, I thought he'd listened. Then I heard him ask, "I was wondering… do you uh… miss dear old dad?"
Until the Joker came into my life, I never realized how much I loved my father. The sides of my vision blurred as I hurled myself at him. "Don't you ever talk about him! Did you go near him? If you did anything, I'll take those knives right out of the wall and slice you up into little bits!"
He roughly took my wrists and rolled on top of me, cutting off my air.
"You don't need to use all that strength to go get those knives out of the wall. Why not use this one?" He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket, lowering it to my face, tracing feather-light patterns across my flesh. The light tracing was replaced with a deep cut that was slashed into my upper arm when I tried to break free for the umpteenth time. I held in my scream.
"Let go," I breathed. Sweat was trailing down my face, matting my bangs.
He went into yet another familiar fit of hysterical laughter, either carelessly or purposely letting his knife dig into the delicate skin of my abdomen. My control broke. I showed my pain and let out a scream of agony.
I shoved him off and threw his knife to the floor, rolling off the bed to get to the doorway.
My foot was grabbed and I was dragged across the dingy carpet on my stomach, my newest wound making contact with the fabric, which was causing involuntary tears of pain to spring to my eyes. I jerked around and kicked him in the gut, getting a growl out of him as he picked me up like a rag doll and threw me into the wall.
"Never pick fights with me darling. I always win."
I didn't want to give up, but my head throbbed and I felt woozy. My whole upper body was pulsing in pain. Blood trickled steadily from the hem of my shirt as he watched me gasp against the plaster wall. The knife had made a terrible, gory mess. I slowly recognized that being thrown hadn't knocked the wind out of me. It was the steady pulsing pain mixed with the blood loss that was making it hard to breathe.
He let out a snort. "Don't be overdramatic, Laurel."
Hearing him say my name was almost as disgusting as the blood dripping off my bottom lip and down my chin. My breaths gurgled as I tried taking full amounts of air into my lungs, which earned me a look of alarm.
He must've just realized that eventually, playthings break.
I just hoped that I could be fixed.
Maybe if I went to sleep? I was getting tired. If I just closed my eyes…
A smack to the face helped me regain my vision. My eyelids drowsily fluttered open to reveal a painted face working vigorously to patch up the bloody mess that was my stomach. My shirt was off, leaving me clad in a bra and my petticoat skirt.
Wait. I didn't even feel it come off.
How long were my eyes closed?
The gash began to sting. I yowled like a banshee, clawing at the floor as a bottle of clear liquid was poured onto my wound.
He growled at me. "Sit. Still."
I let out one more screech before the butt of his knife crashed into my skull, finally giving him his peace and quiet.
At some unreasonable time in the morning, I awoke to my own bellows.
Did I have a nightmare?
No. I'd just rolled in my sleep. Onto my front-side, which was now expertly patched up.
"I hate you," I muttered, wondering if he was sleeping.
"I uh, FIXED it sweetheart."
I stayed silent for a while, breaking it to ask, "Why?"
"Because I enjoy watching you squirm."
"No. Why do you do what you do?" I tried asking again.
He snorted and turned over. "Expectations. Emotions."
"What?"
"You could never imagine what people are willing to do in their last moments. Or the last moments of their loved ones," he spat. "It's pathetic, really."
"So why do you do it?" I was still confused.
"I just answered your question, doll-face. No matter how pathetic I think it is, a part of me can't help watching." The serious expression he had plastered on his face slowly stretched into a yellow-toothed smile that made the butterflies in my stomach tremble with fear. Once the smile reached its limit, he let out a loud laugh that reverberated from the walls.
I turned over to try and go back to sleep, wondering why he'd even patched up my wound in the first place.
As the days went by, the bruises lessened. I got an occasional one here or there to add to my collection when he knocked me down or something for trying to punch him. I just can't keep my self control steady when I'm around him. More than once in a day, I've tried to get him in a chokehold, waiting for his breath to stop. Yet, no matter how many pull-ups or crunches I do a day, he's stronger. He always knocks me off within seconds, right after I get a good grip.
Each day I receive a visit from him with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He doesn't even administer it carefully. He just splashes it over the gash on my front, laughing as I cried out from how much it stung.
Regaining my composure, I asked him, "You can't afford Neosporin or shit like that?"
He feigned a frown. "Oh, I'm sorry princess. Would you prefer a change in the healing process? Hydrochloric acid maybe?"
I just groaned and let him re-patch it.
After rejecting a bag of rancid looking food, I was getting out of the shower when I heard the television from the bedroom. Putting on a towel, I hurried out of the steam-filled space to meet the Joker. He was sitting in his chair with his feet propped up, staring intently at the television screen.
I pretended not to notice him as I got out a pair of beaten up fishnets and a raggedy smock-dress. He muted the T.V. and watched me scramble to get my clothes together.
"Stop," I whined and he un-muted the program, rolling his eyes and turning back around.
Getting dressed in the bathroom, I grabbed the tube of black lipstick and put it on. A few days ago when I'd decided not to wear it, I received a new purpled bruise on my cheek.
"Laurel!" I heard from the chair. "Dent's on T.V." He was cackling happily, watching Harvey speak to the citizens of Gotham about Batman. He was a great public speaker, but I found it boring. He stood at the podium and droned on about the masked vigilante. That's all Gotham ever talked about. Batman, Batman, Batman. Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.
A statement from the television made me drop my tube of lipstick.
"I am the Batman."
The Joker reacted on impulse as I watched Harvey on the screen, who was now being led away by Gotham officers.
Grabbing my face, he smeared the now familiar black paint around my eyes. I grudgingly laced up my boots as he grabbed random knives to pocket.
The goons were already outside, talking to a garbage man. I waited with them for about five minutes. The garbage truck had pulled away and a tractor trailer pulled up seconds later. The Joker skipped out of the warehouse with a can of red spray paint in his hand. He sprayed an "S" in front of the first word, which was "Laughter."
I snorted. Child.
I was thrown into the back with the goons as the Joker took shotgun. I wasn't allowed to speak for a while. Great. Stupid fuck can't plan anything, so now I was bored in the back of a truck.
His men and I played cards and I won all three matches before their boss snarled into the back, "Shut up, all of you!"
I listened closely, palms against the floor of the truck.
The truck came to an abrupt halt as the Joker crouched under the passenger seat next to the old man that was apparently our driver, a large gun in hand.
The old man suddenly honked the horn and I covered my ears.
"Hey, you wait like everybody else pal!" A cop had appeared out of nowhere.
The Joker sprung from his hiding place and quickly sent one shot from his machine gun straight to the cop's chest, surprisingly not uttering a single sound.
Once he heard the satisfying thud of the cop's body on the pavement, the Joker immediately climbed to the back, practically sitting on Laurel as she wriggled for freedom. He laughed as the driver pulled away. He really had no idea what would happen next. He just knew they were following the vehicle that carried Harvey Dent.
Keeping his grip on a handgun, he scowled as Laurel got free and huddled against the wall. She rolled her eyes at him when he grinned at her, which made him erupt in a hysterical laughing fit. She was an interesting one. Her emotions had gone in circles for the past few weeks he'd kept her. She has fast-paced changed in mood, just like him—or she just knew how to hide her real feelings.
I was scowling at him, but I was actually thrilled. Dad never used to let me come with him on business, so I was enjoying the crime and violence before me. The mobster inside of me opened up, spreading through my veins as I fully realized what it was like to be on an assignment.
I decided to stop cowering and show the Joker that I was brave enough to be close to him. I scrambled across the floor and sat directly in his lap, earning a look of surprise and resentment. Instead of pushing me to the floor, he let me stay there, picking at the rips in my stockings and mumbling to himself. He cackled like a hyena when our driver took out a SWAT truck, sending it sailing into the water off the road.
Once we were in the tunnel with a bunch of GPD vehicles, he shoved me off and I went rolling to the other side of the truck.
He grabbed the side door of the tractor trailer and slid it open, leaning out as he used his first gun to fire countless bullets at one of the high security vans. The masked clowns scrambled to get the cardboard box containing the rest of their boss' weapons. The Joker reached for the next one, which was promptly handed to him. He shot once, tossing this gun to the side as it was proved useless. The Joker was finally handed a bazooka, which he carefully loaded and tried shooting as the truck went over a bump, barely hitting a police car. Using a second shot, the police car exploded, and I was filled with a terrible sense of satisfaction as the car went up in flames. I crawled to the side of the door, holding on as I watched the action with wide eyes. He aimed and pulled the trigger on his third shot, sending the bazooka directly towards Dent's van. Yet, it didn't hit the target. Instead, it hit the tail-end of the Batmobile, which was airborne in front of Dent's transportation as a protective shield. Our truck and the GPD van both screeched to a halt. The explosions had killed our driver, causing us to come to a violent stop.
Pandemonium. That was the only word that could explain things at the moment.
The Joker was screaming at his clowns, leaving them rushing for weapons. He climbed to the front in a frenzy, mumbling Harvey's name, and took the wheel just as the GPD vehicle was pulling away ahead of us. Pushing aside the dead trucker, he muttered, "Excuse me. I wanna drive!"
He reached behind the seat to grab hold of my hair and half-pulled me to the passenger seat. I scrambled to the front, sitting beside him so my dark tresses would stay intact.
I watched him from the passenger side, listening to him rant.
"I like this job. I LIKE it."
I sank into my seat as I listened to him, staring ahead. The GPD vehicle was ahead of us still, and a helicopter was heading in our direction.
"Okaaay, rack 'em up. Rack 'em up, rack 'em up, rack 'em up!"
Two cords were shot diagonally across, connecting to opposite buildings. They brought the helicopter down in an instant, and it exploded in a ball of flames. I stared in awe as it's now disassembled parts hurtled over the GPD van.
The Joker laughed at the violence of it all, giving everyone chills. "WhoohahaHAHA!"
I let out an involuntary giggle. All the flames and explosions had put me in a good mood. I loved this. It was even better than mob deals!
The Joker heard the short laugh escape my lips. Keeping his eyes on the task ahead, he grinned. "Like what ya see, beautiful?"
I grinned back instead of giving him a legitimate answer. Because the scary truth was… I was having fun.
Our laughter was stopped short when Batman came rolling out of an alley, halting directly in front of the truck a little ways up the road. The GPD van had stopped up there too.
"Now there's a Batman." The Joker's eyes lit up, glazing over with mirth.
"Oh you wanna play? C'mon."
Bruce kicked up his feet and drove towards us, going under and around the truck instead of hitting it.
One of the Joker's men yelled, "He missed!"
A split second later, the truck lifted up off the asphalt.
This is it. I can't believe this is how I'm going to die.
I was grabbed right before that upside-down sensation took place in my belly. Someone was completely on top of me, curling around my body in a ball.
I heard the impact of the truck hitting the cement, but I didn't feel much of it. The man curled around me let out a loud grunt as he took most of the impact.
Finally, there was silence. Everyone was rushing to get out of the truck. My rescuer unwrapped himself from my body and gave me a quick glance before falling out the side door. The Joker.
I fell out after him, laying on the blacktop as he stumbled on his gun, firing off a few accidental bullets in the process. He stalked down the street, mumbling and shooting at cars to get them out of his way.
Batman was on his motorcycle, driving at top speed. Right for the Joker.
No. Bruce wouldn't do that. He wouldn't.
I watched in fascination as he Joker bellowed, "HIT ME!"
But Bruce didn't. I knew he wouldn't do it. He swerved to avoid his enemy, crashing and falling off down the road.
The Joker skipped over, tugging me with him. For once, I didn't complain. Half of me was engrossed by the action, the other half concerned. I needed to see if Bruce was okay.
He linked arms with me, mumbling as he partly-skipped along the empty street.
One of his clowns tried touching Bruce's mask. He was awarded with an electric shock, which sent him flying backwards.
I laughed, despite myself. So did the Joker. It was a laugh that I now heard for only the second time. Completely careless and filled with raw amusement. "WhoohaHAHA!"
He jumped on the goon, making faces and spitting on him. I was roughly pulled close to his side as he leaned over Batman with his knife, about to carve a smile into Bruce's masked face.
I was knocked from his side as a gun was pulled to his head, a man dressed in all black standing behind him.
The Joker let out a disgruntled growl. "Could you please just give me a minute?"
He was pushed to the floor. Gordon stood over him, gun ready to shoot.
"We got you, you son of a bitch."
I was led away from them, dazed as hell. I was free. I could go home. I couldn't help it. I started to cry. Tears smeared the black paint that was still caked around my eyes. Damn it! What was it with me and crying these past few weeks?
Gordon carried me to the GPD vehicle and sat me by the tires while a medic looked me over.
Harvey walked over to crouch beside me, Gordon following close behind.
I gaped at Gordon. "I thought you were dead."
He shook his head. "Had to protect my family."
"Smart," I grinned.
Harvey got straight to the point. The man who I'd thought hated me was now asking me questions about my well-being. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
"No. I'm fine. Shaky, but fine." I decided not to tell them that the Joker had, in fact, saved me. By using his body as a human shield, I hadn't hurt myself when the truck flipped.
Gordon drove me to the street name I gave him, and I walked home. I still didn't trust the coppers with my address.
I couldn't help the small smile that crept across my face. I was finally going to see my dad. I was going home.