Chapter Three- Indebted to a Clown

Johnston had told him he was scheduled to be transferred at 3.15 the following morning to Arkham, and he had not taken the news lightly.

He spat, hissed and cursed at her, threatening unrepeatable violence's that he would bestow on her when he escaped; violence's so severe they would have made even James Gordon quiver with fear. Not Nurse Johnston though. She left the room with a smug smile on her face, and the Joker was left in his bed red faced and panting heavily from rage. He hadn't found her pressure point yet, and it was beginning to infuriate him.

I could've told him that her dead husband was her weakness, but that would have been far too easy. Besides, he wouldn't have liked me giving the game away. He lived for a challenge. And Johnston's tough exterior was the only thing preventing his thoughts from straying back to fulfilling his promise of torturing me- I wasn't going to ruin my only chance of escaping from the hospital unscathed.

He directed his anger at me when he noticed my stare, "Say something. I dare you."

I hesitated before telling him what I was thinking about. It had been relaying on my mind for the past few days now, but I wasn't sure if it would be appreciated. But with the Joker, you never could tell.

Yesterday, I had told him that Batman had retired- the news told everyone that he was on the run from Gordon's men after he had murdered the virtuous Harvey Dent. The Joker was supposed to be pleased with the news given most of Gotham thought they were nemesis', but he wasn't. He seethed, burning holes into my head as if I had been the one who ordered Batman to be hunted down like a feral dog.

I guessed that the tabloids were true- perhaps the Joker and Batman were in alliance all along.

It seemed a little far fetched though. After all, why would Batman beat him to a pulp if the whole time they were in unison? Nothing in Gotham was ever straightforward, everything was as twisted as the people who lived in it.

I decided to tell him. I had nothing else better to do with my time.

"In Japan, they accidentally caught this huge Great White Shark- you know? And instead of letting it go free to terrorise all the seals, or killing it right then and selling its body parts to be put in soup, or make into those stupid shark-tooth necklaces- the ones surfers love- they sold it to an aquarium."

The Joker stared at me blankly, confusion taking over his rage and diluting it's poison down into oblivion.

I took his silence as a sign to continue, "SeaWorld once tried to keep a Great White, but they released it sixteen days later. Monterey Bay Aquarium managed to beat this record, holding a Great White for one hundred and ninety-eight days before having to release it. MBA kept five other Great White, each one had to get released, and then they stopped. They fed some bullshit story to the press about public pressure, but the truth is animals like that can't be captured.

"Orcas are similar. When they get captured their fin flops over, and they go mad. Hell. Some go crazy enough that they kill their trainers. Great Whites go a step further. They'll swim into glass to hurt themselves. They'll even refuse to eat. The Shark in Japan? They managed to keep it for three days. Then it died."

The Joker frowned, "What's the uh point of all this?"

I couldn't tell if his eyes help a flicker of annoyance or faint amusement at the randomness of my speech. I supposed that it was the former- it was doubtful the Joker cared much about any animal other than Bats.

"The point is," I sighed, irritated with myself for wasting my breath on somebody who wasn't interested. "That some animals aren't meant to be contained. Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?"

His face morphed from blankness into his signature grin.

"If you wanted to say you'd help me escape you could've just come out and said it." He rolled his eyes to the back of his head causing his eyelids to flicker rapidly, and he licked his scars. "I didn't need a whole metaphoric allegory about sharks."

I snapped, shifting my anger at myself onto him.

"Help you?" I scoffed, feeling my eyes bulge out of their sockets. "I was taking pity on you! I don't give a flying-"

"PITY!" He roared.

My mouth snapped shut, and I looked at him expecting to be faced with a psychotic wrath of fury for the unwanted empathy. Instead I was met with the opposite.

The Joker had tears streaming down his face from choking on his laughter. Real tears. It was enough to mistake anyone into believing the psycho could feel anything other than anger and hate. But at that moment I didn't care. I felt a flood of heat as my face turned red from embarrassment, which soon altered into resentment- both at myself for revealing my feelings, but mainly at him from finding them so hilarious.

I figured I was the first person to ever feel sympathy for the Devil, and now I wanted to take it all back and shove it up his-

An unfamiliar Guard slammed the door open with the sole of his foot, and it banged loudly against the wall- silencing the laughter as the Joker turned his head to look at the new figure with faint curiosity. I learnt a few things to be true about the Joker from sleeping in the same room as him- it never took him long to get bored. He was like a spoilt toddler. As soon as something new and shinier came along, all his interest shifted and he forgot all about his old toys which now lay on the dirt. I wasn't complaining though. It meant when we finally parted ways he'd forget all about me and our time together in a matter of minutes. It meant I would survive.

His new toy's face was contorted with annoyance, and the scar which ran from his eyebrow and ended above his cheekbone helped to magnify his clear irritation. I supposed that the scar made him constantly look tough and angry, or perhaps that was just his personality judging from the fact he was holding onto a black pistol tightly and naturally, as if it was an extension of his hand.

"What's with all the noise?" The stranger's voice was gruff from smoking too many cigarettes and drinking cheap booze. My dad's voice had been the same.

"Who are you?" I asked Authoritative figures always made me instantly suspicious, it was a side effect from growing up in the Narrows.

From my bed near the corner of the room I could smell the overpowering odour of bourbon, a smell I was deeply familiar with growing up. He had been drinking recently and was still slightly intoxicated, although his big build meant it hardly affected his movement- it still affected his behaviour.

He was an angry drunk- yet another thing I was familiar with growing up.

My father would have gotten along with this man.

The Guard ignored me and repeated his first question, this time louder and more aggressively- "What's with all the noise?"

"I heard a very funny joke." The Joker grinned, his eyes momentarily bouncing back to me before investigating this newer, more entertaining toy who looked like a life-sized Action Man- complete with the facial scar.

The Guard looked between the two of us, his frustration growing. He was hoping we'd give him a fight- that much was evident. A lot of officers and wardens choose their job in Gotham for the blood lust. They could get just as much action as they would on the streets, only they'd be getting it completely legally and without consequences. That was one of the main reasons nobody in the Narrows trusted them, we were easy pickings- nobody cared if we went missing. It wasn't hard to tell that he was one of those kinds. I had a radar for them, and currently it was flailing red.

He hesitated before putting his gun back into his holster, but knew it was the right decision in case he got tempted to use it- and he was already tempted enough.

"Keep it down. I don't get paid enough for this shit." His angry eyes flicked between the two of us, daring us to test him. The Joker was staying eerily quiet, still examining the new man. Something about him, which was invisible to me, had peaked his interest greatly.

I took his challenge, the public nature of the hospital had given me confidence. If I was on the street, I'd probably have bolted from the scene.

"Where's Cash?" I demanded, trying to mirror his harsh tones. Without a deep voice it was difficult to sound menacing, I just came across like a snappy chihuahua which was far too big for its boots.

His cold gaze deepened, he wasn't expecting the rise especially not from me. "Dealing with a reptile problem. Gordon's allowed him to take a break from playing caretaker."

My eyebrows lowered- what did reptiles have to do with anything?

The stranger saw my confusion and smirked, satisfied to know something I didn't. It was as if I was back in a playground and he was chanting 'I know something you don't know', completely immature but was successful in pissing me off. I looked towards the Joker whose face remained expressionless, perhaps he knew.

The Guard turned to leave but the Joker's comment caused him to pause.

"If you're ever in need of a pay rise- you know where to find me!" He chortled.

The nameless Guard slammed the door shut on his way out, the sound vibrating the wall and shaking the TV.

"Reptile problem?" I hissed, annoyed about being out of the loop.

The Joker made the motion of a shrug- due to his constraints he could only jerk his shoulder blades a centimetre or two high.

"I think Cash must be investi-gator-ing something."

I looked at him in disbelief as he grinned wickedly at me, he was definitely hiding something.

The Nurses brought the Joker in some morphine on a drip which allowed him to control how much he felt he needed, which would limit the amount of visits they had to pay him as they didn't have to constantly ask how his pains were doing. Ever since the 'Doctor White Puking Incident', all Nurses- but Johnston, of course- were on high alert for Joker's torments. If he so much as coughed they'd flee from the room, scared they would suffer the same fate. Originally, it had been amusing to watch his hold over the weak-minded Nurses, but now it had grown old and I had become disgusted at their patheticness rather than amused.

The Joker hadn't given himself any morphine yet, despite every so often letting out a few grunts and wheezed from his cracked ribcage- his pain tolerance was through the roof, and I was eyeing the bag up jealously.

I stared at the crystal clear liquid in the bag, and fantasied about how easy it would be just to reach over with my free hand and take it. The drug was like a siren, and deep down I knew I would have to get control over my acute addiction before it sang me to shipwreck.

"You've uh, got a little bit of drool." The Joker snapped me out of imagination and back into reality.

"What? Um." I wiped my free hand across my mouth, stupidly checking for spit.

Of course, he had lied- there wasn't any drool. My angry gaze caused him to erupt into more giggles.

"You know," He started after he had calmed down again. "I knew there was something fishy about my pain when I woke up. I didn't think the Nurses here were satanic enough to deny a sick man his medicine. But I never expected there to be a Morphine Thief in the hospital!"

"Shut up." I looked down, feeling guilty about my dirty habit. I didn't give a shit about causing him pain- my guilt was purely self-centred.

Druggies is Gotham were the lowest of the low. They were street rats who lived in squalor to pay for their insatiable need, they were vermin who would kill their own family for a fix. And I desperately did not want to join their ranks, or even be classed as one. The only people looked down upon more than junkies, were snitches. I couldn't have allow my family to have a prostitute, a snitch, and a druggie, in it. I was far too proud, even if they weren't. At least not anymore.

He ignored me, as always, and continued. "By denying you what you want most but shouldn't have- I'm actually doing you a favour. You should be thankful. In fact, I think you owe me."

"I don't owe you jack shit," I spat, defiant. "Besides, who said I wanted it? Cause I don't."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" He tsked. "You looked at that bag, like some of my men look at the whores on the street corner. It ain't pretty. Get a hold of your addiction, before it gets a hold of you."

"I don't have an-"

He hushed me, grinning like a buffoon which was fitting I supposed.

I never thought a day would come where I'd be receiving lifestyle advice from a clown.

My pride meant I would refuse to admit to anyone (especially the Joker) that I had a problem, but the truth was that it had become an issue. My back was cold with sweat from withdrawal symptoms, and it didn't help the drug I craved was within reaching distance. My mind replayed the fantasy where I took the thing I was yearning for on a loop. It was giving me a migraine, and I needed my full wits about me whilst I dealt with the sadist in the bed a few metres away from mine.

The clown didn't speak again for a while, but when he did his voice was softer and edging towards sympathetic. His shift in nature was completely unnerving. He was up to something, anybody would be smart enough to work that out. Compassion wasn't in his vocabulary.

"So why'd ya do it?" He asked.

My eyes narrowed from lack of trust, "Well I was bored, and it was in the room."

He rolled his eyes in return, slow and dramatic. "Not take my morphine. Why'd you try off yourself?"

"Oh!" I stumbled, nobody- not even the Doctors- had asked me this question. I was completely caught off guard.

Most people can't be bothered hearing a depressing sob story, not when they're so focussed on their own lives. Who cared about the lonely girl who wanted to die? Not one soul. But apparently the Joker was interested, maybe from boredom or- I was stumped. I honestly had no idea why he wanted to know.

"Don't spare any of the gory details- I live for that kind of thing."

Morbid fascination, I concluded.

I contemplated not telling him. He was probably trying to manipulate me, especially now he knew that some sick and twisted sense of sympathy had brewed up inside of me. But then again, I was bored- he was bored. We might as well attempt to have a conversation, right?

So with my common sense scrambled like an egg from my mind needing a fix, I idiotically decided it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if I told him. How naive I was.

"I did it cause I hate the Wayne Family."

Silence.

"Err- what?" It was the Joker's turn to be stumped, my statement was completely out-of-the-blue even a psychic would have been baffled.

I explained it for him, my voice not bothering to hide the bitter resentment I felt inside which had grown so strong it would have been futile to mask anyway. Hatred has a pungent scent, and dogs like the Joker had the noise to sniff it right to the source.

"Well the wonderful Wayne Foundation decided last year to help redevelop the roughest areas in the Narrows- to 'give back to society'." my tone had become mocking. "Their redevelopment plan includes free Health Care for the citizens living in the area. So I attempted to off myself to stack up their Bills."

The Joker hesitated for a moment before letting out a laugh, but it wasn't a mad man's laugh like his others- it was one of disbelief. "You're kidding right? That's the stupidest thing I've heard."

"You asked." I said, my face reddening again with anger. At this rate I'd probably end up dying from a stroke due to the Joker, rather than attempting to slit my wrists again. Not that the thought had crossed my mind again, I had done it in a fit of rage. I took my survival as evidence that my fury shouldn't be directed towards myself, it was meant for something much bigger. And only I knew exactly what it was.

But I should've know the Joker wouldn't take it seriously.

"Alright, alright!" He calmed down quickly, wanting to hear the whole story before I changed my mind. "So what's with the dislike? I thought all common people of Gotham, just loved The Wayne Foundation."

Common people- he meant scum. Everybody thought the Wayne's were the Saint Francis of Gotham- giving freely to the needy. It was utter bullshit. The only way that Martha and Thomas Wayne were similar to St Francis of Assisi, was that they too are dead.

"I can't stand it! They run around under the farce that they're trying to save Gotham's most deprived by hosting extravagant fundraisers, when the real motive behind the campaign is to make business connections with the other rich and powerful people of Gotham. The whole system is corrupt, only the rich stay in power and that leaves the-"

He cut me off, again. "Don't lie to me, girlie. Why do you really hate the Wayne's? It better not be something lame. I swear if you say it's because that Playboy Billionaire dumped you, I'll slit your throat myself for time-wasting- given you are incapable of even killing yourself successfully."

I ignored the mischievousness that lurked under his eyes, he stared down to my bandaged wrist aching to break open the stitches which lay throbbing underneath.

"I'd never go near that disease-infested prick!" I spat.

"Good to know, I'll note it down for the record." He rolled his eyes beginning to get bored of the conversation. "Tell me now, or don't bother."

I found myself now actually wanting to tell him the whole story.

It might have been some reverse psychology trick he did, but I figured it was maybe just because I needed to get the weight of it off my shoulders- it had been suffocating me for years. Not once in my life had I told anybody. If I was going to start now, why couldn't the first person I confide in be the Joker?

Jesus Christ, I was truly going off my rockers.

"The Wayne's killed my father."

The Joker's interest peaked, and he tried to sit up further in his bed but the restraints held him down. "Say what? The kind, generous Wayne Family murdered your daddy?"

I paused before continuing, "Have you heard of Joe Chill?"

The Joker thought for a few seconds, the name rung bells in all of Gotham's civilians. "Eh- wasn't he the person who killed the Wayne's?"

"Yeah. But-"

"The petty crook, who tried snitching of Falcone to get off the hook. Wasn't he 'done in' by the Mob? This is the same guy we're talking about, right?" The Joker frowned bemused.

That was my father- the snitch.

My mother was the whore.

And I am the druggie. It was one messed up family we had become. We could all star in a Scorsese film.

I grimaced, "Yeah. But- just listen!"

"So," He continued, purposely ignoring my protest- rubbing salt in the open wound that had already been festering for years. "It wasn't the Wayne's who killed your Pops. He hung the noose himself, trying to turn against the Mob for a reduced sentence. That's suicide."

"No, listen!" I nearly shouted, my voice raised high and desperate- I wanted him to believe the story, so I could believe it. "This guy called Sionis-"

"What kind of name is 'Sionis'?"

It was a rhetorical question, but I answered it anyway.

"It's a surname. His first name's Roman."

"That's even worse!" The Joker chuckled.

"Look, his name doesn't matter. The point is Sionis knew my parents- he's helped my dad out countless times. After my dad died he told me it wasn't anything to do with Falcone, the Mob didn't give a shit about him since some hotshot Maroni rose in the ranks- that it was the remaining Wayne who organised the whole hit."

"Really?" The Joker raised his eyebrow mockingly, not buying into a word of it. "That Bruce boy is more concerned with banging his way through all the beautiful-uh and elite woman of Gotham to bother with avenging Daddy and Mommy Dearest."

"Well," I blinked furiously. "Someone in the Wayne Corporation was behind it!"

This time the clown let me have some breathing space before he continued.

It was a good thing he did, otherwise I would have blown up. I no longer cared that he was a homicidal killer, I just wanted a victim to vent out and pin all my pent up wrath on. For years I had become a ticking time bomb, and I knew I was reaching my expiry date.

"Let me guess- Sionis was also the guy who convinced your dad to turn against the mob?"

"Maybe. Yeah." I admitted, giving him a hard glare.

I was bracing myself for his next taunt, ready to take the bait and fight back full force. It was mayhem and conflict that the clown lived for, and I was going to give him a dose of it back. Let's see how he likes it.

"I just think babe, you've been swindled." He said casually, finishing off with a lick of his scar.

I'd realised every time his tongue ran across him mutated face it meant he was looking for a fight- something to liven up this dull and boring hospital existence.

"How so?" My voice remained neutral, but my hands gripped onto the mattress like talons. I was going to claw this bastard's face right off.

The Joker's eyes began to dart over the room from the tense atmosphere brewing, he was getting excited. My stomach clenched, I was ready for the next hit.

"I think Sionis sold your Pa out to the Sharks. Course the Mob was going to act against somebody speaking against them- they have a reputation to maintain. And you believing it was the Wayne's that caused helped you both out.

"He didn't have some crazy- believe me, you are one hell of firecracker; I know crazy when I see it- suicidal girl running after him. And you! Well, you got off the hook to believe it wasn't Pappy's stupidity that got him killed. That it was foul play. Which," He tried to shrug again but the binds wouldn't loosen. "It kinda was. But ultimately- Daddy cemented his own shoes to go sleeping with the fishes."

I tried lunging out of the bed, my free hand ready to rip out his throat.

That fucker's face was mine!

The sharp pain of my handcuffed arm holding me into place, prevented me from fulfilling my fantasy. I yelled out in frustration. This time the guard didn't rush through the door, he was probably didn't care. I refused to breakdown- god forbid I cry- in front of the Joker. So instead, I started directly into his eye's- nearly frothing. The charcoal eye's held the gaze without flinching. They didn't look dead this time- they seemed amused. His mouth shifted into a large Cheshire grin when I withdrew the contact and focused intensely on staring at the ceiling above me.

"I believe that's twice you owe now."

When I finally was released I didn't know who I'd kill first- The Joker who had ruined my whole plot of vengeance, or that murderous, traitorous bastard who had brought me into all this mess, Sionis.

My bets were placed on the latter.

Character Bios

Joe Chill- The man who murders Thomas and Martha Wayne, who in this story is also the father of the OC (who is yet to be named). Chill is dead however after being whacked off by the Mob for trying to try on their old Kingpin, Falcone, who in The Dark Knight, is succeeded by Maroni, who is now also dead- killed by Harvey Dent (who too is now dead, from being pushed into a deep pit by Batman- yeah, I know- Batman broke his One Rule. But I mean, I guess we can ignore it like we all did in Batman Begins (with Ra's Al Ghul) and just say it was really Gravity that killed Two Face.)

Roman Sionis- Better known as the villain Black Mask. He hates the Wayne's, and although in the comics it is Bruce he hates for buying out his company, I have adapted his timeline so it is Bruce's parents he hates instead. His story will be featured in Chapter 4- Hail Caesar, so I shan't reveal any spoilers.

Author's Note

Sorry guys! Wasn't the best chapter I know, but is pretty essential to the plot. Anyways, still I hoped you enjoyed it. And I promise the next chapter will make up for it.