Chapter Two: The Icehouse

Strawberry: Usually I do scripts before each chapter of my stories, but for this one, I don't think I can bring myself to spoil the serious mood with…too much…comedy…what?

Joker: -appears in nurse outfit-

Strawberry: O.O No, no, no, you're not supposed to come in here. I didn't want any scripts. –cries- Must…resist!

Joker: -starts humming- This is ridiculous…in my eyes. And that's saying something. I'm going to six flags and riding the Joker. Do you KNOW how fast that thing goes? I mean, I wouldn't call myself conceited, but it's a really, really fun ride. And really, it is hard not to marvel at what I can do with a knife. –turns to Strawberry- Wanna smile?

Strawberry: OK, gotta go! Hehe, uh…really, great response on the first chapter. I really was happy that you all read it. I hope you like this one just as much and ignore my desire to do scripts again…Thanks so much. 3

Outside, Fana felt all the more empty while the Joker stood behind her, pressed up against her and wriggling his hands around her wrists as he tied something around them. "Now, I'm just a little bored," he mumbled. She could feel his mouth move against the back of her head as he spoke. She evaded the shiver she yearned to unleash. "What's your name? –No never mind, that doesn't matter. But as I was saying…I don't like being bored. And when I'm bored I…impose upon adventure." His hands crept up to her shoulders once he had the girl tied. "So I'm taking a risk. Not that I find you a real, plausible threat, but it's always a risk to leave a captured woman free to speak. Hah, I don't even trust men enough to leave their mouths free of duct tape! But women. My, my, can they scream and talk and just…just make things annoying." He extracted the tape from his pocket and dangled it in front of the girl's face. "Here's my adventure," he hissed. He could feel how outwardly she had turned herself to stone. Somewhat annoyed that her reaction was not slightly bigger, he dropped the tape on the ground at her feet. "I'm leaving your mouth free to do as it would like. You don't scream, do you…mmm-missy…?" He licked his lips, letting her soak in his annunciation. "So let's put that ability to shut yourself up to the test."

Without another word, he pushed her forward and shoved her through the car door. He'd taken the car just an hour or so before. And funny the manner in which he'd snatched it! He gave a short internal laugh before stepping through the door, pushing his bait further away from him on the seat. He sprawled out with a satisfied sigh, curling his right hand into a fist around a hook fastened to the top of the car. He stretched the muscles of his mouth, feeling the occasional pull that still lingered from the wounds around his mouth. How funny…what fools. If only Daddy could see him now…

Or rather, if only Daddy could watch himself die, now that his son had the power to kill him.

The Joker's chest tensed. No, he had no room for anger. There was no room for any of those little emotions that he'd worked so hard to block out of his system. He had and needed only a good sense of humor and happiness. And happiness came from whatever was funny. If he could make everything funny, than he could be happy for as long as he wished. Jokes. I love it, he thought. Although what a petty emotion love was. Such affection for some little token that may be only a short-lived philosophy…

His racing thoughts were interrupted by a pathetic cough from his left. He sniffed, turning his head so that he could see her—the girl he had taken. So young and delicate her features…so little and innocent she was. Hilarious! "I'm neglecting you," he stated simply with a grin so false and sarcastic that it might have caused Fana to unleash a blood-curdling scream just to bother this out-of-his-mind man.

"No worries," she spat through gritted teeth, eyeing him at only a glance. "I'm perfectly content." Which is an utter lie, she told herself. But not something so unusual. There was no way that any sane person could be content in the cramped, most-likely stolen vehicle with a man in makeup—not even well applied. And yet, she did not shudder and shake at the thought of the situation, but sat perfectly still in her uncomfortable position with her hands of no use to her. Something was strangely…all right; perhaps all because he had whispered those words to her: the promise he'd uttered that he didn't plan on hurting her as long as he held her there. Then again, could she honestly rest assured in that, knowing that he was plainly deserving of an institution? Besides, he might use some loophole as the craziest ones always did. He had only said that he wouldn't hurt her while she was being held captive. That still didn't cover her safety when she was set loose—if she wasset loose…

"You are just as pleasantly different as you are unpleasantly…different," he said to her with a voice like a strangled snake. "I personally…am rather fond of any sort of difference in humans…simple, that's what they are. Really…really…" He reached out and smoothed her silken hair against her head sharply, the speed with which he did it quickening as his annoyance did. "…simple. Now." His hand shot back, making Fana jump. "I've changed my mind—I would, as a matter of fact, like to know what your name is." She could see the shadows of his cheekbones moving as he his tongue danced in his mouth again.

"I'd like to know your name, too," said Fana, shooting him an unkind and disagreeable glare. "So perhaps we are both out of luck. And wouldn't you say I have more right to know your name than you have right to know mine? I'm your victim, buddy. I got a nice big load of questions that I know you won't answer, though you should. My rights are first priori—"

"I wouldn't trod on the matter of either of our rights, my sweet…not while I'm so readily…prepared, and you are in such a wonderfully victimized position." In one swift motion, he pulled out his gun and held it right at Fana's neck. It was then that her fear finally kicked in to a normal extent. But it was too late to scream; they had disappeared into darkness. "Now what…" In the dark, Fana could not see what he had done, but the gun made a rather loud but quick clicking sound. "…Do they call you back at all of those raging parties?" he asked, the "S"-sound of his last word lingering until it was no more than a wisp of smoke.

Swallowing, Fana's eyes darted quickly to the gun before returning to the clown's stone white face. "Fana," she told him. "Will…Williams." She was hesitant to speak her last name, though after thinking about it, she realized that it would do her no further harm. "I…"

"'Did not belong at that party.'" He twisted a strand of his own hair, the scent of it almost too much to handle. He breathed a quick, "Hah…" as he glanced in Fana's direction. He inhaled, storing the air in his cheeks, suppressing laughter that would have upset the entire vehicle. Her face was thunderstruck, as though he had truly stolen the words from her mouth. Hell, maybe he really had! Her eyes glinted with uncanny brightness, with an auburn glow that seemed to cast light on at least his left side. Her thin mouth was pursed, whether for fear or because of stubbornness. Perhaps she would have preferred him to have left her to keep duct tape over her mouth. But what did it matter what she wanted? She was just a marker in the game; he was the only player. "I'm right, am I, Fana Willana? Speaking of which, I'll wager you had a fairly difficult time in school back in the day…and that day might not have been very long ago…with such a name, hahaha!" She did not shift but to speak.

"That's right," she answered stiffly. Behind her back, she balled her hands into fists, her nails cutting into her palms uncomfortably. "On both accounts."

"So why, she who…obliges…were you there, out of place? Different. Wrong."

Her face heated, knowing very well that he was reading her emotions perfectly. He knew that she had been uncomfortable at Harvey's party. She gave off vibes. She was such a human. Imperfection described them all. "Rachel," she said swiftly. "The woman who spoke to you, when you…came. I know her, and she's friends with Bruce Wayne, and has been dating Har—"

She'd said much too much.

The muscles in his neck jerked. He knew why she had stopped speaking. She was under the impression that he didn't know that little miss Rachel was Harvey's new squeeze. Oh, he knew that already. And he did not need anyone to have connections to Harvey. Fana was his bait, and he knew perfectly well that people were stupid and sly all at once. They would turn in strong, manly man Harvey Dent, in order to save frail and incapable Fana Williams because she was a woman. Prejudice, he thought, smacking his lips together. Women get so little credit these days…then again, their feet are smaller…only so they can stand nearer the stove! Hah! He hummed a little bit before recognizing Fana's presence again. "Oh, you don't have to worry," he assured her with a smirk. "I'm a man of my word. I told you you're not getting hurt as long as you're in my captivity…which may, in fact, turn out to be longer than three days as I'd promised the good people of the party. I asked for Harvey Dent—I didn't ask for any Rachel, did I? Eh…you must be a fan of distrust in the male species. And there's another joke on you!"

"If you're gonna be making fun of my name for a while, can I ask a favor?" Fana said, unable to remove her gaze from the scars around the Joker's mouth. She heard him make a low noise in the very back of his throat; the deepest end that produced the lowest grumbling sound. The corners of his mouth curled.

"You can ask," he remarked. "Doesn't mean you'll get the response you'd like." Fana sneered.

"You keep tossing your saliva," she stated. "I'd like it if you stopped, just while I'm here. The sound gets to me."

He stared at her. Tossing his saliva? What was that supposed to mean? "I'm not picking up on your lingo." Now he remembered why he especially took care in duct taping the mouths of women. Not that Fana had done much in the way of speaking to displease him, but she had certainly done her fair share of getting to the most human nerves he had anymore. She had started when they'd been in the elevator, and she had posed one simple question to him with little to no fear or uncertainty. Where were her scrawny human instincts that gave him such pleasure to watch as they ground and ground against each other, conflicting until a person would explode from the inside out?

"You lick your lips and I can hear your tongue running along the inside of your mouth," she informed him, shuddering only briefly. She hated the sound it made; the sound of saliva mixing around so sickeningly. "It makes a very distinct, smacking and clapping noise. I can't stand it. It plucks my nerves."

"There's a human trait," he glowered to himself. Fana appeared ignorant of any further speech on his part. Ignorance. That was another one. "Why don't you put yourself in my shoes for just a little teensy while?" he offered, sliding a hand slowly into his pocket. "Listen to a story I have to tell you. These scars—you see 'em? You must. Nobody misses them." He took hold of his knife and switched it open; the girl didn't notice in the dark. He moved closer to her on the seat and inclined his body towards her. "They're prominent, if you haven't taken that in so well. They cut deep. When something like that is…is…ingrained in your mouth, you make a lot more motions." Fana went white as his hand crept up to her face, cupping her cheek. He stretched his arm momentarily before bringing it up, and pressing his knife calmly to the corner of her flowered lips. She felt suddenly numb as the cold blade stood against her, unmoving…so menacing. Her whole body was tingling and her mind went blank.

"I wouldn't have to 'toss my saliva' so much if it weren't for the scars," he growled. "Do you want to know how I got these scars? Well, my angelic mother…was always a little…different. Now don't take that the wrong way; different is a good thing. But there are exceptions to everything. She had this wild, really wild hair and these staring eyes. She slept with millions of men—millions!—for a living. That's how I came about, as an accident. Mommy was a real bleeding heart, and she wouldn't ever kill a little baby, especially not one in her own tummy. So she opted to give birth—in an alley, I've been told—and out I popped. But there was nowhere to keep me. No sturdy house, no matter how cheap, and no daycare. She couldn't face the failure. So I went everywhere she went; oh, I believe she loved me a real nice amount. And I watched her selling herself. Well, Fana banana, it isn't fun watching your mama living that way. So I didn't smile anymore. I had this ugly mug, and one day, it started to hurt mommy more than even she could hurt herself. 'Smile, son, please!' she would beg me. But somewhere along the lines, I had forgotten how to." His breath came in cracks and wheezes. He shook his head, drawing it closer to Fana's face. "'I can't stand to see you frowning, my angel!' she said. 'How I wish you would smile again.' So she took this knife—the one I have right here…" He wiggled it a little. "…And stuck it in my mouth just like this." He forced Fana's mouth open, shoving the little pocketknife inside. Beads of sweat were escaping her pores are she whimpered around the blade. "'Smile…' she cooed as she…ripped it up the sides of my face." He jerked the knife, causing Fana to jump. 'Smile!'"

Fana could feel his hands shaking with anger. He readjusted the knife several times and still, she heard him chewing on his cheeks as his saliva smacked and popped so loudly in the silent, speeding car. She tried focusing on something other than the red smile around his mouth and aimed to look at the rest of his face, though she was not sure she wanted to. She was startled when their eyes met, his stare impossible to break through his glassy, midnight eyes. The twisted onyx circles edging them were barely evident in the shadows of the dark. All that she could be sure of was the fluorescent white and that smile.

She tipped her head to the right gradually. Was his story true? And if it was, was she really considering justifying everything she knew he must have done and was going to do and would do? I may possibly be losing my mind, she thought distantly as she sat opposite the man dressed as a clown, their faces centimeters apart where she could smell his putrid breath that somehow was not so horrible. His knife, she remembered, was still planted in her mouth, and he was radiating the temptation to carve the same smile that rested on his face into hers.

His heart was racing with excitement. Every ounce of resistance he had was being used to keep from moving the knife. "I said I wouldn't," he sang, rocking his head from side to side and grinning while she continued to stare at him in horror. Clenching his jaw, he drew his arms back, snapping her neck as best he could as he went. He stowed his knife away in his pocket again and sneered. "Ah, and here we are," he said, peering out the window. "You, angel cakes, are getting a nice stay in an ice house. Not only is it cold…" He grabbed her arm and flung the door of the car open before it had come to a complete stop. "…It's empty and dark," he finished, placing special emphasis on the "k".

Fana tripped after him, sure her arm must have been jerked from its socket by now. She could hardly see where they were going in the combined difficulty of the dark and their speed. He continuously tugged on her arm, suggesting her to quicken her pace, but she could not. "You, you, you're staggering me," he snarled in upset, whirling around and spinning her around so that she was in front of him. He pushed her straight forward now, until they went crashing through a door. Another man who had climbed into the passenger seat with them before had taken hold of Fana, pulling her backwards with an array of forces, finally sitting her down in a little wooden chair that was only nameable by its shape; there were no lights, making the rink even colder. "Have a good stay, Miss Williams," she could hear the Joker saying. He remained stationary in the doorway, staring out into the night. There was a click and she saw his hand around a master switch as the lights rang on. He turned to look at her as the man—she noted that he was in a plastic clown mask—picked up all of her and the chair and walked towards the glassed-off ice. He set the chair down on the cold, iced surface and gave her a push towards the middle. She clutched the back of it, though her hands were still tied. "I'll be here all night," came his voice. "Let's see how you keep all that squealing in now. Aha!"

And as he closed to door of the ice house, she could hear his loud and triumphant cackled echoing greatly in the area.