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Dark Humor	By : xxnadsxx Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Batman (All Movies) > Batman (All Movies) Views: 2361 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Dark
Humor
Three
Justice
is balance.
--Ra�s
Al Ghul

Morning came, a bleeding womb
against the horizon of Gotham, penetrating Rachel�s eyelids with its pulsing,
silent scream and beckoning her into reality.
Morning in Gotham was always a
blessing and a curse. A blessing for its people, because the criminals and
fear-mongering crooked emptied the streets for a chance to live a fearless day;
a curse, because those very same people were doomed to repeat the cycle another
day. It wasn�t the same for her, though�it was never the same, now that Harvey
was gone. Rachel didn�t have fear anymore, that same mortal fear that
accompanied the feeling of weakness when overshadowed by one�s enemy; she had
emptiness, she had desperation.
Anger was stronger than fear. And
sometimes, anger could eradicate it completely.
It was the first emotion that filled
her as she woke up; mainly because, despite the grogginess and the temporary
peaceful null that had invaded her mind in her dreamless slumber, she came to a
rude awakening. Stretching sore muscles nimbly against her creaking mattress,
she pulled herself to sitting position and groaned slightly as she readjusted
the jagged-toothed blinds that assaulted her with rays of dawn�s burning light
to shut completely again, rendering her room a dim cradle of comfort, if just
for a few minutes more.
She smoothed back her disheveled
locks, feeling a bit dirty now that her mind was cleared from the other night�s
panic that she hadn�t taken her nightly shower. As the girl hoisted herself
from her creaking bed, with its groan of protest mirroring her own, she hopped
surprisingly nimbly towards her bathroom, lathering and scrubbing and cleaning
away as much of the week�s filth and grime and sickness as she could. Rachel
spent a long hour against the penetrating heat of the shower as it poured upon
her bare skin, rubbing the soap so forcefully against her porcelain flesh that
it caused her pain, her limbs pink and softened and nearly bruised when she was
finished with her savage routine and reduced the scalding water to a lazy drip.
No doubt a few bruises would form upon her delicate frame; she welcomed it,
really, because she felt much, much cleaner now she had washed away any trace
of the recent past.
Surveying her raw fingers quickly as
she threw a towel about her slight frame and went to scour her closet for a
black ensemble, Rachel was satisfied to see her turned palms a bright, beet
red�not from blood, but from innocence, from purity. She almost felt completely
clean, as if she had never imagined them just as red with another�s blood.
Almost.
Satisfied with a simple black
knee-length dress and heels, Rachel watched herself briefly in the mirror, at
the reflection she had not seen since the incidents that had passed. Harvey�s
funeral was today�yet as she gazed at her own image, she felt as if they had
missed another corpse in all the District Attorney�s importance. She had gotten
thinner these past few days�her cheeks were sunken, her eyes thick with bags
that carried the weight of what she had just suffered through, her exposed
collarbones sharp and laced with an age that did not come with physical
passing, but the anguish and wearing of the mind. She still looked
substantially the same, of course; no bruises or scars on her face, no burn
marks to mar her delicate, easy breakable skin, nothing to show the telltale
signs of loss, assault, nearly dying countless times within a devastatingly
short time frame.
But who needed telltale signs when
the most vital were in the most important part of her body itself�her mind?
For an instant, she envisioned
herself as Harvey would have been, her face mangled and disfigured beyond
recognition; muscles exposed and ugly in their burnt, oozing hideousness,
bleeding red and purple and puss across the garbled flesh, the protruding bones
from beneath the singed black layers of skin that were once so pristine and pretty,
sharp and almost monstrous as they stuck from her cheeks, her arms, her
constantly smiling, burned away face�
Let�s put a smile on that face!
Harvey Dent will always smile, now.
�No!� She hissed, and before
she knew it she was doubled over, clutching at her bent body as if something
had impaled her, sharp and relentless, straight through the chest to her heart.
Rachel forcefully straightened her
scrunched-up face, the unmistakable fear in her eyes that had never died away
from the days prior. She wouldn�t harbor that fear anymore�she couldn�t.
She would bury it. She would destroy it, just as everything dear to her had
been destroyed. It was time to move on. It was time for Gotham to move on.
With a last, apathetic stare into
the gleaming mirror, Rachel turned on her heel and began to clean the mess upon
her floor, strewn carelessly across the carpet�across her conscience. Layers of
clothing and files she smoothed and separated, discarding the former for
cleaning, the latter for the soon-to-be newly rebuilt headquarters. It was an
empty distraction, for a few solid minutes of drowning out the world�bringing
back the humdrum order of placement, logic, organization.
Then she found the curled playing
card that nearly formed a paper-cut along her trembling hand.
Murderer.
With a sudden, shuddering gasp, her
eyes widened at the single accusing word�jaggedly written, its
scarlet, caked appearance obviously the product of dried blood. The Joker
leered at her from its black-faced portrait, inanimate, unmoving, inhuman. Bile tickled her throat and the haze
of remaining fatigue upon her body seemed to melt away, replacing itself with
the dormant anger she had momentarily been able to fight down with the normalcy
of her morning routine.
Normalcy. What a fleeting fantasy.
But no�she couldn�t let this get to
her. She just couldn�t. Sharp tears pricked at the corner of her eyes,
her emotions spilling to life through the medium of her stunned body. She wiped
them away with so much force her eyes felt raw as she rubbed them, flicking the
card against the tabletop and fumbling angrily across the floor, to her kitchen
countertop, through the disheveled cabinets for an ashtray.
Pulling a lighter in tow, she threw
the ashtray down so forcefully her shaking hands nearly chipped at the delicate
glass, and thrust the card rapidly against the tray�s hollow surface.
Without a second thought, she
flipped the lighter on and set the corner of the card on fire, watching it curl
up as the flames spread to lick its dirtied surface, strong and hungry and
devouring. A sick pleasure bubbled within her as she watched the Joker�s face
alight with flames, black and crisp and melting away as the entire card slowly burned,
slowly yet surely curled in on itself like a withering leaf.
Burning, just like Harvey burned.
She watched the Joker burn into
nothing on the papery surface, and for a quick moment, her aching heart soared.
It was then that the doorbell rang.
As Rachel watched the lower half of
the card begin to slowly dissolve into an ashy
nothingness, the ringing continued, loud and shrill and demanding. Her eyes
widened as she heard the familiar voice outside her apartment door, wrought
with what could only be worry�a constant tone of voice whenever he spoke to her
now, it seemed. Bruce was practically pounding on the door, now, and Rachel
noticed the sharp, almost overpowering smell of smoke coming from her tray was
enough to pervade the doorway and attract the attention of others.
Fuck.
�Bruce?!�
�Rachel! Rachel, what�s happening?�
�Ah�nothing, nothing! I was
just�um�smoking��
She winced at her excuse, having
never picked up a cigarette in her short years of life and finding it a poor
thing to say in her defense. Quickly, she pulled herself to her feet and threw
the ashtray off the table, watching with a silent curse as it, and the burning
card, skidded to the floor to shatter and ignite a corner of her carpet in
miniature flames. Rachel stomped out the remainders of the fire with her heel,
yet the broken glass covered the now ugly black mark that charred her white
carpet. She winced as the pounding continued.
�Okay, okay! I�m coming!�
Practically running to her door for
fear it would collapse, Rachel threw the bolt aside and leapt out of the way as
it flew open, her childhood friend standing on the other end, his eyes hard
with panic which he now frantically struggled to cover with the tightest smile
he could offer her.
�Since when did you smoke,
Rachel? Even I can�t stand the stuff.�
Rachel mirrored his tight smile with
one of her own, though naturally more relaxed. She always thought she had been
the more demure and subtle of the two,
�Ever since this week turned into a
living hell and insisted I be the constant plaything of the Devil himself,
that�s when. What brings you to my apartment?�
Still standing in the doorway, the
unmasked vigilante stood still for a moment, holding out his hands and
furrowing his thick brows incredulously,
�What, and
you aren�t even going to invite me in to sit down? Coffee,
even?�
Despite the recent emotional
turbulence her body had been subjugated to, Rachel still found it difficult to
fight back a grin. She forcefully blocked out the memories of the night before
as she gazed up at Bruce�s familiar, comforting frame, numbing her pain away
with their timeless banter,
�You know I don�t have my very own
Alfred installed here. I make even instant inedible�you should know, after all,
you�ve tried it before.�
As she walked across the room, motioning
for him to sit at the kitchen table, Bruce nodded in silent agreement, a grin
playing on his own lips which she saw from her corner of her eye. She skirted
the table with carefully concealed skittishness, hoping he wouldn�t notice the
very recent char marks against her once immaculate carpet�yet he did anyway,
God damn him and his microscopic vision.
�Since when did you add the
interpretive glass sculpture over there?� He asked smoothly, pointing at the
broken remnants of the ashtray, �Or did you not know how to properly extinguish
your first cigarette?�
Rachel bit her lip. She pulled
herself dismissively into a seat, resting her weary head on her hands, elbows
grinding against the surface of the table,
�It was an accident. You startled me
when you were pounding on the door like a madman at approximately eight thirty
in the morning, you know.�
This was enough to draw the
billionaire�s prying eyes from the charred card to her own, his gaze creased
with remorse,
�You had me worried for a second
when you weren�t answering. I�I�ve been worrying a lot lately, you know that.�
Rachel studied him for a moment,
surveying the hardened man that was the mirror image of her once-childhood
friend and love. She gazed at his statuesque frame, his dark eyes set so perfectly
within the sockets that they, too, would have appeared emotionless, frigid, if
it weren�t for the constant burning sentiments that always gushed out at her
whenever he gazed straight at her own eyes. There was no doubt at all that he
still harbored feelings for her, though all hers had dwindled, died out as soon
as ‑�
Harvey had. And so she found she
couldn�t blame him for all the troubles she had caused him in living,
after all, and the ensuing bitterness of the situation made her sigh and pat
the nearby chair to invite him to take a seat.
�It�s been a long, long week, Bruce.
Believe me�I know all too well now how much Gotham and its people can
worry.�
Bruce nodded at her words, sitting
obligingly near her hunched frame, his eyes desperately piercing her own again
that heavy morning. It was funny how in the daylight Rachel could see nothing
of Batman in that gaze�no familiar hardness, no extreme apathy to the point of
being cold and cruel. It was only in his poise, in his practiced, stiff
posture, that the true inert, hardened nature of the Batman was evident without
the mask and the night to guard him, shift him like clay into a vicious,
intimidating creature. She could see, for once, how his criminals, how everyday
people would be capable of fearing him�yet for her to have such fear was in
itself completely impossible. Especially with the undiluted caring in his eyes
as she saw them now.
�Rachel. Are you��
Bruce shifted almost uncomfortably
in his seat, then, his frigid body coming for a moment to life as he fought for
the words,
��Are you alright? Really? This week has been so much to handle, especially for
you. And with the likelihood that you�ll be the head D.A. now, having been
second-best��
Rachel cut off his words, then,
feeling the vicious urge to bite back any attempted reference by Bruce to
Harvey. She didn�t want that ache in her heart right now; she didn�t want that
dormant pain to rattle her nerves. Not yet.
�Bruce, it�s okay. I�ve got my
sleep, my rest�and we all go on, as does Gotham. The funeral�s this evening;
after all of it, after everything�s wrapped up and over with�I�ll be okay, too.
I have to be Gotham now, don�t I, now that I�ll probably be D.A.? I have
to be in touch with it, I have to be�a little more like Batman. So I can�t let
these emotions get the best of me, right?�
As she spoke, her voice gave more
guilelessness to her words than her actual thoughts. She doubted she could ever
heal from the events that had scarred her beyond repair; disfigured her, just
as the Joker�s leering, hideously torn grin, looking back at her even now when
she struggled to have a normal conversation with her not-so-normal friend.
Forcefully, she gazed into Bruce�s eyes as he contemplated her words, seeming
to try and analyze her with his own iron stare as if to see the truth within
her soul, as if convinced that she was more hurt than she let on�which he would
be completely right in thinking, anyway.
�Batman�s only human, Rachel. And so
are you. So was��
He tensed, correcting himself before
he could emit the blow,
��So were all the other D.A.s before
you. We�re all humans trying to fight the ideal of crime. But that doesn�t mean
that we can just let ourselves get hurt and not confide in anyone. That we can
just�walk away, crippled, and let no one help us while we recover.�
Rachel fought the urge to roll her
eyes as her frustration grew. For a horrifying moment, the anger rose within
her again; but not for the Joker himself, but towards Bruce, towards Batman�why
should he care when he wanted me dead in the first place? Why does he treat me
like this, when he intended to leave me there to explode like�like�
�Bait.�
The voice in her mind, the
high-pitched squeal hissed as if haunting her, possessing her. She squeezed her
lids shut and gave a deep, shuddering groan; one that she was sure would come
off to Bruce as annoyance, exasperation.
�Listen, Bruce��
Rachel gazed down at the glossy
tabletop, watching her eyes in its pristine surface. They looked so heavy, so
weighed down and worn�had she always looked this way, worn by work, weighed
down by Gotham�s troubles? When did it begin to take its toll on her? When
would people notice her burden, want to label her as weak?
She shifted her fingers, watched
them twitch against the tabletop unsteadily as they knitted together, broke apart, drummed across the table�s surface,
�I know you think I�m weaker than
the rest. Because�because we were friends for so long. You can see all my
flaws; you can see all my setbacks. But from now on you have to see me as
an associate, as someone like Harvey was, as Batman�s friend as well as your
own. We have to work together to ensure Gotham is safe, and no matter how much
anything may hurt me, you have to let me stand on my own two feet for once.�
She raised her head and met his gaze
again, sucking in a deep breath to meet his unconvinced expression; his brows
still knitted, his lips taut in a hard line against
his stone-like face.
�Rachel, what did the Joker do to
you last night?�
The unexpected question caught her
off guard; she felt her eyes widen automatically, her hands dropping from the
counter to fiddle distractedly across her lap, soothe her suddenly frayed
nerves. Everything grew tense, then; her breath hitched,
her body uncomfortably taut against her seat.
�He�he didn�t do anything,� She
replied, keeping her voice as level and honest as it could possibly sound,
because that part was true in a way, �We just�we just talked.�
She knew as she spoke that he would
be unconvinced. The vigilante didn�t disappoint; he raised a brow, crossing his
arms before his chest in what she knew to be his defensive posture,
�Talked? Rachel, when I saw you, you
had fainted, and you were lying across the floor completely helpless while he
was dragging you on the ground, laughing. He attacked you at least. And
you had a gun in your hands and nearly shot me when you came to. You should
have seen yourself, Rachel�you looked hysterical. You looked��
Like the day before, when he scooped
me up into his arms instead of Harvey, and I begged him to let me go and burn
and die instead.
As she mentally finished his words,
her stomach twisted at the memory. Rachel found herself staring at Bruce�s
form, lowered in a heavy tangle of thoughts, wondering what he could possibly
be thinking at this point in their uncomfortable conversation. He was worried
for her, of course, but at the same time she wondered if he still felt that
gnawing, pervading guilt that nipped at her heels, threatened to devour her if
she wanted for one moment to forget, to push it aside�the guilt that came with
his failure to save Harvey, having brought her out of the building instead. And
then he had nearly come too late again, when she had encountered the Joker�
But would he care if the Joker had
somehow ended up turning my gun on me last night, and taking my life? Would he
relish the balance, knowing that I was gone as well as Harvey, and he failed to
save both lives instead of sacrificing one for the other?
Her mind rushed through the dark,
pervading thoughts with reckless abandon, careless as to how it pierced and
struck her heart, caused her chest to swell and ache. Bruce could be wishing
she had died at that very moment, and she would never know�he could be wishing
Gotham was still stronger with Harvey�s survival, just as the Joker had told
her, just as he had reasoned with her the night before�
No. Shut up! The man�s crazy, he was
trying to manipulate you into thinking this way. And here you are, letting him
win. Don�t let him win!
She bit her lip so hard she tasted
blood as she pushed her thoughts away for her friend�s sake. Rachel brought her
hand against Bruce�s again�still cold, yet heated by the warmth of his strong,
firm skin. The heavy eyes looked up at hers, and she could see the weariness in
them, the fatigue beyond sleeplessness that only the Batman himself could
suffer.
�Bruce. We got through it, okay? We
made it through the night, and it�s another day. I�I don�t remember what
happened after I pointed the gun at him, and I don�t want to. I want to move
on. I want��
She turned her head away, keeping
the thought only in her head rather than foolishly spilling from her lips.
Vengeance. Justice. Retribution.
��a new beginning. I was hysterical
last night, yes, and I wasn�t thinking when I barged in and saw him, I was
just�angry. But it�s gone now, it�s okay. We made it
out fine, and now we can fix everything.�
Bruce watched her with a strange new
emotion behind his black irises; Rachel couldn�t quite read it, yet as he
nodded slightly, she saw the gleam and realized it was the strangeness of
recognition, as if he had truly seen her for the first time after years upon
years of friendship.
�Do you remember�when we were
younger, and Chill was shot?�
His gaze was unfaltering, adamant.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as she felt him stare with such solid
desperation it was as if they were in the interrogation room; her, the
criminal, him the relentless questioner. Without another moment�s hesitation,
she nodded in response, wanting him to stop, to stop making such stupid,
foolish comparisons to his own life, to his own past.
�Do you remember what you told me,
when we were in the car together, and you�you slapped me when I showed you my
own pistol, after wanting to have shot him out of vengeance?�
She nodded again, sudden anger
blooming in her veins at his continued comparison of the two of them. Rachel
had been younger, hadn�t lived through the death of the man she had no doubt in
her mind she had truly loved�what had she known about vengeance, then;
let alone loss, grief, anger? She was a young D.A. all those years ago, na�ve
and stupid, driven by ideals that had burned days ago and collapsed in on
themselves in the aftermath of devastation. Her throat burned as she swallowed,
pushing back the outrage that balled like a solid mass within her.
�What did you say then?�
Bruce asked her after what seemed to
be a long pause, having been made short by her own turbulent thoughts. Her eyes
met his and she prayed he was shielded from the searing, terrifying rage within
her. She licked her suddenly dry lips quickly, pushing a lock of hair behind
her ear,
�I�I said that justice was about
harmony. I said revenge was selfish, only about making yourself feel better.
That our system was�impartial.�
The words burned as they slid from
her tongue; for every syllable, for every slur of her lips, she knew them now
to be a lie. The system could be corrupt, she had been taught that
through years of fighting the mob in desperate court battles, suffering the
mob�s corruption of the police force, and justice was a twisted notion. Why
else would they have to rely on a masked vigilante for the city�s welfare? Why
else would Harvey have died and left this place defenseless?
Bruce seemed satisfied by her words,
a small grin playing on his lips,
�I took what you said to heart. I
realized that vengeance was no way to ensure the safety of Gotham and of its
people�we needed impartial justice. That�s why the Joker�s death last night
wouldn�t have solved anything, Rachel. We need him alive to put on trial and
lock away in Arkham, not dead so we would end up on his level. �
Her lip was quivering. She felt it
so strongly she knew it was impossible to stop now that Bruce had undoubtedly
seen it; squeezing her eyes shut so tightly that multicolored lights danced
before her eyes, Rachel buried her face in her hands and drew in a deep,
shuddering breath.
�Rachel?� Bruce murmured quietly,
his voice almost pleading with her like a silent prayer, �Rachel, what�s��
�So what�s going to happen if we
don�t kill him, hmm?�
Her voice was surprisingly strong,
the strongest it had been in a very long time, almost a shout when it came from
her previously pursed lips, the black anger kindling within her and ready to
burst,
�The Joker escaped before, and with
it he left countless bodies in his wake. Are we just going to keep locking him
up again and again with him coming back stronger every time? Is the body count
going to skyrocket even more? Don�t treat me like an idiot, Bruce. You
wouldn�t be lecturing Harvey on the principles of morality if he was still
alive, and I�m not a child to be lectured to. I know what it�s like to
lose someone close to me�to talk to him before he died. And you want us to just
sit back and lose more and more people we care about? Is that what you want,
Bruce?! Because I�m not letting it happen any more!�
She was shouting, then, tears
pricking at the corners of her eyes, her brain pounding against her skull with
the exertion of every word that poured through her lips like fluid acid to
sting and burn and damage the man before her. Bruce stared at her with a look
that was indescribable; he pulled himself to his feet, straightening his crisp
jacket and tie, and after a short, tense silence, began to walk towards the
door,
�I�m sorry you feel that way,
Rachel. I�m sorry that Batman failed you.�
Rachel sat there, inert and still,
her lips pursed, immense guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders like lead
despite the sickening satisfaction that pulsed inside of her like a living,
purring animal. Both fought for control, the living, thriving smugness and
heavy, suffocating guilt, so overwhelming at that moment she felt as if she
were being torn apart with every passing second. As Bruce pulled the door
opened, and began to walk across the threshold from her apartment to the
outside world, Rachel felt as if he were tearing himself away from her forever.
�Bruce�� She whispered dryly to the
air, yet he slammed the door behind her with such force she doubted he had even
heard the silent plea from within her.
oOo
The phone was ringing.
Rachel had drifted at some point in
time, had succumbed to a mid-morning nap; she knew this when she pulled herself
heavily from the darkness of her couch and felt across the wooden desk nearby
for the shrill, leaping cell phone at her side. Judging by the light that still
drenched the floor gratuitously through the blinded windows, it was
mid-afternoon, still a good hour before Harvey�s funeral. Her head pounded as
if she had knocked out with illegal drugs to her system, her mind still groggy
as she picked up the persistent phone and pulled it to her face, fighting back
a yawn. She didn�t even care if it was Bruce on the other line; she just wanted
the damn phone to shut up and let her sleep a little longer.
The name that flashed at her across
the screen made her heart drop and her fatigue die away.
Harvey Dent.
Her breath caught in her throat as
the phone continued to ring, persistently, adamantly, its screaming voice
jarring her aching brain, winding chills through her twisting spine, reducing
her stomach to liquid in all her horrified panic. Was she dreaming? Was this a
sick joke?
The dread settled in a knot along
the pit of her stomach as she pushed any tempting thoughts away�that it really was
the man whose funeral was in mere hours, whose
name blinked rapidly across the screen, causing her cell to vibrate and scream
and shudder as if possessed. It seemed as if it would never stop unless she
answered. She had frozen still for at least a solid minute, the name boring
into her sight and dizzying her with all its implications.
It was only when Rachel pulled the
phone to her ear that she realized she had been violently shaking.
�Hello?�
Her voice was scratchy, quivering.
She didn�t expect the shrill,
piercing laughter on the other end.
�Good morning, sleeee-ping beyooo-ty!
I thought you�d never answer your goddamn phone�I would have had to pay
you a visit myself!�
Her heart sank; she felt her knees
turn to liquid, dragging her body down into the couch. For a moment Rachel�s
eyes flicked from the wall before her towards the door of her apartment, as if
the voice on the other end would barge through at any moment, as if he were
watching her through the peephole, waiting for his chance to invade and attack.
The thought caused her to shudder, though the dormant hatred pricked at the
edges of her flesh in needles as the Joker taunted her.
Bracing herself, she dug her free
fingers into her palm, the force biting through skin and leaving
crescent-shaped marks red with blood that sent adrenaline through her system,
�I see you�re not only a murderer,
but a thief too.�
An amused chuckle on the other line,
followed rapidly by a high-pitched response,
�Well then, a murderer? I guess that
makes the two of us.�
The anger that bubbled against her
spine and ran along the back of her neck felt as if it would tear her apart as
she pressed the phone hard against her ear,
�I don�t understand what the fuck
you�re talking about. I told you, your mind-games don�t work with me.�
An exaggerated pause, only to be followed
by a whistle of mock awe,
�Ooh, and
you�re just as feisty and violent as you are in person! But I guess
you�d have to be, seeing as how vicious you really are underneath that
pretty exterior. Why, you almost blew me apart the other night�and you would
have succeeded, too, if it wasn�t for the Bat having rudely interrupted
us! Well, and your teeny little fainting spell
as well��
Rachel could hear the sarcasm
dripping with each word he spoke through his cracked, scarred lips; she could
imagine him now, his reptilian tongue snaking through his red maw in
animalistic hunger for her retort, his eyes burning with savage amusement at
her expense. She could tear the phone apart with the strength in which she
gripped it, could even hang up and fling it into the wall�yet a part of her
didn�t want to budge, not in the slightest. A part of her wanted to talk
to the sick bastard.
�To think,� He continued mercilessly,
his voice lower in an almost conspiratorial whisper, �If Batman knew how
you never seem to keep yourself composed around me! Tied up, fainting�I
must really know how to please a woman, don�t I? Maybe even better than
your precious little Harvey, I�m sure he was too self-absorbed to give you any fun
in the first place��
�Shut up and tell me what you want!�
She hissed, her voice so loud she was sure those on
the street through her window could hear her.
A loud, satisfied cackle and
whooping burst from the other end of the phone, so intense she could hear
crackling on the other end,
�I just wanted to continue our enchanting
little conversation the night before. You know, our little bond session, our heart-to-heart.
To think we were making some progress in being good friends before the
Batman showed up and wanted you all to himself! Now that�s just rude,
and I feel cheated. I want us to� talk some more, one-on-one, somewhere where
we can�t be disturbed.�
Rachel wanted to scream. She wanted
to pull the bastard through the phone itself (if it were at all possible) and
kill him right there. Did he think her that stupid? His mockery made her
seethe as she retorted sharply,
�And what if I don�t want
to?�
A quick pause, then, as if she had
managed to unnerve him; he spoke casually, confidently, completely unfazed by
her words of defiance,
�Well then, I�ll just have to
drop by a certain dearly beloved�s sending off and look for you myself. And to
think you were over him so fast, with that man in your apartment earlier
today��
She actually gasped; a chill ran
down her spine as she pulled herself to her feet, at a loss for words. He knew
where she lived. He had been watching her! A hideously excited
cackle burst from the other end of the line, strong and forceful in all its
vicious mirth,
�Don�t worry, there�s no fun
in ending our little friendship too soon! I won�t violate you�well, at
least your home.�
Rachel could feel him smiling, the
slippery red grin oozing into her body as if penetrating her,
�You�re a sick bastard. Leave Bruce out of this.�
The clicking of a tongue in a �tsk-tsk� noise, as if he were scolding her,
�Ah-ah-ah, you are a naughty
girl, aren�t you? Entertaining a guest in the middle of the morning and then
telling me who not to play with?! Why I think I have to play with
him now, just because you don�t want me to�and I can think of some very
fun games to play.�
She couldn�t take this anymore.
Rachel leapt to her feet, staring wildly about her once-peaceful living room,
her body tense as she ran to the door and checked the locks again and again,
�Damn it, if you want to talk to me,
then talk to me, just don�t hurt Bruce! Do whatever
you want to me, not him!�
A low chuckle; suggestive, now,
dripping with perversion. The high-pitched voice was overly husky, almost
rasping,
�Whatever I want? I like the
sound of that, I like it�alo-tuh. Oh,
but don�t worry! I�ll be seeing you very soon, in less than�oh, an hour now�and
then we can all play! Until then, beautiful!�
Sadistic laughter tore at her
eardrums, caused her to wince as the line suddenly shut, the hollow noise
ringing through her head as she pressed her cellular snug against her hip,
allowing it to dig into her flesh. For a moment the dread took hold of her, and
she panicked; her fingers swiftly dialed Bruce�s number, tongue held between
teeth, fists clutched.
One ring, two�
No one answered.
Rachel swore and shut it quickly,
struggling to regain her composure and think.
After a moment, she knew what she
had to do. She couldn�t tell Bruce�she wouldn�t let his absence from the
funeral and Batman�s sudden appearance cause the Joker to deduce his identity,
but what if the Joker did try to hurt him, or had gotten to him
already�? Swearing frantically, Rachel ran to retrieve her keys, stowing them
away in the pocket of an overcoat she swung rapidly about her shoulders. She
couldn�t just sit here, not when the funeral was suddenly so close, not
when she knew it would be ravaged by the loss of lives again�because of her own
stupidity.
Without another thought, she forced
her door open and shut it quickly, knowing she would be at least an hour early
for her late fianc�e�s funeral�but in her mind, it could already be an hour too
late.

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