For the first couple of hours, it's nothing but screaming. Muffled screaming, but still, screaming. Another six or so hours (nobody keeps track) passed and it turns into soft whimpers, sobbing, and then, it becomes silence. It's not like anybody actually checks the room. Michelle is sure that she's going to die in here, alone, in the dark. Alone. She spends all the time alone with her thoughts wondering, 'why me?'. 'Why did it have to be me?'. She pities herself intensely. It's not her fault, and it never was. It was everyone else's fault. It's still everyone else's fault.
She's not so sure that it is anymore. Whose fault can it be, then? It's hers. No, wait, it's not. She didn't have a...choice...yes she did...no...yes...maybe. She picked to go with him at the police department. But she didn't have a real choice. Prison or criminal activity? Of course she's going to pick criminal. Who wants to go to prison?
Michelle is slowly becoming more and more terrified at how much sense the Joker is making to her. It's horrifying. She knows he's insane, whether he believes it or not; of course he's crazy. Normal, sane people don't kill other people. Do they? Yes they do, a voice in her head tells her. Soldiers do it every day. But that doesn't count, she tries to tell herself. Who else kills people? Serial killers kill people. They're crazy.
Haven't you ever heard of self-defense? The voice -she's starting to think it's her common sense- tells her, almost smugly. She knows where this is going, and shakes her head, as if she's trying to throw the voice out of it.
You killed a man. You're a normal, sane person, and you killed a man with a chunk of concrete.
She tries to convince herself that that's different. I did it because I had to, she tells the voice. He was...going to keep hurting me...
He wasn't going to kill you though. He loved you.
He was insane!
He was obsessed. He loved you very much, remember? He told you all those times...
Stop it!
'Oh Michelle, you're the reason I get up in the morning. I hope we can stay like this forever...'
Don't!
Yes, she's tormenting herself, and yes, she knows how insane it is. It's the dark, she tries to tell herself. The dark makes me crazy. Once I get out of the dark, I'll be normal and sane and happy again.
No, you won't.
I won't?
No, Michelle. You know that you're never going to be the same again. Joker, he's changed you. You're going mad.
No...I'm not...
But you're starting to think he makes sense. Life is horrible. The world is just so unfair to good people, isn't it? Don't lie to yourself.
Well, yeah, but that's diff...different...
You always say that, don't you? Even when you're babbling to yourself like a madman, you like to think you're sane. You're going to lose your mind soon enough, you know. Look; you've already got a voice in your head talking to you. That's not the mark of a mentally healthy person.
I can't help you being here.
Yes, yes you can. See, I'm still here, but I'm still you. You know what it means when you have two people in your head, right?
No...wait, yeah, but I'm not that crazy. I'm not crazy. I'm not.
He isn't crazy either. Come on, you know that right now, I'm just talking to myself. I am. I'm just talking to myself. I'm going insane.
She wants to cry again. She's going to lose her mind, and start giggling and licking knives and doing all that crazy shit. She doesn't want to go crazy. She wants to stay sane so she can escape and...and...and do what? And get arrested? And get locked away? And get hunted down by the Joker and get chopped to pieces?
She doesn't want to think about this anymore. She just hangs her head, and closes her eyes (not that it matters, since it's still pitch black either way), and stops talking to herself. She has no idea how long she's been here, but she's so hungry, and her throat is dry, and she can't stop the images behind her eyes of a pitch black basement, and the feel of chains cutting into the skin of her wrists, and a smiling captor stroking her hair and her face, and telling her that he loves her. And then she can only see him turn around after unlocking her chains, sees him reaching for something, and she can remember the concrete chunk cutting up her hand from how tight she holds it, right before she brings it down on the back of his head. And then, she can only imagine all the blood all over the walls, the floor, her hands, herself, and his head a bloody mess, and Michelle summons up the energy to start screaming again.
How long has it been? Well, Joker guesses that it's been a day or so. He wonders, briefly, if she's gone insane or not, as he walks down the hallway towards her room. There's no noise coming from it. He opens the door, and looks in to see her still in her chair (unsurprising), hanging her head. Her eyes are so red from crying that it looks like they're bleeding.
"Hello, hello." He chimes, strolling towards her. He's in a good mood; just got back from burning a cool billion (hot billion, he should say) and now has a fleet of well-fed guard dogs to boot. He pulls a knife and slices the rope from her, whistling a merry tune, before ripping off the duct tape covering her mouth. She makes no noise when he does, and for a moment, he wonders if she's dead. "Quiet today."
As soon as he unlocks the handcuffs, though, she shoots out of her chair and wraps her arms around his body, buring her face into his chest and sobbing apologies. It's not what he expected; he'd been expecting anger, maybe even her being catatonic, but not...well, this.
"I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" She wails into his chest, and he lays his hands on her shoulders, trying to push her off.
"That's nice." He mutters, pushing, but she tightens her grip and won't let go. This is annoying. "Alright, it's time to let go of me. Down, girl..." He presses the knife against her throat and pushes, and she staggers back with her hand over a superficial cut. She drops back into the bolted-down chair, staring blankly at the floor. Maybe she did go insane. He turns and walks towards the door, whistling at her like a dog, snapping his fingers. He doesn't need to look back to know that she's following. And she's staying silent too; it's kind of eerie, with how often she usually talks, but it's good with him.
"Where are we going?" She finally asks, and he only giggles a bit in response, walking into a familiar room. It's the one she got her rubber mask in, right before they attacked the armored car however long ago it was.
"Sit." He orders, pointing at a flimsy wooden chair, and she obeys. He grabs something off the corner of the table and tosses it to her, and she fumbles it, like always. It's a newspaper. She unfolds the paper and stares at the front page. News about their escape. "Why don't you take a look at the bottom." He suggests, and she does, and instantly pales.
A note has also been found in an interrogation room from one Michelle King, a woman that was arrested aiding the Joker in his attack on Harvey Dent. It reads that 'I never wanted to help him', 'This is all one huge, horrible mistake', and 'I'm sorry for everything'. It has been discovered that the unnamed woman used as a hostage by the Joker during his attack at a fundraiser fits the description of Ms. King, and an investigation into her whereabouts has been opened, though it is assumed that she is either with the Joker or dead. "We had no idea that she may be a hostage," a police officer wishing to remain anonymous has told us. "She didn't try and tell us that she was kidnapped, or let us know that she was forced against her will. We couldn't have known." A look at the cameras during her interrogation, however, has shown a grevious mistake by the interrogating officer's methods, and that she did, indeed, try to confess being forced against her will to aid the Joker. The cameras also show that she was once again abducted by the Joker, after making a phone call traced to Nathan Anderson, her adoptive brother. He has declined to comment. Only time will tell if Ms. King will be returned safely or not, though our prayers go out to her.
"Wow. I didn't know you liked the limelight."
She drops the newspaper and very hesitantly looks up at him, wondering if he's angry or not. She still can't tell. "I didn't mean for it to...get so out of hand..."
"Of course you didn't. Everyone misses you after you're gone, right?"
She nods, somewhat hesitantly, staring down at the newspaper but not really seeing it as he slides it away from her. "Y...yeah, I guess...sir..." The revelation that people actually believe her story has rocked her to the core, and for a moment, she's hopeful. She hides it, of course, but maybe...if she gets away, she can live...a normal life...
The rolled up newspaper is swatted across her across the face, hard enough to sting.
"Bad girl; trying to sneak around me? Plan an escape?" He scolds her, as she turns her head to look at him again, and she's afraid again. There's a smear of cheap black ink along her cheek. "You think I'm ever letting you go?" There's laughter in his voice, derisive laughter that stings her almost as bad as his words. "When I'm tired of you, I'll just...do something fun, like strap a bomb to you and shove you into a crowded building. Missy, you're a tool of mine, and I use my tools." He taps the end of the rolled-up newspaper on her nose as he speaks, and she does nothing, because there's always a pitch black room she could go back to. "Understand?"
She's silent. He grabs her by the hair and drags her within an inch of a knife, the point of it hovering near her eye. She cuts in with a yelp of "Yessir" and he tosses her back, the force of it tipping back her chair. It's almost pathetic.
"Well," He claps his hands together, and the mood whiplash is tangible, "Glad we could chat." She watches him walk to the door, remaining splayed across the concrete floor on her back, and sits up slightly after a moment of deliberation. "I could always turn out the light," He suggests, slyly, and laughs when she shoots up to her knees, eyes wide. "Kidding, only kidding. Be ready to do something useful for once, soon." He slams the door, leaving her in a lit room, alone, and though she doesn't hear the door lock, she doesn't really think about it and instead sets the chair upright, before dropping down into it and grabbing the newspaper. No reason not to enjoy what might be the last times she's peaceful (and not about to die), right?
"If I die, oh well. Gotham's a shithole anyway."