© Ellie Goodson 2016

Chapter Fourteen-The Joker's wrath

~Arabella Jones~

Frozen on the spot, I stared wide eyed from the Joker, to the goons around him, to the gun he held in his hand and then the three girls he had his lethal weapon pointed at. I couldn't understand why Ivy would do this; lead me here only to get kidnapped herself. To be blunt, I found it quite stupid. I focused my eyes on the green lady, and caught her look away nervously. I felt myself harden a little, and I knew I needed to be strong right now. Especially in front of the Joker, who didn't seem to be in the healthiest mental state. "What do you want?" I forced my gaze to rest on the clown instead of Ivy, knowing what a fatal move that could've been.

The clown clicked his gun, his tongue trailed over his bottom lip as he rested his steady gaze on me. "Careful, doc. All it takes is a little push and you'll have one less friend."

"I don't understand. Why are you here? What the hell happened with Ivy? And why are you so...mad?"

"So many questions, doll. Maybe I'll be kind and answer you." The way he shook the gun in his hand sent a wave of nerves rippling down my spine, and the sound of an imaginary gunshot vibrated through my brain. "When I got back to the warehouse and found that you had escaped through the window, I wasn't happy. Not, one, bit. I went out and found your little plant friend, remembering you mentioned something about you two getting along in Arkham. I told her that I'd blow out her pretty little brain and then kill all of her pretty little plants if she didn't find you and bring you to me."

I processed all of the new information, feeling the small spark of anger that I felt towards Pamela die. So, the Joker had taken a turn for the crazy side. Maybe if I explained that I was going to come back, that I felt bad for leaving...maybe he'd understand. That was a foolish thought. "Can we speak, in private? Without an audience."

"No." Okay, so he was going to play tough. I scrambled around in my brain to think of a plan, anything to get all of us out of here alive.

I didn't know how much time had passed before someone spoke, maybe ten or twenty minutes, but when the Joker got fed up with the silence, I was slightly thankful. "So, what were you doing with the little time you had to roam free?" The clown took a seat; literally just sitting down on a stool that I hadn't noticed was there before. The gun was no longer pointed at any one, but was in fact resting in the hands of one of the goons. Whether it was one I had spoken to, or one I had treated, I didn't know. They all looked the same to me apart from different builds.

I swallowed, unsure of whether I should tell the truth. Deciding that lying would only make the situation worse, I began to spill information as calmly as I could. "I left the warehouse for some fresh air, an evening stroll. I planned on returning within the hour, after clearing my mind. But Scarecrow...paid me a visit. I got into some trouble and that was when Ivy came in, if it wasn't for her, I'd be lying on the floor, a twitching mess as I lived in a silent nightmare."

"Am I supposed to be grateful or something?" I simply sighed and shook my head for reply, knowing that it was a pointless attempt.

I dropped my hands to my side, feeling them slowly curl into fists. The thought of so much as saying the words made adrenaline run through my veins. After speaking, I'd either be dead or one of the girls would. But maybe..."I was going to return back to the warehouse anyway. So drop the gun, and take me home." When I said the word home, everything changed. My words were a complete game changer. I watched as a new expression entered the Joker's eyes, his face changing. It was there a second, but then gone the next.

I thought I had gotten through to him, and hope surged through me at the thought of being able to return to the warehouse without any injuries. A girl could dream. I heard the gun get positioned in the Joker's hand once more, and that's why my eyes snapped up from the floor. "Bad choice of words, doc." I didn't think, I didn't even wonder who he was going to shoot or even if he was going to shoot. Instead, I pushed my body forward as fast as I could to take the bullet instead of one of the girls.

Hot fire hit my upper thigh full force as the bullet pierced my skin and embedded itself in the muscles of my leg. A scream tumbled from my lips as I collapsed to the ground, hands clutching desperately over the heavily bleeding wound. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard not to cry as pain seared through my body. He shot me, he had actually shot me. I knew that I had gotten in the way, but I didn't think that he would've actually pulled the trigger. All these thoughts raced through my mind as I held onto the bullet wound in agony.

I didn't process anything that had happened after that. At some point I was lifted from the floor by some of the Joker's goons, but I passed out in their arms from the severe pain I was suffering. My throat was raw from screaming many times when I came back to consciousness. I blinked through blurred vision, desperate to clear my eyes as panic began to spark within me. I didn't trust anyone, not after the week I'd been living. When I could see clearly once more, I realised that I was resting on the bed that I had been sleeping on for the past few nights. The Joker's bed, in the Joker's room, at the Joker's warehouse.

I sat myself up, slowly as my whole body ached and was stiff. My bones felt like they had developed rust, how long had I been out? Memories of the catastrophic situation I'd just been involved in flooded my brain, and my heart began to hammer as three words circled my mind. He shot me. I carefully trailed my fingers up my leg, and soon enough a stinging sensation stopped them in their path. Hesitantly, I looked down at the gory sight. There was a hole in my leg, with dry and crusted blood outlining it. A small trickle of blood still leaked from the wound, and the more I looked at it, the worse the pain became.

I bit my lip, holding back fresh tears that threatened to spill. I felt so weak, crying over a bullet wound. But at the same time I knew it was understandable. My wound was untreated, and I was scared that it was going to get infected. But there was something more to the reason of why I was crying; I had never let pain get to me before. At least not physical pain. I knew it; I knew that I was developing more than mutual feelings for the psychotic clown. But I didn't want to admit to them, because even thinking the words I knew it sounded like I should be in Arkham myself. I couldn't help it; I was attracted to the clown and everything about him. I didn't even understand why. It was crazy to think that I had been able to become a psychiatrist when I couldn't even understand myself properly.

There was a second reason as to why I was crying, and that was because I was hurt-emotionally. I was falling dramatically and pathetically in love with the Joker and he had just shot me, without a care in the world. Why, why did I have to fall for the crazy one? All I knew about him was that he was a psychopath and a cold blooded killer. But there was that time when...when he got upset after realising that he had made me have a panic attack. That was a different man all together that I spoke to that day, and it was a conversation I wasn't likely to forget all too easily.

There was a brief knock on the door, which caused my head to snap up. I couldn't move to answer the door, and my throat burned too much to scream for them to come in, and so I simply remained silent. He came in anyway, calmly closing the door behind him. Familiar green hair pushed out of his face with completely fresh grease paint applied for his mask. "You shot me." Were my first words, to him and of the whole conversation. "You shot me you fucking bastard!" I found myself yelling within the second.

"I know." All my anger melted, and confusion rapidly replaced it. I wasn't expecting that, I was expecting anger and denial, but instead I got a full admittance.

The Joker crouched down in front of the bed, and slowly pulled off his purple gloves. "I'm glad to see that you're alive. You gave me quite the scare when you passed out. Thought I'd killed you." My head tilted to the side slightly, as confusion deepened within me. This man made no sense, but then again, neither did I.

"Well, you're still stuck with me." Instead of replying, the Joker dropped a medical kit on the bed before cautiously placing his hand on my bare leg. Someone had decided to take off my trousers and replace them with shorts, the thought was slightly disturbing.

I watched as the clown changed once again into a completely different person. He concentrated fully on my leg, and on causing me the least amount of pain. I noticed he was copying what I had done to him when I fixed his arm. While he was wiping away the blood from the bullet wound, it stung horribly; a question came to my mind. "How is your arm?"

"I'm trying to concentrate, doll."

"And I'm trying not to scream in pain, but I gotta deal with it. So tell me, how is your arm?"

"It's fine, healing well. Thanks to you." I nodded my head, leaving the conversation there.

I knew I was in for a run of pain. The bullet would've settled in my leg by now and so the Joker would be having fun digging that out of me while I squealed like a child. But there was no chance of me going to the hospital, even I knew that. Because then they'd take me away from the clown, and I didn't want that. So I settled for an hour or so of pure pain.

After cleaning away my bullet wound, the painful part came to when he had to get the bullet out. I passed out at one point from the pain, sweat dripped from my head as my body kept on consuming the endless agony. Coming back to reality in a panting blur, I saw that the Joker was stitching up my leg, seeming quite happy with his tidy work. The sheets had pools of blood on them, but we both knew that it could've been a lot worse. "There we go doll, you're all fixed."

"Thank you." The clown nodded, collecting several bloody tissues and other medical instruments before binning them and returning by my side.

"Will you be okay? Do you want some rest?" I nodded my head for return, tempted to ask him why he was being so kind but not wanting to ruin the beautiful moment.

I watched, like a lost girl, as the psychopath got up and left the room. He looked over his shoulder one last time before closing the door, and I found him mirroring the longing in my eyes. I didn't know how he felt about me, but I knew that I was falling for him. And how I felt about that, I really didn't know.