AN: Hey so this takes place in Chapter 29 of Sour Candies and it is graphic. This is a torture scene. Dead Dove Do not Eat. If you don't wanna read a horror show, don't read this. But if you're in, read away!
Well, me, it's nice talking to myself
A credit to dementia
Someday, you too, will know my pain
And smile its black-toothed grin
If the war inside my head won't take a day off, I'll be dead
My icy fingers claw your back
Here I come again
Sweating Bullets / Megadeth
Joker turned to the table, pulling a dropper from the mix and picking up just a drop of the solution, and placing it on the man's forearm. The pain was intense and burning. Eating and destroying his flesh. Tommy cried out without meaning to. Looking up at his arm he saw a dime-sized wound that was tunneling deeper and wider into and across his flesh.
Joker then sprayed a small amount of a neutralizing agent on the acid, stopping the spread of the burn- but the pain remained. Thomas screwed his eyes shut, remembering what Johnny had said about images. "It's actually the perfect tool for disposing of a body, not just skin or bones or teeth, it destroys the ashes of them. Except for one crucial thing. The reactivity. This shit isn't for the faint of heart, but I've never been that." He chuckled. "Tommy, Open your eyes." He giggled, grinning evilly, lifting the glass vial threateningly, "Unless you don't want to see, that is?"
Thomas jerked his eyes open, looking at the clown and trembling. He couldn't bring himself to speak, looking into those demonic black eyes. The clown laughed again, turning to his table, and lifting a blade. He examined it, before placing it down and lifting another. Then he turned, looking at Thomas's legs, then up to his face. He lifted a smaller knife, studying it.
"I think… Hmm, I think… The acid may limit me, Thomas." Joker admitted, moving to stand at the edge of where the other man lay. Then, from the table, he lifted a large thick band, slipping it around Thomas's ankle, and bringing the tourniquet up to just above his knee before strapping it down. "She went to the hip, but I think… I think I will only take to the knee. Wouldn't want to risk losing you. Besides, with everything else, I think a couple extra inches of leg won't matter."
Thomas wondered what the hell he was talking about before he heard a knife tear flesh. His lower half remained blissfully numb, but at that moment, he couldn't stop himself from looking, and despite Johnny's warning, he lifted his head to look down at Joker, who was making shallow tracing cuts around the knee. A Whimper escaped, as the clown laughed.
"You can't even feel this, can you?" He laughed, before turning the knife sharply down, peeling a section of the back of his calf, and slinging it onto his chest. Thomas felt his stomach heave, staring at the piece of skin, the bits of muscle clinging to the back of the epidermis and without being able to contain it the man screamed, and continued screaming when another long chunk of his leg, one that nearly looked like a piece of raw skirt-steak, to Joker, making him mentally note to ask Johnny to pick up his go-to from the good Korean spot in midtown before he came back from the very inevitable tantrum he would have. The man continued screaming, which the Clown found very entertaining, moving back to his place in the chair, before taking out a Large Glass container, with a wide mouth, and placing it on the floor near Thomas's head. He turned to the other man with a smile. "Let's try this experiment again."
He turned, lifting the containers, and recreating the solution quickly, with a measured ease, before Joker used his knife to stab and lift the pieces of meat into the bucket, Immediately filling the room with the smell of burnt flesh as that same black-green chemical reaction happened, but much larger, bubbling up.
"Oh- god," The man choked, staring into the bucket with wide and horrified eyes before he began screaming again, jerking his head away. Joker gripped his chin in one hand, turning it back, before walking to his previous spot, and lifting the leg high into the air, arching his knife down the back of the heel, along the Achilles tendon. The yellow fat of his leg pressed itself greasily against Joker's gloves as he did the work, humming to himself as he slid the knife carefully down, with the ease of a practiced fisherman. He tossed the piece directly into the bucket, which began breaking it down, turning it into that coal-black carbon before releasing it into the air. He had already removed most of the man's gastrocnemius, in the previous swipe, he worked to remove the smaller soleus. Starting by lifting the foot again, and working the blade behind the tendon, which tore with a ghastly noise, causing the man to vomit bile onto the floor.
Joker's lip curled at the mess but shrugged, knowing Johnny would be cleaning up anyway. After ripping the tendon, J placed his knife down, wrapping his fingers around the tops of the muscle and pulling it down towards his knee. The sound of ripping made his stomach ache in that familiar way it always did, and he laughed louder when the man's screams turned shrill.
"Please! Please stop! Anything you want, please! Please I can't!"
"Tommy! What are you talking about? You can't even feel it!" Joker laughed, holding the leg up with one hand, and pulled the flesh again, with one final jerk, before it disconnected at his pre-cut line.
"Clean, right? I like to use guiding lines for my art, I know that may be considered cheating," He giggled, tossing the piece into the bucket, before pulling the leg back down. He pulled what was left of the skin on the front of the leg away with half the resistance of the last piece, before tossing it into the bucket as well. Joker giggled at the sight of the man's relatively uninjured foot leading to an ankle of bloody bone, held together by tendons and the last remaining pieces of muscle. Tommy had squeezed his eyes closed, still screaming but hopeful not to see anything else.
"Tommy," His voice was too friendly, too kind, and Thomas opened his eyes, looking down at the clown. And then his head hit the table behind him, fainting, unable to handle the reality of the situation.
Joker giggled, holding the leg straight, before gripping the leg above and below the knee. Simultaneously he pushed the hand above the knee down and Jerked the other straight up into the air. Producing a cracking, jagged, and wet sound that made his muscles tight. It only took around thirty pounds of force to do catastrophic damage to a knee-cap, if you pushed the wrong way. Much easier than breaking bone. He laid it down, before lifting Tommy's face to examine his coloring, pale, but nothing he was concerned about yet. Frost may have been right. And it didn't take from his satisfaction so far.
Joker hummed, filling a small bottle with an amount of the concentrated acid, and the appropriate amount of water, spraying the open wound of the man's stump generously, before turning to respray it with the neutralizing agent quickly. With that wound cauterized, he removed the tourniquet, watching for the wound to crack open, but the acid had done its job. Joker lifted a hefty handful of cotton pads and gauze, haphazardly wrapping the entire thing bandaging it, and tying it off tightly. He then applied the tourniquet to the opposite leg, tightening it just as much.
Satisfied, he stepped around the table and lifted the bottle of water. Opening it, and holding it over his canvas face. He inverted it quickly, and Tommy came gasping back to life.
"Welcome back! Now we can continue." Joker giggled, returning to the foot of the table and lifting the other foot. Tommy stopped screaming, now sobbing, and begging for his life, again and again.
Joker started at the toes this time. He held the blade against his thumb as he dragged it from beneath the big toe, the bone giving with a satisfying POP. With a chuckle, he tossed it into the bucket before moving to the next. He removed all five, slowly, and with ease, as he relished the man's shaking breaths, his sobs and moans, and most of all the feeling of his knife sliding through flesh with more precision than Tommy here had with a brush.
Suddenly, he became aware Thomas was praying under his breath. He dropped the knife and the second toe, clutching his stomach as he wheezed his cackles, and sat in the chair, trying to prevent himself from falling onto the floor.
"You know something," He said when he finished, looking up at the man, "I've never had that happen before. You'd think people would talk to god all the time during torture, but they're normally too busy screaming." Joker said, looking up, the tears having smeared his paint. "God, Tommy, I like you. You know what? Just for you, if you pass out again, I'll finish without waking you." The clown said, and Thomas looked up, unable to stop sobbing, but when Joker lifted the discarded leg bone with his foot still connected, and submerged it in the bucket, Thomas opened his mouth to scream, before his eyes rolled back, and closed.
Joker chuckled, head tilting, considering waking him anyway, Eh, a deal's a deal. Besides, this is all just the warm-up for the real fun anyway. Joker wondered what she would do when she found out about all of his plans, how would she feel? He shook his head. This really is getting pathetic.
He lifted the foot, content to continue his work, undisturbed. The screams and the terror were certainly fun, but he wasn't lying when he said he had a great respect for the human body, studying anatomy textbooks in his youth, fingers tracing the diagrams of muscle structures and bone. He had been unsurprised to find he had a knack for cutting, killing, skinning, cleaning, or gutting meat of any kind.
That hot-red blood spurting through his fingers around the knife the first time he had taken a life and the feelings it had inspired had surprised him though. The strength of feeling he had felt, was nearly erotic, though not entirely. Vivacious. Alive. Like being electrocuted, or something. At Thirteen he hadn't had a way to describe it in words either- but he knew it was addictive, and he would do anything to feel it again. So he did. And he got better, turning every knife he touched into an extension of his arm. Of course, he hadn't gotten a taste for some of his more eclectic tastes until after.
He held the blade steady, before pressing it past the skin with a low piercing sound that was like music to his ears. He slid the small blade deeper until he felt it scratch bone, dragging the blade slowly up the leg, with the same care one would use on the zipper of a lover's dress. Moving to the other side of the leg he repeated the cut, before pulling the leg higher and turning the leg to admire his work with a small smile. Then he cut a small slit across the ankle, to connect the two cuts, placing the ankle down and pressing the blade beneath the skin of the ankle, helping to separate it. Then he gripped the small newly formed flap of skin, using his other hand to hold the leg down, by the foot, before going to rip again, only to realize that because of the lack of previous cuts, this would be a tougher take than the last. Turning one large rip into several tiny centimeter-by-centimeter rips, admiring the exposed flesh beneath. Finally, he reached the top of the knee, and he made the cut along the top strip of flesh, tossing it into the again empty bucket. Examining the leg, he made a quick deep cut across the circumference of the back of this leg, just below the knee. Stripping the flesh back again, he admired the exposed bone and tendon surrounded by clean cuts. He repeated the process as before, relaxing into the easy work. Once he finished disposing of the spare bits and readied him for Johnny, injecting him with a sedative that would keep him out at least until tonight, when they would transport him.
After that, he pulled the apron and gloves off, lip curling at the disturbingly yellow fat that insisted on greasing itself onto every surface, placing them on the table as he left the room, sitting in their make-shift main room, before lighting a cigarette, and pulling a beer from the cooler with a smile. I needed that like a priest needs his altar boy. J chuckled, smoke escaping, as he lifted his phone, and dialed the first number listed.
"Boss."
"Hey, where did you go?" J asked, Although he knew why Johnny had left, it was one of the unsaid things between them, much like his own temperamental nature.
"Just out to Terrys, I was starving, sorry Boss." His voice remained terse, unsure of his employer's mood as of yet.
"Eh, no issue. Man's gotta eat. Oh! Speaking of which, stop by that place in midtown on your way." J added, thankful for the reminder knowing that it would have ruined his newly light mood to go hungry.
"No problem, Boss," he answered and J ended the call quickly, leaning back to relax into the solitude while it lasted.
Her eyes were tired, and hurt, asking me for an answer I couldn't give before her head tilted back, laughing. "Why are you doing this to me?" There was that tremble in her lower lip, so small that he was sure she wasn't aware of it.
"You know why," I said, trying to force more surety into my voice than I felt.
"No. I really don't," Her eyes returned to me, suddenly sad, despite the smile on her face. "I really don't, J," shaking her head softly. Suddenly a part of me wanted to cross the room, to something, anything. I missed the doctor who smiled meanly and wasn't afraid to jerk me around or make fun of me. I wanted her to look at me the way she did the night before, sneering and drinking and tossing her hair around, as we had drank and laughed. The look she gave me now only made my chest tight. Don't be a pussy.
I forced my mouth into a smile, working to put the face back on. "Think about it. I'm sure you'll get there, you're a smart girl."
A flicker of recognition crossed her face, "You've said that before?"
I was surprised she could remember but didn't show it. "Yes."
Joker lifted his beer, took a large drink, and sighed. He considered again if he should kill her. End this entire confusing mess and get back to what made him, him. He chuckled, remembering her promise to him. "Next time I will have a weapon." He wondered if the pan was a choice of convenience or if she actually preferred blunt force. It would be fitting for someone so mean, he thought, smiling indulgently. He could picture her with a steel bat or a mallet, both would fit into those mean-girl hands so well.
An: Please Comment.