Author's Note: WARNING! This is going to be one messed up and twisted chapter, full of pretty dark themes. So read at your own discretion, and if I do offend anyone I sincerely apologise. The OC in the story isn't exactly sane- as you may have realised. I thought this was fitting cause I didn't really believe the Joker could ever be fully interested in an average girl- don't want to ruin it, but be prepared!

Sorry it took so long to update, this was by far the hardest chapter to write- I wasn't happy with the original way it went so rewrote it thrice, THRICE! Still, I feel it's still not the best it could be, but I'm half way finished the part two which both redeems and compensates for it. Anyways I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Five- The Great Escape- Part One: Lady Killer

There was a rational reason why they found me dressed as a Nurse and performing my very own surgical procedure on Johnston with a scalpel. Okay, so maybe there wasn't a 'rational reason' for it, but it did have a certain degree of logic behind it. Just a little bit. A teeny-weeny amount.

Honestly though, it was partially her fault- something I told myself to justify the whole thing. I mean, she could have made the killing harder for me. But no, as soon as I took her aside and told her I had some 'very important information regarding her husband's death'- later I'd find his name was Bill- she immediately offered to have a 'private chat' in her office, with the door locked closed. Now, I'm not saying she deserved to bleed to death with a scalpel lodged into her throat, but she didn't exactly make the job difficult. It was as if her soul was craving death, she was voluntarily digging her own grave.

If Johnston hadn't dead-bolted the door, the Asylum Warden- who I'd also later find out was called Frank- may have been able to break down the door in time to save her from blood-loss, and save the carpet from the nasty red stains that no volume of bleach could remove. How Frank had managed to find me, I have no idea. The killing had been virtually silent, the position of the blade meant she was too occupied choking on her blood to attempt screaming. I'll just add that to my list of never-to-be-answered questions. Personally, I blame my luck. I'd never had much of it to begin with. But, when life gives you lemons? Ah, who am I kidding. I always hated sourness anyways.

I should've felt bad for what I did. I knew that. But I couldn't bear myself to feel any sort of pity for someone who I just watched bleed out pathetically as if they weren't a real person but a slaughtered sheep. When they told me I was going to be locked up with all the other psycho lunatics, I didn't even bother to fake a tear at my heinous actions. For the first time, I showed Gotham who I truly was- one sick and twisted freak. They going to pay for getting between me and my road for vengeance.

That's right- like all the other wack-jobs in the city, I'm bound on the next bus to Arkham. But I've overshot entirely, let me take you back to how the days events began. It's flashback time.

The Joker was running out of time and we both knew it. The Nurses had already given us lunch, meaning he had at most three hours left in this dingy hospital room. After those three hours were up he'd be moved into the bulletproof van which only had one destination- Arkham Asylum. After that he'd never to be seen by Gotham's public ever again.

This was as close to nervous that the Joker would ever get. His eyes were darting all over the room's interior, constantly reassessing a possible escape route- each time they eventually strayed onto me. But he wasn't nervous though, monsters like him would never experience the feeling- the Joker wasn't nervous, he was trapped.

There's a difference between the two. People who are nervous are often too frightened to anything about their situation, whereas trapped animals are dangerously unpredictable when cornered. The Joker had always been violently impulsive, so who knew what would happen now they had captured him. One thing was certain- he wouldn't go down without a fight.

A thin gleam of sweat had developed on his forehead which shone in the light, gave him a halo effect- as if he was the epitome of good. Sometimes in moments like these, I forgot about his past and thought of him as an actual human being with feelings. But the whole of Gotham knew that wasn't true. No human would willingly want to sever the loose strands of civilisation and plummet the city into anarchy and chaos. It was human nature to want order, and he defied this necessity altogether. But yet, sometimes my mind couldn't help but mistake him for one.

"There's a way out of this ya know, pumpkin."

I loathed the way my dad's pet name for me flowed so effortlessly off of his tongue, which was currently sucking on his scars turning them pink from the pressure. But most of all I hated that he used the name because he knew that I despised it.

I didn't respond. Like a child, I was giving him the silent treatment.

Ever since he threw the grenade called 'reality' in my face, and demolished everything I had believed, I stopped communicating with him altogether. Most people would be thankful that he had shown them the truth, but not I. He hadn't done it out of kindness, the Joker didn't do anything out of generosity and good-spirit- he had done it out of malice.

It only had taken him mere minutes to pick away at the illusion that I had believed most of my life, and he had done it laughing all the way- mocking and taunting me. Breathing the same air as him was a constant reminder of my own stupidity, each lungful had begun to bring me pain as if I was the patient in the room who had their ribs broken.

I was cracking completely, and the Joker had a front row seat- demanding an encore. What was more entertaining than watch somebody slip into madness? It certainly beat GCN.

The irony of the whole situation was that the hospital was trying to make me better, but it had only succeeded in making me worse.

The Joker let out a frustrated grunt of air, annoyed at my unyielding ability to stay mute.

"Listen to me pumpkin," He demanded my attention but my eyes didn't stray from the ceiling. "Do you want to go to the looney-bin? Cause that's where they're sending ya. And it won't be a pretty place, either- it's going to be state-run. And we both know what that means."

We did.

The state-run mental institutes in Gotham- yes, it is plural, there are too many crazies in Gotham for them all to be located under one roof- was where people sent the scum who they never wanted to see again. Suspected paedophiles, rapists and murderers all went there. The Police didn't have enough evidence to catch them, but they could still lock them away for the rest of their lives.

There was a rumour that people went to the place sane- only to be turned crazy. The whole of The Narrows believed it. The institutes clogged your pipes up so much on drugs that it was impossible to tell reality from fiction- something which appeared already to be near impossible for me. They did it for one reason, and one reason alone- funding. The more patients they had, the more money they got. None of the state-run places wanted you to get better, they wanted you to stay there so they could get more wads of cash.

But I had figured that the Wayne Foundation would pay for me to go to a private place, one like Palm Springs which sounded and seemed more like a Spa than a ward. A place where they would actually listen to you and I could pretend to be normal, getting discharged within the week but not before trying out some massage therapy. I heard it did real wonders.

The Joker devoured this illusion too in a record-breaking time, almost reading my mind. "You think anybody in the Wayne's knows uh about the state-places? They do fundraisers for them every two months."

I stiffened in my bed, he was yet again right. All the creeps I just spoke about? I'd be locked into a vicinity with them all.

Well fuck. I head butted my pillow in anger, at myself and at the smugness he was probably currently feeling.

"Why are you telling me this?" I hissed out, my gaze trailed away from the roof towards his bed where he lay smirking victoriously. First rule of The Narrows- you don't trust anybody who is willing to help you out. Everybody had a hidden agenda, and the Joker was certainly no exception.

"Can't I help out a friend?" He said the word through gritted teeth, as if it wasn't in his vocabulary. I didn't need a lie-detector to know he wasn't being honest. Over the past few days I had been taking sneak peaks at his ECG screen which had showed his erratic heartbeat through his speeches. It proved my theory- most of the words that came out of his mouth were a pile of utter shit, he'd be the second last person I'd trust with my life. Obviously Sionis held the title of first place.

"Tell me." I demanded, moving my eyes back to the ceiling- a threat that the silent treatment would return with a vengeance, he needed me for something- he just wasn't yet willing to tell me what it was.

He thought for a moment, calculating his response- wondering whether or not to tell the truth or another one of his fabricated lies.

"I'm a little uh tied-up at the moment." He let out a low chuckle, but his next words were ever lower as if he didn't want to admit them- I didn't need to be a psychologist to figure out he had a Power Complex. "I need you to uh do something."

I shifted my gaze towards him in an instant, my large triumphant smile contrasting against his ugly sneer.

"So what's the plan, shit-brains?"

Where this new-found confidence came from, I'll never know. But at the time, I was too busy feeling superior about having won one round against the Joker's mental mind games to care about the repercussions the insult could bring. That was one big mistake.

"Doctor! DOCTOR!" I heard the Joker yell in the background, the heavy drums of my blood pounding in my ears were overpowering. I could feel my face pale, as all my blood had started flowing out onto the white sheets below me.

Some plan this was. It was suicidal. But evidently, so was I.

My eyes fought to stay open, I needed to say conscious for this to work out. Otherwise, we'd both be sent to our own hell holes never to experience the air of freedom again. Somewhere in the back of my mind the speech from 'Braveheart' began to play.

' And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take our freedom!'

I never knew I had enjoyed the film to the point in which I had memorised the epic speech. I'd only ever seen it once. It's funny the things you recall in your near-death moments. I had hoped it always be something sentimental and meaningful, not a bloody Mel Gibson film. It figures though, my death was going to turn out to be just as pathetic as my life.

The minutes felt like eternities. But even approaching death's door I knew it meant one thing- there was no guard sanctioned outside the door, otherwise they'd fly in at the first shout. We actually stood a chance to escape. That was, if the first part of the plan was successful. A factor which was looking very slim at the moment, given I was yet again bleeding to death.

My eyelids were getting heavier by the instant, sleep wanted desperately to take me. The cold touch of Death was seeming more and more appealing to me. Well, it did beat the intense pain in my arm.

"Joker.." I groaned out weakly, beginning to see dark splodges around the room which moved in kaleidoscope shapes, it was one dark acid trip.

"Don't you even think about it." He muttered, before shouting out again. "DOCTORRR!"

At the time, I barely recognised it as a yell. To me he was miles away and drifting further and further out to sea. I couldn't join him because I had never been a good swimmer, so I was letting the waves take me away.

In a split instant my brain thought he had tricked me, he had wanted me dead. Revenge for my original laugh about him going to Arkham, and pushing my luck calling him a 'shit-brain'- why the fuck did I think it was a reasonable idea at the time? I had given him my death on a silver platter. I was so dead. So very, very dead.

And with that darkness took hold.

I was woken up by sharp and frequent stabs to my arm. But it was welcome, the pain assured me I was still alive.

My eyes felt battered and heavy. It took a while for me to win the mental fight to force my brain to open them again. When I finally managed, the room was basked in a cosy orange light rather than sterile white. My body felt light, I couldn't feel the bed below me. I was floating, up and up and up and—

Thank you Jesus.

Some Saint had given me back my morphine.

"Bitch, ripped her stitches open with her teeth."

I recognised that cold voice somewhere, but I was floating too high to care. There was something I had to do, but I just couldn't remember. Another pinprick, this one was barely detectable- I was too far away. But I still wasn't high enough.

There was something I had to do, it was preventing my body from flying too far. I wanted to reach out towards the sun but I could only get to the ceiling.

"I tell ya. I could be uh, psychologically damaged after witnessing that."

A piercing laugh followed me up into the sky, I had heard it before- many times. It was causing my teeth to clench together on instinct.

Suddenly, I remembered.

My body plummeted down as if I had been dosed in ice cold water, and I rose up with a jerk.

The Nurse's head- who was leaning over my bed to stitch me back up- and mine collided with an almighty thud, and I was knocked back down onto my mattress, grunting out in agony. A wave of morphine swooped in trying to take away the hurt, but I bit it back, refusing to let it take a hold of my body again. How I hated obligations. I could've stayed up in the sky for the rest of the day, but instead I was forced to fight off the chemicals which were warming my blood with loveliness.

It appears, not only had the hospital caused my mental state to deteriorate further, but it had also made me into a drug addict. If only I had the funds to sue them, a case like that could get you rich with ease.

The female Nurse cried out in pain from the collision, moving both her hands to her head. One of her hands dropped the stringed needle, and it lay like a silver diamond on my bed.

I looked at the Joker, through tear-filled eyes from the excruciating head blow, for confirmation of the plan. He didn't speak, only grinned back wickedly.

It was now or never.

My free hand which was getting the stitches done, swiped up the needle and gave an almighty tug- breaking the needle free from the string. I hissed out in pain, but the morphine that my body was fighting helped to numb it down a little.

Phase one was complete. Just one more phase to go until I was free.

The Nurse eventually came round to her senses although her movements were slow. The impact had probably given us both a concussion, and that would work in my favour- at least, for the time being. She didn't even notice the missing needle, or my hand which lay in a fist trying to conceal it, or the small victorious smile which lay dormant on my face. The Nurse bandaged me up tightly, cutting circulation off from my arm, out of anger of the pain I had caused her. After that, the Nurse left quickly- wanting to escape from the two crazies that shared room A208.

I didn't really blame her for wanting to escape, it seems we both did too.

I could still feel a thin trickle of blood seep out of my skin, but pushed it to the back of my concern list. It made me weak but my top priority was to break-out, and fast. If a lot of bloodletting hadn't succeeded in killing me, I doubted a small dribble would.

"You still with me, Pumpkin?" The Joker asked impatiently from my lack of movement, his foot was twitching agitatedly. But I ignored him, momentarily trying to get my bearings back. My head was spinning like it just come out of the dryer- I definitely had whiplash. And now, it was working against me. How quickly the tides could turn.

After the world stopped spinning as jaggedly, I turned on my side. For the first time in my stay I was turning my back to the Joker and it felt terrifying. You never turn your back on a wild animal, unless you actually want to get attacked. But it was necessary so that I could get full access to the lock within my handcuffs.

I was going to pick these bad boys.

Seventh fucking attempt. And I was still unsuccessful. My hands had grown wet with sweat, and the needle kept slipping around in my hand making the task that much harder. The atmosphere in the room was even worse. Although my back was turned away from him, I could feel his unwavering gaze directed at the back of my head.

"I thought you uh said you could pick locks."

Eighth attempt. No success.

"I can!" I hissed. Everybody in The Narrows learns the skill by the time they reach Elementary School. By Middle School, most of us had criminal records. By High School? Half of us were locked away in Juvenile Detention. I was one of the fortunate ones, I never got caught- it was one of the only things I could boast about.

"Bike locks don't count."

I heaved out angrily, my concentration breaking from his continuance jeers.

"Look, Police cuffs are hard enough with two pins and I've only got a needle. So unless you want to whisper out any words of encouragement- shut the fuck up."

I was too frustrated at my rusty lock-picking skills to worry about pissing off the 'Clowned Prince of Crime', as GCN titled him. He just had the habit of rubbing myself, and the whole of Gotham up the wrong way. 'Rubbing up the wrong way', that was the understatement of the century.

My words had been a lie though. In my golden years, which were ironically also the darkest years of my life, I could have picked a Police Lock with a hair clip- my excuse to him was invalid. Still, he didn't detect, or more accurately choose not to comment on my statement. He wasn't idiotic enough to risk escape to get the last word in an argument.

Ninth attempt. I heard a faint click.

Victory.

I smiled, sitting up and waving my shackles above my head triumphantly. "You were saying clown?"

He sneered back, and I wiped the grin from my face and got down to business. I needed to be on the Joker's good side-if he even had a good side- if I was going to survive, but something within me couldn't help but keep on pushing my luck with him. One of the people in the room was a homicidal and sadistic master-mind, the other was an unbalanced and half-witted imbecile. It almost sounded like a sick joke.

In one swift motion, I swung my legs around off of the bed and hovered my bare feet above the ground. My feet hadn't touched the floor in weeks, and I was oddly worried about how I would cope with the sudden change from living horizontally to going back to the vertical position. My big toe skimmed across the floor trying to test the waters, it was freezing cold.

A voice broke me out from my concern, "Take your time, it's not like I have anywhere I need to be."

With that tauntingly sarcastic statement, I launched myself off the bed and nearly stumbled onto the floor. My legs felt they would snap under the weight of my body. I had never realised how strong gravity was, it made me regret not appreciating High School Physics more. The whiplash didn't help the situation, I stood swaying on a spot trying to regain balance like I was a sea-sick sailor.

The Joker was enraged by my faltering, and resorted to threats.

"Actually, forget that Bambi. I do have places to go, people to kill. The longer you take, I may add on an extra person to the list."

You didn't have to be Einstein to work out who the extra person was.

Immediately, I stumbled over to his bed like a drunk gazelle and hastily loosened a restraint, with clumsy doped up fingers. I'd make damn sure that the Joker wouldn't have the urge to kill me, at least not before I murdered somebody else first. A very specific somebody.

Even the thought of him caused my blood to burn in anticipation. That bitch was going to pay. There he was sitting surrounded by mountains of cash and a sea of hoes, probably all laughing in unison at my stupidity- whilst here I was in a shitty hospital room, with a TV that only played two channels, and I had a fucking homicidal clown for company. Oh yes, was Roman going to suffer. His death was going to be long and miserable, just like my existence on Earth. I'd break him just like he broke me, I wouldn't even allow him death until he was begging and snivelling for it.

"One'll do." The Joker stopped me from undoing the restraint at his foot.

I frowned confused, "You not breaking out now?"

He grinned in return. It was a crooked, jeering smile which made me fingers ache to slap the smug look of his face. "Will you miss me pumpkin?"

"Not a chance in Hell." I scoffed.

I turned to leave the room, if he wanted to forfeit his chances of escape that was on him. Personally, I was out. It appeared we both had places to go and people to kill. Having even one thing in common with the Joker was nearly spine-chilling.

"Wait." His words stopped in my tracks and whipped round, my head roared out in protest from the motion. I caught him licking the corner of his mouth as he started at me, my lip curled up in disgust. "You uh- you owe me."

Internally, I kicked myself. There I was thinking I could just breeze on out, so easily. Of course he just had to make everything difficult, it was in his nature.

I shook my head, defiant, "I just helped free you."

He retorted immediately, "With whose plan?"

Dammit. I'd give him that one. I let out a huge puff of air, a thin tendril of blonde hair which was untidily placed in front of my face flew up and joined the rest of my hair. My mind was in conflict, I'd never believed much in owing people things- if somebody did something for me that was on them, if they expected something in return they'd be in for a shock, it was their weakness for believing I was moral enough to repay them. But making an enemy of the Joker didn't seem like a good idea.

"What do you want clown?"

I wanted it to be known that I was doing this out of courtesy, not choice.

"Terms of endearment already? That's twice you've called me that today. Well, beau-ti-ful I feel honoured." His smile widened, showing off his yellow stained-teeth from cigarettes and a general lack of hygiene. I figured it must hurt to be constantly smiling like that, especially since his scars had no doubt ripped through his muscle tissue. But it made sense why he always grinned, I'd already come to the conclusion that he was a masochist.

I rolled my eyes, my own teeth gnawed together. "What do you want?"

As always he ignored me, "Sayyyy. What's your name pumpkin? All these nights spent together and I still don't know. "

My palm was begging for me to backhand him, I didn't like the sexual innuendo that he laced into his words.

"I don't know yours." Was my weak retort. I sounded like a little bitch, and I sure felt like one too at that moment. All I wanted to do was flee, but his voice was compelling me to stay put.

"They call me the Jokerrr." He rolled out his 'r' as if it was the only letter that mattered to him. Whoever he had been before he donned his clown persona was long gone. For his twisted brain, his guise was now reality. He probably didn't even remember the time before he was running around trying to blow up half the city. What would I accomplish arguing over the name he identified with? To him, he was and always had been the Joker.

My legs were itching to leave, the longer I stayed the less of a chance I had to escape. It meant he got to win this round. Yet again, he was one up on me. I could've given him a fake name- but I had a feeling he'd be able to sniff it out. Expert liars can easily spot another person's bullshit, so I wasn't willing to take the risk.

I scowled, beaten, my voice was cold and detached, "I'm Alice."

"Alice." He tasted out the word with his tongue, getting a feel for every vowel and consonant.

I had once read that some people's brains were wired to believe that words had particular flavours, the Joker may have been one of these people- he was obsessed with emphasising certain letters in phrases and words. I would never ask him though, the question seemed too personal and I didn't want to know what happened to people who got too close to the Joker. It probably never ended well.

"What do you want?" I repeated. The roles had shifted, I was now the one desperate to get the other to hurry up. He was toying with me, he was doing this for one purpose- revenge. It was reprisal for me accidentally time-wasting during my phase of the plan. I saw through his petty games but it didn't mean that I'd be allowed to stop playing.

"Alice, Alice, now- what do I want?" His eyes rolled up to the back of his head as if he was scanning his mind for ideas. He knew what he wanted, he was just taking his bitter sweet time about it. Now he was no longer cornered, he'd resorted back into his original state- which is to say, completely fucking demented.

My lips pursed, and I snuck a glance at the door handle to check for signs of movement. When I turned back he was staring right at me and I nearly gasped like some pitiful Mary Sue, his eyes told what his mouth didn't- 'Gotcha'. Whatever coming up wasn't going to be pretty.

"How about you put that needle in my mouth?"

What.

"What?"

He didn't reply, he just stuck his wet tongue out of his wide open mouth. His eyes beckoning me to come closer and do the task. If this was some weird kinky shit he was into, I definitely did not want to be involved. Still, my legs moved closer and closer until my head was hovering a metre above his. His dark eyes lit up from faint amusement as he watch my face was contort into disgust.

I dropped the needle onto his slimy tongue, making sure not to have contact with his mouth. I didn't trust him not to bite me and try tear on of my fingers off that would've been a novice mistake- it just seemed like an activity he did for fun. As soon as it landed, his tongue swiped back into his mouth with the needle attached. It was a miracle that he didn't accidentally swallow it. Not that I would have cared.

I was thinking this couldn't have been the thing I owed him. It was too easy, way too easy. And I was right.

"Now that's done," He licked the corner of his mouth, a droplet of blood trickling out from the needle stabbing into the muscle. "I want you to kill-uh that prissy bitch for me."

What.

"WH-" I near shouted, but his eye glare shut me right back up.

He continued after my silence, something dark and menacing laced under his words- it was a threat. "After all I've uh done for you, Alice, I'd expect some more grat-it-ude."

So this was going to be the payback for the insult. But, I had the distinct feeling he would have made me do it anyways, even if I hadn't tried offending him. If this was the case it could only mean one thing- the Joker still had something awful lined up for me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat painfully. I'd only tried to kill one person if my life, myself, and that hadn't exactly gone to plan. So who knew who I'd be able to cope with killing somebody else.

He was forcing me choose between saving myself or saving Nurse Johnston. Saving myself; some scum from The Narrows who never had much of a life to begin with, or saving Nurse Johnston; some sanctimonious woman who had treated me like I was invisible during my whole stay.

I figured we were both alone in the world. I didn't have a family, and thanks to the Joker- she definitely didn't have a husband. But in terms of society, she probably brought more to the table. I mean, her job was to harbour people back to well health. My job? Well, I pretty much survived off of Government hand-outs.

But, if I was to kill Sionis- surely that was giving back to society? And that was a pretty major deed I'd be committing for the world. Sionis is a huge criminal, and if he carried on living he'd probably add hundreds of tallies to his kill list. That had to count for something. I mean if- no, when- I kill him I could be classed as a martyr, I'd be the saving grace of Gotham.

But Johnston did have the plan or at least, a craving to kill the Joker. But would she ever follow through with it? Even if she could, that had backfired now I'd released him from one of his binds. So much for me giving back to society- attempt to murder one crime-lord by letting another criminal loose to petrify the streets again. But that was done now, I could hardly walk over and retied the strap. He'd kill me before letting that happen. It appeared I wasn't so suicidal after all, I had a reason to live now if it was only to kill somebody else.

I mean, what did Nurse Johnston really do? Apart from judge people with her beady, little eyes and feel superior to everyone she met? Maybe if she had been polite to me, she might of stood a chance of living. But then again, probably not. I was just trying to justify my decision, I wasn't a monster- not yet, anyways.

"Alright, I'll do it."

And that's how I successfully managed to convince myself to commit my first murder. By Lord, I was going straight to Hell after this. Or more precisely, Arkham Asylum.