Disclaimer: I do not own Batman the Dark Knight or anything related to The Dark Knight (including quotes) or Batman. I believe DC Comics and Warner Bros. does.
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"I only have one question," the Joker says while chewing at a bit of stolen shrimp cabob, "Where is Harvey Dent?"
No one responds.
Something then clicks inside my mind; the Joker does not know I am here.
He is asking for Dent.
Not me.
Quickly, I contemplate the odds that are stacked against me. Calling for backup on my phone will draw attention so that is out of the question. I also am not armed so trying to put the Joker and his cronies at bay would be very unintelligent. I decide to walk slowly, very slowly, through the crowd in a covert attempt to find Dent and escape.
Using the Joker's unawareness to my advantage, I slink slowly through the crowd like a panther in search of her prey. My eyes watch the men in clown masks to make sure that they do not notice me. When I find Dent, I have got to get him out of here.
Fast.
In my mind I pray that back up will be sent here. Then another thing comes to mind and that is if the Joker got in, then somehow he subdued the other cops outside.
I watch the Joker saunter up to some of the guests, threatening them at gunpoint and occasionally cuffing them on the cheeks as if to force them to ooze information on Dent's whereabouts.
My heart is beating so fast.
My eyes search the vicinity for Dent but no matter how hard I strain them, I cannot find him. I stop and stand like a mannequin in a glass box to watch the Joker. He approaches an older balding man nearby with glasses.
"You know," The Joker says as he snatches the man's food from his hand, "I'll settle for his loved ones."
The Joker pops the food into his scarred mouth.
"We're not intimidated by thugs," the man defies.
Bad move.
The Joker's face twists in contrived confused.
"You know," he grumbles and slams his shotgun down onto the nearest white clothed table, "You remind me of my father."
The Joker flicks out a switchblade and grabs the gentleman. He uses his free hand to savagely cup the back of his head and the other to poise the switchblade skillfully by his mouth.
Anger starts to tighten its hands around my soul's throat. As I watch the Joker cradle this man's life, it makes me think of what happened when he grabbed Ilia and shoved his knife into her face.
I am about to intervene.
I start to shove through the back of the crowd until another being gets the same idea.
"Okay stop."
The voice is feminine and I have heard it before this evening.
Rachel Dawes.
She steps out of the cowering crowd.
Her arms are crossed in a confrontational manner but I can tell that she is afraid.
The Joker sinuously hands the balding man over to his masked helpers. He then turns his full attention to Rachel and starts to walk towards her in an awkward gait.
"Well hell-o beautiful," the Joker coos while sarcastically trying to slick his stringy hair back. He then points his knife at her accusingly, "You must be Harvey's sq-uheeze."
He waltzes up to her.
"And you are beautiful," he says gruffly, almost to himself as his eyes roam over her timid form.
He circles around her like a hungry shark.
She shies away in disgust.
"You look nervous. Is it the scars?" The Joker asks innocent and sincerely while motioning to his face, "You wanna know how I got 'em?"
He motions with his hand for her to come to him as he mumbles for her to do so.
She does not move.
Fear glows off of her.
Rage boils inside of me.
I want to run out there and beat the living shit out of him with my small knobby fists. To watch him slither a gloved hand behind Rachel's head while the other situates itself by her mouth to press the blade by tinted lips makes me sick. All I can hear is the pounding of blood in my ears and the Joker struggles to keep Rachel in a firm grasp as he tells her his story of how he was marred. If I had a gun, I would take my chances and hope that the GPD would send more units down here. That way I could get him out of the building and into a little padded cell.
Hopefully.
If not, the consequences would be horrifying.
Rachel knees him in his crotch and he sleuths off of her panting and laughing.
"A little fight in you," he says gripping the knife tighter and then motioning to himself as he draws near her again, "I like that."
"Then you're going to love me."
Appearing like a phantom the Batman powerfully hooks the Joker in the head. He staggers and falls backward before regaining his ground. Many of the clowns rush toward him in a fearful aid and attempt to fight the Batman.
Good luck.
Not.
As I watch feeling numb with anger and fear, my eyes refuse to move away from the horrific scene. The Batman's cape flourishes in satin black ripples as his body twists in the ballet of battle.
The Joker struggles to keep up, but I can tell he is enjoying it. His tongue wags out like a tired dog in entertained frustration as he tosses what is left of his masked men at the invincible Batman. I watch one of the men attempt to pull out a small handgun however the Batman sends the gun flying out of his grasp with a sickening crunch to the forearm.
The gun slides out of the tumble.
It spins around freely on the cold milky tile.
Seeing it as my only chance of getting any leverage, I rush out to seize it.
No one notices me.
Not even the Batman or the Joker.
When I reach the gun I tenderly pick it up and retract back into the crowd. I check the magazine and find that it is full.
Good.
Nevermind.
I look up to discover that the Joker holding Rachel with one strong purple sleeved arm nearby a window.
He holds a small handgun to her head.
She struggles in his powerful grasp.
"Drop the gun," Batman growls.
"Yeah sure and you just take off your little mask and show us all who you really are," the Joker retorts wittily and lets out a short guttural laugh. He then shoots a round behind him, blowing out the clear glass.
The Joker then dangles Rachel out the window.
Shit.
"Let her go," Batman snarls.
The Joker squints at him before answering, "Very poor choice of words."
He laughs a disgusting cackle and releases Rachel to plummet down to the unforgiving streets of Gotham.
Batman dives after her like a black angel into the night.
The Joker runs out of the way and giddily busts out in a fit out throaty laughter. All of his men lay scattered unconscious throughout Wayne's party room due to the beating from the Batman.
I turn the safety off the gun and lock my elbows.
The perfect shooters stance.
I approach the Joker.
The gun is aimed at his greasy head.
He looks up and the giddy demeanor fades.
The Joker recognizes me.
"Put your hands behind your head."
He smirks to himself and does so.
"Walk towards the elevator. Do not turn around."
He complies as I trail behind him, gun pointed at his head.
As we walk through the room to reach the elevator no one speaks a single word.
They all just stare.
When we reach the elevator, I order the Joker to stand by the door with his hands still on his head.
I punch in the DOWN button.
The doors open.
"Walk to the back of the elevator and keep your hands above your head. Face the wall and do not turn around."
He complies wordlessly but somehow I get a feeling that there is a simper on his painted face.
I step in the elevator, only to let my guard down once to punch in the ground floor button.
This is perhaps the worst mistake I could have ever made.
The Joker whips around and grabs me in a headlock.
As the doors close, I see Damien; his face is plastered in disbelief and fear.
The doors slam shut.
A purple gloved hand wrestles me for the gun.
He gets a hold of it and attempts to yank it from my hands.
Shit.
Thinking fast with my trigger finger, I empty the magazine into the floor. The sound of all of the gunshots is deafening and my ears ring in pain.
No more bullets, sorry pal.
I drop the gun.
The Joker still holds me in a headlock and begins to constrict.
I croak for air.
"Sush sush," he whines gruffly in my ear.
I struggle.
He releases me and I crumple in a heap at his feet. The Joker kicks me off him and I slam into the wall of the elevator.
The whole capsule rattles like a bird cage.
My entire backside and head throb.
I lay motionless.
Only my brown eyes follow his every move.
The Joker spins around on his heel and picks up the gun that lies frozen on the cold hard floor. Turning back to me, he squats to my level with the empty gun in hand. The Joker scrutinizes it with fake interest and then turns to face me with his head cocked unnervingly. His green tinged hair shadows his white oily face and his eyes smolder with menace.
"Naugh-ty," he whispers gutturally through crimson scarred lips and pats the gun on his free palm.
I turn my head away from him. I am horribly disgusted by him and infuriated with myself that I was foolish enough to mess up.
"Look at me."
No.
The Joker then delivers a backhand to my cheek.
It stings.
I roll my eyes back over to meet his.
"Good girl," he says pleased.
"Fuck you."
"Hm," he grunts, mouth twisting in disgust, "You've got a naughty mouth too."
I can feel my body regaining stability and I make a quick, pitiful attempt to crawl away from him. He scoops an arm under me, wrapping it around my stomach and flips me onto my back.
The tile in the elevator is ever so unforgiving.
I bit my lower lip to keep from crying, however I do not know if it is from the fear or pain.
He straddles my waist and pins my hands under his knees. I can feel his long purple coat drape over my thin legs.
Dread pumps adrenaline through my freezing veins.
I struggle but he grins in amusement above me.
He flicks out a switchblade.
Please.
"I want you to call off your boys," he groans as I writhe beneath him. The Joker snakes his fingertips to the back of my neck while tilting up my chin with his thumb. He then rests the knife atop the soft flesh of my neck.
"Don't," I whimper on the verge of tears.
He licks his lips and bears his teeth for I continue to thrash about. I can feel pressure being applied to the blade threateningly.
I stop.
"Call 'em off," he orders.
"Who?" I desperately choke out.
"You're cops," he says stretching out the last word while rolling his eyes.
"I don't, I, please, I don't know... I didn't talk to them, it's just..." I whimper.
"What? It's just, what?" He mocks in a sympathetic voice.
"Me," I murmur to him.
"You just couldn't wait to handle me on your own, could you?" He says huskily.
The Joker's tongue snakes out to massage one of his grotesque scars.
A large firm lump of trepidition tightens in my throat.
The knife is still held steady.
I feel his gloved hand jerk away from my neck and travel down to my side. His fingers knead the flesh through my dress until he finds what he is searching for.
I gasp and feel the electric pulse of excruciating pain surge throughout my small form.
My bullet wound.
It is healed, but not entirely.
"I remember this," his grins.
I yelp and squeeze my eyes shut as he pinches hard.
"Please," I beg, "stop."
He dips his head low and snarls, "No."
His vulgar scent drips into my sinuses.
Internally I gag.
My eyes snap open and tears burn their corners. A white hot pain stabs at my side as the Joker continuously manipulates the mutilated flesh.
"S-stop!" I scream, "I-I don't know if they're here. I don't..."
"Prom-ise?" He says skeptically turning his head to stare at me out of the corner of his sinister eyes.
"Yes!" I scream through a desperate but honest sob.
He bursts out into a horrible hearty laugh as I weep like a child under him.
"Y-you are so much fun, Eva," he sputters out amongst his jovial laughs.
"Stop it," I squeal.
"Y'know, I might, uh, just have to keep ya around a little longe-r," he says dragging out the longer.
I want to ask him why, but I already know.
He wants a chase.
A game.
Ding.
The elevator doors open.
He dismounts me and stands up, brushing the front part of his coat with his purple gloved hands. With a flick of the wrist he snaps his small switchblade closed and shoves it back into his pocked. The Joker stares down at me with a wicked grin crackles across his face. He picks me up like a rag-doll by my forearms and stares into my eyes. I want to shrink away into oblivion I am so scared. His eyes narrow and he throws me headfirst into the wall of the elevator. My vision flickers and then comes back to reality. I watch deliriously as the Joker waltzes into what I am guessing is the main lobby to Bruce Wayne's penthouse. It has the same golden color scheme as the fundraiser room I was just in. At the far side, there is a security guard, dead. I feel sick to my stomach when I see that his brains have been sprayed against the wall behind him from a gunshot to the head. The place is vacant and I can see that the glass doors have bullet holes.
The Joker turns back to me and cocks his head inquisitively while he tightens his tie.
I try to sit up and crawl to the farthest side of the elevator.
Away from him.
I can hear my heart pounding through my head.
His eyes darken and he sucks in his bottom lip.
"I had fun tonight," he says very seriously while nodding his head slowly.
I simply stare, terrified.
With that he turns around and walks out of the lobby. I know that it would be foolish to chase after him. Through the broken glass doors, I see a white van with tinted windows pull up. The Joker exits and leaps into the van.
I watch it speed away and disappear into the greasy nighttime streets of Gotham.
He escaped and it is my entire fault.
The elevator doors slam closed.
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A/N: Okay, wow, I took a very long time to update, but I hope I did not disappoint any of you! Please review and be as honest as possible about this chapter! Thanks for all of you who have reviewed in the past, it means the world to me when I receive them.