Blpaul—Yeah, it going to get difficult, but I wasn't complaining either. Gary Oldman is amazing!!! Lol
Hannah—Patience is a virtue, remember? It will happen and I hope that it will be as good as I'm imagining it (Yes, I'm getting ahead of myself here=)
LS—Glad that you liked it. Hope your Valentine's Day went well.
Madelineex3—Thank you for the huge compliment. I'm glad that Alex is your fave character. I hope that you continue to love and enjoy it.
Sabre—Yeah, I would never complain about Gordon! The last scene in the movie gave me the idea to do this story, sorta. He's also my fave character; well, besides Bruce, but Gordon is definitely #1. I'm glad that you enjoyed it, despite the language. I know that you have issues with that, and I promise that I will continue to keep the language down to a minimum. I'm think I'm with you on Feb. 14, Sabre. Single and proud!
Bmangaka—Yeah, he vanishes. He's good for that sorta thing, and does it a lot.
Okay, so I don't have much to say about this chapter other than I don't know how long it will be. It may be kind of short, but I am reading the script so that I know the plot line backwards. Wish me luck.
There I was, back in the warehouse. The cold concrete on my knees and the knife in my hand. My hair was hanging down my shoulders, and I stared down at the face of who I was expecting to be Martin. It wasn't; I stared down into the face of my dad. He stared up at me with frantic eyes that were begging me not to do it, and I wouldn't do it. There was no way that I could. I made myself clear.
"No! I won't do it! You can't make me!" I screamed as I stared into the wildly painted face of the Joker.
He smiled, showing his yellowed teeth and laughed. "You're right I can't!" He walked over with another knife and placed it against my neck. "But one of you will… umm…. Die!!" He laughed again.
"No!!" Dad cried out as he reached out towards me. He did the same thing that Martin had done and pulled the knife towards him.
"No! I won't do it!"
Somewhere a distant voice called out to me. "Alex! Alex, wake up!"
My eyes shot open and it was then that I realized that I had been screaming. I snapped my mouth shut and stared at the frantic face of my dad before wrapping my arms around his neck and probably squeezed the air out of him. I was breathing hard, and I could've sworn that I was sobbing even though there were no tears.
Dad held me gently in his arms and stroked my hair. "Shhhh, it's okay," he whispered into my ear.
"Daddy," I whimpered repeatedly.
He kept soothing me until I finally was able to control my breathing and let go of him. I pulled the hair tie from my messy ponytail and ran my fingers through my wavy dark brown hair. I closed my eyes and tried to completely rid myself of the dream, but it didn't work. I heard Dad pull a chair around so that he could face me; the screeching of the chair against the concrete floor was a horrible sound. Dad took my hand in one of his and pulled my chin so that I would face him with his other. My eyes were still closed, but I could picture his face clearly. I slowly opened my eyes and stared into his. A silent understanding went between us through our eyes; well, I knew that he knew that I had been having a nightmare. He didn't question it; he just squeezed my hand.
"Daddy," I breathed as he got up from the chair and closed the door.
"Alex, it's gonna be okay," he assured.
"But, Dad," I protested as I began to regain my composure, "it wasn't Martin in the dream. It was you."
Dad was silent. He had set his jaw hard. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or trying to keep from crying. He wrapped his arms around me. "It's okay. I'm still here; it was just a dream. I'm still here," he assured in my ear.
I nodded and pulled back from the hug. I pulled my hair back and began looking from the case file from the robbery the night before. I tried to ignore my dad's piercing stare. He hadn't left, and he was still staring at me. I turned my head to see him sitting with his hands folded and elbows on his knees. He stared at me through his glasses. "What?" I demanded.
He shook his head. "Just thinking."
"Lame excuse," I laughed, but I let it go. "What are you up to today?"
"I got a meeting with Dent about hitting all the banks," he answered.
"Two-face," I growled. "Be careful, Dad, and send my love," I groaned sarcastically.
Dad laughed. "Maybe that's why he asked to make sure that you weren't coming."
"Yeah, I 'cause I got more balls than he does," I laughed.
Dad glared. "C'mon, Al, watch the language," he scolded.
I rolled my eyes. "You know it's true."
He shrugged in defeat. "That may be, but still."
"Get outta here, Dad!" I joked. "Go have fun with our masquerade friend."
He laughed as he got up and walked out the door. Before he closed it, "Don't cause too much trouble." He walked through the office to the elevator and descended to the floor.
I smiled as I grabbed the case file from last night's robbery. It wasn't as thick as the rest of the file on the Joker; yet, still we had nothing on the guy called "the Joker". I pulled out the other pictures that we had of the Joker and compared them. I shivered at the same demonic look he had on his face in every picture. He just looked totally deranged. I shuffled all the pictures into a stack and put them in a place on my desk. I began to compare what had happened, like how things were planned out. They were different every time. It seemed as though, this time, the bank manager got in the way. Of course, it was, mostly, a mob bank, and the manager probably knew it. I shook my head as I put the files down. Being the hero in a hostage situation never worked out, unless you were the police, with backup, otherwise, it just didn't work. No fingerprints were ever left behind, I noted as I continued comparing files.
There was a knock on the door breaking my concentration.
"Come in!" I called as I placed the files in the basket on my desk.
The door opened and Johnson poked his head in. "Hey, Alex." He opened the door all the way and came in. He sat down across from me.
"What's up?" I wondered.
He sighed and pulled out a picture from behind his back. "I thought you said that he wasn't involved." He pushed the picture across the desk.
I looked at the picture of Billy, the kid with the Southern drawl and that "Aww shucks" attitude. I mentally kicked myself, but I still felt like being a smart aleck and pulling out my own picture of Billy's dead body. "Yeah, I know what I said," I settled for instead.
"So why the Hell did we find him at a crime scene with a clown mask on?!" he yelled as he jammed his finger into the picture. He wasn't sitting anymore.
"Sit down!" I ordered.
He sheepishly sat down, obviously embarrassed about his outburst. "Sorry, Sergeant."
I sighed. "Don't be, just make sure it doesn't happen again."
He stared at me. "What about this Billy kid?" He gestured to the picture again.
"We make mistakes," I stated. "Some cops lose their badge, some their life, and others just go on living with that mistake."
Johnson nodded slowly. "I guess it doesn't really matter now, does it?"
"No, not really."
He got up, tore the picture, and left.
The door was shut, leaving me back to my filing.
Okay, it's short!!! I know, and I apologize! Hopefully the next one will be longer. School's getting to the point where it's all that consumes my mind since it's the end of the year. Sorry that it's short, and I hope that it was good. Remember: little button that says "Review." Click it please =)