Batman Begins/Dark Knight 1. part from me my liar

_AN – Aha! I told you that I would be posting a new story today! Well, technically, one day. But what's one day? I'm gonna try updating every two weeks this time, so every first of the month, and every 15__th__ of the month. If I get too close to running out of chapters, I'll notify you and switch it to ever 1__st__ of the month only. _

_Either way, you are about to read…my journey into the "Dark Knight" universe. My take on Heath Ledger's revered Joker. Hope you like it!_

**PROLOGUE [part from me my liar]**

"You're leaving me?" his voice rasped.

My dear husband sat slumped over in a sleeveless white undershirt, a clear glass bottle of Smirnoff in his hand. Behind him the TV was on to the evening news and the next door neighbors were having another fight in their apartment.

"I'm so sorry Jack." I kissed his forehead and lingered to tenderly push the dirty blond hair off his face. "I'm so sorry, but I have to. I can't be around you when you're like this." My duty as a future parent told me that I had to take my child away from this...

He buried his smooth face in my stomach, unaware of the secret hiding there, and wrapped his strong arms around me. "We can make this work my rose." His voice was muffled. He was trying to make me smile with his pet name for me – a side effect of my love for the movie "Beauty and the Beast". He'd even quoted it at our wedding.

He was trying to make me reminisce. To forget about what things were like now and to remember how they were. It pained me to stop him, to spurn this attempt.

I pushed his head back, but his chin still rested between my breasts as he looked up at me. "No, we can't Jack. Ever since..." I traced the still healing scars on the back of his neck with the gentlest of fingertips. "You've changed. Drinking more. You're not laughing like you used to. We've been arguing more than ever."

"We can fix that."

I sighed. "No, we can't. Your boss at the construction site called today. He said that you hadn't been in for a couple of days, asked if you were sick. I didn't know what to do, so I told him that you were." I pulled his arms off of me and backed away.

"I was sick." He told me, standing up and letting his half empty bottle fall to the floor with a crash.

My hands clenched nervously at my sides when he did this, even though I knew that my suitcase and the open door were within easy reach. He was preparing to catch me.

"But you told me that you were going to work this morning Jack. Just like you did yesterday morning. You didn't say anything about being sick."

His hands gestured, placating. "I just didn't want to worry you."

"Liar." I accused, inwardly wincing at his shocked expression and stepping closer to the door. "If you were sick you wouldn't have kissed me goodbye this morning. You'd have stayed in bed. You'd want chicken soup! You wouldn't have gone out! Liar!" I was surprised by the growing bitterness in my tone. I worked every day – two jobs! - and he'd gone out to have fun with buddies and lied to me about it...

Jack's eyes grew dark and angry at my low blow. Once he'd told me that he hated untruths and being called a liar was the greatest insult someone could call him. "I am no a liar!"

He started walking toward me, angry and dangerous. Ever since the incident he'd started drinking and that made him violent. Jack pushed another chair out of the way and it skidded into the wall with a bang. "You cannot leave me!" He roared. "I need you Ellie! You can't leave me. You just can't!"

I skittered backward and into my luggage, falling to the floor. My Jack, the father of my baby, the gentle, quiet man would have run to help me. This Jack – this inebriated, dangerous, mercurial Jack- used my fall to close the gap between us further. I struggled to my feet, grabbed the handle of my suitcase and jumped into the hallway.

"YOU CANNOT LEAVE ME!" Jack roared, stalking out into the hallway and slamming the door so loud that it fell half way off its hinges.

"I'll come back when you calm down Jack! Get sober and I'll come back! Please get some help, please Jack!" Now my tone was as pleading as his had been in the beginning. My heavy suitcase was slowing me down as I backed toward the stairs. Drawn by the noise, several of the neighbors peered out their doors at us. I prayed they would intervene if things got too bad.

I had to turn around to go down the stairs, but once I had started to do so I quickly twisted my head so that I could view my irate husband again. I wanted to keep him in my line of sight as much as possible. As mush as I loved Jack, and I did love him more than anything, this part of him was a side that I had never really dealt with before and it wouldn't be smart to turn my back on him.

"You'll see me again Jack..." I called to him from the bottom floor. He stood suddenly stoic, like a marble statue of a god, at the top of the stairs. "Just please...get help." I walked slowly to the front door of our cheap apartment building, stepped outside, and ran.

JACK – BEFORE THE JOKER – POV]

I watched my wife leave me with mixed emotions: betrayal, sorrow, anger, guilt, fury, and lust for revenge.

I needed her and she left me.

I needed her and _she left me!_

**I needed her and she left me!**

I NEEDED HER AND SHE LEFT ME!

I was raging inside, and I didn't want the deadbeat neighbors to see it. I needed something to calm me down, and I didn't want to be seen like this. I was rejected. I wasn't good enough. I was wrong.

This image, this person – everything that was me - had been thrown away and now I needed to change. Needed to reinvent my self so that Ellie would accept me again. I needed her to need me too.

Sitting down on our old couch, I picked up another bottle from the coffee table, pulled the cork off with my teeth, and took a long drink. The alcohol burned my throat and one drop leaked from my mouth, down my neck, and just barely reached the scars that were healing on my neck and shoulders. But I welcomed the pain. I needed it to.

I started when the phone rang, disrupting my thoughts. I picked it up half heartedly. "Hello?"

The voice was pleasant in a sterile way. "Hello. This call is from St. John's Hospital."

"Mm hmm." I commented.

"Is Mrs. Napier around? May I speak to her?"

Now what was it? If this was a message about another one of those unexplained bills, I didn't know what I was going to do. "No, she just left, but I'm her husband. Is there a problem?"

"No sir, I was just calling to let Mrs. Napier know that her refill of vitamins is in. Would you tell her for me?"

I frowned. Vitamins? Ellie didn't take any vitamins, or at least none that I'd ever seen. Numbly, I responded, "Sure." and hung up. The thought echoed and bothered and picked at me until finally, I got up and headed to the bathroom, skirting around all the broken glass on the floor.

The bathroom was in a disaray from Ellie's mad packing whirl through it, probably executed only seconds before I'd come home. Things not deemed important enough to take were scattered over the counter - hair ties and old lipsticks and eyeshadows and mostly empty perfume bottles. Those things I swept aside in favor of pulling open her usually very full medicine cabinet, just across the sink from mine.

Only a few neglected bottles of moisturizer occupied the three shelves. One was lying on its side and dripping a yellow lotion that smelled overwhelmingly of hydrangeas; at least I knew that she'd never worn that during our marriage. If she had, I might have dunked her in the shower...I set the bottle upright out of habit and closed the mirrored door, disppointed. Leaning against the counter, I folded my arms over my chest and tried to think like Ellie. Where else would she put vitamins?

The tiny trash can was full, and I hadn't used it for awhile...

I dug through the trash like a madman, pulling out discarded candy wrappers, one or two ripped open silver packets with 'TROJAN condom' stamped across them, and old face cleanser pads. My hands were shaky as they finally found and pulled out several orange plastic pull containers from the hospital. I read the labels. Folic acid, Materna, Prenate Advance...Pre...Pre...Prenatal vitamins...

_She'd...knowing that._..My eyes shut in shock..._and she'd left me anyway_. I swiveled and stalked toward the living room, not stopping till my knees bumped the edge of the coffee table. I took another drink from my bottle. It was time to get good and drunk – that, at least, would stop me from thinking of my rose, my Ellie.

_AN – So that was only the prologue, but the first chapter WILL be up today, as I don't really consider a prologue an update. Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and review!_


	2. where our story begins

Told you another chapter was coming….

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**CHAPTER ONE [where our story starts]**

_2 years later..._

"And the Joker kills again in Gotham City." The news anchor said gravely, shuffling the papers on his desk in preparation of the grisly details. I turned the TV off, disgusted. People like the Joker needed to be shot – the Death Penalty had first been conceived because of _people like him._

The phone rang as I got up to fix my dinner. "Hello." I said into the receiver while simultaneously inserting a frozen pizza into my oven.

"Are you watching the news right now?" the caller asked, not bothering with the pleasantries. It was Janey, the best friend I'd had back in Gotham City. She was the only one from back then that I still kept in touch with. "Please tell me you're watching it Ellie."

I sighed and set the timer on the oven. "How many times have I told you to call me Gretchen? You know I had to change everything when I left Jack."

"Yeah." she drawled. "I still don't get it El – excuse me, Gretch. It was one fight and all of the sudden you're calling me from Boise to tell me that you've left Gotham and are moving to Montana.

Leaning against the counter, my eyes glanced over the headlines of the morning's paper, which I hadn't taken the time to read before going to work. '_7 MORE JOKER VICTIMS. WHEN WILL THIS GAME STOP?' _It screamed at me. A picture accompanied the headline – the Joker himself. Tall and thin, green hair, uncaring smile, red lips. Just the sight of him made me shiver.

It wasn't just his odd choice of costume, it was the fact that he cared absolutely nothing for the people he killed. He acted like they were just marionettes that needed their strings cut and he was the puppet master. Someone like him couldn't possibly have a soul. And the possibility of such an evil thing living in the world and continually escaping authorities and sanitarium workers alike scared the crap out of me.

"Gretchen?" Janey said loudly into the phone, giving the impression that I'd totally blanked out.

I pushed the paper into the trash can with a nervous sweep of my hand. "You don't understand because you weren't there Janey." I said matter-of-factly. "You didn't see him that night. He looked so angry and hopeless all at once. His eyes were almost black."

"Black? Yeah, right."

"It's true Janey. And that wasn't the first time. We'd fought before. And they weren't just word matches – although I did as much damage as I got."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. She was absorbing it all, connecting the dots, remembering. "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"I just didn't want to worry you." There was a sudden and startling flashback accompanying those words. Jack standing in our old apartment, defiant, angry, a needy aggression.

"You could have told me anyway." Janey said indignantly.

My eyes wandered to the trash again. "Yeah, well..." I searched silently for something to change the subject. "So what's up with this Joker guy? I don't really know all that much about him.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

"He's a psychopathic killer for one." She started.

"I know that."

"And no one knows who he was before he was _The Joker_. As in, he's a total mystery." Janey told me. "No name, no family, not even the brand of clothing he buys."

I made a contemplative noise. "Interesting. Are those scars on his face real?" I prayed that they were. If that was true, then it meant that he'd suffered some real pain in his sorry life.

Somewhat sensitive to the motive behind the question, Janey thought it best not to cover that factoid up with a little white lie. "Um..." she tried to sound thoughtful. "I think so. I think that he wants to shock as many people as he can with them, like this sick ice breaker or something."

"How novel." I murmured sarcastically, fury nipping at the edge of the words. I was glad he'd suffered, I was angry he seemed to enjoy the attention they got him. Any sane person would be mortally ashamed of them. Janey made a noncommittal noise, understanding my feelings.

There was a fumbling noise, like she almost dropped the phone, and a great deal of rustling on the other side of the line. After a long while she finally came back on the phone, but strangely she sounded out of breath and nervous. "So that's all I know about him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Her voice was strangely high pitched. More fumbling.

I checked the pizza. Still twenty minutes to go. "Awkward silence." I commented. "Done anything fun lately?"

Janey answered quickly, as if trying to dispel another silence back in her house in Gotham. "I went shopping with Samantha the other day. I got a great pair of..." she took a deep breath. "boots. You know the kind – they go up to the knee and have wacked out patterns on them."

My brain immediately went to the ad I'd seen in a magazine for the company. "Yeah. I saw them. Which pair did you get?"

"The cool pair."

The typically Janey answer made me smile. I went to stand at my window and absently pushed aside my curtains. "You know I really need a pair of those. They'd look great with my..."

My voice faded away at what I saw. There were ambulances at my next door neighbor's house. How had I not noticed the sirens? Was that a body?

"Ellie?" Janey asked me, abandoning all attempts to remember my made up name and sounding a little panicked.

"I've got to go Janey. There's an ambulance next door. I'll call you later." I hung up without letting her say goodbye to me and ran to pull on my lightest coat. Next door was Mrs. Blakely, the token elderly, sweet old lady in the neighborhood.

Slamming my front door closed, I jogged over to the nearest Paramedic. He shot me a quick look and went back to setting up the back of the ambulance when the police arrived. I watched, helpless, as a gurney was loaded into the big white van. The sirens stopped flashing as I recognized that it was indeed a body – Mrs. Blakely. Her hands were folded peacefully over her chest. My hand went up to my mouth in shock – I'd just talked to Mrs. Blakely the day before and she'd said that she was feeling fine.

One of the newly arrived police officers, a tall, swarthy man who looked Greek, walked up to me, notepad in hand. "Did you witness the event ma'am? Are you a relative?" he asked me brusquely. Meanwhile, I'm sitting there thinking, _'How could I witness the event if I just came over?'_

"No, I live next door. I came out when I saw the lights." My voice shook with grief over the elderly lady's death. She'd been the first to welcome me to the neighborhood and had often overlooked small inconsistencies in my "life story".

"Were you aware of any outstanding health conditions Mrs...." he checked his notepad. "Mrs. Blakely might have had?"

"No sir." I answered, referring silently back to yesterday's conversation with her.

"Hey! Rob!" my cop's head swiveled to the right to see the speaker. Another cop was walking toward us, three men in tow. "I got the next of kin here." He continued, looking back to make sure that his companions were following.

My cop, Rob, turned to a new page and readied his pen. "We still have a few questions for you if you'll just wait patiently." He beckoned for the others to walk faster.

New Cop halted next to Rob, completing a triangle between the three of us. He pointed his thumb jerkily at the strange men. "First one says that he's her son. The others say that they're just cousins."

I frowned at that. Mrs. Blakely had never once in two years mentioned a son. In fact, she'd often talked about how her whole family was gone. Then again, sometimes people said that their estranged family members were dead...

The movement of New Cop's hand drew my gaze unerringly to the men. I first studied one of the two men behind the first, the one to the left. He had pale brown hair cut very militarily in a crew cut. Down the center of his head ran a wide blue stripe to combat his professional air, like a tie-dyed skunk. There was a childhood scar underneath his chin, and his clothes were nondescript and darkly colored.

The man next to him had the same exact hair color and style as Blue Hair. The only difference that didn't require a closer inspection to discern was that the strip in his hair was orange. Orange Hair's clothing was slightly less shifty – a rocker tee with the band Velvet Revolver on it.

The man who claimed to be Mrs. Blakely's son stood a good couple of inches taller than the others. His hair was shaggy, long, and had no dye in it. He had paint stains on his hands and rumpled jeans – red, yellow, and green. In his hands he clutched a half-filled bowl of cereal, which struck my as off, and rightly so.

"Your name?" Rob inquired of him.

"Justin Blakely." The man said hesitantly.

"And the cereal, son?"

Justin looked down at the bowl in his hands blankly, and the bowl started to tremor as he began to shake. "I was eating it when she...I just didn't...I can't believe that she's really..."

He dropped the bowl dramatically to the hard cement with a strangled cry. The ceramic shattered on contact, pelting all our legs with shards; milk and sodden corn flakes slid down the drive way and around the barrier of our shoes. I lifted my feet delicately and stepped away from the tiny white rivers to give them some privacy.

Rob was awkwardly comforting the young Mr. Blakely when I looked up and caught sight of Blue Hair talking on his cell phone all the way across the lawn. 'Maybe he's calling a family member.' I thought at first, then I realized that he didn't looked scared or traumatized in the least. I couldn't help but be offended at how rude that was.

Slowly I crept closer and hoped that he didn't catch me sneaking up on him. So involved was he in the other person's reply that he didn't hear my clumsy approach.

"Yeah, she's here." I heard him say into the phone. J

That made me pause. Who was here? Mrs. Bla kely? Well, she was here technically, but not in any way that counted anymore. Then who else? Surely none of the neighbors. Surely not me.

Wait, me?

[ACROSS THE COUNTRY, WITH THE JOKER]

On the other end of the line in Gotham City, the Joker looked around the apartment that he was standing in, and smiled.

A relatively small kill – there was no blood on the walls and all the pleasure of the deed had ended almost before it had begun. He nudged the body at his feet and decided to dress it up before he left. He'd have to be careful to keep the blood off the woman's new boots. As it was, the viscous liquid was already seeping into the carpet.

"Yeah, she's here." A henchman, whose name he couldn't bother to remember, said into the phone.

Another smile, wider this time. "I know."

END OF CHAPTER ONE

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AN – So, you're hooked, aren't you? And if you, aren't, you should be. No, kidding….Or am I?

What do you guys think? Does it stink? Whenever I start a new story I get super nervous. Sometimes it even makes me break out. Well, next chapter will be on the 15th of April.

See you then!

THIS MONTH'S POLL: I have to start with this, what's your favorite part of the movie?


	3. lobster patties

Exciting! Chapter Two! Cool! I'm so happy I…well…hmm…Is there anyone even out there? Only three reviews? Come on guys, you can do better than that!

_Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta reader, the __**Kiyomi**__ half of __**Banana Rum**__, who better send back chapters 6 and 7 and decide to be in full costume for FanimeCon. As Rorschach, maybe? Perhaps? Perchance to dream?_

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**CHAPTER TWO [lobster patties]**

There were moving vans at Mrs. Blakely's house three days later at nine in the evening, signifying that the three men I'd met in the driveway were moving in. It struck me as incredibly insensitive that they were moving in when the poor old lady had been dead for less than a week. I hadn't even seen them moving any of her stuff out!

Scar Face and Orange Hair were moving in an enormous brown cardboard box when I went to my window for the third time in as many hours. They were carrying it with the "right side up" arrow pointing toward the ground and there were what appeared to be air holes in the sides of the thing. Maybe that was their dog? And if so, that was a really big dog.

As I was watching, one of the two men dropped his end of the box. The other man, Scar Face, dropped his end and ran over to yell at Orange Hair. They were gesturing quite extravagantly, making big arm movements and being aggressive enough to let me know that they were angry with each other.

Because that wasn't enough, Justin joined the meelee. I was shocked. The man I'd seen bawl over his mother's death was gone. The man who'd been so shocked by what just happened to him that he'd forgotten he was carrying a bowl of corn flakes had disappeared. Instead, there stood a very angry and violent man.

He pushed Orange Hair and then quickly bent to place his ear against the box, listening. How weird was that? Weirder still, was when he spoke into one of the air holes. It must be something living. It had to be. Why else would he do something like that?

Justin must have felt my gaze on him and his cousins because he suddenly stood up and turned around as if he could see my line of sight like a string leading directly to me. Our eyes met and he blanched, as if I wasn't supposed to be seeing any of that. He quickly, angrily harried Orange Hair and Scar Face, who I learned, from Justin's screaming, were named Carl and Eddie, into picking up the box again and ushered them into the house.

My curiosity and wariness of the three men grew three fold – one fold per each man I guess. Mrs. Blakely had been a nice woman, but clearly, the rest of her family had some problems that I didn't want to become involved with or deal with. I had enough of my own problems.

As it was so late in the evening, there wasn't much that I wanted to watch on TV. That was fine with me, because TV turns your brain into mush anyway. I'd already visited all my internet accounts and local chat rooms, paid some bills, etc. so there was nothing for me to do on the internet either. I contemplated reading a book but rejected the idea.

Not that I didn't like reading books. Or that I didn't have any good books to read. Rather, I had to get up at four the next morning to be at work at five to start getting things ready for the morning crowd. As I'd run from my husband, Jack, and from Gotham without stopping to procure job references from my secretarial position, the best I could come up with was a part time job at a book store on the weekends and a full time job at a local café during the week days.

Bored, I showered and blow dried my hair before brushing my teeth. While the bathroom mirror was still fogged I pulled on my pajamas. Even though it continued to be pretty cold outside, and weatherman predicted it to be so for awhile, I couldn't stand wearing long sleeves and pants to bed. Instead it was purple plaid shorts and a t-shirt that I slipped into.

Realizing that I felt absolutely no feeling of sleepiness or even drowsiness, I pulled my newly purchased nail polish out of my purse. It was a pretty, feminine, delicate shade of pink that I'd been dying to apply to my nails all week.

I sat down at my tiny kitchen table and cast an apprehensive glance at the pitch black night that had become the outside world during my shower; so black that not even the moon dared show its face. Before I got too spooked though, I uncapped the bottle and swished the brush in the thick, viscous liquid.

My toes were the first things I wanted to paint, so I pulled one leg up onto the chair for better access to the tiny nails. It took my a few toes to get my hands steady and deft enough and not get nail polish all over every toe. I had one foot done managed and drying, and was just starting the other one when I had the strangest feeling that I was being watched. My body froze, I couldn't think what to do, and almost couldn't work up the nerve to pick up my head and look around. Slowly, I looked up.

And screamed. My cry was shrill and panicked when I saw the face in my kitchen window.

The dim light prevented any conclusive identification of the man and said light also cast deep, grotesque shadows over his entire face. The hand holding the nail polish jerked the with reactionary motion of the scream that traveled my body and drew a huge line of the stuff up my leg. I scrambled to my feet and in my haste knocked the bottle off the table.

I didn't bother to give a thought to the rapidly spreading puddle of nail polish that grew on my floor as I jumped off the chair and went to run around to the opposite side of the table. I landed on my feet alright, but when I went to run in the opposite direction, I slid and fell to the ground. And if that wasn't bad enough, on the way down I conked my head on the corner of my chair.

That helped the situation a lot.

When my head cleared and the ringing disappeared, I became conscious of the fact that the face at the window was banging on the glass panes. And yelling. "Are you alight?" the person called. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

The more I heard them speak the more I realized that it was just Justin, and that there was no actual reason for me to be so scared out of my wits. I pulled myself up and slowly grimaced down at the mess that was now on my feet. They were gooey and gross, and would soon become sticky and mucky. I signaled to him that I'd be there in a moment and grabbed tow dishtowels from a nearby counter, sticking them under my feet. I'd rather get more nail polish on them instead of the floor.

I slid over to the door and let Justin in with a click of the lock. He stepped past me and surveyed the mess while scratching the back of his head. "I'm sorry I startled you."

"It's okay." I replied, hiding an inner wince.

He bid me to clean up before telling me what he wanted, so I took full advantage of said permission and probably made him wait longer than was necessary. He must have felt quite guilty however, because he waited while I scraped the crap from my feet and mopped up the floor. I groaned when I saw that the nail polish had stripped the varnish from the floor where it had touched. "My landlady is going to kill me." I muttered underneath my breath.

Justin looked appropriately bashful, but this time I sensed that it was different. I sensed that the emotion was now a false one, and that an underlying sense of impatience and hostility was forming. "Yeah, well, just know I didn't mean too."

"I know. You apologized already." I placated and stowed the mop in the kitchen closet, sighed, and propped my hands on my hips. "So, what was it that you needed? I'm afraid that I don't have much sugar on me."

I'm not sure if my little joke just went in one ear and out the other, or if he really didn't feel in the mood for jokes. "That's not what I came here for. We found a list of neighbors that have keys to...Mom's house, and you were on it."

"And?"

He did not look apologetic this time. "And we want the key back. Now." 

My eyes widened, I know they did, because I could feel it happening. What was wrong with this guy? One minute he was crying over his mother's death, the next he's yelling at his cousins. Then he's asking me if I'm okay and then demanding their key back quite rudely. What was this, schizophrenia? Or perhaps Multiple Personality Disorder was more accurate.

"Okay. Let me go get it." I hid my reaction because I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd managed to slightly insult me with his tone. Like I was some wild, loose woman who let druggies tramp through her house…Sheesh…

Justin nodded and wandered around my kitchen while I went to go get it. When I returned he was looking down at the week old paper in my garbage can that I'd still yet to empty. I think that he nudged the plastic garbage can with his foot because I heard it hit the wall. "So, what do you think of this guy?"

I handed him the key. "Not much – I mean, I don't know much about him is all."

"I don't think a lot of people do."

There was a very uncomfortable silence then, as we stood in my kitchen and stared at a very old newspaper. I personally thought that bringing up the Joker, a psychotic mass murder, with your new neighbor, was a little odd. The atmosphere didn't support me saying so though, so I kept quiet about it. "So how is everything going over there...with the moving and everything...?"

When I first started my question he looked startled, like I knew something that I shouldn't, but as I finished it, he visibly relaxed. "Okay. The idiots keep breaking stuff."

"I hear ya. My brother did the same thing when I moved in with my hus— ex-husband years ago." I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly at the lie. "Have you guys found a key that goes to this house? I have to get permission from my landlord to give it to anyone, and since I got permission for Mrs. Blakely originally and she's...well, I just need it back so I don't get into trouble."

"Yeah, we did. I'll just run over and get it." I watched while he jogged away and across our respective lawns.

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[JUSTIN P.O.V.]

I opened the door to the old lady's house and wrinkled my nose. The house still stunk of the million odd cats that had lived with the old bitch. "I need the key." I told Eddie brusquely, not needing to elaborate. He rubbed that obnoxious orange stripe in his hair nervously and ran to get it. The moron's brother, Carl, sat across the room from me, watching Wheel of Fortune.

"Lobster patties! Lobster patties!" he was yelling at the TV.

I rolled my eyes and clouted him on the back of the head. "Don't you have something else to do?" I growled at him, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. When my glare did not abate he scurried to help his brother find the key the girl wanted in the other room.

"Acting like quite the, uh, little tyrant, are we?"

I turned around. "Boss! I was just...just getting them to do some work."

He shot me a dirt look. "The only things you need to worry about are the assignments _I _give you. Do you, uh, understand?" he asked me harshly.

"Yes boss."

"Good. If you didn't...well, lets just say that your nearest and dearest will be looking at what kind of life insurance you have."

My face paled. "Sir, she mentioned an ex-husband. Is that a problem?"

He turned to face me, his terrible face grimmer than usual. "Did she?"

"Yes."

He thought for a moment, snapping his fingers absently once in awhile. "Just do as planned. This changes nothing." he commanded me as Eddie brought me the key.

"Yes boss."

* * *

[Ellie- ER...GRETCHEN'S P.O.V.]

I took the key back form Justin with a relieved sigh. When I'd finally handed him _his_ key, I realized that a key to _my_ house was currently in the possession of three strange men. Not exactly a good thing. It was a great relief to me that he (or they) hadn't "lost" the key. "Thanks."

"No problem."

My foot itched from the awkwardness of it all and I rubbed it against the calf of my other leg. "I'll see you around then."

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye."

I locked the front door after he left, just in case.

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So…my writing class wanted me to get rid of most of this chapter, but I thought that it was essential to developing a sense of the character's life. In addition, Justin gets a true and proper introduction and he needs one. Let me tell you. He's got a large part to play, I'll tell you that. So lets just hope that you don't think this chapter sucks. Next chapter is much more exciting…

I almost forgot that it was the 15th too, so, you guys are lucky I remembered.

Because I only got three reviews, I would like to thank my reviewers more than ever: to **Jokerluv** for reviewing both the prologue and the first chapter, and to **LilithXasthur**. Recommend me to everyone!

Also my lovely dudettes (and everyone else who did not review), I've made a video for my story. Yes, a video. And yes, it is on Youtube. Just search "Joker Fanfiction 'Honey I'm Home'" or…just go to the link below! Yay! Make sure to leave a comment!

http://www. youtube. com/ watch?v =sgehwuE2bEk (just remove the spaces)


	4. why hello there

_Woot! Chapter three is on! Okay, so this is where things really get going, the action is pumping in, and the ball is really rolling now. Can anyone say "cliffhanger"? _

_Everyone go check out RubyWater's "You Wanna Know What I Think?" Joker story here on ! Its an incredible story – and on my favorites list!_

_This chapter is dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta reader, the Kiyomi half of Banana Rum, who did indeed send chapters 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, AND 11 back to me and agree to at least be 'Rorschach As The Propeht'. Coolio._

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**CHAPTER THREE [why hello there]**

That night, even though I knew in my head that it'd just been Justin, my heart couldn't stop beating at an incredible pace. The adrenaline couldn't stop pumping. It was almost like my body was telling me that something else was coming, something else was going to happen, but I didn't know what.

I stashed the extra house key in a random drawer and then wandered aimlessly around the house for half an hour. Nail polish was unexpectedly distasteful to me after that and I was suddenly unsure of what I wanted to do. I turned on the TV again briefly without expecting to find much; the movie "V for Vendetta" was on TNT and it was currently in the scene when Natalie Portman is under a bed while someone gets a black bag shoved over their face right in front of her. I was _so_ not in the mood for that.

At a total loss, I climbed into bed and shifted restlessly for the good part of an hour. This was one of those times when I missed Jack the most. On nights when I had a hard time sleeping I always curled over and around him, and let his breathing lull me into my dreams.

I could already tell that it would be one of those nights when no matter what I did I wouldn't be able to stop thinking about him. Couldn't stop yearning for his big, warm body. Couldn't stop wishing to hear his voice rumble in his chest as he tells me to go to sleep.

I remembered our first date, when we went to the carnival and Jack took me up on the Ferris Wheel even though he was afraid of heights. Our honeymoon to Niagara Falls when he got drenched by a wave and was sick for a week with the flu.

For hours I thought of all we'd done together – meeting the parents, first kiss, first apartment, first pregnancy scare. All the clichés. First viewing of "Beauty and the Beast" together, first mini-vacation in a ritzy hotel across town, first attempt at riding a two seater bicycle. All the not-so- clichés.

Of course, even as my mind sifted through the good times, it also found the bad times. Our marriage had once resembled a huge stone wall – strong and magnificent. But it had rapidly fell and was now crumbled and in ruins. The drinking and the cursing and the physical aggression stemming from that one single day.

The day Jack had gotten in too deep with the sharks. The day they cut up his back and neck in retaliation. The day he decided that the scars made him less of a man, even though no one could see them.

They'd all been factors in the deterioration of that "wall". When those aspects had increased to near unbearable levels, I forced myself to leave. And in doing so, I had created a hole in the wall. An unbridgeable rift that only the greatest of miracles could possibly close.

_This Jack – this inebriated, dangerous, mercurial Jack – used my fall to close the gap between us further..._

_He stood suddenly stoic, like a marble statue, at the top of the stairs..._

He, the way he had been, flashed before my eyes. His bright eyes, his wide, welcoming smile. But the longer the image lasted the more it warped. The eyes becoming black and empty, the hair greasy and rotting. My heart rate sped up as the image twisted and writhed.

I didn't want...I didn't want to see him like that. I didn't want to think about what he might be doing, what he might look like, what the drinking might have done...I couldn't...I couldn't...

I tried to shut my eyes to block out the image, squeezing them shut so tight that it hurt. But it wouldn't stop. The mouth wouldn't stop stretching into forever, the limbs would stop pulling and elongating. The hands wouldn't stop imitating claws.

I jerked up into a sitting position, my breathing rapid and unstable; it happened every time I ventured into that dark past. My left hand began to ache and unconsciously, my right hand traveled over to the left and grasped the ring finger, where the longing ache was centered. I buried both hands between my breasts to stop the pain, like it was a cut and I was trying to stem the blood flow by putting pressure on the wound.

I sat in silence for long moments, letting the darkness of my room sink into me. My brain tried desperately to think of other things. Happy things. Puppies, rainbows, chocolate, Johnny Depp...

A loud noise from the front of the house startled me out of my determined mantra. My head jerked up and my eyes jumped to the bedside clock. 3:27 AM. It was way too late for anyone to be paying a social call.

"Boss, what do you want-" someone called from the living room. He was cut off abruptly and a scuffle ensued. My hearing was so amplified that I could even hear the rustling of their clothing as the leader, presumably, gestured furiously.

In light of the situation, I was thinking that it was a good time to hide. My mind turned to the movie that had been on TV, and I slid out of bed as quietly as possible. As my feet hit the ground, inspiration struck. I drew on my obsessive compulsive tendencies and straightened out the bed covers, till they looked exactly as they had before I climbed in to go to sleep. I even plumbed the pillows as a final touch. The footsteps sounded louder than before now, and I managed to pull myself beneath the bed with a strangled gasp. I hadn't realized that they were so close. Or that it would be such a close call getting under there.

The door was kicked open with a bang and two pairs of boots stepped in. "This must be it. But she's not...here." one said to the other, rather lamely I couldn't help but think.

"Go get the boss." the other one said brusquely, sparking my memory and causing me to gasp lightly. The boots had been treading around the room, but when I did so, they halted and I clamped my hands over my mouth. My heart thundered in my throat and my stomach kept my feet company till he started moving again.

Meanwhile, my world was spinning. I knew that voice! It was Justin! But what was he doing here? Why was he doing this? And if he wasn't the boss, then who was?

I wasn't to wait long to find out. Three pairs of shoes entered the room, one of them a familiar pair from earlier, the second pair unfamiliar. But it was the third pair that caught my attention in particular. They were brown leather shoes, nothing too fancy, with red children's shoelaces. I don't know how I could tell, but the other shoes in the room (or rather, the owners of the shoes), were very deferential to that singular pair.

Red Shoelaces stalked about the room, inspecting various bits and pieces of it. I noticed that he stayed the longest in front of my bureau, which was arrayed with an assortment of mixed pictures from the last two years and also from my life before I'd met Jack. For a moment they stood right in front of me, inspecting the bed, and I was sure t hat I was going to be caught. "Hmmm..." they, a man, I gathered by the voice, murmured when he returned to the group at last.

"She doesn't seem to be home." The very first speaker said. This one seemed to have a knack for stating the obvious. They did, however, give me a few terrifying clues.

One, their search was very specific and thought out. Two, he implied that their main focus in breaking in was me. Three, they wanted me alive; they wanted me for _something_. Four, someone had to targeted me specifically for them to do this. My blood chilled.

"I'm aware of that." Another, puzzling voice. It was a raspy voice – that of an adult man – but with the same rhythms and mannerisms of a child.

Captain Obvious couldn't resist. "But her car is still outside."

"Again, I'm, uh, aware of that." Red Shoelaces stated, sounding quite annoyed.

"A friend probably picked her up." volunteered Justin, trying to act as the voice of reason.

"Maybe she's just hiding." Captain Obvious reasoned, making my heart stop. If my blood had been cold before, it was positively arctic now. If I could've I would've kicked him.

"Don't be silly idiot. This one isn't that smart."

Despite the stinging insult, my attention was caught by something else – a pair of shoes and socks that sat by the corner of the bed. Crap. Such a small detail wouldn't worry me usually, I mean, I wasn't a neat freak or anything. But I really didn't want them to wonder why I would go out without my shoes and socks on. That would really give me away.

Justin spoke again, this time taking the opportunity away from Captain Obvious and the other, so far silent, burglar. "What do you want us to do boss? I don't think it would be a good idea for us to come back tonight. Or even this week. She might get suspicious."

From the way he said this, Justin was apparently expecting a reprimand, violent or not, I wasn't sure. Although, expanding on the idea that these were rough criminals, I was betting it was a violent reply he was hoping to avoid. But the small noise he made at the back of his throat told me his surprise when he didn't receive one.

Red Shoelaces didn't say anything, just shifted again restlessly, something I gathered that he did often. He let out a sigh so soft that I was sure only my suddenly supersonic hearing could detect it. "Get out of here." He said, as I eyed my conspicuous shoes again.

For a moment I was struck by how different he sounded this time, like a normal adult person, and without the childish tendencies. Like he was sad and disappointed. Like my absence wounded him. Like he knew me and had been looking forward to seeing me again. My heart jumped at the sound as well, as if I knew a person, but my brain knew that was impossible.

I didn't know any thieves! Okay, so I knew Justin, but that was besides the point. I didn't know him well...

"But boss...what do you think? Later tonight or-" Captain Obvious had the misfortune to speak when he apparently shouldn't have.

There was a horrible sound, like a gasping fish on a butcher's table – a spurt of blood and heart slowing. A struggle in my very own bedroom. I squeezed my eyes shut and at the same time snaked my hand out to grab the shoes and socks while everyone was occupied with watching the ongoing murder, survival instincts all the way baby. I missed a sock in my lunge, but that couldn't matter too much. One lone sock was much less conspicuous than a whole set of shoes.

Besides, I couldn't bear the idea of reaching out my hand again. Of putting my living flesh so close to dead flesh – to a corpse. It sickened me to think about the stains on my floor, about the knowledge that would always haunt me when I entered this room. I would always think, 'A man died here.' I felt horribly nauseated.

A final thud signaled the end of the violence, and I knew that there was now an actual body on my floor. I was too cowardly to open my eyes though, and see the empty eyes glazing over, the mouth gaping open. And so I used my ears to monitor what was happening.

The sound of feet trooping back to the bedroom door gave me the signal to let my shoulders relax. I waited anxiously for the door to close again, and almost started to slide back out when the door swung open again at the very last second.

"Can't you do anything right?" Red Shoelaces asked angrily as he and one other came back in.

It was a new voice that replied, the silent partner from before. "I didn't mean to boss. I won't set anything down next time."

"Well hurry up. That little bitch might get home...any moment." I ignored the slight pause in his voice in lieu of praying for them to leave, taking it as a temporary loss of words. Or, as I liked to call it, a brain fart.

There was a bit of shuffling as the minion collected what he had accidentally left in my room and a good deal more as Red Shoelaces shoved his "employee" out the bedroom door. 'And none too gently.' I thought, as Silent guy hit the door frame with a 'thud'. I listened even more intently as I waited to hear the front door slam.

When it finally did I let out the biggest, most relieved sigh of my life and just relaxed for a good, long moment, resting my cheek against he cold, hard wood floor that had managed to keep me so grounded through that whole thing. To compliment that I let the blessed black behind my eyelids soothe me. I didn't hear anything else. I didn't see anything else. I didn't think of anything else. Until...

"Hello beautiful. And you are very beautiful."

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_Well hello there my beautiful reviewers (and those of you who read and should seriously become reviewers!). So that was chapter three of "Honey I'm Home", and I hope that you enjoyed it. I love sharing my stories with you folks and this just makes my life be even smoother._

_Things are great for me right now – I'm registered at my first pick college for next year, I'm graduating, I've got good friends – when life is good, life is good. Although it could also be pointed out that when life is bad, life is bad. However, I do hope that life is good good for you too!_

_For the last chapter, I received the question, "Did she get rid of the baby?". My answer is: No, not exactly, or willingly, I should say. And that's all I'm allowed to tell you! He he._

_Thank you to my wonderful reviewers: Jokerluv (so faithful, so sweet!), JokersChaosPrincess (glad you like it so much!), and Jilander-Napier. Thanks for your support!_

_As always, take a jaunt over to Youtube to watch my fanvid for this story at:(add at the beginning)  
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_.com/watch?v=sgehwuE2bEk_

_The link is also on my profile!  
_


	5. do you happen to be stuck my dear?

Yes, I know. All of you have reason to hate me. I went off my update schedule, yadda yadda yadda. Trust me - I know; I've been beating myself up about it this whole time. But if you checked my profile you would have seen a note explaining myself at least a little.

My family and I have been going through an extremely rough time medically right now - we're dealing with the Big C and the Big P. And if that wasn't enough, there was Advanced Placement exams, finals, and graduation to break the camel's back. By posting this now, I am trying as hard as I can to get back onto wagon and post regularly, but we aren't out of the woods yet, so please be understanding...

Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta reader, the Kiyomi half of Banana Rum and to my sister for reasons that should be left unsaid.

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CHAPTER FOUR [do you happen to be stuck my dear]

Slowly, slowly, as if the speed of my actions could determine as to whether anything was real or not, I opened my eyes and turned my head toward the voice. I frantically prayed that I was hallucinating. That I was on acid that I couldn't remember taking. That Justin had slipped 'shrooms into my nail polish while I was at work and it had soaked into my bloodstream through my toenails. Hell, I even prayed that the whole thing was the result of an alien invasion that had kept me starving and delirious for days.

None of my prayers were answered. Crap.

I recognized him easily as the Joker – his face peered back at me, his tinted green hair brushed the floor. Even though I'd seen pictures of him in the paper and one the news often recently, the make-up was still shocking and grotesque to me. The chalky face, the eyes swamped in black, the pasty quality of the make-up. And that signature grin – all red and vulgar as it stretched up either side of his face. Underneath the smeared red I thought I detected small bumps and lumps. Either he really did have a facial disfigurement or his make-up was extremely old and the age had caused hard chunks to form in it.

"Well, aren't you going to come out and say hello?" Sucking on one side of his mouth like that, the Joker looked incredibly eager, as if the idea of my torture and eventual death was the sort of thing he liked to save for a rainy day. 'It probably is.' I thought sourly.

In response to his question I shook my head like I had gone berserk. Perhaps my fervor would convince him that I was mentally unstable and would be too much trouble for him to deal with. And I would drive his whole crew freakin' mad. And would burn his hideout down with the clever use of a kitchen stove and gas. And would eventually bring the cops down on him using a rubber ducky and a bar of soap.

No such luck.

He got down on his knees like it was a terrible hardship and sighed like doing so was so horrible that it was bad enough to start WWIII. I jerked back violently as his arm snaked out and grabbed at the shoes and the one sock that I had snagged earlier. I did that so emphatically that I banged my head on the wooden frame of the bed and bit my tongue. My head ached to the beat of my grown and I sucked in a sharp breath.

Joker cackled, and gleefully wiggled the shoes with one hand. "You know precious, you shouldn't have moved the shoes. I mean, sure, I was willing to believe that you went out clubbing with a friend without your tennie shoezies. Who would go out clubbing in these monstrosities, I ask you?"

I remained silent and stoic, but his eyes still got brighter with each word. "But then you moved them. Big mistake. Because you know why? You know why?" his voice went up and up and up until he paused for effect. It was much lower after that. "Because I tend to notice the mistakes that stupid little bitches make when they're hiding from me. That's why."

Despite the ever present "smile" on his face, the words were less than encouraging. "How fascinating." I mumbled, trying to scoot away from him. I didn't get very far because it was an awful tight squeeze for me to be under there.

"Isn't it?" he asked back, still smiling. Damn that was getting annoying.

He then stared at me with the most piercing eyes I'd ever encountered in my life. They were full of this strange madness that may or may not have been an act. More rage than any human should bottle up inside and something else that was mostly hidden from me, also entwined with the insanity. I couldn't discern what the second feeling was, it was so carefully tucked away, but just parts of it were peeking through, like a letter hidden in a book for ages. I stared back at him, after all, that was only polite – and I had no idea what he saw in my eyes.

I found that I couldn't move when he stretched his arm out again, like my body was paralyzed or I was under some king of mind control like in Harry Potter. 'Petrificus Totalus my ass.' I managed to think quite caustically through the terror. This time though, he did place his hand on me. His fingers did curl menacingly around my arm. They did start to pull me out from under the bed. This galvanized me into action and I immediately wrapped my legs around the far bedpost and used my free arm to hold onto the wooden bed slats. Survival instincts were survival instincts, whether you were a Neanderthal or modern woman.

Joker didn't like that too much. He didn't like it at all.

With a growl he lunged down and grabbed my other arm, then tugged as hard as he could. I cried out in surprise and pain; with my legs clamped to the bedpost and him pulling at me as hard as he could, it felt like my body was being ripped in two. We stayed in a deadlock like that for a long time, and I held out for awhile longer, but even then, I knew the outcome; inevitable, it was.

The cavalry came in the form of Silent Guy. I couldn't help but mutter "Cheater" when he called for his henchmen to help him. He must have heard me because his grin got a lot wider and suddenly he jerked up so that my head hit the bed again. The knock to my cranium almost made me let go but I persevered. Perversely. Then the other men arrived, and it was a lost cause – it was Custer's last stand and I was Custer.

The first one – Silent Guy, went around the bed and began trying to disengage the death grip I had on the bed post. Justin went to help the Joker by grabbing one of my arms, freeing his master up to focus on my right arm; I noticed that Justin's grip was much gentler than that of the Joker. His fingers locked onto me in a positively bruising grip, and Joker seemed to be trying to crush that section of my arm into pulp.

Silent Guy finally succeeded in untwisting my legs from the bed and Joker and Justin, unprepared for the sudden slack in their rope, so to speak, pulled too hard and went flying. I slid forward like jet, but instead of slipping out from under the bed like a seal on an ice flow, I was jerked to a halt by the bed without warning.

I was stuck. Oh. Shit.

Joker stood up with a bounce and walked over to inspect my predicament. The top half of me was free and clear, but my butt had caught on the bed frame, as it no longer had the frantic strength of desperation behind it to push it through. The two globes that had never seemed particularly plump to me were thoroughly smashed underneath the lower edge of the bed; I wiggled back and forth temporarily under the uncomfortable pressure, but was unable to get free. My getting underneath it in the first place must have been a miracle.

Joker bent over my behind and poked my bum a couple of times with one long finger, earning a yelp and a rapid blush from me. He then turned his attention to my face, and ran one finger down my cheek in a deceptively gentle gesture. Where had I felt that before?

"I do love it when you young maidens get all virginal and modest. It makes me laugh." He bent closer and I could see where his make-up had sunken into tiny, misplaced laugh lines around his mouth now. "And that, you pretty little girl, is because I know that its all a lie. I know that no women are, uh, sweet and gentle, they just pretend to be. Because they're all liars. Because they're really savage vixens – such as yourself – who are ready to fuck and betray and fight at a moment's notice. Do you understand?"

I didn't say anything.

He grasped my face with one hand so that his fingernails dug into my cheeks and pierced the thin top layer of skin there, then leaned in close so that his warm, moist breath enveloped my ear with each exhale. "Now here's the thing doll. I have a feeling that we're going to be seeing each other for a very long time. And, as everyone knows, I'm a nice guy. But even a nice guy has rules. And one of my rules, you see, just happens to be that you answer my every question. No matter what I ask you or when I ask you." He shook my head roughly once. "Do you understand princess?"

I nodded my head as best as I could.

"Good. So when I ask you if you understand what I just said, you, uh, answer how..."

The hand on my face eased just enough for me to speak. "I understand."

He opened his mouth as if to implement another rule of his, but then shut it quickly. Joker straightened up in a sharp, quick snap and gestured to his men – Justin and...Carl? Did that mean that Eddie was the one who had died? "Pull her out." he ordered brusquely.

I could tell that Justin sighed from the way his mouth moved as he and Carl bent down to grasp my arms. They both got down on one knee and began to pull at my arms with great heaves of strength; the angle they were at meant they were pulling me upward – and that was only hindering the process. But my incredibly large bottom stayed stuck. That only made them pull harder.

"Ow!" I cried out, my shoulders burning and in pain. "Ow! Stop! Please, stop!" my eyes welled up in tears as the pain became greater and greater. Suddenly there was a huge pop in my shoulder and I screamed. It was a shrill, painful sound, and had I been screeching into a microphone I could have broken glass. The sound settled however, for severely irritating my three living kidnappers; and most likely the dead one too.

Startled, both Justin and Carl stopped pulling. My left shoulder was killing me. I was in so much pain – I wanted so desperately to faint so that I wouldn't have to bear it anymore. Tears were no longer running down my face, they were streaming. I wouldn't be surprised if they carved deep groves in my cheeks like two perfect replicas of the Grand Canyon.

My head fell to the floor and I kept on moaning, agonized. Every breath seemed to aggravate the pain and the condition till I felt so delirious with agony that I didn't even notice the Joker gesture for his men to back away. He knelt down by my side and placed two incredibly gentle hands on my back. "Which, uh, shoulder is it?" he demanded of me.

"Left!" I cried out. "Left!" I didn't care who touched me, as long as they made the pain go away.

Joker put his hands on my left shoulder and shifted them so that the agony tripled and focused on that single ball and socket joint. My scream was higher pitched than ever before, my legs thrashed under the bed, my eyes squeezed shut. "It's dislocated. Keep pulling boys." His voice was almost dispassionate.

"But boss -" Justin began, trying to come to my defense. I blessed him for it.

"If I snap it back in now, and you two numskulls pull her out right away, you'll dislocate it again. Keep pulling morons!" Wow...that...surprisingly made sense to me.

Reluctantly bowing to that statement, Justin and Carl knelt down once more, and their grips on my arms were gentler than before, as if holding me softly would reduce the incredible pain. "HEAVE!" the Joker roared at them impatiently.

Startled, they did so, throwing their bodies back with all their might and yanking without care. My vision began to fade back and forth from grainy color to pure, velvety black. Their extra force began to pay off, and sooner than later, my body exploded from under the bed and I was shot into their laps.

Joker pushed me off of them and put his paint stained hands on my shoulder again. Then, to my ultimate horror, he twisted it.

I couldn't help it – my eyes rolled back in my head, all thought fled my brain, my body went motionless...but before I blacked out, I thought that I detected a hint of relief in my shoulder.

[LATER ON...BUT NOT TOO LATER ON...]

The pain of being bumped and jolted woke me again and alerted me to the fact that I was tied up in the back of a car. As my brain struggled to break the surface of its confusion I slowly noted each and every man in the back of the car...okay, it was a van...sue me.

Carl was sitting across from me, snoring. His head lolled against the metal wall of the vehicle and the tip of his pink tongue poked out from between his lips. Justin also sat on the bench across from me, but he did not look so leisurely. His eyes were narrowed as he stared at me, his legs crossed and his knuckles were in white and furious grips of each other. I almost sighed in relief; that meant that the Joker was up front, driving the van.

And most importantly, not around me.

Going over a pothole, the whole van flew up into the air, and my stretched out body landed hard on my seat. It was only then that I realized that I was not landing on a hard metal bench that was identical to the one the others were sitting on. Instead, I was landing on something much softer and warmer. I couldn't help but feel comfortable.

Until my pillow spoke. "Comfortable, little one?" it was the Joker. I was lying on the Joker?!

My head snapped around to look him in the face – he was grinning viciously. Another pothole, or maybe it was a speed bump, and I remembered the pain of my shoulder. I couldn't stop the moan that escaped my lips, nor could I stop my hands from curling into tight, tense balls and clutching the fabric of his jacket. But the Joker just gathered me up to lean against his chest – a battle which I fought by jabbing him with my elbows but lost.

"Aren't you lucky that we're almost there. We're just pulling up." He patted my thigh roughly. "So no more noises pet. No more." The van stopped. "And upsy daisy." Joker stood and upended me onto the floor.

I bounced once and then settled on the hard floor, groaning. "Up, up, up!" Joker grabbed me by my left shoulder and dragged my to my feet. This reduced me to a shuddering pile of whimpering and silent pleas to all manner of deities and/or gods who might be interested in the sacrifice of my goldfish down the toilet if they helped me to manage it all. I unsteadily followed him out of the van and toward, then into, a ragged looking building.

Dirt was everywhere, there were stains on the walls and on the ceilings. We first entered a huge reception area where there were a few chairs with the stuffing half pulled out of them and a large wooden desk. Behind it was a bulletin board labeled and hung with room keys. So this had either been a hotel or an apartment complex.

"Look around at everything. I know you want to. You're just a little Pandora, aren't you?" Joker whispered in my ear. "And for opening your box, you're about to be punished. But first, you should rest here for awhile so that we can get our room ready. You really should."

That confused me "What-"

A needle slipped stealthily into my neck and shot some sort of tranquilizer into my veins. It was so strong that I immediately took one woozy step, fell into the Joker, and then embraced the darkness.

[END OF CHAPTER FOUR]

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And so we come to the end, of Chapter Four.

Cool, huh?

Well, either way, I hope this doesn't completely suck and that you all enjoyed it and, especially, that you ALL review. Not all of you do, and let me tell you, I know. I know everything.

As always, thank you thank you thank you (!) to all my wonderful reviewers! Thank you to JokersChaosPrincess, darkness takes over, Misplaced Levity, and HoistTheColours (all answers will come...eventually!). Thank you!

No, really, reviews are the best thing possible for a writer. So if you want the best thing possible for this story, then...well...(do i have to spell it you for you?)...then you need to review!


	6. hi

Hi everyone! Here we have chapter five of my story, Honey I'm Home. Hopefully you guys all enjoy this story and hopefully, ALL of you (you know who you are) review the chapter. Things are...going around here. So far this summer has been a strange mixture of turmoil or relaxation.

As usual, this story is dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta reader, the ** Kiyomi** half of the fabulous fanfiction duo on this site, **Banana Rum!** So that means you should all go check out their stories!

Please see the bottom of the chapter for Reviewer Thanks, for a note to one damn _special_ reviewer in particular, and for answers to your questions.

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**CHAPTER FIVE [hi]**

I woke up achy and exhausted – my head pounding, my shoulder screaming. My body was suffering so much that I could hardly feel anything else but pain, it was like pain had become everything in the world around me. It was the only thing I could feel. But eventually, that faded as all things do and I registered sharp stabs in my sides and turned my head to look at the source.

The Joker was sitting next to me on the bed, legs crossed beneath him, shoving his finger into my side. "Hi." He breathed at me.

My mind could hardly comprehend what was happening - where I was, who was in the room with me. I didn't answer. Of course, remembering our last encounter and his little rules, I tried to do so. My mouth certainly opened and closed in a splendid rendition of a guppie, but no sound came out. Was this what being scared witless felt like?

Joker jabbed the thigh closest to him with a knife that slid into his hand smoother than butter in Memphis. Blood spurted and bubbled to the surface along with my whimper and he soaked the tip of his knife in it for fun, but that font quickly dried up. "Don't tell me you, uh, forgot my little rule."

Before I could stop myself, my vocal cords galvanized into action. "That wasn't a question. Before. When you said 'hi'." There was a second of astonished silence, like I'd surprised even him. My eyes widened, horrified, as his eyebrows rose fractionally.

"My, what a little firecracker." He intoned in a high, surprised voice, patting my cheek with the knife blade, then putting it away. I was hyper aware of the smudge of my own blood that was now slowly drying on my cheek. "I think we'll have a very good time together. Don't you?"

I looked to see if he was joking or not, but couldn't tell. His face was inscrutable. Better safe than sorry though. "No."  "No? No?" He reached over to grab my face, bringing his body very close to mine, and shook my head back and forth. "NO? Then we'll just have to change your mind about that."

Joker jerked me up into a quasi-sitting position, and then unfolded his body into a standing position. He stretched leisurely, cracking his back and neck muscles carelessly. I noticed that he always kept one eye on me the whole time. Whether to see if I was checking him out or about to burst into flames, I knew not.

Without much ado, he hoisted me up by the armpits, ignored my whimper of pain, and plunked me down on an unvarnished wooden chair a few feet away. I wobbled for a moment and then settled into a precariously lopsided position; my bound hands and feet didn't exactly lend themselves to good balance. It gave me a chance to look around the room I was in though – a draft, dirty bedroom.

I'd been lying on the bed when I woke up, if you could call it a bed. Wooden frame, mattress, limp blanket, pillow. That was all. The whole empty... "design principle" however, did not apply to the entire room though; there was furniture everywhere. Besides the bed and the chair, there was another chair, a bureau, a chest of drawers, two old, beaten couches, three mismatched nightstands all in odd positions, a couple of lamps, a table, and a barstool.

If the clutter wasn't enough to confuse someone, the decor of the various pieces was. The second chair was in the style of Louis XIV – now ripped blue silk, gilded wood, and a couple of Fleur de lis. One couch was homey and ugly and red plaid, the other had springs poking through its sleek black leather. The table was steel, the bed colonial, the bureau outdoorsy and rustic, the lamps Chinese, and the barstool was modern.

_'Please let someone call 'Myles of Style' for this place.' _I thought absently, caustically as the Joker stalked to the door and then needlessly gestured for me to stay where I was. I couldn't help but giggle at little at what Ms. Myles, host of the design show, would say about this place. "Wow, tornado much." I could picture her saying, sassing the Joker by placing one hand on a cocked hip. And confident in the fact that he'd signed an all inclusive contract covering everything from "accidental" knife wounds to "accidents" tire irons.

I had thought that Joker was too far away to either hear or care about my little trespass. I was wrong.

Oh so wrong.

He stopped and slowly turned around, looking at me with a wonderfully devious glint in his eyes. He took a couple of halting steps forward, his hands raised to chest level, the index fingers pointed at me. "Was that," Another step. "a giggle I heard, cupcake?" He seemed delighted. This couldn't be good.

I watched the Joker warily, looking for signs of ulterior motives or weapons beneath his jacket. "No." My lips formed the word sluggishly.

"No, what?"

He was only asking me questions on purpose, the sneaky bastard. I wanted to scream from frustration – I didn't want to talk to him. Okay, lie. I wanted to scream in frustration _and pain_. Mostly pain. But I was busy trying to ignore the fiery, terrible ache of my body. Either way, I didn't want to talk to him.

"No, you didn't hear a giggle." I replied before he could start on that whole "don't-tell-me-you-forgot-my-rule" routine.

Joker nodded in seeming understanding, but his words belied that look. "Funny, I, uh, thought I did."

"Nope."

"Hmm." He patted my cheek absently. "Okay. Stay here dolly." He left me alone in the room and I breathed an immense sigh of relief.

I spent my hours calculating how long I'd be able to live there, injured as I was. They were okay. I mean, even the Joker would have to realize that he had to go easy on me for awhile, what with my shoulder and all. And to keep me for a long time he'd have to feed me. There was also the matter of _what_ he would feed me to take into consideration. The thought sent a rumble of hunger through my stomach.

I was really hoping it wouldn't be that whole "moldy bread and water" shtick that was _de rigeur_ in all the dungeon scenes of any action book. Not that I was hoping for beef tenderloin or tri-tip, thank you very much. But a nice potato and a few vegetables paired with the bread and water wouldn't be so bad. Maybe throw in a pat of butter for good measure. But of course, that wouldn't taste very good for breakfast, wouldn't it? Especially if it was the same potato and veggies and butter. That would mean that it would be cold and congealed, and I mean, come on. No one wants to-

Off topic. No matter what the food ended up being, there was also the question of how long I wanted to eat the food and endure the torture.

If I got to the point where I wanted my life to end prematurely – for surely this situation meant a premature death and not one that was right on time – I could always do as my grandfather did. When my grandfather was very, very sick, and didn't want to put up with the terrible quality of life available, he simple stopped eating. Although I wasn't favorable to the idea of slowly wasting away and starving, I was even less favorable towards the idea of dying in the hands of a madman.

And if that wasn't quick enough, I could always throw myself out any convenient windows. That worked too.

But at the moment I was still clinging to the last tendons of hope in my body. My soul still believed, still needed to believe, that I could escape. That they would leave me alone with an open window. That somehow a machine gun would fall into my lap. A bomb would detonate right under his di...nose. But I didn't have any grand illusions of the police busting in to save me. The Joker was known for his despicable antics in Gotham City, not Montana.

I wasn't to sit much longer in my morbid contemplations, because the Joker arrived not long after. He backed into the room, narrowly avoiding the bar stool, and gesturing for someone else to enter.

It was Carl and a new man, whom I immediately dubbed Mr. Asshole. His t-shirt said in big, bold letter, "I'M GOING TO CUT YOU OPEN LIKE A FUCKING PIG" and there was a very rude hand gesture tattooed on one arm and a swastika on the other. Although I knew that the swastika used to be a non-violent symbol of peace, I could tell by his eyes that he didn't mean it the nice way.

They were wheeling a metal cart into the already crowded room, and it rattled ominously with sharpened instruments. I could hardly look at the cart for fear of seeing what was actually on there. The cart was stopped just a few feet away from me, the contents emitting one last morbid jingle. The men turned to leave but the Joker stopped them.

He danced over and jumped around the new man, Mr. Asshole, using his shoulders as leverage to get more "air". Joker was giggling and laughing madly now, his red smile stretching even farther up his face with the natural extension of mirth. While in the process of doing this, he kicked Carl out of the way with one lash of his long legs.

"Do you want to know who this is? Do you want to know, huh?" Joker asked, performing a particularly theatrical spin.

He was moving so fast my eyes could hardly follow him. "Not particularly." I mumbled, my eyes darting apprehensively to the medical cart. Was this man my new torturer? Did he have some sort of specialty in a type of utter pain? For some reason, despite my hatred of the boss man, I couldn't help but feel that I'd rather be at the mercy of the Joker than this new man.

Quickly expanding on that idea, I realized that there was something so familiar about the Joker...something that I knew I should recognize. It was a bit like watching a horrible made-for-TV movie and spending the whole movie wracking your brain trying to think of the name of the once famous but now deadbeat star on the screen. The name always came on in the credits and it was always a big revelation – I just wondered when my credits were going to come.

"Really? That's too bad – you don't really have a choice kitten. Not much of a choice at all. This is Kyle, Kyle my little killer. You'll like him. I think you will." He didn't even sound out of breath from all the theatrics. That was _so_ unfair.

I flinched violently when one of his furiously flinging limbs came close to my head. It was such a body encompassing move that I wobbled again, tipped to one side, and fell to the floor. My jaw hit the hard wood painfully and for a minute, I didn't think that I was ever going to be able to speak again.

Meanwhile, the Joker was cackling and shooing his men out of the door. "Go on now! I only wanted you to meet her. Go on! This is no time for blunt instruments. This is time for _fine-esse _work." He emphasized, shoving the door closed the moment they had left. I watched warily as he turned around to face me again.

A switchblade appeared in his hand as he approached and I began to thrash in my bindings despite the pain. I still remembered what had been done to my husband, and when someone got a look in their eyes like that while holding a knife – I got scared. My skin felt clammy, and the closer he got the colder it became.

Joker stood so that he had one leg on either side of my body, then turned me over so that my back was to him. Funny, I thought he liked to see his victim's fear when he killed them. Oh well – at least I didn't have to worry about starving. Jack flashed through my mind, his eyes mournful. Would he be notified as next of kin? We were still married after all. Would they even be able to find him?

My captor hunkered down over me like he didn't care about getting any blood on his pants. I felt his hands, warm even through the purple leather gloves, run down the sides of my arms and stop to particularly caress my palms. The idea of the Joker being tender was totally alien to me – a shock. And from the almost...hesitant quality of his touches, I could tell that he hadn't done anything like this in a long time.

As if coming back to himself, he patted the backs of my hands sharply, transmitting pain in a gesture that would have meant comfort coming from any other person.

The cool of the knife slid between the flesh of my hands and I tensed despite myself, every muscle going hard. I didn't want to be scared of the concept of receiving death from _him_. Anywhere else, anyone else, and I'd relish the fear and the adrenaline and use it to help me fight back. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of that kind of fear. Not that, not him.

The temperature of the knife changed gradually to that of my skin and Joker held it there to torture me and prolong my agony. It became so that I could hardly detect the blade by its usually cold exterior and had to rely on feeling the sliding, smooth texture of it. The knife began to slide back and forth between my two hands, and I expected to feel the first kiss of pain on my wrists and a warm flow of blood dripping to the ground.

Instead I felt the ropes that held me begin to loosen as he sawed through them. Gradually, the fibers split and their hold loosened until my arms were completely free. I would have moved, except that Joker put his mouth to my ear, his breath ghosting over the curls of my hair. "Don't move. Even though you want to. Don't move."

I obeyed, if only to wait for him to release my legs for me. The hands glided down my thighs to my calves and then to my ankles, where they went to work on my bindings once more. The same kind of rough rope as before. Soon my legs were free, but I still didn't move from my position. I didn't have to though. Joker turned me over again so that we could face each other.

As he did so, I realized something. There was no emotion on his face – nothing. It was like looking at a blank slate, or a white wall at an art gallery. His eyes were granite, his lips marble under the red lipstick. His features were impassive, like a hardened cliff in a storm. I knew then that I was even less comfortable with this blank Joker than I was with the wild, stormy Joker. At least then there was something to react to.

"Now what?" I asked, although I don't know why. Maybe I just wanted to remove the faceless, person-less Joker from my personal vicinity. Maybe I wanted to comfort him and make it so that he didn't want or need to be that emotionless person. I sincerely hoped that it was the first one.

Even though he smiled, the emptiness didn't go away or recede at all. "Now? Game time."

[END OF CHAPTER]

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First off, check out my vid for this story on Youtube: (http://www.) (youtube) (.com) (/watch?v=sgehwuE2bEk) [just remove the parentheses]

Second, **concerning the baby,** I am not authorized by my characters, nor by the plot, to reveal everything about the baby just yet. I know it appears that I've completely forgotten about the poor child, but in reality I have not. The child will be a large point of contention for Joker and Ellie later in the story, but it will definitely be LATER in the story. If I say too much now it'll all be ruined. So...that's all I can say about that.

Third, **for my beautiful reviewers, **thank you so much HoistTheColours (yeah, the end of the 4th chapter was a bit cliche, but what can I say?), Misplaced Levity (Thanks for forgiving me!), JokersChaosPrincess (Thanks!), Fan-Of-Fools (You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?), and from the illustrious Youtube, fiestyspirit (You should review on here!). Thank you all so much!

And finally, **to that _special _reviewer**, you should be ashamed of yourself. You'll probably never read this, but you should be ashamed of yourself. I have nothing against constructive criticism, in fact, it is welcome. I use it to make my stories better. But what you wrote to me was down right mean spirited, cruel, and rude. If you had just phrased all that negativity in a nicer way, maybe I wouldn't have been hurt quite so much. But you didn't. You made me cry instead. I hope my tears make all your sourness worth it. My life is consumed with writing, so when someone tells me that my story is not worth anything, that all my effort and stress isn't worth a damn, it hurts deeply. No matter how many positive reviews a person like me gets, one of your incredibly mean reviews destroys it all. I cried, so, good for you. You should be proud that you made a woman cry. Post it on Facebook, I don't care. But next time you feel like saying something like that to me, be mature enough to sign your own name and email so that I may ask you what was specifically wrong. And we'll see if your accusations have any substance to them. Thank you.

Whew, now that I have that off my chest, thank everyone else who reviewed - you're all so sweet! And those of you who read and don't review - tsk tsk tsk! But anyway, I'm thankful the rest of you are all so wonderful! So here's to this chapter and I'll see you all on the 15th!

Late March


	7. a small interlude with the joker

So this is a small interlude with the Joker, as you can see by the title. I know that I haven't updated in a really long time and have completely ignored my quite rigorous updating schedule. I have a reason for this, and whether you think it's a good reason or not, well, I'm not entirely sure that I care so much. You see, I really appreciated all your advice for my story, and in some ways it was actually quite funny. Some of you were urging me to put in things that my writing class had urged me to take out. One of you talked about how it was okay if description just wasn't my thing. And that's hilarious to me, because I'm the very best at description, that is what I write the best but my class had told me there was too much description in this story.

Anyway, I really wanted to update with your advice implemented, but I was having some trouble getting the juices flowing. I figured you'd rather an edited chapter than an un-edited one. So I didn't update. But last night the RA of my dorm sort of lit a fire under my butt unintentionally and this morning I was driven to write. So thank her!

You all wanted more Joker interaction so this is a short chapter that is entirely in his POV. Its set just before Ellie wakes up in the beginning of chapter five - this is what he is thinking...

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**[a small interlude with the joker]**

I admit. I watched her while she slept. I admit it. I admi_t_ it.

I liked to watch her while she slept – it reminded me of the ways things had been. But then again, those times are dead. And I shouldn't dwell on them.

I shouldn't dwell on them because, well, Jack Napier is dead. Gone. Not necessarily buried of course. If a million scientists in big white lab coats stormed the room and tested my deoxyribonucleic acid they would see that I am, technically that person. Jack Napier, I think his name was.

But that person no longer lives here. Elvis crooned it best when he said, "No such person. No such zone."

It makes me want to tell little Ellie – she goes by Gretchen now apparently, that her hubby really is deceased. Just to see what that would do to her.

But then I would also have to somehow explain to myself why I'm doing this to her. And so it seems that Jack really is alive still, but only marginally. Scratch that. Now that I think about this closer, I refute that statement.

When I say that he is dead, I mean it this time. He really is. The only…logical, or is it illogical, solution is that little Jacky rubbed off on old Joker before he died. And I thought I was the one who was supposed to get to people.

And I want to know what the hell happened to the kid too. Where is it? In a filing cabinet under 'O' for 'offspring'? Hitchhiking to Arkansas? Which, by the way, is also Kansas. This is a case for 'Unsolved Mysteries' here. The old one with the guy who smooched Deanna Durbin, not the one with Detective Fontana from 'Law & Order'.

I feel somewhat responsible for the little kiddy. I was the half-pint's father a long time ago. And even I will admit that old feelings take a long while to die. You can hurry the process along if you want, but even then it's a long time before it's gone completely. Kind of like the decomposition of Carbon-14.

I should turn my attention back to the girlie now. She's stirring and we wouldn't want her to wake without a welcoming party now, would we? I don't have any Hawaiian leis though. She won't mind.

I can't resist the temptation to touch her, to run my finger along the length of her arm and watch the hairs as they rise up from my touch. I can see her eyelids twitching and imagine that she must be dreaming about me. Well, about Jack. Same difference. I narrow my eyes and concentrate on her forehead, imagining that in her dreams, there is blood suddenly dripping out of every pore of Jacky's face.

I can hear her screaming at the sight of it in my ears and I can feel her hands as they clutch at me to save her. I feel like Rorschach when I whisper, "No."

I'm telling you, I'm not in control anymore. I can see her writhing in my head as a child is expelled from her body. There is blood and fluids everywhere, even on my hands and face, but instead of reveling in the warmth of the liquid I'm silent. I feel like I should cackle or grin or walk away but I'm not allowed to.

I'm not in control anymore. Her screams keep me here – they do far more to me than any I've heard before. When she was hurt and caught under the bed and crying out her noises tore at me. At Jack really. At the part of the Joker that Jack has rubbed off on.

In my hallucination, in her dreams, she's not moving anymore. She is sleeping peacefully again, her legs curled up and an arm under her head. There is a child tucked into her chest. A child with blue lips and an unmoving chest. I can still feel the blood cooling on my cheeks.

Her eyes are open. They are filmy gray and milky, like the dead. She's sitting up, letting the child fall to the ground, but I push her back down. I don't want her any closer to me.

I'm not in control still, and I really don't want her near me anymore, but I walk towards her again. Ellie doesn't react, just lays there on the ground, her mouth gaping open and the child half under her splayed left arm. Her shirt has been rumpled and pushed up and I place my hand on her hip.

Down the center of her lower abdomen is a line, raised and pale against her flesh. It runs down below the line of her pants and is neat, like a surgeon's stitch or a signature. I place my hand on the mark, press it down, and feel a nudge. A bump just barely there that reacts against my palm.

All in her dream. Or course.

Jack really is gone. You should believe me. I can convince everyone better if _you_ believe me.

The other man in the mirror shakes his head, and whispers, "No." Like I had to Ellie. "No, I don't believe you." He looks like me.

But he is gone. It's only the Joker that lives here now. No duplexes for me. This is a single family unit now. Finder's keepers, losers weepers. I don't share.

I look down. My hand really is on her stomach, on the raised line, pressing down like I'm trying to feel for something. There is nothing.

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**Thanks everyone to ****HoistTheColours****, ****Emma****, ****PreciousRaymond, JokersChaosPrincess, Misplaced Levity, ****and ****Darkness Takes Over **for your wonderful and helpful reviews! I really am trying to follow your advice!

Whatever comes next will hopefully be the next chapter that I wrote awhile ago along with the others. I still haven't implemented your advice but now, hopefully because the writing bug has decided to bite me again, I'll do it soon. Keep your fingers crossed!

Thank you all for your support and please review! Tell me what your think! I was going for kind of a smart Joker, who is still twisted with his Manic Depression (Bi-Polar), Multiple Personality Disorder, etc. Thanks!


	8. what to do with girlies when they cry

Heeeeellllooooo everyone. While I'm trying to slink unnoticed into a corner and start posting again without any turmoil or any of you guys throwing rotten fruit at me...I'm gonna stick this chapter up on the world wide web and cower under your hateful gazes.

But hey, at least its an update.

Try studying for and taking college finals in French, History, and Economics and then tell me how fast _you _update.

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**CHAPTER SIX [i don't know what to do with girlies when they cry]**

"Game time?" I asked hesitantly. I already knew that it would be a less than stellar experience. For me at least.

Joker stood up completely, then backed away a few steps. He leaned casually against the bar stool and began to twirl his knife in his fingers easily. I stood up too, much less steadily than he had, and grasped the back of the chair to keep from falling down again. I stared at him for a long time, waiting for him to explain himself. He chose to completely occupy himself with his knife blade, instead.

"BOO!" He roared at me suddenly, jumping forwards in a threatening and forceful gesture.

So startled was I that I screamed, jumped backward, and landed on an empty glass bottle. And all of this culminated in my falling, once again, on my ass.

Joker's utter amusement at my topple was more than annoying, to say the least. The stupid part of me wanted to shove that cackle right back up his throat. And even though I knew that he did this to everybody, it was hurtful too. One of my greatest fears was being laughed at – by anyone. And so far, we hadn't really run into that problem because he hadn't really done it before.

I felt my lip start to tremble – already I could feel that I was fed up with the entire situation – the pain, the mental games, the unknown fate. The laughing. I really did hate to cry like that over something that, considering my situation, was pretty trivial. But it was one of those knee jerk reactions for me. Some people cry when they get yelled at, I cry when I get laughed at.

Joker took in my lip and watery eyes and sighed, slipping the knife into his pants pocket. He looked almost at a loss for a moment. Deep inside, underneath all that anger and discontent, a very petulant part of me was delighted that even the big bad Joker was affected by the crying of feminine tears.

Joker stripped off his gloves in two swift movements. He knelt down in front of me once more, his legs again on either side of mine, and tilted my head up with one finger. I hoped the tears were still causing him male distress. "Don't cry. I don't know what, uh, to do with little girlies when they cry." He said softly. "Don't cry."

Was this some sort of trick? Why was he being this nice to me?

"I can't help it." I muttered, turning my head away so that his skin wasn't touching mine. "Once I start crying there's nothing to be done until they all dry up."

He turned my head back to face him again. Once gentle finger wiped the tears away from under first on eye, then the other. His face as solemn and he seemed completely serious. When there were no more tears to wipe away he turned to pushing errant bits of hair behind my ears, like all those cliché storybook heroes - which caught me as strange, since he wasn't cliché in any sense of the word.

"I've told you not to cry, but you still keep going. Isn't there anything that will, uh, make you stop?"

That question made me think. Was there? I knew that once upon a time, there had been something to make me stop crying. But I didn't think that it existed anymore. I nodded anyway. "There once was."

"What was it?"

"My husband." Just saying those words to him felt so...good. They always felt good.

Joker slapped my cheeks gently, like he was trying to pep me up. "Well then, lets go get 'im. Where is he?"

I took a deep, shuddering breath. "He's dead." Those words never felt good to say.

Even though Jack was still alive when I left him, I talked about him as if he was dead. I didn't want to risk anyone getting that terrifying look of recognition on their face, the one that automatically shifted to pity. 'Oh,' they'd say. 'You married him?'

I didn't want that at all. Nor did I want to hear them talk about how Jack was doing. I didn't want to listen to them tell me that he was bone thin or pale or addicted to something more dangerous and less cheap than alcohol. I knew that there was only a very slim margin that he'd reform and get better; studying psychology in school told me that. I didn't want them to tell me that he was dead or that he was looking for me or even that he was in the area. There were so many things that I didn't want to hear...

I sighed. Ignorance, truly, is bliss. And torture for some, me included, I supposed. A bliss that's tinged with agony, like a woman who saves her child from certain death, only to watch her sister die instead.

Joker spoke in a curious tone of voice, like he somehow knew that I was lying. But that was impossible. "The ole chap is, uh, dead now, is he?"

I didn't even need prodding to answer him. "Yes."

"How?"

That startled me. How? How? I'd never thought about what I'd say if that ever came up, and no one had ever been rude enough to ask that before. "That's none of your business." I snapped at him, once again twisting my head so that he couldn't touch me.

His arm snapped out to grab my chin tightly, forcing me to look him in the eye. I squirmed but that only made him tighten his grip. Eventually I whimpered, but his grip didn't ease. Tears pooled on the hand he used to hold my face in place and eventually slid downward, tracing the grooves of his fingers. "It's my business because I say it is. Because you're my hostage sweetheart, and_ I _want to know who would have come after me for...spiriting you away. Shall we say."

"No." I told him bravely, still not intimidated enough to give in.

"TELL ME!" he roared, shaking my head furiously and tightening his grip till I thought his fingers were going to rip all the way through my cheeks. As it was, his nails bit bloody crescent moons into them.

I groaned and shut my eyes, but I could still sense his face – and his eyes – only centimeters away from my face. "Car accident." I gasped, the words slightly deformed because of his hold on my mouth. It was a generic answer, but it happened so often that anyone would believe it.

"Ahh...ahh..." Joker stroked my cheek. "That's so sad. Poor little...what did you say your, uh, name was again princess?"

'That's an… odd way to try to comfort someone.' I thought, replying, "Gretchen." Why was it that I still had to think about it when someone asked me my name after all this time?

He resumed his stroking. "Ahh...ahh...that's so sad. Poor little Gretchy. Left alone because her hubby jumped in front of a truck to get away with her.

Somehow I found the strength to jerk out of his grip, knowing that I was reacting to something designed to provoke me. "That's not true!" I cried out, hurt, swinging my arm around to slap him – pure animal instinct.

My blow never reached him. His hand caught hold of my wrist before it could get halfway there, and then he'd pushed me flat on my back again before I could blink a second time. "I'm in charge here Gretch. Don't make the mistake of hitting me."

"He was hit by a drunk driver you bastard!" I shot out at the same time he spoke, falling temporarily into the lie, too caught up in the lie to see how deep of a hole I was digging for myself.

He stopped me with a hand that roughly covered my mouth. Although his tone was light, his words were not. "Here's another one of my little rules cupcake. Do not ever call me bastard or I _will_ take my dues in a pound of _flesssh_."

I gasped when the threat reached me. It spread through my body and eventually centered right in the pit of my stomach. My fear for my own health muddled my head, but not so much that I couldn't conclude that trespassing like that again would be very unwise. For real. I think that even he saw that look in my eyes too. Because he seemed satisfied as soon as I had reached that decision.

"Do you understand, kitty?" he questioned, removing his hand. I almost got angry again, because I knew that he knew the answer and was just asking me a question so that I'd have to speak with him. But then I remembered his threat and my anger melted away.

"Yes." I bit my lip and couldn't help but look away.

Joker, sighed, exasperated with me for some reason. Again. "What was that? I didn't quite hear you?" He tapped my cheek with one hard finger.

"Yes, I understand." I spat the words out this time.

"What. Was. Tha_t_?" He narrowed his eyes at me, waiting, baiting me purposefully.

"I do! I do! I understand! " I said, shaking under his hands.

Joker grinned at me, satisfied. Then he went back to brushing away my newest tears while sucking on his scars thoughtfully. After a moment, he rolled back off me and began to strip off his purple jacket.

I watched him warily, not quite sure of what he was doing. The subtle bulge of his muscles underneath the hexagon printed fabric of his shirt made me gulp and scoot away as much as I could.

He laughed and continued to roll up his sleeves. For the first time I noticed that his hands were streaked with face paint – white, red, and black. There was probably some of it on my face too, then. I tried not to let that bother me. "Let's finally play that game I promised you Gretch." Joker told me, still chuckling. All his anger seemed to have evaporated within seconds and replaced by a different, charming, but still dangerous man.

What was with this guy? Why was he like this?

I stood up and slowly brushed my hands over my body, lingering almost noticeably, nervously on my left shoulder. Dust bloomed off my body, covering that weakness. Joker laughed and waved his hands around floppily. "What, trying to, uh, make a dust cloud in here woman?" he demanded, then cackled at his own not-so-funny joke.

"Well...I didn't mean..." Why was my tongue not working? Why was I having such a hard time speaking all of a sudden? This was exactly how I had acted when I first met Jack!

That froze me. Oh. Freakin'. No. Do not tell me that I was starting to fall into some sort of love with this loon. That was insane! He was my kidnapper! My. Kid. Nap. Per. Disgust and anger burned in my limbs and I grabbed my head with one hand, perhaps to shake the nonsense out of myself, but the subsequent, if slight change in balance almost toppled me again.

_He_ caught me, damn it. "Woopsy! Don't want you getting hurt before our little game now, do we?"

All my previous feelings disappeared and I wanted to snap back at him that there was no _we_, that I was _already_ hurt, and that I _hated_ him! He was like this big, bully kid stuck in a grown man's body. I couldn't like that! Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome. I liked that. Stockholm Syndrome. It had a nice ring to it. And I was praying that it was true; I'd take a mental disorder over loving this guy any day.

I pulled away from him so that I wouldn't be caught in his grasp for more than absolutely necessary and pretended to straighten my clothes in a very professional manner, like we were in the headquarters of a high end law firm instead of what looked like a shabby, abandoned motel.

"What was this game you had in mind?" I asked with out thinking, then immediately kicked myself. Did I have a death wish, or what?

Joker grinned, stepped back from me, and once again pulled out his pocket knife. "I'm so glad that you asked that princess. Now, uh, listen carefully." He waited, looking at me.

I looked back, also waiting.

…

"Are you listening?"

I almost rolled my eyes, then remembered that I wasn't sixteen and arguing my mother about, of all things, dating Jack. "Yes."

"Good." He strolled over to the metal cart and instantly, I became tense again. That thing rattled all by itself, I swear. It was haunted! By sharp instruments. Instruments in the sense of shiny metal things used for surgery and hacking a body to bits, not the kind that made pretty noises for elementary school kids who were attending the Met on a field trip for the first time. He placed one hand on the cart and whipped off the pale cloth covering.

The sight did me no good. It was indeed covered with all manner of things sharp. Hunting blades, kitchen knives, even a scalpel or two. At that point I could almost feel the edge of it tracing my arms, slowly sawing them off, turning me into a 21st century Black Dahlia. Joker placed his pocket knife, which looked friendly in comparison, down onto the cart.

"I'm going to put this guy here, and then," He picked up a scalpel with a dexterous sigh, "I want you to meet this little guy here. He'll be my game partner."

I looked around. Where was my table or sharp, scary tool?

"Do I get a game partner?" I questioned him. I really hoped it was an AK-47.

Joker looked pleased that I asked, pleased that I was taking some sort of interest. But first he made sure to roll the cart of scary toys back out into the hall. "Yes, you do my lovely. You get this room."

"This room?"

"This room." He confirmed.

"Not the weapons room?"

He laughed, like I just made an uproarious political joke or did a great comedic magic trick, even going so far as to slap his knee. I knew when I was being mocked, and those annoying, useless tears itched in my tear ducts. "You are a riot Gretch, I tell ya." Before I could back away he had his arm around my shoulders. "This is your room. You get to use it in any way you like."

Grrreeeaaattt. That thrilled me. And explained why he removed all the other weapons.

"Like I said before now half pint, this is a learning exercise, to see how...we both think. I'm going to stand in that corner of the room." He pointed to one relatively un-crowded bit of space. "And you are going to stand over there." He gestured in the opposite direction, then looked at me expectantly. "Now ask me a question."

I frowned at the turn of events, the alien randomness of them. "I'm…not sure what to ask."

"Anything. Anything. Anything at all babe." He prompted me eagerly.

I thought about that. If I could ask the Joker anything at all, what would it be? I don't think I'd ask him why he did what he did – that was too cliché. And I wasn't going to waste on something as mundane and meaningless as what kind of shampoo he used. But it had to be classics, personal...hmm.

"I can see the cogs rolling in your head from here girly." He volunteered smugly. "Ask me the damn question already."

"Why do you always say my name like its a lie?" There. The perfect balance of eclecticism and classical curiosity.

Joker shook his head, squeezing my arms very tight, and he licked his lips viciously again, a silent signal of unshed turmoil. "Ah ah. I can't answer that. Ask me something else."

"But you said any -"

"Anything about the game, was what I meant." He interrupted, which translated into 'Liar.' in my head. "Anything about the game." When he told me this his voice was curiously smooth and deep, unlike it had ever been before, like he was a snake trying to lure the little mouse in.

I did not like being a mouse.

"Will it be dangerous?" I thought that might be a good question, if boring. It would help me react to the situation and protect myself accordingly – if I could gage him correctly. Clearly something I excelled at. Really.

"Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe. It could be."

Well, that was no answer. "Ah." I told him, as if I understood. "So can you finish explaining to me what's to happen?"

"Certainly." Joker led me over to my corner and positioned me just right, then headed to his spot. "I'll stand here." He shouted across the room like I was a child. "And you'll stand there. Then I'm going to say 'go' and then I'll hunt," He giggled, and when he started again he expelled the first word with a great breath of hunger. " _hunt_ you around the room. First blood ends it."

My eyes widened. First blood? Were we talking a scratch and a lonely drop or a torrent here?

[END OF CHAPTER]

* * *

I did edit this chapter a little bit from it's original text - but not too much. I agree with all of you that I should put in more of the Joker's thoughts, but I subsequently feel that said thoughts and feelings merit their own mini-chapters. Whose with me?

On the other hand, I am trying to put in little clues for both you and Ellie respectively to indicate who he is (Ellie - my girl's a little slow on the uptake. can you blame her though?), and how he is feeling (you). Anyone notice the significance of how he made her say that she understood? How he panicked when she cried? How he focused specifically on the topic of her husband, trying to draw out a lie? They are there (the clues, that is), you just have to look for them. I promise.

In the mean time, lease don't hurt me. =)

I lieu of hurting me, you are all hereby given the permission to email me (its on my profile) and yell at me or ask me questions. Or tell me how brilliant I am - either one.

The next chapter will have a great deal of swearing and chasing and falling down and playing of The Game. The chapter after that will bring some more excitement, although not specifically of the physical kind.

**Thanks so much to Erikslittleangel13, Darkness Takes Over, HoistTheColours **(you're like the 20 year man of reading and reviewing aren't you? you're really sticking with me and I appreciate that!)**, and TyphoidKat**. **You're all wonderful!**

PS - make reviews, not war.


	9. i hate this game

Two chapters in less than 24-hrs. O.M.G. The sky is falling.

Dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta-reader, the **Kiyomi** half of **Banana Rum**. Who is, as it so happens, coming to see me tomorrow. I'm so excited.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN [i hate this game]**

I didn't risk pausing to ask as he lunged toward me. At first I backed up, hitting a bureau, then slid quickly to the side so that Joker hit it too. He grunted upon impact and his arms shot to the side to catch me.

His grip was tight and full of pain. The contact of his bare skin once again made me shiver. Joker enjoyed this far too much, either for the feel of my skin or the discomfort it caused me. I was betting on the latter; either way, his smile was sharp and jagged, and his eyes were full of grim delight.

Either way, I felt it was my duty to retaliate against him. And there was no way that I could physically retaliate successfully. It took all my effort just to get away from him. "Why do you always say my name like it's a lie?" I squeezed out my question, the skin of my arms whitening into a perfect shape around his hands, still gripping me. I wanted to know the answer desperately - there was just something in his voice when he said my name. There was just something…there.

My tactic didn't have the effect on him that I'd wanted, which was the equivalent to falling down dead. But it did give me enough leeway to squirm out of his hands. I was already a hand's breadth away before he was back in action.

The question did not put him completely off balance though, and I had to drop to the floor to narrowly escape again, jarring the pain back into my shoulder. I forced myself to shove it to the back of my mind. I glanced back at the Joker. It seemed all I really had managed to do was erase that blank slate in his eyes and replace it with total, feral hunger.

I tried to scramble over the bed but he caught my ankle. Pulled me back. His scalpel nicked my foot, just by the bone. "Why do you always say my name like it's a lie?" I screamed out reflexively, the last part a shriek as the blade cut me.

He didn't answer, kept on pulling; I managed to wrench my foot away and do what I hadn't been able to do just a few seconds ago – climb all the way over the bed. I felt I could start to breathe with him on the opposite side of the bed.

Joker rammed the bed with his hip so that it jumped toward me half a foot. "Come on babe." He cooed. "Just give in."

"I thought that this was a learning exercise." I snarled at him from the blankets. Another half foot.

"Ooh. See? I said you'd be" half a foot "a little firecracker, didn't I?" And another.

He kept hitting the bed over and over, and for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Then I realized – he was backing me into a corner again. Literally.

Joker knew that he could never get me if we were stuck on opposite sides of the bed – like imitation "Tom and Jerry"s. He knew that if we stayed like that I could counter his every move. He knew that if he kept forcing the bed toward me and I kept backing away from it, I would eventually have no room to move away, leaving me totally boxed in. Last but not least, he knew that I wouldn't figure it out until it was too late.

That being said, I looked behind me and saw that there was only two feet of space left behind me. If I didn't move right then, I was doomed and caught. In an effort to prevent said dooming, I jumped up on the bed as best I could, then jumped over the foot board awkwardly, grunting in pain.

Landing was quite a painful experience, but I didn't let that slow me down much. Instead I leaped for a tall, thin lamp, and picked it up by the base. When he advanced I swung it at him. Joker laughed and let his scalpel fall. He grabbed the other end and tugged, the muscles in his arms bunching. He dropped his head back and laughed again, deeply and completely, but his hold on the lamp was solid.

We were stuck in a futile tug of war for a few minutes – my countenance grim and his delighted fury. "Why do you always say my name like it's a lie?" I figured that it was as good a time as any.

His answer was a snarl.

Joker ripped the lamp away - he'd been playing with me the whole time. I didn't wait to see what he'd do next – instead I practically fell over myself to get a chair between us. I wasted a good five minutes standing with the stiff back of the Louis XIV chair pressing up against my rib cage, staring at him. He stood across from me, hands fisted.

"You aren't, uh, playing nice, Gret_ch_."

I kept my hands on the chair, but let my feet step back so I had a little more room to breathe. "I think I'm playing by the rules."

His grin was feral, insane clown and everyday Joe out for revenge at the same time. Joker ran his hands over the arms of the chair till he could finger the silky, torn fabric of the back, leaned forward so that our faces were once again only inches apart. In the open space our breath mingled and fogged, contrasting sharply with the coldness of the building we were in. I studies his face intently, trying to identify some sort of weakness, some advantage I could gain.

The patches of skin that were clean from the makeup rubbing off were strangely compelling. It was almost as if some sort of true self was trying to break out through the whole facade in the places where the white had rubbed off. Next to the imperfections of the white make-up, the thickness and the constant coverage of the black make-up around his eyes was startling. It made it harder for me to read him and left me with little but his black eyes. Then there were the sharp slashes of red that cut up his face like the knives he so adored, breaking everything up into untouchable pieces.

Joker's grin dipped a little. "Play by the rules? That's just it. That violates our little, uh, game. Playing by the rules breaks the rules."

I honestly did not think that it was _the game_, that was being violated.

In any case, my confusion must have shown on my face, because he took advantage of it. With a movement of great aggression, he threw the chair to the side, wrenching it from my hands. It clattered to the floor as he lunged at me, slammed his body into mine. The utter force of the impact jammed half of my question in my throat while the rest of it was choked out. "Why is my name..."

As he pulled my hands behind my back and pushed my into the wall I was able to gasp the rest out. "...a lie to you?"

Like an act of retaliation his hips jammed into mine and his grip on my wrists tightened, a manacle of flesh. Although I yearned to keep this sociopath and my Jack separate in my head, I couldn't help by be reminded of a certain sexual liaison that had occurred between my husband and I toward the end of our marriage. He'd been passionate and in control and I still couldn't think of the encounter without blushing madly.

Realizing just how crazy and perverted I was to be thinking of such things right then, my blush deepened. Joker chuckled into my ear, and suddenly mortification was not strong enough a word to cover the embarrassment I was feeling.

"Why persist with this stupid question babe? It's useless. And yet you... keep... on... asking." His hand was on the side of my head, keeping it pressed to the wall and squeezing.

This time I spoke without thinking, without realizing that my answer would somehow pique his interest or actually get him to answer me. "Because I know that it gets under your skin." My voice was slightly muffled by the wall pressed against my face, but I knew that he heard me.

Though my eyes could not see him, I felt as if he were burning a hole in the wall beside my face with his eyes. If perchance, I could see his eyes, I knew, somehow, that they were burning with emotion that I couldn't think to name, did not want to name. The feel of him against my back was so familiar that it kept me more than occupied and incensed. The tension in his body was hard, and made him feel brittle against my back. He released a deep breath, letting out that tension.

"You think it gets under my skin? My skin? Is that what you think?"

"Yes." I ground out, jerking violently in revulsion and surprise when his tongue flicked the back of my ear.

"A little fight in you. I like that." He told me whimsically, to antagonize me.

Joker turned me around in a jerking motion. He stepped, then again and again. He finally set the overturned chair upright and carefully, gently, led me to sit in it. "Now," he breathed, "ask me your question again."

I blinked. "Why do you always say my name like its a lie?" My voice sounded unsure, nervous even to my ears.

Joker grinned. "Because it is."

* * *

END OF CHAPTER

* * *

So... a new chapter (much sooner than ever before, right?) with a little action, a little suspense, and a huge freakin' cliffhanger. Hella enormous. Like, epically giant. As per direction, I'm trying to add little details here and there to make the Joker more dangerous, but...I usually, and ironically, fail the most when I actually try to do things. Just ask my croquet partner from a few years ago. Weird, huh? So I'm never very sure of how well I'm doing... I'll have to trust in you all to keep faith in me.

But still, aren't you glad? Another chapter! I was working on my novel (link for excerpt on my profile! I know, shameless plug...bad writer bad...) and listening to The Dark Knight (the movie, not the soundtrack) in the background and I got suddenly inspired to edit and pop this out for you. So here you go.

Make reviews, not war.

PS - I've been noticing more and more lately that I tend to write in local colloquialisms when I'm writing out notes or chatting with someone. And I want to do a little experiment here. The above author's note has several little colloquialisms in it, and I was wondering, can any of you tell where I'm from? First one to get it right gets endless good karma!


	10. justification

And here I am everyone! I'm back, late, as usual. Hopefully not too late though. College has started once more, and I'm chugging through the second semester - everybody cheer for ancient history classes! Who loves history?

Ack! I'm so nervous! I always get so nervous when I post chapters, no matter what. Ack!

Dedicated to my made-of-awesome beta reader, the **Kiyomi** half of **Banana Rum!** You should all go check out their stories on this site!

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT [justification]**

My heart stopped. How did he...Could he know? Did he know my real name? I clutched the arms of the chair with white knuckled hands, and pressed myself back into it as much as possible. My chest tightened, not imperceptibly, my lips thinned into a hard line, and I looked up at him from hooded eyes. "What...what do you mean?"

Joker took a few minutes to pompously stroke his goatee-less chin, knowing that I was waiting with baited breath for his answer. "Because it is." He smiled with shark-like teeth.

I blinked again. "H-how is that any sort of justification?"

He didn't mind my question - he pulled up the other chair so close that our knees touched when he slouched into it. Crowding me, complete intimidation. "Because it is. Because everything about you is a lie. You're a liar, a fucking liar! And you want to know how I know that?"

The room filled with a trembling silence. My heart rose to choke my throat.

"BECAUSE I CAN SEE IT!" His eyes were black, with too much knowledge glinting in them, his close proximity making my ears ring. "Because it is in your eyes. You. Are. A. squealer. A liar. I can see it." He sneered. "And you're weak."

I shivered as he went to stand behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. His thumb lightly stroked the skin of my collarbone, and his nails scraped gently against my skin. "Now look what you've done – you've made me very, very** angry.**" I jolted at the forcefulness of his tone. "And now, I cannot control myself."

Joker moved away, pacing himself like a soldier in for the long haul, with that ever-so elusive perfect control. Carefully he picked up the dropped scalpel, holding it so that both he and I could contemplate its edge in the light. He tossed it a few times, letting the handle spin and twist in the air.

He spoke, not smiling but for his scars. "Are you...Are you frightened?" He asked me, running the handle of the scalpel along the back of my shoulders.

"Yes." The tension alone that encased my body was making my shoulder throb angrily.

His sighed and the air spread over me; it was a warm, ominous blanket. "Now you're telling the truth Gretchen."

My tension made me numb to most sensations, but I gradually became aware of the fact that it was no long the knife handle running along my shoulders, but the blade of the scalpel itself. With sudden and stunning clarity I felt the burning heat of my blood dripping and sliding down my back, tracing the line of my spine in red.

I tried to scramble away from the scalding liquid on my skin, but Joker grabbed my shoulder in a vicious hold. It was as if he had turned my blood to magma in my veins, and the tiniest of cries to slipped from my lips.

"Ah, ah. Even though I like you, and you're a good employee, I'm still in charge here. And I haven't said that you can go yet." He reprimanded me like I was a schoolgirl, dripping his poisonous voice into my ear.

By now my head was throbbing, I was getting shaky, and my eyesight was flickering in and out like I was looking through a flame. Kyle the Little Killer came back into the room, and he looked no less ferocious and unhappy as he came to stand by the Joker and I. Struggling weakly, my ankles strained against the rope holding them in place, but the effort had no hope of succeeding, and Joker paid me no mind.

Kyle handed Joker a tall syringe of clear plastic, filled three quarters of the way with equally clear liquid. Languidly, Joker uncapped the needle, sharp and surgical like the scalpel was. "How are things coming?"

I blinked slowly. Why did he sound so different? Suddenly his voice was deeper, slurred and fuzzy. Kyle sounded the same when he spoke.

"We're just waiting for you to load her up boss."

Her? I felt singularly stupid, not being able to figure out what he meant, who he was talking about. Although I struggled to push the cogs of my mind faster, they were bogged down by thick grease.

Joker winked at Kyle and then licked the crevices of his scars while studying me. "Open up the back and wait for us. She'll be done powdering her nose soon."

"Yes boss." Kyle shot a look at me that even I, slow minded as I was at that point, could tell that he wanted to take a bite out of me to see how I tasted.

"Play nice." Joker chided, slapping the other man on the back of the head to send him away.

Once we were alone, Joker advanced on me with the needle. He turned my hand to rest palm up, wrist facing him. He fingered my vein and I managed a dull hiss when he slid the needle in, even though I could hardly feel anything. The liquid was pushed into my arm and everything started to go beautifully numb.

Desperately trying to stay awake, I snaked one hand out to grab Joker's shirt cuff. "Is the game over?" I slurred.

"That it is." My captor replied, pushing one of my pajama straps back up over my shoulders.

I couldn't help it – I wanted to know. "Who won?"

But his answer sent me spiraling into a mental confusion, even as whatever he'd just given me sent the black depths of unconsciousness to reach out and snatch me up. My heartbeat drummed in my ears the longer I looked up at him. The last thing I saw was the bright imprint of his lips, and still his words echoed in me.

"I'm not sure."

--- --- --- --- ---

My next moments of consciousness came sparingly, and when they did come, I still felt like a victim trying desperately to swim to the surface of my own head. Every time I awoke I became more confused. Once I thought that I was outside my house in Montana. After that I believed myself to be in a vehicle, one that was moving rapidly. After that it was the flickering of sunlight flitting past trees into the metal interior that was the best – for once I could feel the warmth on my face.

At one point I felt hands on me, sitting me upright, pushing back my tangled hair, smoothing over my cheeks. My mouth was pried open and someone poured water onto the cotton field that was my tongue. The more I drank, I remember, the clearer my head became, and my eyes focused on moving, blurred shapes instead of showing me only darkness once more.

A purple shape was hunched in the corner, at the edge of my vision. Someone in a white shirt crouched before me, with a black splotch on the shoulder, like a waiter or gas station attendant. Coinciding with this, the smell of gasoline overpowered my nostrils, and the stranger's heavy, panicked breath shrouded my ears.

I drank all the water, but my tongue eagerly laved the Styrofoam rim of the cup before it was hesitantly pulled away. I began to see fine details, but they still came to me slowly. I could see though, when the purple figure, Joker, pushed the stranger away roughly.

His hands were much rougher than the other touches had been, and he pulled my arm straight out. The wide black swathes of his eyes seemed to focus on me, and without hesitation, he jabbed another needled syringe right into my arm, at the elbow. The effect, was the same.

When I finally woke up, and was mildly lucid, I was in a white van and it was still moving at reckless speed. I was lying on my side, arms curled in against my body, the sunlight still managing to trap itself in the van in order to touch on my face. The jolts and jumps of the van awakened new pains, but I bit my lip and endured it in order to stay silent. The toe of someone's shoe was sticking into my side and I inadvertently jostled against it whenever the car lurched.

"She's been out for an awfully long time boss." A familiar man's voice noted almost plaintively, riddled with concern in its hidden depths. I knew it to be Justin.

There was a falsely disgruntled rumble in response. "You'd think that I'm not able to see that for myself with all you dumb fucks stating the obvious."

Justin made a quick retreat, backpedaling like crazy into a safer reason and tone of voice. "I just don't know how long she'll last for you if this goes on for too much longer."

Despite his attempts to appear professional and unconcerned with my welfare, I could still discern the true reason for his inquiries. It made me wonder about what he thought of me. It seemed that if I was conscious and around him, Justin was cold, uncomfortable, and awkward. But when I didn't appear to be around or lucid, his concern was unable to be disguised.

Joker was much less of a fool than I, and could easily see what was going on. "Aww. Are you getting all mushy? You should know," in my mind's eye I could see him leaning forward as if to share a secret. "Kyle's developing lesssss...gentlemanly instincts for her."

The sound of shifting came from Justin's general area. "That doesn't concern me boss. She doesn't concern me. I'm just worried about the longevity of this… game for you."

I was turned onto my back by a rough hand and Joker shoved his face into mine. "Who says it's a game?" He laughed. "Hear that precious? He doesn't like you."

I grimaced in shock from the light shinning so suddenly into my eyes and from the close proximity of his clown make-up to my face. I kept my mouth closed, not really knowing what to say. It was somewhat of a rhetorical question, and I was somewhat of a retarded idiot at that moment. In the end, after a long period of sickening silence on Joker's part, I finally settled for, "What?"

He laughed, pulling my head up my hair so that I could see Justin. "She doesn't even listen to what you say!"

Justin grimaced and looked was at a loss until Kyle called him to the front of the van. That left me alone with the Joker, still alarmingly close. I cast an unhappy glance at the dirty metal floor of the van, but Joker didn't take that very well. He forcibly tipped my head back up to face him.

His leather gloves were cold against my chin, like his eyes. and I found myself wondering why he had this obvious resentment toward me, what made him target me so. I'd never done anything to this man before our...unusual meeting. Never even met him before, I was sure of it. But with my luck, if I asked him that burning, beautiful, caustic question of, "Why?" he'd say, "Because."

"I'm so glad that you woke up right on time. I've got a surprise for you. I think that you'll really enjoy this Gretch."

He let me sit up groggily with a modicum of personal space. I rubbed my forehead, stalling for more time. Impatient with my slow movements, Joker grabbed the back of my neck violently and twisted my face toward the window. He jammed my face so close to the glass that my nose was smashed and my breath fogged the glass.

"Surprise." Joker grinned, drumming his fingers across my shoulders.

I forgot to wince. I forgot to be uncomfortable. I almost forgot that I had a psychopathic killer on my back. All that paled beneath the realization of what we were about to do. We were a bout to enter Gotham City limits. I was about to come home.

"Well Miss Gretchen Naples, Welcome back."

END OF CHAPTER

* * *

I swear to you all, I definitely have my reasons for taking so long. (shoots dirty glare at pants burst into flame, and hanging from a telephone wire) Not only have I been dealing with college and getting my class schedule straightened out, but I've been wading through some family drama and getting ready for my cousin's wedding (Congratulations Amy!)

I also have reasons that _actually pertain to writing! Le gasp!_ I've been working extremely hard on a short fantasy novella, which you can find on my fictionpress account (under the pen name Late March). It is entitled "The Serpent Connection." My beta reader tells me that this is her favorite piece of mine, and even commissioned an extra chapter as her birthday present. I also made a fanvid for the story, which you can find on youtube, also under "LateMarch." Message me if you have trouble finding it.

Finally - FINALLY - you guys are really going to be excited about this - i have been working to painstakingly re-write "Honey I'm Home" as an original story! _Le gasp secondaire!_ It is also titled "Honey I'm Home" and features my very own psychotic killer (he isn't a clown). Message me or email me if you would like to read the ORIGINAL VERSION of "Honey I'm Home."

Now, I would really like it if all of you would read and review and tell me that you _desperately_ want to read my new novella, watch the fanvid, and want to read the original version of HIH. Please?


	11. do you know him

And so a new chapter is born. I'm not so sure of this chapter though. I've actually been really nervous about this story for the last couple of chapters. I got a lot of complaints in my writing class about how this story started to drag around this chapter. But what I'm trying to do is build up this atmosphere towards chapter 11. Chapter 11 will be a BIG chapter. At least stick around for that and chapter 12.

Anyway, midterms are over here in college world, however, I've recently discovered that my teachers are making us take all these tests and 2nd midterms the week after Spring Break. Which happens to be my birthday week - so if you can imagine, that pisses me off just a little bit. I really don't want to write 4 essays and answer about 100 multiple choice questions on my birthday. (Or the days before or after) Noooooooooo!

So please tell me what you think of this chapter. Ellie is starting to slip a bit, and if she doesn't get out of there soon, she's going to crack completely. Lets see what happens, shall we?

_This chapter is dedicated to the **Kiyomi** half of ** Banana Rum**, here on FanFictionNet. She's incredible - it was her birthday a couple of weeks ago, so one last late (and belated) birthday wish! I hope you enjoyed your special chapter!_

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE [do you know him]**

My numbness faded as the van cruised past familiar sights – the old bearded man who sat on his stoop everyday, even after all this time. The graffiti for the "Pope of Dope" that had survived on the wall since the sixties. The entrance to my old apartment building in town that still had some unfortunate lady's begonias growing on the doorstep, despite the "FORECLOSED" sign on the door. The one that I'd shared with Jack.

Even after we'd gone several blocks past my old neighborhood, and deeper into the Narrows, I kept my head turned in its direction. I couldn't help but be stuck in my thoughts about Jack; up until that moment, I'd still thought of Jack living in that same apartment. With the same neighbors. The same furniture. Watching the same programs on TV. Was it my imagination, or had a shadow flitted across the window of our old apartment?

It was like I was finally seeing my memories as a stagnant pond – the same old images and reactions and thoughts. Now, suddenly a pebble was spreading proverbial ripples over my pond, changing everything. All my images of our life together had a suddenly dated look. Now, the possibilities as to where Jack was and what he was doing were endless.

He could be in Paris working as a waiter. In Russia in the army. Or closer to home in San Francisco as a common business man. New York, New York as a small time actor on Broadway. Maybe all that time I'd spent avoiding home - I could have gone back.

Or maybe, he was still in Gotham. Still a construction worker. Just with a different apartment.

Or maybe the Joker had already killed him. I shot a glance at the man himself, but turned away when he returned it. If Jack was still in Gotham, maybe he'd had something to do with my current predicament. Perhaps he was more than a mere employer in all this, maybe even part of Joker's gang. Maybe this was a favor he'd asked of the Big Cheese himself.

My mind was playing fast and loose with reason now, and I wasn't thinking clearly. I knew, inside, that Jack was still presumably alive. But I'd told the Joker that he was dead. Did the clown know something, or someone, that I didn't?

I slid around in Joker's arms so that I could face him with an unusual boldness. Though this was an uncommonly courageous action for me, he didn't' seem surprised. "I want to know." I told him, and then waited for him to reply.

When he didn't, I continued. "I want to know if you knew my husband. Know him." I corrected quickly. "Do you know him?"

Joker backed away marginally, his face again a bright mask over what he was feeling – the eyes too. They were blank as before, once more as expressionless as the eyes of a statue, even as his scars smiled. "What's, uh, what's the mister's name?"

I swallowed. "Napier. Jack Napier."

He was laughing at me again, he was mocking me AGAIN. His whole body was shaking with mirth. His head was thrown back, his hands clutching at the lapels of his shirt, he was laughing so hysterically that he could hardly speak. "Who- who- who," to stop sounding like an owl, he had to tone down his laughter to mere chuckles. "Who are you? James Bond?"

Having finished speaking, his chuckles were once again replaced by great whooping laughs. As before, I felt a great, engulfing anger – a true outrage similar AND compatible to the anger I felt when he suggested that Jack committed suicide to get away from me. Now he was baiting me using my husband – again – quite a sore spot for me.

It was made all the more painful with the thought that maybe, just maybe, Jack was the source of it all. That Jack may have set the dogs on me. That Jack was responsible for all my pain and anxiety in the Joker's care. That my husband had asked the Joker to torture and kidnap me.

Jack. Jock. Joke. Joker.

His name echoed and mutated in my head as I found the strength to push the Joker farther away from me, not using my still injured left arm. I didn't need any more of _that_ pain. Joker stumbled back – for once startled – and he hit the opposite wall of the van.

"I'm asking you if you know my husband." I was now standing up shakily in the van and my voice was so forceful and loud that Justin and Kyle rushed in, leaving Carl to drive.

Joker's laughter faded abruptly as the tension clouded the small, rocking space; thickening and forming a hard crust around the four of us in attendance. Joker seemed as if he knew something, like he had a trump card – an ace in the hole, that would crush me easily. Because of this he loomed over me – a giant shadow, an incredible monster.

I tried to back away from his looming force, and ended up sitting down heavily on the metal bench attached to the side of the van. The cold glass of the windows pressed against my head and the back of my neck, bracing me even as I scrambled to pull my legs closer to my body. Joker wasn't moving – forwards, backwards, sideways, horizontally, emotionally, metaphysically – nothing. But at that moment the dangerous air about him was more tangible to me then ever, and I felt like a rabbit backed to the edge of a cliff by snarling dogs. My back legs were scrambling for purchase at the ledge. One push, one attack and I was gone.

Joker's voice was very, very low -more calm than I'd ever heard him before. Again, even as he was feet away, his voice made me feel like he was everywhere, pressing close to me. "I would know him, Gretchen, if you hadn't already told me he was dead."

My mistake hit me like a ton of bricks. The impact of what I'd done, what I'd revealed...I'd been so caught up in my thoughts, my situations and memories, that I had forgotten to stay in the _real_ world. So careless! I had forgotten to maintain Gretchen and instead I'd let the real Ellie slip through. Now, because of my foolishness and rash actions, he knew at the very least, that I was a liar. That nothing I said could be trusted.

My throat closed up with a more pressing fear, now that I was wondering what he'd do to me for lying to him. "Uh...I....gah...uhhm..." I could hardly speak I was so scared.

Pressing his advantage, Joker rubbed his hands on his thighs to warm them and came to sit next to me. His close proximity made me shake all the more and I felt distress rise like bile in my throat. Again I was the rabbit, too scared to try to run, only now the abyss was calling me and the growling dogs were closer. My utter fear must have shown on my face because the painted man next to me stroked my cheek gently, reassuringly, with one finger.

"Ah, you're nervous." The rest of his hand came around to cup my chin and the longer he spoke, the tighter his grip became. "Don't be nervous Gretch – if that is your real name. Just tell me the truth."

"The truth?" I asked through smashed lips.

Joker smirked, and the expression looked strange with the elongated lines of his smile. "Tell me everything."

"Everything?"

His eyes were swallowed in black, pasty make-up as he leaned forward to place his forehead against mine. "Everything." He removed his hand from my face to make my confession easier.

I knew that it would be even more fatal to reveal more than was absolutely necessary – like my fear of getting too close to fire. It wasn't necessary, but it was part of 'everything'. Yet I didn't want him to be able to use it against me. I swallowed as I realized that I'd have to make him ask me specific questions.

I tilted my head farther down against his so I could look up through my eyelashes at him and I knew that there had to be more white paint smeared on my face. But everything had a price. "What do you want to know?"

Joker pushed my head back with his forehead till my head was pressed against the side of the van, and someone – probably Justin – shifted uncomfortably. "Are you playing with me?" Joker demanded, irritation sparking in the corners of his mouth.

"No." I wasn't going to get away with this.

He put space between us and shook his head like a parent with a wayward child. "Nope, you're still lying." He looked up. "But I'll play along anyway."

His hand shot out to cup the back of my neck and yanked me forward so that our cheeks were pressed together. I was disgusted by it but I got the purpose of it. My mouth was to his ear and his was to mine. "You're name?" He asked me calmly.

"Ellie." I replied.

"Ellie…Napier, right?" He seemed a little more intent to hear what I said this time.

I swallowed again. "Yes." Was I crazy or did a tiny tremor – the tiniest of its kind – shiver through him when I said that? Or had I just imagined it?

His voice didn't sound any different when he posed his next question. "Where do you live Ellie Napier?"

"Buffalo Bluff, Montana."

"Have you ever moved before?"

"Yes."

"And where did you move to?"

"Buffalo Bluff."

"Where did you live before that?"

"Gotham City."

"How long did you live there?"

"Most of my life."

"Why did you leave?"

For the first time I hesitated for a fraction of a second and the pattern was slightly disrupted. "There was some family trouble."

His hand began to massage tiny circles into the back of my neck. "Are you really married?"

"Yes." And the pattern was restored again.

"Where is the lucky duck?"

"I don't know."

"Is he alive?"

"Could be."

"But you don't think so."

"No."

"Why?"

We were getting back to the topic that was a little too painful for me to handle. The utilitarian manner that he'd questioned me with before had helped me to try to reply with equally little emotion, but now even that couldn't do the job. "Because..."

Thank God I never got to finish my sentence. The van jerked to a turbulent stop and everyone within was severely jostled. It didn't even take Carl a second to pop into the back with the rest of us, a perfect imitation of his mortally stricken brother Eddie, once and formerly known as Captain Obvious. Who was probably still lying dead I my room. "We're here boss." He announced.

Joker groaned.

END OF CHAPTER

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As always, I'd like to thank my reviewer(s) - **RubyWaters, **who was the ONLY one to review the last chapter. Either way, thank you so much! I love your Joker story, so its an honor to have you read mine.

In other news, where is everyone else? Hello? Hellooooooo?

Either way, how about a general update? College is going well, I'm about to declare myself a History major, but I'm still not sure if I want to minor in French. I've got to see how this semester in French 4 goes. I've gotten to 60,000 (SIXTY THOUSAND) words with my historical romance novel, which is set in WW2. There is an excerpt from it somewhere on my LiveJournal that you can read. Or message/email me! I love to share. In addition to this, I've rebooted a short story set in 38 AD, under Caesar Caligula's reign. He meets a woman that puzzles and so he becomes obsessed with finding and speaking to her. You can message me for this as well, or request that it goes up on LiveJournal too.

So .... read? (all three?) Review?


	12. home sweet home

And here is Chapter Ten! Woot! Chapter ten! And you guys are even luckier - I'm posting this for you on my BIRTHDAY!

So...a _ton_ of you should definitely review. Tell me what you think, why you think it. What you like and dislike. Tell me everything! I'd love to hear it.

_This chapter is dedicated to the** Kiyomi **half of **Banana Rum**, here on - she is awesome! You guys would seriously be getting absolutely nothing if it wasn't for her. She prods and pokes and rants at me when I don't write enough. Also, this is dedicated to everyone who has sent me their good birthday wishes through the mail and on facebook! You guys are the greatest friends ever!_

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**CHAPTER TEN [home sweet home]**

Joker's annoyance was evident as he shoved himself away from me with angry, precise movements cleverly disguised as floppy jumps of his limbs. Forget about the sheep, he looked like a wolf in hyena's clothing; a precision animal hiding under the skin of one that was still dangerous, but sloppy. In any case, it seemed that his henchmen were smarter than they looked, as they moved away from him like bouncing Skittles. The three of them exited the van as quickly as they possibly could, moving cautiously around their boss.

Joker and I weren't to be in the van together for much longer; he stalked after his men in a determinedly bad mood. I stared after him, at the swinging van doors he'd thrown open ferociously.

He'd left me in the van. Alone. He'd…forgotten me?

I could not _believe_ my luck.

The metal of the bench was still cold against my legs as I listened to the door of our new residency open and close over and over again. Pressing my back against the wall of the van, I shivered and wondered if they really had forgotten me, and the new thought scared me. I definitely did not want this to be a giant trick that only brought more pain, and I was determined to be extremely cautious. I couldn't see anyone in the little black parking lot we'd pulled into though. But then again, my view of it was severely limited by the van I was enclosed in.

I couldn't hear anything either.

With the thought of escape burning in me, my limbs became steady and solid, no longer were they the quality of Jello. The sound of my heart pounding drummed high in my ears as I unfolded my legs and stood. My breath came in heavier, shallower gasps through my open mouth as I began to feel that familiar crawl of nervous adrenaline. It made me want to fall onto the wild chance of scrambling away as fast as I could without taking any precautions.

It sent a wave of reminiscence through me that made me feel like I was standing in front of my third grade class again, my project on my summer reading homework ("Holes," by Louis Sachar), taped to the whiteboard. I wanted to throw up.

I felt it tingling in the veins of the joints of my wrists, my knees and ankles, the inside of my elbows; it made my body feel itchy and hot and the temptation to run was strong. I felt it in the chambers of my heart, mixing with the oxygen in my blood that was telling me to _go go go_!

Instead, I tamped down on that sensation, and the control I tried to impose on my body made the muscles in my arms and legs clench and release convulsively. I knew though, that I couldn't treat the Joker like any other villain; he was a tricky sort, one warranting extra caution. I crept to the lip of the van and stopped, breathing in the open air, waiting till my arms stopped feeling so jittery. There was nothing I could do to stem the distressed manner in which I was breathing.

Keys. Keys. Where were the keys? If I could just find the keys, I could start the van up and drive away like hell was snapping at my back wheels.

I stood up and walked slowly to the front of the van. The two front seats were a mess of burger wrappers and soda cans. The only thing that was missing from the front was the key. My heart plummeted and I headed to the back doors again – it seemed my only chance now was to run on foot.

My hands were clumsy as I held onto the door and stepped down, one foot to the ground at a time. The 60's era paving of the parking lot meant leftover bits of gravel crunched beneath my toes. The sound of them grinding together seemed unnaturally loud even when presented as a counterbalance to the rhythmic beating heart in my chest.

I scrunched my toes against the ground and peered cautiously around one of the white van doors – the one farthest from the building. I couldn't outrun anyone coming from that far side, but I could escape anyone who approached from the direction of the building; I would have a few feet head start that way.

Luckily my eyes landed on nothing but empty space and the shiny sides of the van. My heart jumped up to nest in my throat as the thought of escape turned into the hope of escape again. I gripped the edge of the door and stepped slowly around it, pressing my body as close to the line of the structure as possible.

My fear waned as I stepped away from the van – one foot. Then the other. But the farther I went the more I dreaded being in plain sight, away from the cover of the vehicle. Out there, on that unforgiving lowland of black top, there would be nothing to hide me from anyone or anything. I could tell that would prove to be a greater tax on my nerves than stepping out of the van ever had been.

I spared a second to glance around, taking in again the smell of old asphalt, the sight of dust riding the wind bare inches from the ground surface, the feel of the sun on my skin. And so my trek across the parking lot began.

The longer I went undiscovered the freer I got, relaxing my could-spot-a-ladybug-at-twenty-paces visual sweeps of the area. I was so close I could taste it!

Although my captivity had been relatively short by the standards of others unnamed, I was sick of it – as any sane person would be. The damage had already been done.

I wanted to be the hell away from there, but one could never be too cautious. Once I got too far to be sheltered by the van, I was going to book it. But as long as I had that visual screen over me, I was going to keep it.

My beautiful solitude was not to last much longer though; I spun around as the building door slammed open. I didn't bother to see who had stormed out and instead dove back towards the van. All my previous feelings of semi-euphoria vanished as I hugged the far side of the van. Suddenly the few feet of ground previously covered seemed impossible to achieve once more.

The actions that were so courageous and beautiful to me before were now foolish and rebellious. Or maybe I just felt foolish for waiting so long to start out.

Yes, that was it.

As the other person came closer I could tell right away that it wasn't the Joker. The voice and the mannerisms weren't right, and the knowledge of their proximity didn't send a buzz of wariness down my spine. "He forgot her and it's my fault. It's always my shitting fault. Never _his_ fault." It was Carl, and he was _pissed._

I held my breath as he reached the van doors, sure he'd hear my ragged breathing if I didn't do so. The sound of him slamming the doors shut in anger after checking the van interior for me made me wince. The van shook with the force of his actions and the energy of it seemed to transfer to me. My body twitched with nerves.

"Son of a bitch!" Carl was busy exclaiming. "Where the hell is she?"

I swallowed. It would only be a matter of time before he discovered exactly where I had gone. A very short amount of time. I couldn't go around the van because someone in the building would see me and there was no way I could run without Carl seeing me now. That was, however, my only real option.

I was lifting one leg to run when Carl rounded the corner of the van. Rounded the corner of the van and found me, to be exact. It was one of those moments where two characters just stood and stared at each other – usually utilized in romantic comedies and horror flicks, so I supposed it was appropriate. The wind even caught my hair and played with it.

Martin Scorsese would have killed to stick a video camera in my face and do a slow pan of the parking lot.

Carl broke the magical cinematic spell by smirking. "Damn you're a stupid bitch! You just stayed here?"

In response, I booked it. I just turned on my heel and sprinted across the black top. I didn't stop when the gravel bruised the bottom of my feet or when Carl yelled what appeared to be his trademark statement, "Son of a bitch!" and started after me. I didn't glance back to see if he was much of a runner, or if his call had alerted the others.

Yellow parking spaces caught in the corners of my eyes as I ran, trying to distract me. Finally, I passed the last one and turned around the chain link fence that surrounded the neighboring property onto a desolate street. Even if I couldn't see anyone on the road who could help me, I had a better chance of escaping there than I did when in the same building as the Joker.

The longer I ran the more my feet started to hate me; bits of twigs and rocks and broken glass were abusing them harshly. Carl didn't have this problem though, as he was wearing shoes and soon my small head start was eaten up by his uninjured feet. His boots crunched over the debris I so artlessly tried to avoid. We were coming to another corner that I hoped would bring my to a more residential area in which there would be more chances for me to hop fences and hide behind shrubs. I knew that I looked like a looney toon running down the street in my dirty pajamas, but surely someone would help me.

"You can't run forever!" Carl snarled breathlessly at me, his voice sounding uncomfortably close. More than uneasy, I glanced over my shoulder and saw more than I wanted to. Carl. On what you could call my tail. His face was sweaty and red with exertion, but instead of lagging behind, he was closer than ever.

I put on one last burst of energy, striving for even greater speed and pushing my legs faster. It turned to be a fatal decision. The spurt of speed reduced the already tenuous accuracy of my feet before Carl lunged at me. If I wasn't being technical, I would say that it felt as if Carl's weight hurtling at me was what pushed me down. But let's be fair – the blame should go where it is deserved. The fall was due to both of us. I did kind of sort of trip. A little.

In any case, I fell to the ground with skin shredding force. My knees and elbows hit particularly hard as Carl crashed down on me. My head knocked the ground like it was a meat tenderizer and was probably what made me so docile as Carl picked himself up, shook off the fall, and started to haul me back to the Joker.

The walk back consisted entirely of my being half dragged, half carried by Carl, but that didn't make me relieved to see the little journey end with the Joker standing in front of the old dirty building that did not match the new pavement leading to it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at me, eyebrow raised. "Tsk tsk tsk. What have we here?"

"Got her boss." Carl panted, reverting back to his previously hailed role as the inimitable Captain Obvious #2. All hint of his earlier, Joker-aimed resentment seemed to have faded away.

"I can see that."

My weary brain had stifled a small internal giggle as Carl's face soured. He was like a great pouting doggy, desperately seeking unreachable approval from his master, yet still able to grumble and whine about the loss when alone. Even his big, clumsy hands and feet fit the image.

I staggered as Carl finally let go of me, taking his hands off my arm as if my flesh was made of steel turned red hot at Joker's commanding, angry look. Dragging me along was a task taken over by the Joker, and his fingers were especially merciless in the deed. I staggered along after him, my limp body falling against and pulling away from his purple clad form in a haphazard, bacchanalian pattern.

The hallways he pulled me through were dim, dingy, and dirty, with flickering light bulbs on the ceiling and ripped, faded, really bad wallpaper on the walls. The carpet was grungy, matted shag; the doors were stripped of all paint. Fun designs like red smiley faces and "birdies" decorated the doors. I could tell it was an old motel by the room numbers on the walls, and it had definitely been taken over completely by the Joker's gang.

The door we stopped at was the only one so far without any fun designs on it. Joker stopped and proceeded to try to prop me up against the peeling wall. His efforts were somewhat wasted, as I was currently the consistency of pudding. If Joker found my state funny he didn't necessarily show it. He cupped my face in his hands and said, "Here's where we kill two birds with one stone cupcake."

END OF CHAPTER

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Thank you so much for reviewing! Thank you **PreciousRaymond**,** liVe-yOur-fAntasY**,** Midaria**, and **ChristinelovesPhantom**! Thank you so much for reviewing!

So, the next chapter is the a doozy! I'm telling you all, please pay attention to the next chapter, because a lot really happens between Ellie and Joker, and it is extremely important to the story. Definitely read and review that one. Actually, do that to all the chapters. But if you don't review any chapter but one, do it for that one.

And yes, it is my birthday today, March 30th. You all know I'm in college so I'm between ages 18 and 22. Why don't you all guess how old I am? We'll see who is right.

Still plugging along at my two historical original novels. I have also have a finished fantasy story on called "The Serpent Connection" and I love for you all to read and review that too! I'm under the same pen name there. It would be a great birthday present. =)

Alright everyone - your tasks are to: guess my age, and tell me exactly when you wish for the next chapter to be out. And to review. REVIEW!


	13. smoldering

So this is the last chapter that I have written - as in, there should be more to finish the story, but it is currently unwritten, and I have no idea how many more chapters there will be. Hopefully that won't be a problem!

I was going to update on Friday morning, at 6:05 am no less, right after I'd registered for my 2010 fall classes. I was feeling magnanimous right then, but also very sleepy. And as you probably can guess, I opted for sleep. I was at the Mills Hafla party when my friend convinced me that I have to post to my stories before the end of today, so I am. You should all thank her! You're really lucky I'm following through though - today was Room Draw and boy, was it a MESS!

By the way, any Mills women out there?

This chapter is dedicated, as always, to my made-of-awesome beta-reader, the Kiyomi half of Banana Rum, and to the woman who got me the last single room on the entire campus. Thank you!

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN [smoldering]**

The room he hauled me into was strangely surgical and white; I'd gotten so used to his outwardly messy style, that it was odd to finally see something so clean. To me it was clear that he'd taken special pains to keep the space itself, tidy; like it held some special importance to him. A place where he could let out…whatever it was underneath all that crap he put on.

The room contained far less clutter than the room we'd occupied so briefly in Montana – no broken down bar stools, ripped apart fleur-de-lis, or dirty beds. Instead the walls were whitewashed and pristine but for the rare smudge of black or red. There was a small twin bed pushed into a corner with white painted metal bars for the headboard and footboard. The bed was made with obsessive precision, not even a wrinkle dared show its face. At its foot was a folding metal chair with disturbing ropes laced to the legs and back.

Next to the bed was a large window, the panes of glass were painfully polished, so much so that it seemed that the streaks from the constant wiping were etched into them; across the room I hazily noted a large white cabinet with an equally enormous padlock on the doors.

If there had been a sign on the cabinet, it would have said, "DANGER" in neon red and flashing strobe lights sounding an alarm all while a generic female voice alerted mechanically, "Warning. Stay away. Territory is perilous." While my brain duly noted this 'dark aura' emanating from that area, my body wasn't exactly up to speed with the rest of me.

After all, it was a mysterious force of nature and nothing else that was managing to keep me standing. That willpower was rapidly slipping though.

Joker stood me against a wall with more of a degree success in this endeavor and went to grab the metal chair, still keeping an eye on me the whole time. He picked up the chair and set it in the middle of the room, facing the window. The direction the chair faced probably wasn't supposed to mean anything to me, I'm sure, but it unintentionally did.

It was pointing toward the window. Toward freedom. It was like his subconscious or alter ego or whatever it was felt guilty and was trying to give me a way out. Or I was reading too much into his actions. Either way, it was almost like the chair and the window were urging me to go to them. "Escape." They begged with me. "Just throw open the window and jump. Throw the chair at him, Run. Run. Run."

I knew deep down that this was my last attempt to escape the Joker- to leave him behind for the witness protection program and a new life for a long while. It would be like jump starting a car. To ever hope again, when I failed this time, I would run out and someone would have to give me some of theirs.

It would be more sensible to others to save my hope, tuck it away and savor it and let it sustain me for the longest period of time possible. But I wasn't that kind of person. I wasn't the type to bide my time with these sorts of things. I needed to try. Just once more.

I began to take wobbly steps away from the wall, hoping my legs were recovered enough to survive what I wanted to do. The more spaces there were between me and the wall the faster I walked, like I was back in the parking lot and there was nothing to stop me. Until, of course, two arms grabbed for and caught me and swung me around till I was plopped into the chair.

"Ah, ah, ah." Joker's face was close again and I could smell the singular, powdery scent of his make-up. "No running off now, y'hear?" His voice was a parody of good will.

I scowled absently, unaware if I was doing so at him or at the general situation. I was scared of course, I was very scared. But there was still some part of me that held back from the fear, like a tiny little glass ornament hidden in the hollow of my chest; just underneath my rib cage. There was still some irrational part of my mind that refused to accept this as reality.

I kept expecting for cops or a video camera or people from work to jump out and shout (respectively), "Freeze!" or "You're on Candid Camera!" or "Surprise!" Somehow I still couldn't accept this as total reality, as my fate.

"Uh oh. Someone's in a bad mood." Joker secured me to the metal chair with the ropes that were attached to it. I struggled with the bonds, and an outsider would have termed my effort as half-hearted. But the after effects of my running escape attempt and my return were still with me.

"I hate you." I needed to say it just once. Just once. His eyes darkened in response. "I've hated you since the first moment I saw-"

My words were stopped by his fist. The blow to my jaw was forceful enough to tip me to the side so that the chair rocked and fell over. Another blow to my head, this time from the hard floor, followed. I felt frantically around my mouth with my tongue, checking for loose teeth, when the loud throbbing in my head faded.

Fortunately, there were none, as I'd always found bloody, knocked out teeth particularly sickening in the movies; still, I'd bitten my tongue and my saliva tasted faintly like a shiny copper penny and salt.

Joker, unaware of my thoughts, patted my cheek. "Oops!" He hauled the chair and I into the proper position. "I think that I was a little too forceful there. But perhaps, you should keep your nasty mouth shu_t_. Maybe then, I can control myself."

I only looked down at my lap – trembling legs and metal chair. Joker began to walk back toward the cabinet. I didn't look up as the padlock jingled and a key was inserted into the grooved slot and turned. The lock opened with a click and the door swung open with a creak.

I supposed no self-respecting cabinet in what closely resembled a bad horror film would open soundlessly.

He began to hum tunelessly to himself as he worked, pushing this and that around and tossing things about in the inner compartments. "It's obvious that you dislike me. You say, you hate me." Joker called over his shoulder as he bent over the bureau's inner drawer. "But I haven't done nearly enough to deserve that." He straightened up and turned around. "I will now."

In his hands was a device most wicked in my eyes. The first part was innocent enough – just a little ace of spades shaped out of iron; flat on one side with a curved handle on the other side. In his other hand was a much more devilish instrument – one of those long, powerful, industrial-sized lighters, used for barbeques and oh, I don't know, space shuttles. He was flicking the open flame back and forth across the metal; turning it into an even pale red. It went to an even scarlet, and then gradually, a steady primary red.

I felt…paralyzed. I felt…like I wanted to move but I couldn't. It was the opposite of the way I'd felt in the van. It was the terror. It was the stillness of the horror. It was the bonds of the chair that held me but not. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. **I couldn't think.**

Joker stood in front of me, directly in the window's path and blocking most of my light. I thought I could detect a hit of concern in the back of his eyes, but it was masked with anger, confined in rage. "Consequences." His voice was rife with…righteous fury.

"Every consequence requires vengeance to repay it." He leaned closer and I could feel the heat of the flame pass over my skin. His mouth was to my left ear. "Vengeance." His teeth nipped out and bit my ear sharply; I curled my lip but couldn't bring my body to do anything else.

The metal was now a beautiful, sanguine red, the temperature of the metal rising faster than I'd thought it could. But the spade shaped plate was so thin, now I supposed it wouldn't take much to heat. Though he was wearing gloves the heat must have hurt him, as I imagined it was much stronger than the protection mounted by the gloves, but he didn't show it in his eyes. Soot from the flame was blackening the fingers of one glove in wispy, ghostly patterns.

Joker moved his head around to my right ear, enjoying the symmetry of the moment. His hair was tickling my cheek. "Every…thought of vengeance turns into revenge." I was biting my lip when he paused. "What do you say to that?"

My eyes shut momentarily and my lips tingled as blood underneath the thin veneer of skin prepared to move the tissue. "Revenge is a dish best served cold." Yes, I actually said it.

He laughed though his flame holding hand never wavered on the metal. "I never really got that saying princess. But you wanna know what I think? I think that revenge is always best in the fiery, hellish, unending heat of passion."

I swallowed sluggishly. "Passion isn't unending."

He turned his eyes more directly on mine and only his scars smiled. "Isn't it?"

A thin silence covered us, like liquid plate glass cooled and hardened over our forms. In the interim we stared at each other; the flame cast flickering shadows over his face and I knew that what he needed to say to me was not yet through. Not over. I tried to think of something to say – anything to halt his grim ambitions. To stop him, to save my own life. A late, last ditch attempt.

My search, as before, was fruitless and all it succeeded in doing was sharpening the desperation of the situation. The most I could come up with was "Stop, please." At the same time I knew such a weak phrase wouldn't help me at all. That nothing I could say would stop the psychopath standing before me with such a sad, determined gleam in his eye. Once more I couldn't do anything.

Helplessness washed over me in a second tidal wave; I felt a sense of fate, of destiny, of kismet flooding me and I blinked slowly for a second closure. The muscles in my chest and around me rib cage contracted in short, tight, painful bunches. I was guessing at my end and I was guessing it was going to come in only a few minutes, if not seconds.

"Revenge is for the purpose of remembrance." Joker's face was by my left ear again. "Everything is remembrance. It was all for you to remember!"

In movements I didn't care to try to follow, the flame fell back. His hand jerked forward. The hot metal pressed against my neck, just underneath my left ear.

My scream's prelude was a gasp, and my eyes widened. The metal was searing, burning, melting away layers of skin that sizzled before it was incinerated. My nose tingled with a sickening smell, like ham cooked far too long or the last bits of charred beef falling off the grill.

I was shuddering under the cherry blushing metal. He held it in place only a little longer, then withdrew the brand; but there was no relief in its absence and my vision began to waver. It was reality. It was true. This was everything and all. I could no longer escape the unholy realization: there was no hope.

A fissure in the glass ornament sheltered by my ribs spread and widened its fingers to cup the round plane of it – it became a spider web over the surface. Cracks in the glacial ice or a frosted windowpane. I felt it open and begin to break apart inside.

I took another breath and felt it completely fall to pieces. The shards flew out from the vulnerable, open, shredded center and seemed to imbed themselves in my flesh. They were the creeping ropes of venom slinging themselves onto my muscles. They were the last gasp of breath at the bottom of the ocean.

Just knowing it was gone made me choke on the air and drop my head, horrified. I knew what I felt. I knew what that feeling meant.

There was no hope.

There was no one to save me.

There was no police force to come get me.

There was no hope.

This was real and I was going to die.

And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing I could do at all.

"Remembering is payback. And payback is a bitch."

I screamed.

END OF CHAPTER

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Just a note, I was going to have him brand her with an electric branding iron, but a friend of mine convinced me that there wasn't anything existing that would fit my purposes. Of course, it wasn't until this was written and edited that she found something like it online. For sale. Why would you sell something like that so casually? Its so crazy...

Just so you know, two of my reviewers attempted to guess my age - one guessed too young (16 and in college?) and the other guessed to old (not 20). Now where does that put me? Two guesses....

Review, please! Please!


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Batman Begins/Dark Knight, Drama, Horror