After barely catching more than a few minutes of sleep at a time over the past week, to say that she was an entirely new person after hours of a long…deep, uninterrupted slumber would be an understatement. She was finally free from the strong arm tactics of the law, the fumbling scheming of a dimwitted mob boss, and the guilt fueled revenge she'd felt for dragging Shawn into all of it. It was all over, and though she didn't have her old life back, she'd decided days ago that maybe this life would do. It wasn't what she'd chosen, not what she'd ever choose, but it was rare that anyone got to choose their circumstances and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she figured she'd be any different. And considering how it'd all started, things weren't so bad now.
Stirring atop the dingy mattress, she let her eyes remain closed for as long as she could force them, not wanting to move from the one warm spot on the chilly mattress. Her hand idly reaching out to rest on the empty spot beside her told her that he had been awake for a while. But it was normal, and after being in a coma for the last few days, she couldn't blame him. What wasn't normal, though, at least in this new building where sound carried through the thin walls as if they weren't even there, was the deafening silence. And as she drew her hand back under the warm safety of the blanket, the absence of sound hit her like a ton of bricks.
Snapping her eyes open, she lay there for a moment scanning each corner of the room for any sign that she was simply overreacting like she had been the first time. But there was nothing. None of his makeup, none of his papers randomly scattered about, and the heavy purple coat that had previously been thrown casually over one of the chairs had been removed. It was like he had never been there at all aside from the faint metallic stench that still hung in the air. She sat up in the bed, pushing the blankets back as she looked around, trying hard to figure out why he would have possibly moved everything. Searching for an answer that made sense. A reason that avoided the one that was both most plausible, and easiest to answer. The same one that nipped at the back of her mind, threatening to destroy the calm she had awoken with for the first time in over a week.
The pressure that began to build up in her chest reminded her that she hadn't been breathing for the last few seconds, and with a heavy exhale, she could feel her good mood leave with it, replaced by a dark feeling that she hadn't felt in ages. Her eyes darted over to the door that led out into the parking bay, wondering if she should open it to figure out if her worst fear had come true.
Her legs kicked the blankets away from her body, anxiously climbing out of bed as she let out a nervous whimper, almost tripping over a bag left on the floor as she rushed to the door, yanking it open and almost ripping it off of its rusty hinges. Peering into the room that had previously been filled by the remaining members of the Joker's goons enveloped in the nearby television or playing cards at the small broken table, she was greeted with the same terrifying silence that had forced her from her comfortable cocoon.
Her mouth dropped slightly as her breath began to quicken, storming into the room in a panick and pushing open the nearest door to her as if to prove to herself that this wasn't just some sort of foul joke being played on her.
Empty.
"Hello?" She called out shakily to the emptiness, rushing to the next door and pushing it open just to be greeted with another empty closet.
A lump began to rise in her throat, but she swallowed it down quickly as she continued her checking throughout the room, checking every corner, cabinet, and door just in case there was some indication of what had happened. He couldn't have left her here. Not alone. He had sworn so very long ago that he would never leave her alone. And while she was sure that at the time it was meant as a threat, she couldn't imagine him going back on his word. Yet here she stood.
"Hello!" She said again, shouting this time as she spun on her heels, looking back in the direction that she had circled the room frantically, searching desperately for some sort of clue or indication.
Silence greeted her. And in the silence she could hear his laughter in her head, taunting her.
"Joker?" She shouted at the silence again, running a shaky hand through her hair, tugging at the strands nervously as she stormed towards the front door of the area, her breaths the only sound in the empty room. Breaths and her pointless shouting. "Where the fuck are you!" she yelled, her anger beginning to rise so that her heart began beating dangerously fast in her ears.
He couldn't have left. She had brought him here. Had save his life and sat by his bedside for days until he'd woken up. Mended the bullet hole in his coat and made sure that everything would be in order when he finally did.
Pushing open the front door, she stepped outside onto the cold dirt, not caring that she was wearing little more than a tee shirt. Her eyes darted around the area, looking for the van that had been there the entire time that she'd been here. But the only thing that greeted her was the sight of mostly intact tire tracks in the dusty road. Leading to somewhere that she knew she'd never find.
"Hey!" She screamed at the top of her lungs in the direction that the tracks disappeared, her hands balled in fists as her breath came in short whimpers, her entire body shaking from a mixture of fear, disbelief, and shock. "Come back here you fucking asshole!"
He couldn't have. She needed him. More than she cared to admit. More than she realized until this very moment. He was her new life now. And without him, she was lost. He wouldn't have.
But he had.
"Please come back." Her shout tempered off into a sob as she fell helplessly back against the building wall, sliding down until her knees pulled to her chest. As the sound of crickets in the distant night air served as her only reply, she could feel her short burst of anger give way again to a fear greater than any one she had ever experienced. A fear bathed in despair. And tears, initially dammed by a fit of rage began to flow freely from her eyes as she dropped her head to her knees, sobbing. They were all gone. All their weapons, supplies, all of her things that she'd neglected to remove from the van were gone. And for the first time in a long time, she was utterly and completely alone.
Miles away, where her begging had long ago dissipated in the night air, the Joker stood on the old runway-which was really just an open field cleared off by developers that had neglected to start building anything in its place-watching his men load the contents of the van into the cargo area of the small plane so that he could take a brief stock of what supplies they had. He could see the men glancing up at him out of the corner of their eyes every couple of seconds, trying to figure out if they were in any danger, but for the most part, they made it a goal to actively avoid his heavy gaze under furrowed brow. They'd been doing so since the minute they'd left that rickety garage. He couldn't blame them though. Even as he tried to concentrate on everything that would need to be done when they touched down in Brazil, he couldn't shake the guilt that kept creeping up in the back of his mind. He kept trying to tell himself that maybe she should be happy to have her life and be free from him. Grateful even that he had actually decided to go back on his word for once and let her live. But he knew that there'd been a reason that he'd slinked quietly out of the room, forcing his men to load everything quicker than necessary before zooming off in the night. He knew that over the course of his nearly six month campaign to turn her into the perfect killer, the perfect toy, that he'd outdone himself and had unwittingly given too much of himself in the process. And that whenever she woke up, she'd be pissed. Angry, just like he'd been the minute he'd roused from the coma to find himself alone. He might have hell to pay for this one day if they ever crossed paths again. When…because he was sure that they would. Fate had already forced it twice. And it wouldn't be long before fate worked against him again…if she managed to keep herself in one piece while he was gone.
"…good news is, I think she'll make it." A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts.
He turned around with a deep scowl to hide the surprise he felt, wondering if he'd been muttering again and hadn't realized it.
Dougie turned away from the running plane to look at him, an equal look of confusion on his face as he tried to figure out the reason for the expression change. "The plane." He explained. "We should be able to make it on one tank of fuel."
It took a moment for him to figure out that Dougie had been speaking to him for a moment before he'd actually registered anything. Finally he grunted, turning back around to the van with a smack of the lips.
"You okay?" Dougie questioned, lifting a slightly concerned brow. And for a moment they were just two dirty kids on the street of Gotham. The younger Dougie always the protector of the two despite that fact that he'd always been taller, stronger, and much more dangerous. And to his case, he'd always let him.
"Fine." He said with a smack of the lips, his shoulder's hunching up close to his ears as he tried to ignore the aching pain in his side. He was in no mood to talk right now. Not to his men. Not even to Dougie. All he could do was focus on his plans to distract him from the nagging in the back of his mind. As he stare blindly at the van, his eyes caught a glimpse of a bag full of her clothes gathered from the hotel over a week ago.
He couldn't help the exaggerated roll of the eyes as it looked like he was never going to be free of her accusatory things lying around while he was busy recruiting. He considered ordering the men to leave the bags on the runway but he didn't. Instead, he simply turned around, walking away with a deep frown to the open door of the plane past a furrowed brow Dougie. Muttering to himself as he did.
He should have just killed her.
******You know, I've been writing stories since I was 11, some more ridiculous than others. And none that I've ever let anyone read until this one. But I gotta say, this is the first time that I ever actually finished one. Normally I would write entire novels, get bored, and start another one at the pinnacle of action. Now I see why I didn't. There's something saddening about "The End" isn't there? I guess that's why we write fanfic. So there never really is an "end".