Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything Batman related. I believe DC comics does.
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My right hand squeezes my clutch purse anxiously as the elevator to Bruce Wayne's penthouse climbs skyward.
Our destination: Harvey Dent's fundraiser.
Tonight, I feel confident.
Beautiful even.
I look downward to view my light gold strapless dress. It is short, maybe to the top of the knee or mid-thigh and flows around me when I walk. The dress is ruffled dramatically in the front and some of the ruffled strips are longer than the others, giving it a divine appeal. My hair is pinned up in a loose curly bun with a thin gold hair band that runs through it. A few loose curls hang down to frame my face with my bangs.
Nothing can ruin tonight.
However, I soon realized earlier that I could not ride Ilia's bike due to the fact that I am wearing a dress. Thankfully, Gordon was kind enough to drive me.
"Are you excited?" I ask Damien.
He smiles, "Seems like you are."
I grin at him through pink lips.
"You look so cute," he says teasingly.
"Thanks," I pause and look at his cheery face, "for inviting me."
"Any time," He laughs. It is hard to believe that this man is a board member for Wayne Enterprises.
The elevator door opens to an aural room filled with the corrupted wealth of Gotham. Men and women finely dressed mingle and chatter with one another.
This place is enormous.
Bright decorative lights glimmer throughout its entire span and trickle onto us as we enter. Hues of caramel, brown and light gold are all brought to life by the displays of luminosity. The flooring is tile, giving the air an acoustic sound effect when feet pitter-patter upon it. Dappled about there are tables draped with white cloth that either have food or wine glasses. All of the windows on the far side are floor to ceiling that allows one to stare out into the city. There is a door that leads outside to a fine balcony and another that leads out to what I believe is a helicopter landing pad.
Bruce Wayne's penthouse pulses luxury.
"Come on," Damien says, stepping away from me, "I want you to meet some people."
Now, when Damien said, "Some" I guess I took it too literally. For the next hour or so, I am shaking hands with some of his business associates and their plastic doll dates as well.
My face hurts from fake smiling.
Many of the men that I meet ask Damien for my name while giving me suggestive side glances. When they do this, I want to haul out and hook them in the side of the head. I find it kind of funny when Damien says, "Eva Duren," some of them get a frightened look while others are completely oblivious as to what goes on inside of Gotham. I would bet my life that many of the guests that are here tonight do not even watch the news.
Welcome to the high life of Gotham.
Ignorance is bliss.
Damien soon allows me to mingle freely. I let out a silent sigh of relief and make my way awkwardly over to a table with champagne glasses. When I get to the table I discover to that the glasses are clean and empty. There is not a champagne bottle in sight. Disappointed, I decide to go and find Damien. As I turn on my heel I am surprised to find an older man with snowy white hair standing behind me with a platter of filled champagne glasses. He is dressed in formal attire, a black suit. His polished black dress shoes reflect the amber light.
"By my judgments Miss, I would say that you would be looking for one of these," he smiles and fluidly hands me a glass.
He has an accent.
British perhaps?
"Thank you," I say to him and take his offering tenderly.
"You are very welcome, if I may ask, are you enjoying yourself?"
"Oh, I am thank you," I say to him and he smiles satisfactorily.
"I am pleased to hear that Miss. Master Wayne will be arriving shortly," he smiles and leaves with a polite nod.
I make my way back into the gossiping mass of wealthy humanity. However, a familiar face catches my eye.
Harvey Dent.
He and I make eye contact. When he reaches me, he holds out a large firm hand for me to shake. I grasp it with my own and I feel as if my small thin hand is shrinking in his.
"Hello Eva," he says almost apologetically, "How have things been?"
"Okay," I lie.
I can feel my cheeks flushing.
Great.
"And you?" I rebound the question.
"Good. My uh, office and I have been doing everything we can to build a case against the Joker," he says, his tone is now low and serious.
"Thank you," I say honestly.
"Hey Harvey," I turn to see who is calling his name. It is Rachel Dawes, the attorney that I had met in Dent's office two and a half weeks ago. She is wearing a lengthy green dress that adorns her curvy figure appealingly.
"There are some people who want to meet you," she says to him, turning her head flirtatiously to the side.
He sighs and runs a nervous hand through his blond hair.
"Okay," he says to Rachel and then focuses his attention back on me, "Take care Eva."
"Thanks you too," and with that he leaves.
Uncomfortably, I stand alone for about five minutes, sipping at my champagne. I have no idea where Damien is, so I decide to look for him. Eventually I find him chatting with a balding man and a vixen of a woman.
"Hey Damien," I say when he is done talking to grab his attention.
He slowly turns his head and faces me.
"Hey. Are you having a good time?"
"Yep."
"That's good. By the way, when he gets here, I'd like you to meet my boss."
"Um okay."
"He'll be here," Damien pauses and the sound of helicopter rotors coming from the outside fills the room, "I guess now."
All eyes are glued to the helicopter pad that can be seen through the floor to ceiling glass windows. A black helicopter lands and within a few moments an attractive man wearing a dress suit pops out of the helicopter's door. His brown hair waves madly due to the gust of wind from the rotors. He turns around to face the door again and one by one pulls out three beautiful women.
It is almost like watching a magician pulling rabbits out of a black hat.
He wraps his large arms around two of their waists while the third one tags along by linking arms with one of the others.
Say hello to the prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne.
They arrive at the door and enter extravagantly with the helicopter chopping off into the air above Gotham.
Wayne detaches himself from his posse of estrogen and makes his way to the center of the wide eyed crowd. He speaks out to Harvey Dent, who is currently holding a champagne glass in what looks like a nervous hand. Wayne then calls out for Rachel Dawes; she shifts uncomfortably and has an agitated look on her face as words of mocking praise for Dent pour out of Wayne's mouth.
"And you know what?" Wayne concludes, "I believe in Harvey Dent."
Everyone claps.
Including me.
Wayne then makes his way out of the center of the crowd and heads for the snowy haired man. Wayne taps him on the shoulder with the back of his fingers and then leans close as if he is trying to whisper something; he motions his hand in a circular motion at the crowd and then reaches for a glass of champagne.
Damien then begins to tug me in the direction of Wayne. I do not fight him, but internally I am.
A hot shot like Wayne?
Er… No.
Defiantly no.
We are getting closer.
Wayne looks up, raises his eyebrows and smiles at Damien. He then starts to walk in our direction, meeting us halfway.
"Glad you could make it," Wayne says holding out a firm hand for Damien to shake.
Damien takes it.
There has been a lot of handshaking here tonight.
"Yeah, thanks for inviting me Bruce," Damien replies with gratitude.
Bruce? I guess they are more than just co-workers.
I guess it makes sense, Wayne and Damien must be close in age, it is logical that they would bond.
"You uh, you think you could hook me up with one of those models?" Damien almost pleads to Wayne when he asks this. Now on normal circumstances I would not be offended, in fact I may even laugh, but the fact that we are at a party and I am considered a date, that was just such an asinine thing to say.
Wayne's attention turns to me.
"Well, it looks like you've already found one," Wayne says to me while holding out a hand, "and this is?"
I blush.
Wayne's eyes flicker to Damien and he smiles.
"Eva Duren," I say as his hand envelopes around mine.
He seems completely oblivious like many of others here tonight who have not recognized my name from the Joker tape.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he smiles.
Wow, he is handsome.
"Likewise."
I can feel my cheeks heating up like red hot coals in a scalding fire pit.
"Well," Wayne says to Damien while letting go of my hand, "I'll see you on Monday but if you don't mind," he says nodding to me, smiling imperfectly.
I nod in reply as he walks off into the crowd of rich leeches. I cannot help but think to myself that being Wayne, a pampered playboy, is probably a lot harder than people give his simple nature credit for.
Oh well.
Not.
Something then catches my attention; my purse is vibrating. My phone inside my purse is vibrating. I want to let out a dramatic sigh, but I do not. Whenever my phone rings nowadays, I know that it cannot be good. I open the clutch and feel my brows knit with anxiety when I see the number.
Gordon.
"Hello?"
"Hello Eva," his voice sounds like radio static, "We've got a problem. We believe that the Joker has made a threat against the lives of Harvey Dent, Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo. I want you to help get Dent out of there, but don't make a scene, got it?"
I swallow a lump of stress.
"Yeah, I got it."
"Alright, Wuertz will be coming up to help you. Outside there will be other units waiting to transport Dent out of there, you leave with him too."
"Okay."
"Call me when you've got Dent secured," Gordon then hangs up and I go to try and find Dent. I struggle to push the thoughts out of my mind about how I am going to explain this to Damien. I know I do not have the time to think about that right now.
As I search I see the light atop the elevator light up signaling that someone is coming.
Relief swirls inside me.
I approach the elevator through the crowd and watch it tick to the final floor, my floor.
The doors open.
Wuertz is standing in the middle of the elevator, holding up his gold GPD Detective badge.
But something is wrong.
Very very wrong.
I notice several men behind him are wearing masks.
Clown masks.
Oh god.
I sidestep into the crowd to not be seen.
Wuertz is thrown forward and falls flat on his unresponsive face.
In his place is the man that has haunted my dreams and made me once again afraid to walk alone in Gotham at night.
He stole Ilia's life and my freedom.
Everything seems to slow.
Part of me wants to murder this man and the other tells me to run.
His face contorts itself underneath the scars that mar him and the greasepaint he slathers on in several emotions that I cannot read.
He is something incomprehensible and horrifying down to every gritty fiber.
The Joker.
"We made it," he bellows sardonically.
He steps into the room, raises a purple gloved hand that holds up a large shotgun and fires a round into the ceiling.
This ensues in a quiet panic.
Tension begins to suck the air from my lungs.
"Good evening ladies and gentleme-n."
He and his monsters fan out at the entrance of the room and start to spread out like a hungry pack of ravenous wolves. I feel petrified in the frozen crowd.
"We are," the Joker pauses to reach for a shrimp from one of the white tables, "tonight's entertainment."
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A/N: I am sorry to everyone who is an avid reader that I had not updated at my usual pace but school once again interfered with my updating. Thanks a bunch for all of you who have reviewed! I love to hear all of your feedback!