It was late one night, a couple of days later that the Joker even came close to dealing with her again. He had tried to force himself outside again a few times but he never made it further than the window. Just seeing her continued to rouse the animalistic urge to kill. To destroy her. But underneath the vicious anger that wouldn't seem to dissipate, something else was bubbling. Something that drove him insane with from the unyielding contradictory emotions. He didn't trust himself to be near her. Barely enough to see her. And even when he deprived himself of both situations, the anger persisted. A swirling fog of rage filled emotion had permeated the hospital since that strange night and all of his men were painfully aware of his negative mood; avoiding him at all costs and walking on eggshells when that wasn't an option.
Something was going to have to give. And as he paced back and forth outside her doorway with heavy footfalls, he muttered angrily to himself as he tried to figure out what it would be. A simple punishment didn't seem like enough anymore, but he also didn't want to kill her. At least he didn't think he did. It was like someone was yanking his leash, trying to control him no matter what decision he made over the past few days. And the Joker couldn't have that; he wanted to put her in her place where she belonged. He had to make her pay one way or another. For both of their own goods.
Inside the room, Arella was sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped tightly around her still damp body. She had heard the familiar sound of angry stomping the minute she had stepped out of the shower and the tight knot that formed in her stomach immediately filled her with fear. It was obvious that he was still in the same sour mood that had been persisting for nearly a week now. And when she walked out of the bathroom to the terror inducing footsteps, she had quickly decided that she wouldn't fight him this time. Wouldn't try to find a way out of it. She would simply take whatever punishment he decided to dole out and hope that it was enough to return things to the warped semblance of normal she had come to expect in the past few months here. It was what he needed, and maybe, if she was careful, she'd made it out without a trip to the doc.
So now she waited, staring at the closed door as her heart beat in her ears, her face trying hard to hide the fear that was consuming her with each pass of the footsteps by her door. But she couldn't stop the shaking, or the tears.
Outside, the Joker let out an angry growl, throwing the knife he had been holding into a nearby wall, not even bothering to watch it imbed deeply in the crumbling wood. It's handle wobbling in protest for a moment before coming to a stop. He was sick of standing in the hallway mentally arguing with himself. He was the Joker and he did what he wanted, when he wanted to do it. And right now he wanted to see her suffer. She had it coming anyway. Leaving the knife in the wall as a preemptive measure, he grabbed the doorknob and pushed it opened with a determined slam. His mouth in a deep frown and his shoulders pulled tightly up to his ears. He looked frightening standing there, the light from the moonlit hallway streaming into the dark room and casting his intimidating shadow on the floor in front of him. She could hear the leather from his gloves squeak as his fists clinched and unclenched impatiently, wanting to unload on her.
For a split second, his frown twitched into one of confusion as he saw her sitting up in the bed, waiting. It was practically three in the morning, and he had been looking forward to the idea of dragging her sleeping body out of bed by her hair just to hear her scream and squirm in surprise.
They both remained still for what seemed like eons, the Joker contemplating and her simply waiting, her teary eyes meeting his angry glare every couple of seconds as she nervously tried to figure out what she was supposed to do. But it was useless. Biting her lip, she pulled the towel tighter around herself trying in vain to still her shivering.
He stare at her for a long moment as well while she sat there, tears falling down her face as she look at him quietly. He let out a scoff, smacking his lips angrily before tilting his head as he frowned. Of course she would try to ruin any excitement he was planning. She didn't look like she was going to be a whole lot of fun tonight. He enjoyed instilling fear in people and she already looked like she was scaring herself shitless. It never was a whole lot of fun to kick someone while they were down. There was always the chance that he could rile her up enough to fight back. It had worked a few times before and he wasn't above trying it again.
With a growl, he stormed forward towards her, expecting her to shrink away, but she didn't move. Just lowered her eyes and waited. But he wasn't about to deterred. Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around her neck squeezing tightly as he yanked her off of the bed to a partially standing position, simply holding her there as he tried to gauge her reaction. But there was nothing. No begging, no angry insults. Nothing except the sound of his jagged breathing and her muted whimpers.
She gasped out a sob, squinting her eyes shut as she used one hand to brace herself against the mattress and the other to hold the towel against her, trying everything in her power to lessen the pressure without actually pulling away, hoping he would simply let go if she avoided his penetrating gaze. But he only seemed to get angrier, sneering and studying her face as she hang all but limp in his hands. It frustrated him to no end. She wasn't rising to his prodding and he wasn't in the mood to try and force her to react giving him no reason to continue his assault. With a final angry growl he threw her back down on the bed, trying to figure out what it was that he wanted. Hurting her wasn't making him feel any better. Not like it used to at least. But he wasn't ready to give up trying to alleviate some of the rage he'd been feeling. Not yet.
Falling onto the bed in a coughing heap, Arella curled into a ball, trying hard to control her sobbing so as not to annoy him further. He was obviously annoyed enough by her not fighting back, she could tell, but she had sworn that she wouldn't and she was trying her best. Hopefully he wouldn't get angry enough to do serious damage. As she lay on her side, staring at the wall and sobbing quietly she waited for the next blow. It was terrifying how used to this she was getting, and the Joker was in rare form tonight. It was like he still couldn't decide what to do with her. Closing her eyes with a shaky sigh, she took a deep breath to control her breathing. There was no point in panicking right now because it would only make things worse. If she had any hope of making it through silently, she was going to have to stay calm.
It felt like years of tense, uncomfortable silence had passed before she felt a hand on her side, causing her to flinch, but no pain followed. Instead, she was pushed roughly against the wall as the bed shifted with a weight behind her.
Her body froze for a long moment, waiting for the movement to stop as she tried to figure out what was going on as he grunted. Finally, it did and she bit her lip as she felt his body against hers, unmoving. Letting out a silent sigh, she shut her eyes, wondering if it was a trick. But when five minutes passed with no movement, she relaxed slightly. Not saying a word as they both lay there quietly.
Behind her, the Joker fumed as he stare at her back with narrowed eyes, breathing hard with his arms crossed tightly in front of him. He hated her. Hated how things were shaping up tonight. Nothing was solved, and things still felt strange, but at least this way, sleeping in her bed was his idea, and maybe he'd even feel better when he woke again. But if she continued this demur attitude, he was going to have to kill her sooner than later. He couldn't stand it.
When she awoke in the morning, the Joker was gone and she was left alone in the bed, covered in the stench of gasoline and her pillows covered once again in a colorful mixture of greasepaint and hair dye. Turning her eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, her tired mind tried unsuccessfully to make sense of the previous night as she lay there in complete bewilderment. She had fully expected his attack to go much further. And it normally would have whether she protested or not. But having him crawl into her bed was entirely unexpected, especially since everything that was wrong right now could be traced back to the last time it happened.
It had seemed at first that she had done something wrong by forcing him to sleep the first time but apparently he liked it which made everything so much more confusing. She wouldn't bring it up to him, though. Not ever. It was a sure fire way to get on his bad side and if this was his new way of calming himself down then she wasn't going to argue. It was much easier and much less painful. Her shoulder ached from not moving all night it was a small price to pay for not being injured; if she was completely honest with herself, she kind of enjoyed the company.
She could tell that she was becoming unhinged. That she was technically already there in the eyes of anyone else looking in, but the constant fight that was raging both mentally and physically was wearing her down and she was finally tired of trying to stay strong so that she could stay on the right side of society's version of sane. A society that she would never join again. One that mind as well not have existed because it was in these four walls, this hospital that her entire life was contained now. And as much as she tried to deny it, this was as good as she could see it getting. Now she just wanted to find some semblance of normal, if that was even possible.
With a sigh, she rolled over and buried her head in the pillow, throwing the blanket over her head to block out the painful sunlight with a groan. He would probably force her to go downstairs and practice by herself later, but she didn't know if she had the energy today. On top of the extreme exhaustion she was feeling, being alone all day for the last week was taking a toll and she could feel herself slowly descending into the unstable state that she had vowed to never return to. And she told herself that she would keep that promise. She would force him to pay attention to her today. One way or another. It was obvious her complete obedience wasn't working anyway. Before she could climb out of bed and get dressed, however, her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted back off into a comfortable sleep.
It was hours later when she finally awoke and worked up the nerve to leave the room, walking slowly to the door next to hers that she normally avoided. She knew from the sounds she heard from her own room occasionally that it was where he slept, and that was normally the last place she wanted to be but he had pushed her to the edge and, as far as she was concerned, whatever she did at this point was on him.
Standing in front of the door for a long moment, she finally took a deep breath and knocked, running an idle hand through her hair as she waited for a sound notifying her that someone was there. Glancing around the dark, empty hall, there wasn't a sound aside from her nervous breath. There was a chance that he was gone. She never really did know when he was actually there, for up to this point she normally did everything in her power to avoid him. Turning back to the door with pursed lips, she considered knocking again but realized that it was pointless, if he was in there, he'd be furious that she had even considered interrupting him and would have come storming out. Crossing her arms and shifting her weight to her left foot she glanced back at her bedroom door, considering abandoning her pursuits and going back to bed. But there was something pulling her into his room. A dangerous mixture of boredom and curiosity that propelled her forward. She wanted to know more about what his deal was. Where he slept, and what he kept there.
Giving a last glance around the hallway, she carefully reached out and gripped the doorknob, turning it slowly and pushing the door open. He never locked anything. His men weren't brave enough to even come up to the fifth floor and someone would have to be insane to willingly go into the Joker's room.
It was dark inside the room despite the floor to ceiling cathedral style windows that encircled a large alcove to her right. It was a new moon tonight and there wasn't a whole lot of light coming from outside. Reaching over to the wall on her right, her hand fumbled against the rough concrete for a moment before she finally flicked on the light switch and turned to survey the room. Immediately, her mouth dropped.
It looked like the area that she was standing in used to be a chapel at one point when the place still functioned as a hospital. The walls were made of rough stone and wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling that vaulted up to a loft style area. She could still see the marks on the floor from where pews had been once bolted down. A large metal bed had been pushed against the wall and boxes filled with papers and ammo were shoved haphazardly in random nooks and crannies. And to her right, the cathedral windows that she had seen only seconds before circled around a turret style area that looked like it was probably the place where an alter once stood.
But that wasn't the part that caused her to shake uncontrollably. In the round turret area, placed carefully between the windows along with a large desk filled with notebooks and papers were nearly all of the paintings that she had completed during college.
For a long moment, she simply stood in the doorway, her mouth agape as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. She felt violated, and angry. She had known practically since she had arrived that he had been to her apartment due to the immense pleasure he normally garnered from taunting her with the information he had found there. But it had never crossed her mind that he would do this.
To see them here, in this place, the place that she had been held for months now as he systematically took everything away from her was enough to make her want to destroy them just so they wouldn't be here. She didn't want them with her. Not anymore. At least when she thought that all of her paintings, writings, and pictures were gone, he didn't own everything. A part of her was still free. But he had been thorough. Of course he had.
Storming over to the canvases she stood in front of the many works, running her eyes over each one individually as she remembered painting it. Remembered the emotions that she felt when they were completed. Every stroke and color. It was too much at one time. Flopping on the floor in front of them, she let out a heavy sigh, unsure of what to do. She could destroy them right now so easily. But destroying them would be like destroying that part of herself and so much of herself was already chipping away just trying to survive from day to day.
Not to mention, if the Joker found the ruined paintings, he would know that she had been in his room breaking "his" things. What was hers was his, and he wouldn't take kindly to her attempt to regain control. And compounding new offenses atop his already unstable state would most definitely push them over the edge. No. It was better to just be grateful that they were still here and get over it. But she couldn't get over it. So she sat there, staring at them as if something would change. Just like her mood, they never did. After spending nearly thirty minutes in the corner, she finally tore her eyes away from the canvases; crawling to her feet she turned away from the images, not wanting to think about it at least for a few minutes.
Glancing around the room, she turn towards the desk next to her, looking at the top most document which seemed like floor plans for the newly renovated Major Crimes Unit in Gotham. To the left, in the margins, she noticed that he had written a note to himself simply calling the plans 'the dumbest thing he had ever seen'. He has also marked what looked like weak spots, exits, hidden rooms and the like, inserting his own commentary in jagged handwriting where he saw fit.
Beneath a few thin papers, she could see the manila envelope that the detective had dropped off a few weeks prior and reached out to grab it before stopping herself. Biting her lip, she pulled her hand back and rolled her eyes, walking away from the desk without touching anything. He would probably know if anything was moved. A dim light left on from a room in the corner caught her attention next.
By now, a voice in the back of her mind was screaming at her to get out of the room. She had been in here too long and the Joker would be pissed if he found her in here and she had no idea of when he was going to be back, if he was even gone to begin with. But she continued forward towards the room, pushing the door open to a bathroom much like her own save for a few feet of added space and a counter full of various products.
Greasepaint tins were lined up along the edge along with other bottles and jars. Stepping closer to the sink, she tilted her head to the side slightly to be able to read the jars better without actually picking them up. It looked like he only had the three colors of paint but multiple of each.
Near them, a bottle of green temporary hair dye was left open with the neon color staining the sides. All four colors stained the inside of the sink and tub with such a level of saturation that she doubted it would ever come out of the porcelain.
On the other side of the sink, a bottle that was reminiscent of mouthwash was filled with a yellow liquid. She turned up her nose as she took a moment to try and figure out what it was. But when nothing came to her, she moved on.
An empty contact lens case placed on an old soap dish almost made her break out into laughter. The idea of the Joker having vision problems was hilarious. Reaching for a closed case not far from it, she opened it carefully, peering in with squinted eyes. She could see that the lenses were in fact black.
"Hmm." She thought aloud, closing the lid again. Apparently black wasn't his natural eye color. It would make sense that he wanted to complete the costume, but she wondered what color they really were.
Setting the case back onto the counter, she reached for one of the tins of makeup before an unseen hand gripped the back of her neck tightly and yanked her away from the sink forcing her to freeze with a gasp, her shoulders rising to meet her ears as she held her hands up in defense. Looking up at the mirror nervously, she saw the Joker standing behind her with a deep frown on his lips as he visibly shook from anger and his chest heaved in shuddering breaths.
"I'm sorry." She whispered breathlessly, "I didn't mess anything up. I'm sorry."
He didn't respond, only tilted his head as if he couldn't believe that she had even bothered apologizing. With a growl, he dug his nails into the skin of her neck angrily and shoved her against the nearby wall raising a scream from her mouth.
"Please." She begged, her cheek pressed against the cold tile as his chest pressed against her back pinning her there even though at this point, she wouldn't have moved no matter what without his permission.
Ignoring her cries, he leaned forward so that his mouth was only centimeters away from her ear so that she could make out each jagged breath.
"Do you think it's fun poking around other people's things?" He growled. The last time she had seen him this angry was the day he killed three of his men for attacking her and she could tell now that it was taking everything out of him not to kill her right then. To get the words out coherently instead of resorting to angry muttering.
"No." She whispered desperately, closing her eyes as tears began to pool at the corners of her eyes. What had seemed like a good idea an hour ago was clearly now very, very wrong.
It was like he didn't hear her as he continued. "How do you think-ah it makes me feel when someone….forces themselves my private spaces? Hmm?"
"I'm so sorry. I wasn't doing anything I swear." She cried, wishing she could say something that would get through to him but he had already riled himself up to a point where he could only hear his own talking. Anything she was saying was falling on deaf ears right now.
"Well don't you want to know?" He gave a dark chuckle, pressing her further into the wall as if he was trying to push her body through the already crumbling tile. "Don't you want me to show you?" He growled. With the hand not busy clutching her neck he reached down to her the waist of her pants, sliding his fingers around the button and yanking the fabric hard enough to tear the zippers teeth apart and send the tiny piece of metal flying to the floor with an almost inaudible clink.
"How it feels?" He growled again, grabbing the waist of her pants and yanking both the jeans and her underwear down in a single swift move leaving her bare backside exposed to the draft of air the movement caused.
She let out a nervous squeal, a wave of terror descended upon her as it finally sunk in what he meant. What he was planning to do. Reaching up, she pushed against the wall in an attempt to push away from him, trying hard to squirm out of his tight grip.
She was rewarded only with more pressure being added to the back of her neck, causing her to cringe. It was getting harder to breath. Her lungs wouldn't expand properly and she couldn't stop hyperventilating as she sobbed, unable to move. Every nerve in her body was firing in an attempt to force her to fight back, but she remained still. He wasn't like the other men that had tried to attack her. She couldn't fight him as much as she wanted to. As much as she knew she should. He had been right about that all those weeks ago. He was the one person who could scare the fight right out of her. He was the Joker.
"To have someone force themselves on you?" He finished finally.
The sound of his zipper coming undone caused her to let out another terrified cry. It echoed in her ear and she almost let out another begging scream before a thought popped into her head. He wasn't like the other men. He had saved her from this very fate multiple times and though he had threatened her so many times over the past three months, he had never forced her to do anything. Not like this. She forced her sobs to quiet momentarily so that she could catch her breath as she felt the heat behind her, so close.
"You won't." She said finally in as calm a voice as she could manage.
And for a moment, it was like time had stopped. He simply glared at her for a long moment, not moving closer to her but not letting go of her either. His lips pressed together as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. Finally, he gave up.
"And why not-ah?" He finally broke the silence, his hand glided over her ass as his fingers trailed between her legs.
She gasped nervously but forced herself to continue with a swallow. "Because you don't want to. If you had, you would have done it months ago." She said with shaky breaths.
There was another long, uncertain silence as neither of them moved before he began to chuckle. One that eventually rose into full blown laughter as he finally loosened his grip on her neck, leaning away from her.
"Oh, you got me." He said finally, still laughing as he adjusted his pants, returning the zipper to its proper position.
She let out a relieved sigh, turning around to face him hesitantly while simultaneously pulling up her own jeans. Though he had a lazy smile on his face, she could see that his slightly narrowed eyes were betraying how angry he really was still.
"I don't want to." He continued before the smile dropped from his face. With a step forward, he grabbed her chin roughly and stepped closer to her. "But sometimes we all have to do things that we don't want to." He frowned.
Arella opened her mouth to question him, but before she could, a strange, sharp pain in her side stopped her. It felt like he had punched her but as she gave him a confused look, she knew he hadn't moved. Looking down, her eyes widened as she saw the Joker's hand wrapped around the hilt of a knife buried deep into her side.
Letting out a pained groan, she looked up at him in disbelief as her mind swirled with unformed questions. He only grinned back at her sadistically, savoring the pained twist of her features as she steadied herself on the sink.
With a chuckle, he yanked the bloody knife from her side, forcing a sickened groan from her throat as she immediately doubled over in pain. She hadn't felt it go in, but she definitely felt it come out. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could feel her body trying to black out. But she was fighting to stay conscious. She didn't want to die, not now.
Grabbing his jacket, she growled angrily as she tried to stay upright. But he simply laughed, waving the knife tauntingly as she finally let go of his jacket, losing consciousness and falling to the floor.
**Ahhh! Looks like they're both finally losing it! I hope you guys had as much fun reading as I did writing. If not, that's okay too. haha.
I've been doing a lot of Jack the Ripper research for one of my Forensic Science classes and does anyone else kind of picture the Narrows as a weird mix between New York City and late 19th century Whitechapel? It makes no logical spacial sense in my mind, but I still like the mix.
I also realized that the links I put together on the last chapter didn't come through like they should've, so let's try again. The first one is to a gallery of images that I LOVE! They all kind of have the feel I'm going for but I've marked specific rooms for you guys if you want to see what they look like. You'll have to place a period before the com. :)
lovethesepicscom/2012/10/hauntingly-beautiful-abandoned-europe-meet-urbex-master-andre-govia/
# 21 (5th floor Sunroom); 32(staircase)
wookmarkcom/image/126837/taunton-state-hospital-or-asylum-taunton-massachusetts-matthew-christopher-murray-s-abandoned-america
(Fifth floor hallway)