The drip of the faulty pipes at the far end of my room were driving me nuts. My headphones weren't working…again. I definitely needed ear plugs.
Despite the cold, I lay with my feet hanging out the window of the fire escape. Polishing my stolen pistol, I was doing my best to think positively. This is temporary, I needed to keep my head down. The dripping wasn't doing much for my nerves.
Gotham was dark, cold and windy. An autumn shower had rolled in that painted the buildings with a stark heaviness. It made me sleepy. I wished I could go out for some real fresh air, but I couldn't take that chance. Too many eyes watching out for me.
Me, the daughter of a mob boss, running away? Who would have thought. Despite what you think about mob blood ties, family was such a foreign concept to me. Especially when you were the only one left living with an empathetic bone in their body.
I knew what my father had wanted for me, but I'd never let him mold me into one of his money hungry zombies. Below all the rotten theft and drug deals, he was a killer, void of emotion, fueled by a lust for power. No thank you.
I yearned to be like my mother. Although she had died in my teens, she had been the light to my life. I suppose that's why my father fell for her. She was his opposite in every way. But now that he was finally in Arkham Asylum rotting away, there was nothing left for me in Gotham anymore.
Currently, the city was recovering from the last reign of terror led by a terrorist group headed by Raz Al Ghul's heiress. Many assumed Batman to be dead. I had no idea how many of my father's men were left and what the state of the organization was, but I had the chaos to thank for that. Since the Scarecrow appeared, followed quickly by the Joker, their work had thrown a wrench in the machine. This new race of criminal sent Gotham's entire criminal organization into a downward spiral.
But with Batman either truly dead or hiding somewhere out of the public eye, the GCPD was back in control. Despite many criminals now behind bars, who knew what would happen next. I needed to be careful. Whoever was left, I was certain they wouldn't stop looking for me. The mob made sure no one left the organization, unless the destination was ten feet under.
Placing my gun on the dresser, I looked over at my half finished paintings in the corner of the small studio apartment. I wanted to work on something to get my mind off of things, but living in the Narrows kept me on edge. I barely finished anything, even the takeout collecting dust on the kitchen counter was never fully enjoyed.
The neighbors upstairs began their typical screaming matches again, only muffled by their pounding on the floor. Within another drip of the pipe, I'd had it. Swinging my feet onto the floor I got up and took my jacket off the bedroom door. I decided I needed to go for a walk. If not outside, then around the building, at least.
Not having inspected it much before, I realized the building was a drafty place. Locking my creaky apartment door, I shivered as wind and droplets of rain pelted me through a broken window. This was exactly the type of environment that fed crime in the narrows.
Walking down the hall and up a flight of stairs, I traced a dusty green railing with my hand. Walking up flights and flights of stairs, I suddenly realized how big this complex was. Ten stories at least. It didn't look like much from the outside, as it watched tuna canned in between so many other, similar, broken down buildings.
The top floor was noticeably chillier than the lower ones. But as old as the building was, the charm of the penthouse was still apparent after all the years of decay. Perhaps back in the early days of Gotham, this has been a swanky flat for a rich aristocrat. I thought about the history of this place, wondering perhaps if my father had ever been here on business. Quite possibly.
Walking down to the end of the hallway, I could hear a fair amount of noise from a suite beside me. I suppose that's what extra money gets you - freedom to do whatever the hell you wanted behind closed doors.
At the end of the hallway, there was a door labeled "rooftop entrance". Ignoring the yellow caution tape plastered across the door, I twisted the door handle. As gust of cool air came rushing into the hallway, I tucked my long brown hair into my scarf and threw my hood over my head. Walking up a final set of stairs, I could see the final door to the roof was left slightly ajar.
Already feeling relief from the interior I had made my temporary prison sentence, I tried to push the door open. Nothing. The rust had cemented the door in place. I exhaled and took a few steps back. This feeling of stuckness reminded me of how trapped i'd felt for all these years. I wanted this freedom more than anything. The thoughts of the pain and humiliation inflicted upon me by my father fueled my anger as I kicked the door with as much energy as I could muster… It felt good. I kicked again. It budged. Another kick, a little more movement. After a few more kicks, I finally used my hands to push the door open.
Unexpectedly, the door broke from the hinges. With all my weight on the door, I cursed as I fell with it. It slammed loudly onto the ground, tearing my jeans on the rusted exterior in the process. Regaining my composure, I brushed a tuft of hair from my face and assessed myself. My hand was bleeding, my jacket was covered in dirt and my ripped jeans now exposed raw, skidded knees.
"Smart, Lucy", I said aloud. I stood up slowly, holding my palms to the falling rain and gazing out at the rest of the city. Despite my stinging palms and the freezing rain, I felt relief. Gazing around past decrepit rooftops surrounding me, I could see Gotham's skyline. Truthfully, I was going to miss its familiarity. This had been my entire life.
Losing myself for a moment in a drifting thought, I imagined what it must be like living in one of those tall buildings, away from all the crime. I wonder how simple it would be to live a day in the life of Bruce Wayne. Maybe in another life I'd find out. But for now, I had to leave this city as soon as possible.
Then I heard it. A small noise from beneath me. A cracking sound.
Looking down, the roof was giving way beneath me. Probably because of the heavy iron door now weighing on top of its already fragile supports. Before I had time to run, it sucked me in as gravity did its job.
"Oh no… no, no, no, no.."
Down the roof went and my short, unbearable life flashed before my eyes.
After being suspended in open air for what seemed like far too long, I finally crashed down onto a hardwood floor. Lying dazed and covered with debris on top of the heavy metal door, I was surprised I was still conscious. Groaning, I suddenly realized I wasn't the only person in the room.
As rain poured soundlessly from above me, shadows swarmed in a perimeter. Slowly the shadows became figures, chipping wallpaper, tables lined with guns. They were all wearing clown masks… I definitely had a concussion. They stared at me as I tried to lift myself up. One thing was for sure, I had fallen into a den of some kind of illegal business.
I was trying my hardest to make the room stop spinning. The men were beginning to gather around me with their guns. I couldn't tell if there were 8 or 16 or 36 of them.
Then a low and raspy voice called from another room.
In seconds the men were disappearing in number as a man dressed in a purple and messy clown makeup came into view. My stomach lurched. It couldn't be…
"Nowww… what do we have hereee…" drawled the voice excitedly. The clacking of dress shoes came closer and I felt the rain stop slightly as his form hunched over me.
"Yeah boss, uhh… this broad uh- just fell from…." he pointed towards the gaping hole. I wasn't sure whether my violent shaking was caused by the temperature or my fear. Either way, his eyes glimmered with excitement.
He turned his head from the roof towards my half conscious face. Hunching over, he used a gloved hand to direct my face towards his. It was him. The Joker. His scarred, painted face gave me a curious lookover as he smacked his tongue habitually against his scars.
I tried to speak but was cut off. He grabbed a firstfill of my hair, yanking me closer towards him as I yelped in surprise. I heard the sound of a switchblade unlatching.
"Boss" interrupted a man from beside him. "I think…That's Falcone's daughter..."
My heart sank.
The Joker, still holding my hair now leaned in closer. His dark eyes met mine. I tried to focus on them, unblinking. How had he escaped Arkham? It hadn't been on the news.
"Falcone.. THE Carmine Falcone?" he asked, still holding my head while he spoke.
My head was in splitting pain and I felt a surge of nausea arose from my stomach. I closed my eyes to center myself.
"Hey" he said, shaking me. "Hey! Wake up!"
In seconds, I wasn't on the floor anymore. The Joker had effortlessly picked me up and was carrying me away from the hole in the ceiling.
I couldn't remember the last time I was held like this. He smelt like gasoline and gunpowder… but he was warm, and for a split second that comforted me.
"Can't tuck you in yet until we have a little talk" He said in a low growl. I shivered as he adjusted me and began walking into a spare room. Plopping me down on an unfurnished mattress, he said something unintelligible to a man in the hallway and closed the door.
Unknowingly I had been living only floors away from his hideout. And now I was alone with him. The Joker.
"Now, where were we?" He said, reopening the switchblade he had taken out of his suit pocket. Pulling up a chair next to me, he began playing with the blade. Trying my best not to pass out, I felt a few hard slaps on my face from the cold metallic object.
"We can't have a conversation if you're sleeping," he said plainly, his head drawing closer to mine. He was sucking on the scar again, seemingly deep in thought. I sat up to keep myself conscious.
"Tell me, sweetheart", his voice was eerily penetrating, hard to disassociate from fear. "What were you doing up on the roof? Lost your way home?" He said without a trace of a smile on his face… besides the obvious scars.
"I- I was just looking around.." I stammered.
"Not very convincing, doll face."
I jumped in shock as he stood up abruptly.
"I don't usually give second chances, but just this once for you, sweetheart. Tell me, WHAT were you doing on the ROOF?"
He quickly transitioned again from standing to sitting beside me. The blade was in my face before I had time to register the feeling of it sliding into my mouth and pointing into my cheek. I could taste blood, but I wasn't sure if it was mine or residual blood from its last unfortunate victim. My stomach churned once more and I held down a gag.
"I'm not a spy… I ran away."
"You ran away." He repeated, scanning my disheveled state.
"Couldn't handle the pressure?" He said, digging the knife deeper into my cheek. I flinched and instinctively pushed against him. I regretted this move immediately.
Now it truly was my own blood. Tears flooded my eyes as his blade pierced the inside of my mouth.
Joker wrapped his other hand around my neck. Forcing me against the wall, I fought against him, struggling for air.
"Ah tah-tah-tah a little fight in you…" he said, licking his bottom lip.
"I- I won't tell anyone about this, I'm leaving Gotham.. " I whispered.
He shook his head at me and clicked the inside of his mouth.
"Fraid' not, Ms. Falcone. Not anymore."
I was starting to black out from the pain. He was enjoying this.
I thought I was going to die then. But something unexpected happened. Something that hadn't happened to me since childhood. Something that would change my fate indefinitely.
Struggling against him, my grip on his gloved arm slipped to touch the skin just below the purple leather. In an instant I felt an electric shock flow through me and I was somewhere else.
A blurry living room… blood. Curdling screams.
JACK, why Jack.. WHY?
It was a woman's voice. Then silence
I felt myself laughing.
He quickly removed his hand from my neck as I gasped for air. Leaning against the wall, I could feel my head throbbing. I was about to pass out.
He didn't come at me again. For a few moments he stared in silence, then abruptly left the room. The door slammed shut behind him.
What the Fuck. This can't be happening. Not now.
I fought the urge to sleep. I needed to get out of there. Looking around the tiny room, there was one small window towards the corner that separated me from the outside world. If I could get it open I might be able to slip out of it and escape.
I took a deep breath and tried to stabilize myself. Adrenaline kicked in. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel like blood rushing to my head. I had no idea when he'd be back. Was he going to kill me? A secret from my past was surfacing at the most inconvenient time.
I had glimpsed something very intimate and hidden from his past.
Focus, Lucy, focus.
I sat up and softly planted my feet on the ground. When I was steady, I walked drowsily towards the small window. I did my best to quietly open it, but the deterioration of the wood had warped the window frame. It was going to take some strength. But with every burst of energy I emitted I was seeing doubles.
I could hear footsteps coming closer to the room, so I gave the window one last push. I sighed in relief as it opened enough for me to slip out. Thankfully the small window was a leap away from the fire escape.
Nudging myself into the pouring rain, I jumped onto the iron balcony below me. Voices were shouting above me and I knew it was time to start moving. Clinging to the rails, I made my way down the fire escape as fast as I could. Controlling my breath and focusing on each step I took, I made progress towards my apartment. However, on the last leg of stairs, I slipped.
Doing my best to hold in a scream, my body tumbled downward and settled, bruised at the window ledge of my apartment. I used my arms to haul my body into my room and onto my bed. Quickly closing and locking my window, I pulled down the blinds and I let out a cry of relief. But it was short lived.
"Hi" said a voice from the chair adjacent to my bed. He was holding the pistol I had left on my dresser.
I couldn't hold back a frustrated scream.
"Don't, please don't…" I begged. I could feel tears welling as my frustration mixed with disappointment.
"Listen" he began, setting the gun down on the floor and raising his hands up in a motion of surrender. "I'm not gonna hurt yah… I want to help you out of your ah… pre-dic-ah-ment," he continued.
I shook my head in surprise.
"Listen, Ms. Falcone… no, no. That won't do. We need to get to know each other a little better…" he gestured a hand toward me.
"Lucy. My name is Lucy."
"Ah, Lucy…Lucy…" he surveyed my room. "I'd introduced myself, but you already know who I am."
My eyes widened, I had said his name upstairs. Not his criminal, stage name, the Joker. I had said his real name. Jack. He leaned closer to me.
"You are a very unique-ah individual. I'll give you that." he said, looking at me with piercing black eyes. "No wonder the mob is looking for you…" he said, standing to walk over to me. I tried backing up only to have myself slammed down on the bed by my shoulders. "But If you ever say that name again…", he growled, "I'll kill you."
I nodded to show that I understood him perfectly well. I could still taste the fresh blood where his knife had pierced the inside of my cheek. After a few seconds, he released my shoulder and came to sit beside me. I flinched at the abruptness of the mood swings.
"Listen, Luce, no one runs from the mob and lives longer enough to talk about it" he said, patting me on the shoulder. "Even if you did manage to leave Gotham, you above all people should know that your people have connections. There's no running from this, not anymore."
He pulled out a card from his suit pocket and handed it to me.
"What do you say we make a deal?"
I began to protest but he closed my hand around the card. It was nothing but a playing card of the joker.
"If you can keep tonight our little secret, I'll make sure the mob stays out of your hair. But, if you fib…" he said, squeezing his hand even harder around mine, "the mob will be the least of your problems... Capisce?" I winced, nodding. With that, he released my hand and stood up.
"Good girl. We'll be in touch." With that he left the room and slammed the door. I sat in silence. It must have been 2 in the morning, but the neighbors were still screaming and the pipes dripped into overflowing buckets