Chapter Ten

Smile...What's the Use of Crying?

Jack's POV

I had put it off long enough, the inevitability of dealing with the louse that had tormented countless damaged souls, both in and out of Arkham, while he collected a substantial paycheck for his work, the legal and the criminal, for each and every mind he tortured and every single life that he shattered.

I was one of his favorite toys at Arkham, receiving special attention fueled by his respect for his former mentor, Teddy Hawkins, my father. You see, once upon a time, my dear old dad was a well-respected member of the police force of a town called Collinsburg, a decorated detective, as a matter of fact, and when I was thirteen years old he gained a new partner, a wide-eyed young man by the name of Dexter King. King idolized my father and spent many an evening with his feet beneath our dinner table, his adoring eyes glued to my father in rapt adoration as Hawkins rambled on about pretentious career highlights. I suppose that it bolstered my father's ego a good deal to have the complete devotion of someone, even if that someone was a vacuous douchebag like King.

Long story short, King had taken it very badly when his idol had been incarcerated later that year after mutilating the faces of his family members, and had always insisted to anyone that would listen that I had done these things, that a good and decent man like Theodore Hawkins could never have committed such horrendous crimes. I, on the other hand, was a petulant little "weirdo" who had all the makings of a future serial killer, and he claimed that it was a miscarriage of justice, or as he stated it "fucking bullshit" that the jury had believed my story as opposed to the obvious perjuries that my father offered up as a defense. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that the raw, puckered wounds on not only my mother and sister's faces, but my own as well had effectively testified that I wasn't the perpetrator in that case, but the victim.

Things went south for my family after the trial, despite the removal of my father's malevolent spirit from our home. My mother grew increasingly despondent with each day that went by, sickened by the image of her face in any reflective surface that she passed. She wanted surgery, she wanted miracle workers to restore her visage to its former beauty, but there just wasn't any money to be had for such a costly procedure. Dear old dad had stitched our faces after carving them, but the wounds were...well, they were monstrous...and my mother found their misshapen forms more and more difficult to endure.

I would've expected that sort of reaction from Jilly, who was still an innocent child and didn't even understand why our father had carved up our faces, but I guess I never truly comprehended my mother's fragility, and just how much of her self-importance was personified by her beauty. I tried to convince her that the scars didn't diminish her in any way; I tried to make her see that she was still a lovely woman, but she wouldn't listen to me.

I was fifteen when she swallowed the business end of my father's .357 Magnum, her farewell note conveying that she "just couldn't take it anymore". I was appalled by her actions, by the enormity of her selfishness to leave me and my sister floating out to sea without an anchor, to toss us carelessly to the wolves, all because she 'couldn't take it anymore'.

Moppet and I had been separated from one another, she to one foster home and I to another, where I stayed until I turned eighteen. Foster care is an oxymoron of the cruelest kind, a breeding ground for future criminals and sadists, or both. I tried to locate my little sister when I was released, but I couldn't find her, and all I learned was that she had been adopted. It was probably for the best that I didn't come across her location, because my comic alter ego had already set up shop within my mind, and was swiftly becoming the favorite of running the show unchallenged for control of my mind and my soul. My heart still belonged fully to me, to Jack, my lingering love for my cuddly Moppet and the mother of my childhood keeping a scintilla of humanity intact within my otherwise corrupted body.

I'm going to assume that you are familiar with my criminal past, so there's no need to wallow through the muck of my life up to and including my numerous stints at the lovely resort known as Arkham Asylum, my incarceration at said nuthouse reacquainting me with my father's former worshipper, the delusional and sadistic King. Oh, how happy he'd been to see me after so many years apart. It wasn't a surprise that he still bore me a good deal of ill will, but it had been shocking when he slipped into my cell to throw me the first of many "welcome home" parties, complete with broken bones and contusions. My injuries were officially described as "self-inflicted acts of violence" due to my "insane, aggressive tendencies". It made me wonder that if I had perished as a result of my wounds, would it be determined that I'd somehow managed to beat myself severely, then regained consciousness in time to then beat myself to death? And they say I'm the crazy one...go figure, huh?

Well now, I've rambled on like a man who doesn't have any control over his thoughts so I may as well be crazy, shouldn't I? I had managed to divert my Dainty from the Peeping Tom last night, and had derived unspeakable pleasure once we'd entered our domicile, but a niggling fear had gnawed at me throughout the night, and I'd set about the task of investigating the spot where she'd said that she had noticed the presence of an intruder. What I saw on the brick of our home, on our sanctuary, rattled my sense of safety, for both myself and the girls depending on me, and also infuriated me to an extent that I hadn't felt in years.

I may have lived a good deal of my life as a villain, but I had been the son of a cop, a man who'd been a good detective, as well as a sadistic bastard. The tracks were still there, despite the fact that the trespasser had attempted to hide them. He looked to be a fairly good-sized guy, my height or larger, judging by the size of his prints...unless he was a runt with canoe sized feet. It was bad enough, knowing that some bastard had stood at the window, watching my Dainty as she wiled away the hours without me, but when I saw the evidence that he'd also pleasured himself, spilling his seed on the bricks of our home...well, let's just say that was a sight that filled me with a homicidal rage that threatened to consume me, and leave it at that, shall we?

I had tried to act as normal as was possible...well, normal for me at least...and had set out to find my good friend Wonko, knowing that he'd have some info for me, given the fact that he had connections all over Gotham. Of course, I didn't tell Violet where I was going, because I didn't want to worry her with my plan nor with the fact that some sick bastard had indeed been peeping in at her.

Wonko proved to be a wealth of information, as always, and he confirmed that Violet and I had indeed been seen and recognized on our day out with Tootsie, a fear that I hadn't been able to shake despite the cheeriness of our time together. Wonko said that the buzz around town was that King had it out for us, apparently he'd not only been fired after the escape, but that he'd also been humiliated by the board and banned from obtaining any sort of law enforcement job in town. He'd placed out feelers around town, searching for any trace of us, and some lowlife desperate for money to support his drug habit had watched us all day and then followed us home.

I was too furious to plot an elaborate scheme, wanting King to pay right then and there for his crimes. It was something that had been years in the making, and I made do with tracking down as many of my fellow inmates outside the walls of Arkham, knowing that a fair amount of money, in addition to having the chance of getting back at Killer King would be irresistible to my fellow nutjobs. Wonko gave me a list of contacts and where I could find them, as well as King's address, and after pocketing a very generous compensation he'd promised that he'd personally watch over my girls until I returned home.

I found some of my favorite loons, and we had a fond, albeit brief reunion before we set out for King's dwelling, a crappy tenement housed in the absolute worst part of town. It was a perfect spot for what I had in mind, because there wouldn't be anyone in residence who would dare to call the police, no matter what they heard. My temporary colleagues and I would have an ample amount of time to torment King before we finally ended his life, which was something that was desired by all in attendance.

I led the party inside, decked out in all of my Joker finery despite the fact that the sun was out, bright and sparkly. I wasn't too worried that anyone would recognize me in this dump, and even if they did, I seriously doubted that they'd do anything about it. My fellow assassins were outfitted with rubber clown masks, the kind that I'd always used when I rampaged as the Joker, and an odd feeling that was something like nostalgia welled up within me.

"Did you miss me Jackie Boy?" a disturbingly familiar voice whispered in my ear, causing my stomach to turn uneasily.

"You're only here to help me take King out," I hissed in response, drawing looks of curiosity from several of my colleagues. "Pay attention to the task at hand," I ordered quietly, but firmly, reaching inside my purple overcoat to retrieve my favorite knife, brought out of retirement for this oh so special occasion.

King's apartment was located on the ground floor, which was fortuitous given the ample girth of some of my associates. I led the way to the door, staying near the walls despite the fact that they were shiny from some sort of...yeech, I didn't even want to know what it was. Lenny Gardner, a schizophrenic who'd offed his elderly mother when he became convinced that she was housing Satan within her brain, had been costumed as a deliveryman, sans clown mask, and he knocked on the door, holding a gaily wrapped box in his pudgy hands. It would be easy for King to recognize Lenny, who'd been an inmate at Arkham for at least ten years during King's tenure as Head Guard...heh, make your own joke...so I told him to hold the box up and point his face down, hoping that King's reputation for being pathetically thick was still accurate.

Poor King, apparently he didn't receive many packages, and the sight of the brightly wrapped box through the peephole was too much of a temptation to resist. He opened the door all the way...what a douchebag...allowing plenty of room for me and my five accomplices to enter his domicile. It was shocking, and rewarding, to see the depths of the squalor that he squatted in, and it was even more satisfying to see his eyes widen with fear as he took in the full measure of what was happening to him, right then, at that moment.

"You don't have to do this, Jack," he pleaded, his eyes falling on me, recognizing the fact that out of all the wackos present, I was the only one who might listen to reason.

"What did he just call you?" the voice in my ear whispered, spiking my temper even further.

I grabbed hold of King, numerous memories, all of them bad, flowing forth from me, through me. This slime that had defended my father, had testified that my mother was a liar, that my sister was a spoiled brat, and that I, Jack Hawkins, was a mentally unhinged weirdo, the obvious guilty party, while my father was a police hero, his good name maligned by his deviant son. I thought of all of the beatings I'd received at his hands, whether directly or on his orders by the other guards. I thought about how he took money, had accepted the job from Rizzuto to beat, to rape my Dainty. But most of all I thought about him standing outside of our home, watching Violet and touching his dick, climaxing on our home as he'd leered at her.

"You, um, don't have permission to call me by that name," I answered, my speech falling easily into the stilted pattern so favored by my alter ego. "And I do have to do this see, because you are a rabid dog King, a malignant tumor that has, ah, attached itself to my new life. You are a cancerous growth, and I'm here to eradicate you before you do something that I can't live with."

I lovingly released the blade of my knife, my tongue tracing my lips as I teased the skin of King's neck with the blade. It was satisfying when he whimpered like a beaten dog, the helplessness that soured the air around him feeding my need for vengeance. "Shush, King," I murmured; drawing the point of the knife across his Adam's apple, grinning as a thin trickle of blood flowed from the slight wound downward to stain the neckband of his t-shirt. "Big bad Jokerman isn't going to be the one killing you today. My little friends have been dying to spend some, um, quality time with you, so I'm going to leave you in their very capable hands, 'kay?"

He dropped to his knees, his arms encircling my legs while he begged me to stay, to please not leave him, and my satisfaction, and the Joker's satisfaction, grew as the pungent odor of urine floated up to fill my nostrils. This was working out better than I could have ever planned for. I was tempted for just a moment to stay there, to squash the roach myself, but unfortunately for my killer clown persona, Jack was in charge, and Jack wasn't going to dirty his hands any more than he had to.

"Your blood is on my blade," I whispered, smiling as I backed away from him. "That is all that I require from you."

I backed away from him and calmly took my leave, closing the door firmly behind me. The screams were exhilarating as I rushed outside, but I didn't take the time to fully savor them, I was too eager to make it back home to my girls.

"Where do you think you're going?" he hissed, determined to regain control of the situation. "We still have a lot of work to do here."

"I'm through here," I countered, smiling as he howled angrily. "And you might as well shuffle off to your hiding place, because our business together is over and done with."

Violet's POV

Once or twice I looked out the window and would have sworn that I saw Wonko sitting in a car parked across the street. I had been alarmed for just a few moments, thinking of the trespasser the night before, but then I remembered that Wonko wasn't a big guy, and the shadow that I had seen the night before belonged to a good-sized man, or at least I had perceived it to belong to a man.

I wondered if Jack had asked him to keep an eye on me while he was gone, and it made me happy to think of him watching out for my safety. I was cleaning the house, getting it spic and span after several days of laziness had me procrastinating, putting off chores for a time when Jack was gone. He'd seemed preoccupied and a little angry when he had left, but I knew that his anger wasn't directed at or caused by me.

I was bent over the coffee table in the living room, arranging some wildflowers I'd found outside in a pretty blue and white china vase when I felt his hands caressing my backside lovingly, appreciatively. "Now that's a pretty sight for a man to come home to," his voice purred seductively in my ear, causing my nipples to harden with awareness and a jolt of longing to course between my thighs. I briefly wondered if this wanting for him would ever lessen, if it would grant me a few hours of reprieve from this all-consuming arousal that burned in me whenever he was near...damn, that was a depressing thought. I would rather suffer from a constant state of lust than to have that desire taken away from me.

He pulled me back toward him, turning me so that he could hold me in his arms. I stood up on my tiptoes, twining my arms around his neck and kissing him, my tongue caressing his, arching myself against the hardness that signified his arousal very clearly and very insistently. "Oh, Dainty," he whispered, pulling his lips away from mine. "That's a nice coming home too."

I heard the clickety-click of Tootsie's nails against the hardwood floor as she came barreling into the room. She missed Jack when he was gone and although she'd play with me and spend time with me, her eyes and her ears were always on the lookout for Jack to return. She walked right up to him, completely ignoring me, sitting down and gently brushing her paw down the side of his pants leg.

"Hey there, Tootsie Roll," he greeted her, bending down to scratch behind her ears. She wriggled happily and butted her head against his leg. I knew that she wanted Jack's attention for herself, but I was so turned-on at that moment that I was tempted to pull him away into the bedroom where I could shut and lock the door.

Fortunately for me Jack needed me just as much as I needed him. "Where did you stash Petruccio?" he asked, leading her away so that they could find the stuffed clown. Jack found the toy behind the recliner and swept it up off of the floor, offering it to Tootsie, who managed to look conciliatory, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time. She definitely had that trick down flat, but she had underestimated how much power there was in the promise of some good afternoon nookie, and Jack wasn't willing to give up sex for scratching her belly.

He stood his ground, raising his eyebrows as he stared her down, and I would have sworn that she sighed dejectedly as she started to back away, Petruccio the clown clamped gingerly in her teeth. "Thanks, Toots," Jack said, pulling me back into his arms. "You and me have an appointment with a ball, outside, this evening, all right?" She chuffed softly and turned to leave the room, her step light once more, and you may think that I'm crazy for saying so, but I knew that Jack had made her happy with what he'd said.

"Now then, my love," he said, pushing me gently down onto the couch, kneeling down on the floor between my legs while he drew my pants down and off of me. "Daddy brought you a little something...a treat."

He held up a pint of the chocolate ice cream that we loved and I rolled my eyes exasperatedly. "Last night it was brownies and whipped cream," I said, stifling a moan as a short replay of the night before flashed through my head. "Now it's ice cream. What are you trying to do, make me fat?"

"I don't think you're in any harm whatsoever of getting fat," he answered, leaning forward to run the tip of his tongue over and around on my thighs. "But if it worries you that much, just remember that we'll be burning off the calories pretty soon, so they won't have the opportunity to latch on to you anywhere."

He raised his mouth to the waistband of my panties, drawing the lilac silk and lace garment off of my body. I blushed as he raised them to his nose, drawing in my scent. He tossed them to the side of the couch and then parted me with his fingers, leaning forward to lick me, the tip of his tongue leading the charge as the broad back of his tongue opened me even further to his explorations. He tasted me for a few moments and then sat back, popping the lid off of the ice cream.

"I gave you the damp heat of my tongue," he purred, dipping his finger down into the softened ice cream, bringing forth a small dollop cupped in his fingertip. "You seemed to like that pretty well. Now let's see how you like something that's wet and cold."

I barely had time to register his words and then he was dipping his frosty, chocolate covered finger into my core, coating every surface, the initial chill of the ice cream warming quickly within the molten heat of my flesh. It was such an erotic experience and I delved my hands into his hair, holding him close to my body as his tongue entered me once more, licking the chocolate in the manner of one who was enjoying an ice cream cone.

The tip of his tongue teased my clitoris in a way which made my temperature soar, and I writhed uncontrollably against the cushions of the sofa, my legs hooked over his shoulders. When it felt as though I couldn't stand anymore I tried to pull back and away from him, but he nipped that behavior in the bud by reaching beneath me to grab my backside, pulling me close so that I couldn't get away, no matter how hard I tried. His tongue plunged into me again and again, and I shattered with a cry of his name, thrusting myself against him, coming all over again as my bones seemed to melt within my body.

I was exhausted after the sensual assault that I'd just survived and I didn't protest as he scooped me up into his arms, heading for our bedroom to finish what he'd started. I was still shaking, still quivering from the aftershocks, tears streaming down my face. Jack looked alarmed when he first noticed that I was crying, but then realization dawned on his face.

"Those are happy tears, aren't they?" he asked softly, kissing my cheek. I couldn't answer him verbally, it was all too much for me at that moment, but I nodded, smiling through my tears, reassuring him that all was well, and that he had nothing to be worried about. Tears weren't always a bad thing, at times they are a source of healing, and even better was when they signified absolute happiness, the way that they did in me at that moment.