2

It was the beeping that woke her.

Isabelle groaned; her face was one big hurt. She moved her arms up to feel her face (she was glad that she could move her arms at all, as opposed to the last time she had woken up in a new place), and found the entire left side of her face covered in bandages.

Bandages? she thought, confused, What are… fuck.

The beeping grew more insistent, and Isabelle realised that it was a heart monitor. A face appeared in her vision, and she flinched.

'How are you feeling Isabelle?' asked a calm feminine voice.

Not the Joker not the Joker.

'Where… where am I?' Isabelle croaked, doing her utmost to move her mouth as little as possible.

'Gotham General,' replied the nurse, and then said, checking her clipboard. 'You were transferred here after to you were found.'

Isabelle frowned at her, 'Found? Found where?'

The nurse looked uncomfortable, 'In the Narrows.'

Isabelle's eyes widened, 'The Narrows?'

She couldn't believe it. He'd left her in the fucking Narrows?! The Narrows was notorious for murders, mobs, petty crime and gangs. Hell, that's where her credit card had been stolen! It was not the safest place to be left unconscious for an extended period of time.

'Oh my God. Is there any… I mean, was I…' Isabelle trailed off, gesturing down below her torso.

The nurse didn't even blink, 'There are no injuries of a sexual nature.'

Isabelle relaxed back into the sheets.

'Now, Isabelle, are you feeling any pain?' the nurse asked, pen poised over the clipboard.

Isabelle thought about it.

'Just my face,' she replied, 'how bad is it?'

The nurse rattled off Isabelle's injuries, as if she was growing bored, 'There are three areas in which swelling has occurred, two on the centre of the forehead, and one to the right temple, but no fractures to the skull. The cut on your neck is shallow, and did not require stitches. The cut across your left cheek did not puncture the skin although it is quite deep. It required 29 stitches, and will scar.'

That fucker, Isabelle thought furiously, he maimed me.

'Now, is there any family you would like to contact?' the nurse asked.

Isabelle glared at her in irritation. 'No,' she snapped, 'there is no-one.'

The nurse looked taken aback, and the pen teetered in her grip.

'In that case, I'll go and get the police,' she said hastily, and rushed out of the room, heels clacking on the linoleum floor.

The police? thought Isabelle, annoyed, Don't I have enough to deal with?

A man walked into the room.

'Good evening, Isabelle, I'm Lieutenant Gordon from the Gotham City Police Department.'

He extended a hand to her, and Isabelle shook it with annoyance.

'Look,' she said, 'I know you just have to do your job, but can't you just leave it for later? I'm in hospital.'

Gordon's face softened. He had a fatherly face, laugh lines beside his bespectacled eyes and a moustache on his top lip.

'I'm know this is hard for you, but we have to catch this man –'

'The Joker,' Isabelle interrupted. Gordon looked at her oddly.

'Yes, we have to catch the Joker before he causes any more damage. Is there anything you can tell me that will help us to find him?'

Isabelle thought.

'Not really. He knocked me unconscious in the bank, and then I woke up in a room, tied to a table. Then he did his work on my face, and dumped me in the Narrows. I suppose it's too much to hope that he left me right outside where he's holed down?'

Gordon frowned. 'Unfortunately, there was no trace that anyone had been there.'

Isabelle slumped back against the pillows. It had been a long shot.

'Now, I've spoken to your Doctor, and he has told me that you will be released tomorrow. I'll leave you to get some rest.'

With one last reassuring pat on her hand, Lieutenant Gordon left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Isabelle sighed, and settled back into the bed to try to get some sleep.

The news of Isabelle's kidnapping and mutilation had somehow reached the news, and she was continually faced with Mike Engel's smarmy face as the story was rehashed over and over again (the amount of crime within the city had unforeseeably dropped, either due to influence from the Batman or the Joker, and so the news casters had little else to report on). It certainly hadn't helped Isabelle's wish to remain out of the spotlight – she attracted a ridiculous amount of stares as she walked down the street, whether due to the bandages that still covered her face, or the fact that she was recognised by the photograph of her that had been circulated on every news station. Isabelle had taken to staying in her apartment all day, eating nothing but two minute noodles and pop-tarts, and watching the Lifetime channel. To hell with her job at the gym – someone else could man the desk at reception.

Isabelle sighed and stretched out on the couch, accidently knocking a few wrappers to the floor. She wasn't proud of the amount she had consumed over the past few days, but at the same time believed she was entitled to a few extra calories considering the week she'd had.

Isabelle probed the bandages, wondering whether they were ready to come off. She still hadn't seen the damage the Joker caused to her face, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to. The look on the doctor's face as he changed the bandages had been enough for her. Isabelle felt tears well up in her eyes, and she rubbed them away angrily with her fist. She'd had more than enough time to get over this! It wasn't as if she was going to die! There were so many people who were much worse off than her – it was only a little cut for God's sake. Only it wasn't only a little cut to Isabelle – she had never admitted it to herself (or to anyone else) but she was rather vain of her good looks and fine features. Now it was ruined, and that hurt far more than Isabelle cared to admit.

She pound her fist into a pillow trying to distract herself from the tears that were threatening to overflow.

Pull yourself together.

The phone rang. Isabelle fumbled for her mobile, nestled between the couch cushions.

'Hello?' Isabelle asked cautiously, gathering up the wrappers on the floor as if the person on the end of the line could see the state of her apartment.

'Isabelle!'

'Simon?' Isabelle asked excitedly. Simon was an old friend from college, and he was the only buddy she had kept up contact with after she'd dropped out.

'Is that you I've been seeing on the news?' he asked, his voice dropping. She could practically see him running a hand through his hair and frowning as he spoke.

Isabelle sighed, 'Yeah. I'm fine though, before you ask!'

Simon chuckled, 'I wasn't going to ask. You've always been tough.'

Isabelle grinned, although he couldn't see it. He was right – she was tough, and she wasn't going to let a little cut stop her. She was almost embarrassed at the thought of the state she had been in just a moment ago. The scar could be covered in foundation – the miracle of makeup – and it wasn't as if the Joker had any reason to come looking for her. She had been a moment's fun, a whim, and then he had gotten bored and dumped her on the sidewalk.

'So what's up?' Isabelle asked, collapsing back down onto the couch and throwing a leg over the side.

'Well, I'm in town for a fundraiser over at the Wayne Foundation Building – you know, Bruce's crowd.'

Isabelle scoffed - of course she knew Bruce's crowd. Him and his idiotic friends were constantly splashed over the pages of magazines that she refused to lend value to by buying. The last time she'd paid any attention to Bruce Wayne was when he'd burnt down his home, the beautiful Wayne Manor, with his drunken antics.

'Jeez, Simon, why don't you just hang out with a flying rodent, you'll probably find better conversation.'

Simon laughed. 'He's really not that bad, Isabelle.' He paused. 'I actually have a huge favour to ask.'

Isabelle cocked an eyebrow. Last time he'd asked her for a favour she'd ended up stark raving drunk and half naked at a spontaneous surprise birthday party.

Simon seemed to sense her train of thought. 'Don't worry, Isabelle, you won't need to dance on any tables this time. Well, not unless you want Wayne & Co. looking up your dress.'

'Are you serious?' Isabelle said flatly. 'I am not coming to a Wayne fundraiser with you. Especially not with the publicity I've had lately.'

'Please,' Simon wheedled.

'No way.'

'Aw, come on Bells.'

Instantly Isabelle tensed, the hand not holding the mobile clenching reflexively. 'Don't call me that,' she hissed. She couldn't stand the old nickname now. The Joker had used it, defiled it, just like he had her face.

Isabelle heard Simon's startled intake of breath at her tone, and immediately felt bad. He couldn't have known, it wasn't his fault.

'Sorry,' she sighed, picking at the hem of her pyjamas, 'I just don't like that name anymore.'

Simon sounded perplexed, and a little hurt. 'Ah, ok. No more nicknames, got it.'

Damn it all to hell. Now I've hurt his feelings. Ah, fuck, I'm gonna have to do it.

'So when is this thing? Because I'm going to need time to find a dress.'

The elevators of the Wayne Foundation Building were just as ridiculously stylish as Isabelle had expected. Her equally ridiculous heels were sinking into the plush carpet, and she could see herself reflected in the huge gilt mirror. She wasn't complaining though. She looked good. The dress was long and black, with a plunging neckline and a hem that breezed pleasingly around her ankles as she walked. Her dark hair was straightened and pulled back into a high tight ponytail. Isabelle wasn't entirely sold on her makeup, though. The foundation didn't quite manage to hide the puckered skin on her left cheek. The scar was longer than she thought it would be, and she hadn't quite managed to hide her shock from the doctor when he removed the bandages two days ago. The doctor looked sad, and went out of his way to make sure she wouldn't suffer any long-term mental issues as a result of spending time as the Joker's carving board. Isabelle was even offered counselling, which she refused. She didn't refuse the lollipop though.

Isabelle looked at Simon next to her. If she was being honest, she had never quite got over a small crush that started in their college days. Devastatingly handsome, he had a roguish charm that people felt drawn to. It was no doubt why he had gained access to the inner circle in Gotham, even though he lived in nearby Metropolis.

Simon offered her his arm as the elevator doors smoothly slid open, and Isabelle felt her jaw drop.

'He lives here?' she asked Simon hoarsely as they stepped through the threshold.

Simon chuckled, 'Ridiculous, isn't it?'

Ridiculous wasn't the word. The penthouse was huge, it's size not hidden by the numbers of people milling around talking in soft voices as they sipped from their glasses. Tasteful furniture was scattered about, as well as high, circular tables covered in delicacies and expensive champagne. Two of the four walls were floor to ceiling windows, offering a beautiful view of the Gotham skyline. Isabelle grudgingly admitted to herself that no matter how much Bruce annoyed her, he certainly had an eye for architecture.

'What's this fundraiser even for?' Isabelle hissed to Simon as she accepted a champagne flute from a waiter.

'Harvey Dent,' Simon whispered back squeezing her lightly on the elbow and steering her towards the hors d'oeuvres.

Harvey Dent? Isabelle raised an eyebrow.

'The annoying billboard guy?'

'Yeah, him,' Simon answered distractedly, looking around the room. 'Where the hell is Bruce? He knows I can only stand these things if he's around to lighten the mood.'

As if on cue, a helicopter whirred over the penthouse, touching down on the helipad. Bruce cut a suave figure as he hopped agilely from the floor of the helicopter, helping down not one, but three women Isabelle assumed had to be models. She rolled her eyes. Everything about Bruce screamed douchebag. She watched as he deposited the women at a table.

'Sorry I'm late,' Bruce said, smirking slightly, 'Glad you started without me. Where's Rachel?'

Isabelle almost laughed when she spotted the woman that must be Rachel – she was cringing, embarrassed by the display that Bruce was making.

Bruce continued, gesturing at the woman, 'Rachel Dawes, my oldest friend. When she told me she was dating Harvey Dent, I had one thing to say… The guy from those god-awful campaign commercials?'

The crowd tittered, and Isabelle spied Dent off to the side shifting, embarrassed.

'"I believe in Harvey Dent". Nice slogan Harvey,' Bruce grinned, flashing him a thumbs up. 'Certainly caught Rachel's attention. But then I started paying attention to Harvey…'

Isabelle zoned out, uninterested, but managed to raise her glass in time with everyone else as they toasted.

'To the face of Gotham's bright future – Harvey Dent,' Bruce finished, looking Dent straight in the eyes as he took a sip of his champagne.

'Sheesh,' Isabelle muttered to Simon, 'is it just me or are you sensing some animosity between our host and the golden boy of Gotham.'

Simon grinned, 'It's not just you. I suspect Miss Dawes has something to do with it. Now I've gotta go make the rounds. Wanna come with?'

Isabelle looked around, 'Nah. I don't want too many questions about… you know.'

Simon squeezed her arm understandingly, and gave her a light peck on the cheek.

'See you in a bit,' he promised, before clapping a passing man on the shoulders and joining seamlessly in his conversation. Isabelle shook her head. Simon had a talent of being able to interact with and impress anyone he met. Unfortunately, it hadn't rubbed off on Isabelle, who herself had a talent for saying the most inappropriate thing possible without realising it. Besides, she didn't particularly want to be recognised from the news here. She had done a pretty job so far, skirting the edges of the party and standing with the left side of her face towards the wall, or resting her glass on her cheek. Isabelle ran a hand through her ponytail. Perhaps she'd get some more champagne.

Screams.

Followed by gunfire and a panicked silence.

Isabelle froze, her eyes wide and clutching her glass. She strained to see around the press of bodies.

'Good evening, ladies and gentle-men. We are tonight's… entertainment.'

Isabelle knew that voice.

Oh, hell.

Sorry to leave you on such a cliffy! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hope you all enjoyed it!

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