Chapter Six- Are We There Yet?
I knew that the whiplash was going to come back to haunt me, but I had never anticipated it would ever become this malevolent. After Boles had broken into the Nurse's room and tackled me to the floor like he was Hulk Hogan, the light ringing in my brain had transformed into a wailing siren- a siren which had no mute button. The unsteady ride wasn't helping, the continuous wriggling on the van was turning my head into mush worse than the slushy green jello that they had attempted feeding me for pudding at the Hospital.
They hadn't bothered letting me change outfits, clearly murderers don't get the right to clean clothes. The Nurse's costume, which I had stolen from their Laundry Room, stunk of body-odour and was covered in dried blood- mainly Johnston's, but partially mine; Boles shoulder blade during the take-down had smashed right against my nose giving me a god-awful nosebleed. The bastard had probably broken it. I definitely would never win 'Miss Arkham' now (although, I doubted that was even a thing).
My similarities between the Joker appeared to now be growing in length, it seemed that he wasn't the only one with a Kill List: Roman Sionis and Frank Boles. At least mine was short and simple, his was probably so long that it could've been made into a leather bound book. In fact, it would probably be quicker and easier naming the people in the world he didn't want dead.
The possibility of killing Sionis had now faded into a distant dream. There wasn't a chance in Hell that I'd be able to escape from Arkham- growing a pair of wings seemed more likely. I'd be locked away for the rest of my life, how ever long that would be. Instinct told me that the inmates would try to devour the fresh-meat. Screw showing up in a Nurses clothes, I may as well have been dressed up as a goddamn Twinkie.
The mood in the van wasn't helping the situation either. To say the ride to the Asylum was tense would have been the biggest understatement of my life. Everybody was on edge. Everybody except the Joker of course, who was currently wedged in beside of me tunelessly humming carnival music. It seemed fitting in a way, soon we'd both be entering the House of Horrors. His jittering foot was sending vibrations up my body where they stung invisible needles into my brain. The sly looks towards me from the corner of his eyes informed me that he knew exactly what he was doing. The fucking masochist.
It was the closest I'd ever been, or possibly ever be, with him. We were shoulder to shoulder. Judging from his foul stench, he hadn't been given that bath which Cash asked for. Not that I was in a place to criticise, I wasn't exactly smelling of roses and lavender either. Somehow he'd managed to get his clown makeup on again, although I couldn't see it in full glory as it was hidden away under a Hannibal Lecture-like mask. They had attached his muzzle on upon capture. Like I had figured, he hadn't gone down without a fight and he had bitten back, quite literally. Somebody had lost part of their ear, another person lost their whole finger.
The two of us looked like we were in shitty Halloween outfits, I thought bitterly. Or the stars of some fucking Ruggero Deodato movie. You know, the guy who directed 'Cannibal Holocaust'? In truth, I'd never actually seen it. But with a name like that, it wasn't hard to work out what the content of the film entailed. Lots of blood, and a heck of a lot of guts.
The biting attacks were nothing when compared with the horror which he had bestowed on Doctor White. I'd listened in to the Nurses gossip whilst they made arrangements to send me to Arkham which hadn't taken them more than an hour to do; I was from The Narrows, I had the same amount of rights as a stray dog taken in by the Pound, which is to say- none whatsoever. Apparently, the mess on White's face had made my crime look like child's play. Rumour had it that the Joker pulped Doctor White's face open with a stapler gun like it was no more than a grapefruit. He started his torture on White's private member, before attracting his attention to White's eyes. Some of the staples went so deep that they got lodged into the Doctor's brain. Once he had sensed others coming, he just started bashing. But not with the metal stapler. With his bare hands. He didn't stop until the Doctor's square-faced head was no more than a pile of sludge.
I looked down at the Joker's hands, which were drumming heavily away against his fidgeting thigh. I grimaced. There, clear as the light of day, right under his index fingernail was a meaty strand of red flesh which clearly wasn't his own. Remind me again never to get on the Joker's bad books, being on Cash's was quite enough for me.
Cash sat directly opposite from me, absolutely seething, glaring holes into all three of our heads- Boles', the Joker's, and mine. My actions had clearly pissed him off. Bless his heart, he had always thought that I had stood the chance of recovering from my breakdown. Obviously, judging from the recently deceased Nurse, it wasn't meant to be. Cash could blame all three of us for the outcome of the day, but personally- I'd only blame Boles.
If Frank Boles had been a good Guard, he would have stayed sanctioned outside the door during his lunch break, especially given it was the Joker's last possible opportunity of escape from the clutches of Arkham. But Boles hadn't. And now there were two new corpses in the morgue. I didn't blame Boles that though, I didn't care about the deaths he had failed to prevent. The only thing I blamed Boles for was catching me. Sionis could have been dead by now, but now he'd only ever be dead in my dreams. Boles was going to pay for this.
I slammed my foot down on Boles, and he hissed out in agony. Maybe the Joker wasn't the only masochist in the van, yet again the list of similarities was growing. I may have been worried about it, if I wasn't so preoccupied with being furious.
"That's it, you Bitch!" Boles shuffled beside me, trying to unhook his Taser from his belt but his fat fingers which were swollen from his apparent alcoholic tendencies made the job difficult. It was something I had seen a lot growing up, my father had had the same issue.
"Don't." Cash huffed out, speaking the first words of the journey. "She's crazy, she's not in control of her actions."
My nose wrinkled at the statement, Cash still defended me despite of all that I had done it. At times he reminded me of the Morrison's, the family who'd taken me in after my father died. Whenever I had done something wrong, neither or them shouted at me or smacked me like my parents had growing up. The two of them just looked at me in disappointment. It caused something to tug inside my stomach which I didn't know the name of, I'd never experienced it before living with them. It felt like some weird reverse psychology trick, I'd choose a slap or a shouting match over that sensation any day and still would. Cash reminded me of the Morrison's because he had the ability to make the feeling return. It made me want to projectile vomit.
"Don't tell me the Bitch doesn't deserve it. You saw the mess she made of Linda- Linda'll be lucky if she's able to get an open casket funeral with that huge fuckin' hole in her neck." Boles turned to address me. "What she'd ever even do to you, huh Bitch? Piss in your jello?"
I stared right back at his ugly scarred face, refusing to answer. My lips curled up, wanting desperately to spit at him, but the distinctive blue light in the corner of my sight made my mouth refuse. If I even blinked in an aggressive manner, Boles would shock me. I knew it, he knew it. So instead I simply stared.
"Put away the Taser, we've had enough violence for one day." Cash said, agitatedly.
It wasn't just the three of us he blamed for the events that took place just a few hours ago. Cash also blamed himself. He hadn't been in the Hospital at the time. He had been at home, recovering from a spinal fracture which I had figured was the result of the incident that had caused Frank Boles to take over his role. But as soon as he had heard on the News about the two deaths at the Hospital, he had taken a cab to personally help escort the two new inmates to Arkham. But if he had been there then Nurse Johnston would still have her major arteries intact, Doctor White wouldn't have had his eyes pulped into nothingness with a stapler, and somebody else would still have their finger attached.
Frank snapped, "Don't tell me you're actually protecting this lunatic!"
Cash eyes narrowed away from me and towards Boles, "That's our job. We're paid to protect the staff and inmates, from themselves and each other. For someone so focused on becoming a Head Guard, I figured you would've known this."
It instantly shut Boles up. Of course, he still gave Cash a threatening sneer as he didn't want to be seen to back down so easily, but his look had held little promise of retaliation. Boles wasn't a Head Guard yet, so Cash was still his superior- not equal, as he liked to believe. I prayed on my lucky stars (not that I had any whatsoever) that Boles would never be given that role. Arkham was going to be Hellish enough without having one of the Chiefs of Staff out to get me. People should take bets on how long I'd last there as it was. I'd given myself a week tops, and I was being optimistic.
Frank turned off his cattle prod reluctantly, and clipped it back onto his belt.
"Remind me again how you managed to catch them?" Cash asked Frank, his voice full of questioning.
Boles stumbled, and for the first time I saw him flustered. "Em. Eh. Doctor White told me to find her. She- eh- wasn't the only one there. When I apprehended her, I ran back to White's room where I found the Joker."
I watched a thin bead of sweat drip down the back of Boles' neck, and nearly scoffed. Something wasn't adding up. I looked over skeptically at Cash, and his eyes momentarily flickered back to mine this time they didn't hold anger. We were both on the same wavelength, neither of us believed that bullshit.
The Joker's humming increased in volume and speed. The erratic tune helped to quicken our already fast pulsating hearts. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was winding us all up like Jack-in-the-boxes, waiting to see who'd burst first.
"Why'd he ask for Johnston?" I asked, suspiciously.
Boles hard gaze tore into mine, "I'm not answering that for you, you fucking psychotic murdering bitch."
Fair point.
The hums quickened still. The coils were turning faster. It wouldn't be long now/
"Answer the question." Cash stated monotonically, backing me up.
Boles' head twisted around in disbelief, as did mine, towards Cash who only stared back at Frank blankly. Bole's turned to look back at me accusingly, as if I had some sort of hold over his colleague. I only gave him my cyanide sweet smile in return, and watched smugly as his face morphed into disgust. It was pleasing to know that Frank hated me just as much as I hated him, it meant I wasn't wasting any of my rage on somebody who didn't give one single shit about me.
"No idea," His gaze shifted back to Cash, and he retorted. "Why don't you ask him? I think you'll currently find him in the Morgue."
Cash shouted, springing up from his seat, "And whose fault is that?"
Frank jumped up on instinct, the two of them facing off chest-to-chest.
In the background, the tune had stopped altogether. The only sound being heard was the sound of heavy breathing. So they had both popped open at the same time.
The overhead light lit up a deep purple bruise which shone out from his cheekbone and was almost identically matched with the one which lay over his eye. If his face was that battered, I dreaded to think how beaten the rest of his body was. There it was again, a thin trickle of humanity that prevented me from becoming a monster like the freak beside of me. I may hate Cash for his morality which I lacked completely, but I guess your perception of a person changes slightly when they save you from getting electrocuted by their power-hungry work associate.
"Don't get-uh snappy now, Cash?" the brooding presence beside me spoke, before cackling away. He sure knew how to pick his moments.
Cash's pursed his mouth, and his cut on his lip threatened to crack open. He let out a few deep breathes, breathing them straight into Boles' face. Frank clenched his fist in return, moving his right hand towards his Taser, getting ready for action. My eyes widened in excitement, this sure beat watching GCN.
But then the most anticlimactic thing possible happened.
"You ain't worth it." Cash spoke the words out slowly, letting all the syllables linger in the thick air. He then reluctantly took his seat again, and winced as his muscles hit the hard surface.
It was questionable whether he was referring to Boles or the Joker. My guess was it was them both.
Boles stared him down a second longer, before sitting back down next to me, stealing all my leg room again. It was a petty sign of dominance, giving him some intense power trip. Sick bastard probably had wet dreams about being dominant.
Cash banged his baton on the metal gate that separated the back of the van from the driver. In an instant it pulled open by an extremely sweaty and red-faced Guard.
"How much longer?" Cash asked, his voice strained from holding back his aggravation. I could tell how much restraint he had used to withdraw himself away from Boles. It had been impressive, but also deeply disappointing. I had been so hoping that their encounter was going to end with Frank's face smashed into a bleeding pulp. I would've paid good money to see it too.
I got the feeling that I wasn't the only person who felt as if we'd been in the van for years on end. Although, suffering through this trip was probably better than my fate outside this moving tin can. I should be more thankful for the extra minutes I'm getting to stay alive. So much for being optimistic, I already knew I was destined for a graveyard.
The Guard looked at the faceless driver, who was concentrated on the road.
"Traffic's a bitch, today. Maybe another-" the sound of a horn cut off the rest of his sentence and then he let out an unholy string of curses. "Motherfucker! Did you see that little shit? Dick swerves right in front of me."
His hand bounced back on the horn in anger, and somebody else's horn beeped back in retort. Road rage was a common occurrence in Gotham, it gave average people the chance to express their pent up anger without feeling the urge to blow up a building. That may or may not have been, a not-so-subtle dig at one of the Joker's favourite past times.
The red-faced man clarified, for our deaf ears, the beeps had echoed loudly inside of the metal box, "Traffic ain't so good. Be at least five minutes."
He slammed the gateway closed, without waiting for a response.
It wasn't hard to work out why the passenger driver was so much on edge. Most people were worried that the Joker's goons would attempt to break him out in the same way that they had tried hijacking Harvey Dent. But I thought that his reign as Clowned Prince had passed, he had unwillingly abdicated since his defeat with Batman. All of his followers had probably scattered like cockroaches, never to be seen in the daylight again. We were both going to end up taking our last breathes in the Asylum.
Unless- I froze, a moment of clarity spewing out from the whirlwind of the concussion I had. Maybe there was a reason that the Joker had stayed silent for the majority of the trip. Maybe, somewhere deep inside of his psychotically twisted mind, a plan was formulating.
I turned my head slowly and curiously towards him, searching for a hint. His mischievous eyes flickered down at me and gave a rapid wink. I knew under his muzzle he was grinning like a mad man. It took all my strength not to return the smile. Perhaps I did have some lucky stars after all.
The van halted suddenly, and my head whipped forward violently. Another blast of the horn was sounded, followed by yet another string of swear words. My concussion hit my brain again with the force of an avalanche.
Then again, maybe not.
Author's Note: Just a short, filler chapter- not much point in it other than it was fun to write! Sorry for the long wait, had to finish my English course work for the year in one week which was near impossible since I'd left it all to the last minute; my ability to procrastinate is both a skill and a severe weakness.. Anyways, big things are coming up soon, so excited! And yet again, thank you all so much for the reviews and I hope you all enjoyed!