A/N: I'm not super happy with this chapter, but I had to work up some atmosphere in advance of the next one...hopefully, it will read better to someone who hasn't been messing with it for three days! Tell me what you think, I appreciate all constructive criticism!
* * *
The Joker loved the night.
Oh, he appreciated the extra bit of convenience darkness lent to his nocturnal activities--the compromised vision of the dull-witted populace certainly made things easier--but that wasn't the night's true allure. He didn't need it for that. He loved the night for itself, like a rich lover that you stick with even after they go broke because they're the only one who can make you laugh like that...
Sometimes he imagined the night as a living creature, silky smooth, wrapping him in a cool embrace with a delicate caress for scarred skin, a soothing balm on hot eyes. He loved how, as the sun sank, the city lights morphed into an illuminated black velvet painting, and how all his other senses, always keen, became even more heightened.
Sounds sharpened--a rat scuttling in a dumpster, a gunshot ringing in the distance, an argument escaping from an open tenement window. Scents and odors became more compelling--a waft of cigarette smoke, the passing fragrance of a woman's perfume...pizza.
And a touch--whether a gentle stroke on the cheek or a hard fist in the face--acquired a delicious corporeality that stayed with him for hours.
Sometimes, the Joker thought it was only the corrupt, bilious city he loved--his personal vision of hell was spending eternity in a quaint cabin in the woods, with little goddamn bunnies hopping around and fucking nightingales singing--but, no, it just took one outing like tonight to remind him--if the city was his lover, the night was his partner, beloved for its own sweet qualities.
The clown paused on the rooftop of his building. Here, now, he could afford to relax. He could revel in the misty darkness for just a little while longer. He knew which areas of the roof would expose him and he stayed in the hidden places. Peering over the side of the building, he scanned the parking lot. He knew which car belonged to which apartment and counted them off in his head.
Rita's mother's car was gone. Ah, yes...working the graveyard shift, Rita had mentioned that. Lucky woman, becoming a part of the night. And Rita would be alone...a contemplative smile curved his scarred lips as he scrambled down the secret entrance to his own apartment. He blinked as the light from his living room lamp assaulted his eyes. The Joker sighed. Time to shake off the romance of the night and get down to business....yes, always, business before pleasure....
* * *
Earlier that evening....
"Rita!" called Gail Ryan, Rita's mom. Clad in a crisp nurse's uniform, she gathered her purse, Gotham General ID card, and keys in preparation for going to work.
"Rita, honey, come on out here and tell me 'bye'! I'm about to head out..." Her mother's soft Southern accent hadn't faded even after years of living in Gotham.
Rita was immersed in a book with her earphones on and didn't hear her mother call.
Gail waited impatiently for her daughter to respond. Then, realizing she probably couldn't hear her over the music, she strode irritably back to her daughter's room and pushed the door open. Rita looked up from her reading, eyebrows raised questioningly.
"Yeah, Ma?"
"Rita, those headphones are going to have to go. The roof could cave in on me and you'd never know the difference. Now, I'm leaving and I thought it might be nice to tell my only child 'bye' before I left, but don't let me disturb you...." The slim, honey-haired woman frowned exaggeratedly, her arms folded across her chest.
"Aw, Mom, come on..." Rita pulled off the headset and went to hug her mother. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. I forgot you were pulling the graveyard shift tonight."
"Oh, I know, it's ok, baby." Gail smiled wistfully. Normally, when she worked an overnight shift at the hospital like this, Rita was able to spend the night with Lynne, but Lynne was staying with her ailing grandmother this week. She hated leaving her daughter alone overnight, but the extra money made it hard to pass up the opportunity, and Rita was seventeen now.... She hugged her daughter tightly and then pulled back to look at her pretty face. Rita had really blossomed lately.
"Now, listen girl, you know the drill. Don't open the door for anyone. Don't tell anyone you're home alone. If anything, and I mean, anything, seems strange, call the cops, understand?"
"I know, I know! I'll be fine, Mom, I know what to do."
"And don't go anywhere."
"Oh, where would I go? It's not like I have a car or anything..."
Gail sighed in exasperation. The car topic was sure to lead to grief. There was no way the struggling single mother could afford a decent car for her daughter.
"Don't even go there! Now, listen, get to bed at a reasonable hour, would you please? Did you finish your homework?" Rita put her hands on Gail's shoulders, turned her toward the door and guided her out of her room.
"I will, and I did. Go, already! Goodbye..."
"Bye, sweetie, I'll call you around 10:00 on my break, like usual."
"Ok, talk to you then."
"See you in the morning, hon!"
Her mother cast one more worried glance at her daughter, and then headed out the door. Rita heard the key turn in the lock; a little thrill of independence flashed through her. Rita very much liked the idea of being on her own all night, free to do as she pleased, even if only within the confines of the small apartment. But...after a moment, she went to double check the lock. It was secured.
The teen headed to the kitchen. Her mom had promised to leave a yummy treat for her, partly out of guilt, partly as a way of leaving behind something of herself with her only child...Sure enough, there was a plate of freshly baked brownies on the counter. Rita poured a glass of milk and munched one thoughtfully. She headed back to the living room, intent on wallowing on the couch and watching TV. But, she cast her eye on the living room windows....
They were covered with both blinds and curtains. Rita wondered if her mom had remembered to lock them after airing out the house yesterday. Of course she had, her mom was obsessive-compulsive about stuff like that. Still...Rita went to the first window, pushed the curtain aside and started to pull up the blind, but hesitated.
The darkness was thick outside, vision obstructed even more by a slowly falling mist. Rita could see the shining white pinpoints of street lights across the way, glinting between the slats. All she had to do was pull the blind apart to check the locking mechanism, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was too much like opening an eye onto the vast unknown world of the night. Like a tip-off to the men who prey on the defenseless and the unaware. What did she think she'd see, if she peeked through those plastic slats out into the street? Who--or what--did she think would look back at her?
"I'm being silly," she thought irritably. Resolutely, she pulled the blind open where it covered the divide between the upper and lower part of the window and saw that the lock was securely in place. She repeated the procedure with the other two sections, and at last gratefully pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the night. It was a great comfort to have the cloth, the plastic and the thin sheets of glass standing between it and her....
Sighing, she decided to decline the luxury of the 21" TV screen in the living room and returned instead to her snug bedroom. She was happy to have an interior room, no scary windows for her....
* * *
Rita had closed the door to her room, and turned on her small television for company. She wanted to listen to music, but found she couldn't relax without being able to listen for any unusual noises. She pulled off her jeans and t-shirt and found a night shirt to slip into. She settled on her bed--with any luck, time would pass quickly until her mother called, and by then she would be sleepy enough to drift off with no further worries. She picked up her book and was soon engrossed in its pages.
Suddenly, a car backfired somewhere and startled her...she checked the clock. Crap, it was only nine o'clock. It felt like the middle of the night. Another hour until her mother called...maybe she could visit Mr. J, just for a little while. She normally wouldn't bother him this late, but he would understand....
She put her jeans back on, checking to make sure her keys were still in the pocket, slipped on her shoes and strode to the door, then paused. Suddenly, unlocking the door seemed like a bad idea. She dropped her hand and turned back to face the apartment. It was a warm, cozy room, and she had a whole night ahead of her to do whatever she wanted. Honestly, she should play music loudly, watch shows her mother didn't like, see if her mom still kept her forbidden stash of "emergency" cigarettes in her dresser drawer. What did she want to do?
She wanted to see Mr. J.
Resolutely, she turned and went into the hall, carefully shutting and locking the door behind her. She glanced down the way. Nothing, no one was there. She headed for her favorite neighbor's door and knocked timidly.
* * *
The Joker was busy. He had satisfactorily pulled off a tricky jewelry store heist that evening, and he had some contacts to make in order to fence the goods. He hadn't bothered to take off his makeup, and was holed-up in his office/communications room, scrolling through a Rolodex of phone numbers when he heard a faint knock at his door. He didn't have to check his security cam to know who it was. A grin stole across his face, but he shook his head regretfully.
"Aw, baby! I can't come to the door right now, still got my face on..." he thought. He simply ignored it. The urgency of the second, more insistent knock made him stand up and head to the door. Jeeze, sounds like a problem, what the hell does she want...?
"Hello?" he asked through the barrier.
"Mr. J? Um, it's Rita, can I come in?"
"Ah...no, sweetie, I'm, uh, sick...you don't want to be exposed to this..." He rolled his eyes at his own lame excuse and absently rubbed at the makeup caked on his jaw.
"Oh, that's ok, I never get sick. My mom's not home and I was just hoping I could hang out with you for a little while...." He heard the plea in her voice. Damn it, why couldn't she have shown up later, when he was in the mood for a little entertainment?
"Yeah? Well, I bet this is pretty contagious, your mom would kill me if I let you catch it..."
"Oh...well, would you like me to bring you some soup?"
"No, that's all right, babe, I'm not hungry...Listen, I'm just going to mainline some NyQuil and go to bed." Damn kid, can't take a hint! And, what was she anyway, Florence-fucking-Nightingale all of a sudden?
"Oh...ok...well, I'll see you later..." Rita said in disappointment. She reluctantly returned to her apartment, not looking forward to the rest of the evening one bit.
* * *
The phone rang at Rita's. She stared at it, pondering the possibilities. It was too early for her mom to call. Lynne was at her grandmother's, no doubt being regaled with stories of the old days. Maybe it was Mr. J; maybe he had taken pity on her and decided to invite her over after all. She picked up the handset and punched the "talk" button.
"Hello?" she asked, hoping to hear Mr. J's smooth voice. But all she heard was a crackling noise, followed by what sounded like someone taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling..."Hello?" she asked, puzzled. Another sharp breath, a long exhalation..."Mr. J?" More crackling, then the line went dead.
Rita felt a rush of cold fear. Mr. J wouldn't make a call like that. He teased her unmercifully, sometimes, but he never tried to scare her. She stared at the phone in her hand and the plot of a dozen horror movies ran through her brain. Suddenly, the phone rang again, startling her so badly that she dropped the handset. She tried to make herself answer it, but decided to just let the machine get it. It rang two more times, but whoever it was hung up as soon as the recorded voice came on. Rita shivered, feeling betrayed by both mechanical devices.
"Ok...that was creepy. But it's not all that unusual, probably a wrong number...shake it off, girl, shake it off..." Rita used the words her mother used to get her back on track after a scare.
Rita put the phone back on the charger, casting watchful glances at it every so often. She settled on the couch and turned on the television, keeping the volume low, and clicked through channels in search of something mindless and unthreatening...suddenly, she heard a dull thud in the hallway, followed by what sounded like footsteps disappearing down the stairs. Rita froze, waiting. Nothing else sounded. Must have been one of the other neighbors going out, she thought in relief. Even so, her heart was pounding; as much as the phone had scared her, not having it handy was even worse, so she picked up the handset and placed it strategically close to her, in case she had to dial 911 in a hurry.
* * *
Jack stood in his dressing area, toweling dry his face and bare chest. The last of his clown makeup was swirling down the drain, and he paused to consider his reflection in the mirror. When he went without the makeup, he rarely bothered with mirrors other than to make sure he wasn't going out looking like an idiot with his hair sticking up or something in his teeth: it was hard for him to see anything but the scars. But now he peered at himself with a critical eye. He was looking older, thinner, and the laugh lines on the sides of his mouth, forever bisected by the scars, seemed deeper than when he was a kid.
He shrugged and slipped a t-shirt over his head. He loved women, but he damn sure didn't understand them. Here he was, just some skinny damn guy with a fucked up face, and yet he never had a problem getting a blow job for free in a toilet at a diner or club or even the local freakin' grocery store, for that matter...what was it with women and these goddamn scars?
Take Rita, for instance. A cute, young gal like that and he had her in the palm of his hand. She should be workin' her way through the football team or banging the rock-star-to-be boys doing bad Ramones imitations in their mommies' garages, not waiting for him to drag her panties down on his living room couch, not that it hadn't occurred to him like every friggin' day since he met her, but still...she had that wide-eyed innocent thing going.
He'd played that game before, how many times had he lost his virginity with some hot older babe, charmed by his shy vulnerability? Only to find that while she took his cherry, he was taking her wallet...but, yeah, Rita. She was for real.
He smiled to think of her. Such an opportunity. What to do, what to do....
* * *
At ten o'clock on the dot, Rita's mom called.
"Hey, baby, everything ok?"
"Yeah, Ma, it's fine."
"You sure? You sound a little funny."
"Yeah, I was just...I'm fine. How's work?"
They chatted until Gail announced that she had to go back to work, and they hung up.
Rita took a deep breath, and headed back to her bedroom. She was just going to go to bed, she would fall asleep, and before she knew it, morning would arrive and everything would be back to normal. She hoped.
Rita readied herself for bed, slipped out of her jeans again, and crawled under the covers. The room was completely silent...she started to turn off the light, but couldn't quite bring herself to do that. She closed her eyes, listening, listening. She began to drift off, only to be jolted awake by a falling sensation, catching herself just in time..."Oh, for heaven's sake, I was just dreaming..." she thought irritably. She was definitely sleepy, so she snuggled down under the covers and tried to let go again.
She wondered how poor Mr. J was doing. It sucked to be sick and all alone. Rita knew she thought about him too much, knew it wasn't...healthy. Still, here, alone, it was impossible not to let her mind wander back to the time he kissed her...the memory of his warm lips on hers, the way his strong arms had felt, squeezing tightly around her, and his scent....it was all still tangible, still powerful enough to make her feel all squishy inside.
In her mind she could see Mr. J's--Jack's-- warm brown eyes, crinkled in amusement, just before he leaned into the kiss...she remembered the way his tongue felt in her mouth, the solid weight of his body, his erection pressed against her leg. Rita didn't have a lot to go on other than some R rated movies, sex ed class, her mom's clumsy attempts to explain intimate things to her, and a sleazy nudie magazine Lynne had once smuggled out of her dad's dresser drawer, but still, she thought she could imagine the rest. She could almost feel the touch of his hands on her most private parts, his body moving inside her....
Rita lay on her back, put her hand under her shirt, into her underwear, moving on down, between her legs, slipping her middle finger inside herself and finding the wetness there. Then, back up to her clitoris, rhythmically stroking herself, softly at first, then harder and harder, until, with a low moan, she expertly brought herself to a blinding orgasm.
She lay still for a moment, regaining her breath, a delicious sense of comfort and relaxation coming over her. She turned on her side, imagined herself lying contentedly in Jack's arms, and soon slipped into sleep.
Time passed, the night churned on outside, and Rita slept soundly. Suddenly, a loud scraping noise from the roof above her shocked her into an upright position, knocking the sleep right out of her eyes.
"Oh, crap!" she actually gasped out loud.
It was probably nothing. A cat, maybe. A...bird. A really big bird? She forced herself to breathe more slowly. The scraping sound came again, quieter and in a different spot.
That was enough. She wasn't going to put herself through this anymore. Maybe she was being a big baby, but that was too bad. It wasn't like she didn't have a place to go, even if he was sick...she'd make him let her in.
Rita headed to the living room, grabbed her keys and the phone handset, sailed out the door, and fell straight into the arms of Mr. J.