5

Isabelle grimaced as the blood pooled around her bare toes – she had finally kicked off the ridiculous heels that she had been wearing at the Wayne fundraiser. She wished now that she had kept them on. What used to be Kevin was lying at her feet, blood still oozing from the deep cuts on his body. The Joker was nowhere to be found – she assumed that he was off finishing the job with Patrick Harvey and Richard Dent. Isabelle had long since blocked out the smell of the blood, and it worried her that she was becoming accustomed to it.

'I can't have, uh, liars in my crew, can I?' the Joker said.

Kevin look at him and licked his lips nervously, 'Boss I swear I'm not… I'm not lying.'

'Another lie?' the Joker almost purred, 'My, my, Kevin, you must really want to die today.'

Isabelle blanched at the casual way the Joker said it. He was barely a foot away from Kevin at that point, and the sharp little knife he was holding twitched towards Kevin's face.

'Please, boss. Please!'

His plea was cut off by a scream as the Joker carefully sliced across his cheek. It was much deeper than what he had done to Isabelle; Isabelle could see teeth and gums as he dragged the knife across. Kevin collapsed onto his knees, trying to stem the flow of blood with grasping fingers. The Joker looked up at Isabelle, a grin playing across his face, which vanished quickly when he realised she wasn't looking; her head was bowed and her eyes screwed tightly shut. He stepped over Kevin and put the knife delicately under her chin, forcing her head up.

'You will watch this,' he growled, 'this is for you.'

Isabelle whimpered, but opened her eyes, still trying not to look at Kevin. He was turning paler by the second, in stark contrast to the bright red of his blood. His fingers were coated, and the collar of his shirt was drenched. The Joker crouched down next to him again, and Kevin tried to draw away, but he was weak from loss of blood. He lifted his hand, attempting to shield his face, and the Joker grabbed it. With one quick movement he sliced across with his little knife, and Isabelle screamed with Kevin as the tips of his fingers dropped to the floor. She looked with horror and disgust as Kevin held his mutilated hand up, cut off to the first knuckle. His blood was spurting from the wounds. While Kevin was distracted by the loss of his fingers, the Joker cut a line up his thigh, giggling to himself as Kevin screamed again. Isabelle closed her eyes as the Joker continued to cut, never letting up. After what seemed like an age, the pained whimpers cut off with a gurgle, and Isabelle opened her eyes to see Kevin's throat being cut. His head rolled back, and the wound opened like a wide scarlet grin on his neck. Isabelle almost gagged at the metallic smell in the air.

The Joker was covered in Kevin's blood, and he shrugged of his purple coat as he stood up fluidly. He peeled off his gloves, which had turned a maroon colour, and dropped them near Isabelle's feet. His vest was spotted with blood, but he seemed pleased and kept the garment on. He was still holding his little knife, saturated with Kevin's blood, red to the handle. The Joker crossed over to Isabelle, who flinched away. He tsked at her, and then carefully wiped the blood off the knife with the long ends of the halter of her dress.

'Looks like you're on your own Bells,' he said, as he crossed to the other side of the room, 'I wouldn't worry though, you're a bit tied up at the moment.'

'Fuck you,' Isabelle hissed, but the Joker was already out of the door.

Isabelle wasn't sure how long she had been hanging there. Her fingers were completely numb, her shoulders screaming from the pressure. She was getting tired, her eyes drooping occasionally, only to be woken by the pangs of hunger that shot across her navel. Isabelle took the opportunity to look around the room. It was a large, open space with a small door set in the wall directly opposite her. An untidy kitchen was set up in the corner to her left, littered in cans and plates. The billiard table seemed to double as a dining table, as it too was covered in cans and glasses. To her right was a set of mismatched couches, sunken in the middle and draped with stained and tattered blankets. There were old mattresses interspersed between them; Isabelle realised that this was where the men slept. She could see a door leading into a bathroom beyond the couches, and it reminded her of her full bladder; she shouldn't have been so heavy on the champagne at the fundraiser. Eventually, her eyes couldn't help but travel back to the body at her feet. It was so still. Isabelle couldn't help but think of Simon, and a tear trickled over her cheek, followed by more and more.

Pull yourself together.

Wishing she wasn't crying – without hands to wipe away the tears they were tickling her cheeks – Isabelle looked up at the ropes tying her wrists together. She had just realised that the Joker had not fixed the camera in the corner, and, after scanning the rest of the room, she was pretty sure it was the only one. Cursing herself for not realising sooner, she attempted to work her wrists free of the knot – a difficult task seeing as her fingers were completely numb. It was lucky that he had suspended her almost off the ground as the weight of her body worked in her favour against the rope. Straining, Isabelle managed to slide her hands out of the rope, grimacing as it cut into the tender flesh of her wrist. Pulling suddenly free she collapsed onto the floor, unable to catch herself in time. Muttering angrily, Isabelle carefully pulled herself up.

Get the fuck out of here.

Stepping around the blood, Isabelle walked carefully to the door. She wasn't sure how long the Joker would take on his job – she supposed he'd gotten held up by his mutilation of Kevin. Her stomach gurgled and Isabelle realised she hadn't eaten in days. Treading wearily to the fridge, she cautiously opened the door and sighed noisily. She hadn't been expecting gourmet meals, but she had been expecting something edible. The fridge was stacked high with plates of congealing meat, the fat hardening around the edges, wilted leaves of what she assumed used to be lettuce. The only thing that appeared fit for human consumption was the six packs of beer that lined the shelves.

'Seriously? You stopped for a snack-break?'

Isabelle whipped around, only to find a knife held to her throat. The hand holding it was small and delicate, but lined with callouses and scars. The arm was lean and tan, with more scars criss-crossing their way up to her – her? – shoulder. The girl was grinning manically, her brown hair messily tied into a ponytail. She was wearing tight black leather, and sturdy boots – she was much more appropriately dressed for the occasion than Isabelle was in her long black gown.

Isabelle was frozen against the fridge door while the girl looked her over.

'You look like shit,' she grunted. 'You're so skinny. No wonder you stopped for food.'

'Who are you?' Isabelle choked out, trying not to move her neck lest she suffer a premature death.

'I was you,' the girl said softly, 'and now I'm this.'

The knife disappeared from her throat, and Isabelle's legs buckled in relief. She was sweating, and she could feel the adrenaline pumped through her, making her hands quiver.

'What do you mean you were me?' Isabelle asked, edging around the counter to where she knew there was a knife sitting.

'He took me, too,' the girl murmured, thumbing the edge of her blade. Isabelle's fingers scrabbled for the knife behind her. Feeling the cool touch, Isabelle tried to calm her breathing her she slowly wrapped her hand around the handle.

'I don't know why he wants you though,' the girl said, her voice getting cold and her gaze hardening. 'I'm still here. Why does he want you!'

'I – I don't know,' Isabelle squeaked, alarmed by the ferocious look in the girls eyes, 'he just grabbed me! I don't want to be here!'

'That's a lie!' Knife Girl snarled. 'You're trying to take over! You want to take my place!'

She took a step closer to Isabelle, who gripped the knife behind her back, slippery with sweat. The girl raised her knife, and Isabelle reacted. She plunged her knife into the girl's side. Knife Girl screeched, dropping her blade, hands going frantically to the knife and scrabbling uselessly at it.

Isabelle was in a state of shock. She had just stabbed someone. She. Had. Just. Stabbed. Someone.

Knife Girl pulled the knife out of her torso, looking at the blood that dripped off of it.

'That was rude,' she said. She flicked the knife against Isabelle's throat. Isabelle closed her eyes; she was out of weapons and out of ideas.

A loud thwack sound cut through the air and Knife Girl stiffened. Isabelle opened her eyes just in time to step out of the way as the girl toppled forward, her hand loosening on the blade she had been holding to Isabelle's throat. The girl collapsed against the kitchen counter, before sliding down and landing in a crumpled heap on the linoleum floor. There was a knife buried in her back. Buried to the hilt. Isabelle heard the Joker chuckled darkly, and she turned around slowly. He stood in the doorway, his men clustered behind him peering over his shoulder in an attempt to see what had happened.

Isabelle was in a state of moral confusion; on the one hand, the Joker had kidnapped her, cut her face, killed her best friend, and then kidnapped her again. On the other hand, he had saved her life from a knife-wielding crazy person. Then again, he was a knife-wielding crazy person, and he was the one who had gotten her into this mess in the first place. Isabelle settled on being relieved she was alive, and equally angry with the Joker and Knife Girl.

The Joker crossed the room to look down at Knife Girl, whose blood was pooling around her torso.

'That's a shame,' the Joker said musingly, crouching down. 'She wasn't too bad. The jealous type, obviously, but we can't blame her for getting attached to little old me.'

Isabelle glared at him, 'She tried to kill me because of you!'

The Joker shrugged. 'Only indirectly. Did you stick her too?'

He was looking at the bloodied knife. Isabelle flinched.

'She was going to kill me! I wasn't going to just stand there!'

Isabelle realised she was defending her actions to someone who had just committed murder, possibly not for the first time that night, and shut-up. She didn't have to justify herself to him.

'I'm a little impressed,' the Joker said, standing swiftly and leaning against the table, 'Didn't think you had it in you.'

The way he was looking at her made Isabelle uncomfortable, but she couldn't hold back a snippy retort: 'I don't think impressing you is all that of an achievement. You're standards can't be very high.'

'My standards are plenty high.'

'All I'd have to do is blow up a building or something, to get in your good books.'

'Blowing up buildings requires more planning than you'd think,' the Joker said contemplatively.

'I'm sure you would know,' Isabelle bit back, before stopping and realising she was bantering with a psychopath, in a room where two corpses were staining the floor. The Joker chuckled again.

'Ya know, when I grabbed you, you weren't so fun. You shrieked and thrashed and generally weren't a very gracious guest.'

'Guest?!' cried Isabelle indignantly, but the Joker held a gloved finger to her lips and she stiffened.

'Sh sh sh. Don't interrupt. You're a lot more fun now. I guess killing your boyfriend toughened you up a little.'

Isabelle gave an enraged cry and went to push him away from her, but he caught her wrists deftly and wrenched her arms behind her back, spinning her so her back was pressed against his chest.

'I like you,' the Joker said into her ear. Isabelle shuddered, revolted, as his lips brushed against her ear lobe.

'Get off of me, you freak,' Isabelle grunted. The Joker hissed and wrenched her right arm. Isabelle let out a scream as her shoulder popped out of its socket. The Joker gripped her as she sobbed, still holding her arm at an unnatural angle.

'It's rude to call people names.'

There you go, a little bit more action for you. Who is Knife Girl? Find out next chapter!

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