Chapter Fourteen
I Fought the Law...and the Law Won
Jack's POV
Well, there I was, back in my old cell at Arkham, same old cot, same old walls, only now splashed with the urine and decorated with the smeared boogers of the resident who had occupied the space while I had my brief taste of freedom. Nothing had changed, I could still hear the screaming up and down the corridor, could still smell overcooked cabbage wafting through the building from the cafeteria, the only thing that had changed was my roommate, and after my time spent snuggled by and loving on my Dainty, let's just say that my new cellmate left a lot to be desired.
Wendell Spivey, the aforementioned wall art specialist, offering both piss and nostril nuggets as mediums, was a person who practiced no visible means of hygiene, in addition to his proclivities as a murdering, cannibalistic pederast. I would have murdered him myself if I could have reached him, but the fact was that I was currently trussed up inside a highly uncomfortable straitjacket, in addition to the chain around my waist that was fastened to the wall behind me hindered my homicidal urges . Long story short, I couldn't move, let alone attack the sick bastard, no matter how much I wanted to.
You're probably wondering how I managed to get myself thrown into the psycho version of the hoosegow once more, when it seemed so definite that I had started a nice life with my Dainty, complete with the picturesque house and the loyal dog, aren't you? Well, it all had to do with the night that Rizzuto and his thugs invaded my home, threatening me, menacing my pooch and having the balls to put my sweet baby girl into a perilous spot, and needless to say, I reacted, and in a way that made it necessary that I would be placed back between the walls of the Arkham Asylum.
It had been a welcome home night for the criminal clown that resided within me, a night filled with the blood-soaked fantasies that I had pushed to the furthest recesses of my mind. The knife had felt good in my hand, like a long-lost friend that paid me a visit. I had dispatched the goons quite easily, managing to miraculously avoid their gunfire until there only remained Anthony Rizzuto in our home. It had been a little insulting to the criminal mastermind that I'd been in the past that he'd only brought three men with him, a paltry three that he'd counted on to protect him from the big, bad clown.
It had been a very satisfying experience to slide my favorite blade against Rizzuto's neck, lightly slicing the flesh so that thin rivulets of blood trickled down to stain the collar of his shirt. He looked good in that color, crimson, and I decided that there should be more of the pigmentation, I thought that I ought to paint his entire body in that hue, and I would have, if I hadn't been interrupted.
I wish that I could have seen the look on my face when he had entered the room where I had wreaked my havoc on Rizzuto's men, because I would imagine that it had been very comical. It had been a long time since I'd exchanged pleasantries with The Bat, and it saddened me that in all that time he'd never developed a sense of humor, nor had he removed the stick that seemed to be permanently stuck in the dark recesses of his rectum.
Given his status as the frequent purveyor of sanctimonious garbage like "capture, but do not kill", I should have known that my moment of revenge would be thwarted by Batman, but it was still a disappointment to me, none the less. I hadn't been able to convince myself to step back graciously and allow him to protect the slime huddled at my feet however, and the swipe across Rizzuto's throat with the razor-sharp blade still clutched lovingly in my hand had sealed my fate, even though the pig had survived.
My most recent deeds, along with my countless other crimes, had sent me down the river, and I soon found myself ensconced once more in Arkham, a benevolent bit of mercy by the do-gooders, in the naïve hope, for the umpteenth time, that my criminally insane mind and soul would be soothed by the correct course of medication and group therapy provided within...what a bunch of delusional morons.
This was a song and dance that I had performed so many times throughout my life that I had actually lost track of the number, but this was the first time that I'd felt such a high amount of frustration. I had always plotted and then performed an escape fairly quickly, but now I felt a new sense of desperation. It was all due to being without my Dainty, of course, having to go through the hours without seeing her, without touching and kissing her. It was Hell, sheer and absolute Hell, and I was tiptoeing along the crumbly brink of genuine insanity without her.
The only bright spot in the entire event was that Commissioner Gordon had agreed to keep Violet in custody at his home, with his family, and would provide a fenced in yard for Tootsie as well, insuring that she wouldn't have to be kenneled somewhere. I knew that Gordon and his family would take good care of my girls, because in spite of the fact that I had personally bedeviled the man, he was fair and he was just, and he would insure that every step was taken to ensure Violet's safety and security.
My heart lightened as my cell door was unlocked and opened, admitting Dr. Leonard into my presence, hoping against hope that she had brought me news about my request to have a meeting with my Dainty. Violet's sentence was overturned when Rizzuto, and more importantly, her sister Poppy, testified of the true events that had taken place that night in the warehouse. Several of the honchos at Arkham had argued that she should be punished for the escape, but the brunt of that weight had fallen on me, thank God, and Violet received only probation as punishment.
If I had been expecting to see Violet, then I must be crazier than the powers that be at this hellhole liked to believe. I could tell by the self-satisfied smirk on Leonard's face that she relished the thought of dashing my hopes once more. Life had definitely taken a turn for the worst here at Arkham since Dainty and I had taken our leave, and all of the staff members seemed to be taking the fact that I'd made fools of them very personally.
"You have a visitor Mr. Hawkins," the good doctor simpered, as her guards unchained me from the wall of my cell. I tried to keep the hope that it might very well be my sweet baby girl who was waiting for me, but while I managed to keep the buoyant expression off of my face, my damned eyes must have brightened and Dr. Leonard pounced on that hopefulness the way a ravenous lion would pounce on a baby gazelle.
"You're never going to see that whore of yours again," she whispered, her voice dripping sugar, sickening sugar, as she smiled at me. "You will be entombed in Arkham until the day you die, and she will forget all about you. You'll live and die with the knowledge that she will meet someone new, that she will marry him and lay beneath him each night, spreading her legs to be filled up with his children. She'll be the last thought on your mind as you slip from this world, Jack dear, and your dying misery will be the knowledge that she never really loved you at all."
I choked on my rage, knowing that the bitch was baiting me in an attempt to deny me access to my visitor, but I'd be damned if I'd give her that satisfaction. I didn't know who it was that was waiting for me, but I knew that anyone would be preferable to staying chained to this wall, listening to Wendell as he reminisced over his favorite murders and acts of despoiling, working himself into an orgasmic fury that would add his seed to the various other body fluids that were splashed on the walls of our cell.
Leonard seemed to be disappointed by my lack of reaction, and stepped out of the room when she saw that I was cooperating fully, allowing the guards to lead me down the hall toward one of the conference rooms. It turned out that my visitors were Commissioner Gordon and the ADA Rachel Dawes, who I'd been wrongfully accused of and convicted for the attempt on both her and her fiancé Harvey Dent's lives. The truth of the matter was that Rizzuto was responsible for that as well, but I had been the one who'd been easier to convict, so bip, bam, boom, that was that. I suppose it was easier for them to stick an additional twenty years onto my bid as opposed to actually finding someone who would have the balls...heh... to testify against Mr. Rizzuto.
The guards hustled me into a chair and chained me to it, each leg shackled and one chain wrapped several times around both my body and the chair, ensuring that there would be no possible way that I could harm my "guests". I wouldn't have touched them anyway; there was no chance of that happening no matter how I was situated into that chair. One of them was housing my girls, providing them with comfort and shelter, and the other held the keys to my cell, quite literally, in the palm of her hand. Besides which, odd as it might sound, I really didn't hold a quarrel with either of them anymore. I just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible, so that I could have my girls, and my house, and my brand-new life.
"Hello, Jack," Gordon greeted me somewhat reservedly, obviously wondering whether or not I was going to play nice. He had good reason to wonder. God knows that I had demonstrated plenty of times in the past that I could be a very naughty boy when I was locked in a cage, often provoking, and sometimes even killing those who were there to watch over me. "How are you doing today?"
The urge to roll my eyes in response was very strong, almost overwhelming, as a matter of fact, but I resisted, knowing that I didn't want to piss off the one person who could offer me an update on my girls. "Peachy keen, Com-miss-ion-er Gordon," I answered, wincing at the sarcasm that was evident in my voice. What the hell was wrong with me today? It wasn't as though I didn't know better...sheesh. "And how are you on this fine day?" I hope that didn't sound as false to him as it did to me...damn it.
"I'm doing very well Jack, thank you for asking."
I was all but dancing in my chair by this time, more likely than not projecting the image of someone who was in desperate need to use the facilities, but it wasn't the need to take a whizz that was making me antsy, it was the need that I had to hear about my Dainty, and how she was, and what she was wearing today, etcetera, etcetera.
"I'm sure that you remember Miss Dawes?" Gordon asked, while gesturing to the ADA seated to his right. I wanted to respond that I wasn't a simpleton who was unable to remember the woman that I'd been accused of trying to kill, but again I held my tongue, knowing that Dr. Leonard was watching, just waiting for me to start acting cuckoo so that she could hustle me back to my booger and piss filled cell.
"Yes, of course I remember Miss Dawes," I answered. "How has life been treating you as of late, Miss Dawes?"
She was watching me warily, and I couldn't blame her for her apprehension any more than I could blame Gordon. I had threatened her in the past, I had traced the point of my knife along the lines of her cheekbones, and I had thrown her out of a window, laughing like a loon...heh...when Batman had chased her out of that window...okay, I've gotten way off track. Long story short, the lovely ADA had several very good reasons to not trust me.
"I can't complain, Mr. Hawkins," she answered, her voice neither friendly nor hostile. "Commissioner Gordon and I have come to offer you a new lease on life, a reduction of your sentence, but this offer comes with some steep requirements on your part."
Oh, sure...like that was going to be a major change of pace. Every damn day that had passed since I'd been separated from my loved ones had been filled with events that personified "steep requirements". It was an unreasonable condition that I shared a cell with a loony that wasn't fit to room with anyone, that I had to endure the near constant harassment of Dr. Leonard and her cronies, that I had to endure an existence where I couldn't see, talk to, hold, kiss or make love to a woman that was the center of my world. Hell, I knew all about "steep requirements" and I'd complain about them to my visitors if I thought that they'd give a flying fig, but all things considered, I doubt that I'd find much sympathy with them.
"Your current sentence sits at thirty-five years of incarceration in Arkham Asylum," Miss Dawes continued, flipping through the tome that represented every moment of my life since the first day that I'd walked through the doors of this dump. "Twenty years of that bid was due to your conviction for the bombing that nearly cost me and Harvey Dent our lives. We have a confession from Anthony Rizzuto, signed this morning, where he has accepted responsibility for that crime, admitting that you were framed, so with that charge removed, you're down to fifteen years."
Fifteen years still sounded like a life sentence to me, but for once in my life I did the smart thing and kept my damn mouth shut.
"We have found and seized all of your assets, and after much deliberation, it has been decided that we would make you the offer of incarceration here at Arkham for ten years, requiring that you serve five of those years before parole would be granted."
They found all of my money huh? Well, that was just fine and frickin' dandy. And even the idea of five years, while damn sure better than fifteen, sounded like a hideously long time to be away from my girls. Why would Violet want to hang around, waiting for me, for that long when she had the opportunity for a new life that didn't involve a romance with a psychopath?
"If you accept this deal," Gordon interrupted, seeing this as his moment to take up the reigns of the conversation. "You will be moved to a new cell, a single occupant cell. We have seen the conditions where you've been housed since returning, and it's not fit for human occupation, nor is your roommate suitable for your rehabilitation process. Dr. Leonard has been removed from handling your care and has been replaced by Dr. Weaver. You must participate in counseling three days per week and will perform community service, under direct supervision, of course, to repay your debt to the citizens of Gotham. Any attempts to escape, or any outbursts of violence will make this new deal null and void."
There were some parts of this new deal that sounded primo to me, like the new room and the new doc. Weaver was a crusty old bird, half deaf and crotchety as hell, but compared with Leonard he would be a dream come true. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of the counseling or the community service, but it was expected and I would do it, though the sharing and examination of my feelings seemed like a complete waste of time to me. I also wasn't a fool, I knew that I'd have to be a good little boy, and resist the urge to bring the crazy clown locked inside of me out to play. There was just one thing left in the air, and I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like that part of the deal at all.
"You may communicate with Violet limitlessly through the mail, though I have to tell you that all incoming and outgoing mail will be monitored by me and my officers, so nothing steamy, please. You will be allowed one phone call per week, and will be allowed thirty minutes for your conversations. You will also be allowed one visit with Violet per year, on Christmas Day, which will last for eight hours, but there will be no conjugal time allowed during these visitations. Have you understood everything that I've told you, Mr. Hawkins?"
Did I understand that they'd just offered me the moon and let me bask in its luminosity, only to have them yank it away from me moments later and tell me that I had actually been intended to only receive a Moon Pie? Yeah, I caught that just fine. Letters back and forth, pieces of paper that I couldn't even use to purge my lustful thoughts upon. Thirty minutes of conversation per week...how could I be expected to condense everything I wanted, everything that I needed to say into thirty lousy minutes? And one visit per year, one damned day out of three hundred and sixty five...what the hell was I supposed to do, how was I expected to get through all of those long, lonely days without my Dainty? And the absolute kicker was the fact that I would get to make sweet love to my hand for the next five years...oh joy, oh rapture, happy days have come at last. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to tear at their throats with my teeth, but in my heart I knew that this was the only way. It was the only option, the knowledge that I would suffer for five years for the chance to live happily for a lifetime. Damn, that pissed me off...but what other option did I have?
"Uh...okay Gordo...you've got me," I answered, fighting against the lump that was lodged in my throat. "Where do I put my John Hancock?"
Christmas, Year One
Violet's POV
He's thinner than he was when I'd last seen him, which was no surprise given the gag factor of the slop that they serve in this hellhole. I had went out and bought myself a new dress for this day, a fitted number in the perfect shade of violet, and I knew that I had done well when I saw his eyes light up when I walked into the room provided for us. They'd brought in a Christmas tree and had allowed me to bring dinner for us, my home cooking, which Jack fell upon like a man who'd been starving to death.
It was so hard for us to embrace, to kiss passionately, the flames that were banked within us flaring to life the moment we touched, only to be reminded by a disembodied voice that only minimal intimacy was allowed. How the hell could they expect us to kiss each other's cheeks and hold hands when we'd been away from one another for so long? It had been just as effective of a punishment for me as though they'd locked me up as well, in a separate prison. I couldn't complain about my life with the Gordon family, they were wonderful people who had embraced me into their home as though I shared blood with them. The days were filled with several lonely moments, but it was the nights that were nearly unbearable.
My sister had finally shown some backbone when she recanted her previous testimony and bailed me out. A small part of me had wished that her actions would be enough to mend the rift between us, but it didn't excuse all of her sins. She was now serving time for her own involvement in Rizzuto's schemes, although her ten years probably sounded sweet to him when compared with the forty that he was serving.
"You haven't unwrapped your present yet," Jack whispered, running his hand beneath my hair and baring the back of my neck, running his lips and then his tongue over the sensitive flesh at my nape. I shivered and pressed myself back against him for a few moments and then quickly moved away, knowing that they would feel the need to butt in once more if they saw us getting too familiar.
I crossed the room and picked up the box wrapped in newspaper comic pages, pausing to grin at Jack before I tore the paper off of it. It was a small package, very light, and I gasped with surprise when a lovely bracelet fell out, various shades of purple beads strung on an elastic cord. It was a lovely gift, one that he'd obviously spent a good deal of time on, and I slid it onto my wrist before raising myself onto my tiptoes to hug and kiss him, whispering my thanks for the wonderful present.
"It's just a cheap bracelet," he replied, and I knew that it bothered him that he wasn't able to purchase anything for me, just like I knew that it was sheer Hell for him to be locked in this place. I think he worried that I would tire of waiting for him and find someone new, but that would never happen. There could never be any other man for me, no one but my Jack.
"Are you talking trash about my bracelet, mister?" I asked, striving to make my voice stern and chastising, but failing miserably. "This happens to be a one of a kind collector's piece, I'll have you know. I guess it just goes to show that you have no clue as to the true value of jewelry."
He smiled happily and ran his finger across the bracelet. "I'll remind you of that when I get out of here and bring you cheap, homemade jewelry for gifts, baby girl."
The talk about him getting out reminded us both of how long away that time was, and all of the lonely days that would pass by while we were kept apart, and I felt tears starting up in my eyes, and a lump forming in my throat and I mentally scolded myself, reminding myself that this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that sort of thing.
"Now that I've opened my gift it's time for you to receive yours," I told him, grabbing his hand to pull him over to the present that I have propped against the wall by the Christmas tree. I left him some money in his account, so that he could have funds for things that were considered luxuries in this dump, like sodas and candy bars, but this gift was something that I'd made for him, a homemade present that I'd okayed with the head honchos here at the asylum before bringing it to Jack.
He tore the paper away and once he'd revealed what was inside he sank down onto the sofa, staring at his gift while his lips trembled. That damn near did me in once more, but instead of breaking down, I crossed over to the sofa and sat beside him, laying my head on his shoulder while I hugged him close with my arm.
I'd drawn a picture of our family, me and Jack and Tootsie, sitting in a manner that suggested that we had posed for the portrait. I wasn't the best artist in the world, but I was okay, and judging by the look on Jack's face, I'd say that I'd done a pretty good job.
"Only four more Christmases like this one, Sweetie," I whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek as I held him close to my side. "Then this picture will be a reality and we'll all be together again."