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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.

Chapter List
- 5
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- 7
Dark
Humor
Six
Justice
is balance.
--Ra�s
Al Ghul

�Hey,
you.�
It sounded pathetic coming from her
lips, but as Rachel stared down at Bruce�s moon-pale face against the equally
white sheets of his bed, laying her fingers upon a scarred cheek, it was the
only thing she could really say. He responded with a quiet grunt at first,
opening his eyes lazily to gaze up at her�then, with dawning consciousness and
recognition, a smile tugged at his handsome features.
She bit back a laugh as Bruce moved
himself upwards, as if making to hug her, and frowned at the realization that
he was hooked to hospital equipment. Even when he was injured, he still tried
to be the powerful one�the damn showoff. God, she had missed him so much
in those horrific hours she thought she had lost him. If Rachel were younger,
more na�ve, perhaps, she would be crying right now, yet she knew better. Her
heart was too hard at that point; and anyway, crying in front of the Batman
seemed a tad childish when the thought crossed her mind.
Instead of struggling against his
bonds, Bruce settled for a fleetingly calm smile,
�Hey, Rach.�
He was probably sedated, he seemed
so peaceful. When was the last time he had called her Rach?
She mirrored his grin despite
herself, hovering over his still frame with her arms crossed casually before
her,
�It�s about time you woke up. You
were worrying us.�
He rolled his eyes playfully,
innocence bursting from each movement he made.
Like a child.
He seemed so vulnerable, then�a child vigilante, so secure in his undying hope for
the world. In the hope that she had once had, just as strongly as his own, before it died away within a week. Maybe she
hadn�t quite believed in the world as much as she would have liked to admit.
But when he spoke again, she felt compelled for one moment to share his
beliefs, his playfulness, his naivety, if only because
she had just been so close to losing him.
�Please. A few�flesh wounds aren�t
enough to bring me down. You know that.�
He was rustling against the sheets
of his hospital bed as he spoke, as if struggling to find a comfortable
position. She could see the restless twitch in his eyes, could read his extreme
aversion to being held captive in this room under caretakers that were not
Alfred, something he would have openly disputed had his wounds not hindered his
consciousness. Rachel fought the urge to stare at his torso, where she knew the
wound that could have nearly killed him lay, wrapped up beneath layers of
bandages.
Would it simply become a long scar,
another in the vast collection of the canvas of pain and never healing wounds
that was the body of Bruce Wayne�of the Batman? When would there be a time when
one of those wounds was final, never able to be sealed by artificial means,
bleeding forever until Batman was bled dry?
She didn�t want to know. She didn�t
want to have to know.
�Yeah,� Rachel lied jovially, her
eyes meeting his, drawing some sort of comfort from his steady gaze in only the
way his gaze could, �I know, Bruce. I know.�
She reached out and clasped his hand
tightly, as if wanting to feel the substance of him, the solid mass that was
his body, intact and alive.
�How much longer are you going to
stay here?� She asked him quietly, knowing the answer before he said it.
Predictably, he took her worried
face in and smiled again, reassuringly,
�Tomorrow morning, then I�m gone.�
�Bruce, you mean to recover for a week
in your mansion?�
Her words were skeptical, and he
could sense it. She had her head turned, if only so she wouldn�t have to see
the pang of guilt in his face at her immense worry,
�You know I can�t sit still for a
week. Not when we have lunatics running across Gotham, without anyone to
protect it.�
Goddamn his stubbornness.
She sighed wearily, her fingers
tightening on Bruce�s hand. He was being ridiculous, but she was accustomed to
it. It was only when she had actually seen him as weak, in a state near death,
that she had taken her desire to persuade him to be rational more seriously.
�Bruce, you didn�t have to protect
me earlier tonight. You could have gotten out of this unharmed.�
Bruce�s soft smile faded; he watched
her now with a more penetrating stare than before, as if struggling in vain to
read her thoughts. Rachel�s head was turned, yet she felt him burning through
her, felt his guilt in rippling waves. It wasn�t right for a man as wounded as
he to feel guilt for something that had already passed between them, despite
how much it jarred their relationship when she was reminded of it.
The
fact that he betrayed you in wanting to save Harvey.
But he didn�t betray her�it
was only the logical choice, wasn�t it? Gotham�s welfare taken into account, mind
over heart�
And you still wish he wouldn�t have
come for you. So who is there to blame?
�Rachel, look at me.�
She hesitated; yet after a long
pause, her eyes met his. She couldn�t hold his stare for long. It had always
been hard and glittering and filled with emotion, but now it stung her to look
at him, at the thin scars that decorated his cheeks, eventually to dissolve
into white traces of their present ugly gashes, at the hope that still marred
his eyes like the deadliest of wounds on his crumbling being.
Rachel could predict the words that
would flow from his mouth, jumbled together almost incoherently from the
turbulence in his mind. Bruce had never been one to be eloquent in his speech,
regardless of his high status and billionaire-playboy reputation. He may be
smooth in some topics of conversation, but when it came to voicing his
emotions, it hurt her to think of the way he would strain himself.
�Let�s forget about what happened.�
She stared at him in genuine
surprise, watching him struggle to explain his course of actions in seeking to
save Harvey, and failing. But he shouldn�t explain himself�it was too
painful to speak of, to linger on, especially during chaotic times like these.
And anyway�why would he logically save her, if she was so�expendable?
Stop thinking like that, damn it.
Why torture yourself when a psychopath has already been screwing with you and
your life?
But it was difficult not to,
especially with the full weight of Bruce�s stare crushing her.
�Forget?� She found herself asking,
a little grin playing on her lips, �Forget what, now? I remember nothing
from the time I walked in, Bruce. Don�t be silly.�
She did it for his expense, even
when her heart still stung from the previous�events she had experienced. It was
hard to forget when the guilt still swam behind Bruce�s dark eyes, when her
memories haunted her as strong as if they were solid and real, when Harvey
still haunted the back of her mind, ultimately gone and destroyed, never to
return.
She wasn�t going to lose Bruce, too.
She wasn�t going to let her life collapse in on itself, taking others� with it.
The gun was heavy in her pocket, now; Rachel welcomed the feeling, knowing soon
she would be rid of its weight.
�I guess I�m going to let you rest,
now. Don�t strain yourself. I�ll see you tomorrow.�
With a quick, chaste kiss upon her
friend�s forehead�not for Batman, but for Bruce, who lay deep beneath
the vigilante�s healing body, she turned on her heel and began to walk out.
Bruce�s hand shot ‑�out to grab her elbow, squeezing it quickly as she
walked away and forced herself to shoot a small smile over her shoulder.
But as she walked through the
doorway, she paused at the frame, doubting he could hear the question that had
plagued her all night,
�Who�s going to protect you when you
need it the most?�
oOo
As she shut and bolted the door to
her apartment, she seriously began to question her sanity. Rachel pulled the
gun from her overcoat, gazing intently at its sleek surface, wondering exactly
how the morning would play out. She was exhausted, however�too exhausted to
indulge in such grandeur thoughts as living or dying, of ending Gotham�s
suffering, of Bruce�s pain.
In one hand, she dug out her cell
phone, throwing it carelessly upon a desk. She would need it tomorrow to call
Harvey�s phone which the Joker had maliciously stolen, would need it to bring
him to her for their long-awaited �chat.� She would use her gun like a coward,
she knew, because although she had stood up to many tense situations before,
she knew the Joker was manipulative and smart, not some stupid thug out to
claim her life.
She couldn�t afford to talk to him
for long; she was afraid of the repercussions. It wasn�t her body�
She was afraid for her mind.
With a sigh, Rachel changed from her
tattered black outfit to a simple nightgown, double and triple-checking the
bolted door for consistency. Everything was in order, as she pressed the gun
securely to her chest, hugging it like a teddy bear, and settled into her small
bed. She was safe as long as she wanted to be, at least for tonight.
When she finally drifted off into
sleep, she didn�t expect it to be an extremely short one.
oOo
�Hello, sunshine. It�s about
time. I�ve been wai-ting.�
Rachel was sprawled across the couch
when she heard the voice.
She froze completely, momentarily
blind in the pitch blackness of her apartment, yet her eyes managed to make out
the shape of the intruder directly across the couch from where she sat. How did
she get to her living room? Her limbs stiffened in instinctive panic yet she
jerked them to life as she rapidly scrabbled to her knees and narrowed her eyes
at the dark shape.
His words were a mere whisper, yet
they still held that constant tone of something else, something unsettlingly
abnormal. It was as if she could feel the madness quivering within that
carefully controlled voice, constantly on the verge of erupting in accordance
with his bloodlust. She hadn�t expected him to come now, not when she would
have called him in the morning, when she would have been ready, prepared�
That�s not how he plays his games,
stupid.
Her fingers darted to either side of
her, searching the couch rapidly for her gun, cursing a trail beneath her
breath. It was then that she heard a clatter on the ground; saw the magazines
sprawled across the floor, the dismantled pistol in the figure�s hands as he
flipped it from palm to palm, as if weighing it, appraising it. Panic bit at
the edges of her body, yet she refused to allow it to seep through and distort
her judgment. She refused to care that her gun was on the ground again, just
like before, refused to give into the weakness
he was crippling her with.
�You could have called, so I�d be
able to welcome you, at least.�
Rachel was surprised at the solid
substance of her voice; almost sarcastic, almost hostile. He raised his head,
his face blotted out by the abysmal darkness, yet she could sense the grin that
stretched across those scarred lips, taunting and amused.
Like I�m a barking dog before its owner
strikes it. Like a child, talking out of turn.
No, that wasn�t how it was going to
be. She wasn�t going to be the lesser of the two, especially when he was in her
apartment, struggling as always to make her afraid. To be
in control.
It seemed an eternity before he
replied,
�Well, where�s the fun in that?
You�re so rude, you know, planning on shooting your guests�it�s a wonder why
you�re so, ah�pop-u-lar around the most
powerful men in Gotham these days, with that violent streak. I can only imagine
how you entertain your�lovers.�
His brows rose in the darkness, and
she prayed he wouldn�t see the way her face twisted at his mocking retort, the
way her hand trembled with the urge to strike him. Was he armed? Of course
he was; she couldn�t be that stupid to think he wouldn�t have his endless array
of knives in his pockets, his mind a weapon in itself. Slowly, as if bracing
for the bite of a snarling dog, Rachel found herself pushing towards the side
of the couch, if only to place a bit more distance between the two of them.
It didn�t seem to work; she could
see, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, his penetrating gaze, watching her
consistently, relentlessly. It made her feel dirty, violated, like an object.
Self-consciously, she hugged her arms across her chest, the delayed anger
sparking within her yet again in response to his presence.
�That�s none of your business, is
it?� She replied curtly, her irritation affecting the rising inflection in her
voice, �Besides, you�ve been running around massacring all the men in my life,
so it�s not like I have any options left.�
He pretended to consider this,
pausing for a moment as he pulled out a short knife, twisting it from side to
side with slow, steady movements. For a moment Rachel thought she could see
herself in the reflection of the knife�s gleaming edge, obviously sharpened
with obscene care.
�True, but I�m afraid you�ll
have to�thank me, for making your life a little more exciting. For
making you feel a bit more�a-live.�
As he spoke, his knife twisted in
her direction, a movement that was threatening despite the distance between
them. A lump grew in Rachel�s throat as she stood her ground against his
mockery, his one-sided logic. She wondered if she would have enough strength in
her to lunge forward and turn the knife on him, yet she wasn�t a fool; he
probably anticipated this, probably welcomed it.
How much longer could she extend her
lifespan by simple small-talk? As long as he was the initiator, as long as she
feigned interest in his senseless, insane babbling�
�What are you talking about? You�ve
only made it worse. You�ve made me��
Her mouth shut forcefully as the
word lingered on her lips, as if she were saying too much.
What was she going to say, despite
herself?
Angry? Violent? Vengeful?
Spiteful? Want to kill you?
The Joker�s head cocked to one side,
lolling almost lazily against his shoulder, obviously rapt with attention to
every word that came from his tortured subject�s lips.
Or maybe he�s trying to figure out
which side of my face to carve first.
�Made you what? If anything,
I�d say I brought you out of hiding.�
A smug smirk formed a cut upon his
face, fresh and red and bloody in the lack of light. The lipstick almost glowed
with the simplicity of his words, words which propelled her to throw herself forward if only to end the talk and commence the
slaughter.
My
slaughter, rather than his, because I�m
the unarmed one.
�I�m not hiding from anyone,� She
replied stupidly, her voice a whisper. It was an automatic reaction, some sort
of defense mechanism�utterly foolish in front of such a twisted being, but
still instinctively there, if only to defend herself against his barrage
of accusations.
Her words aroused a giggle; low and
drawn and amused. The knife in his hands gleamed as he ran it across the
leather of her couch arm, scratching long lines across its body.
Impulse, or planned intimidation?
There was no use in trying to figure
it out�the Joker was a goddamned mystery in everything but his need to kill.
�Really? You�re not? You�re not hiding behind that stupid title,
pretending you don�t want to jump from that couch and strangle me this
very second? You�re not..pretending to enforce
your useless high, moral ethics every single day of your life,
when you�ve almost shot me down�twice, now?�
His voice grew more intense as he
spoke, the undertone of constant aggression like the hissing of that snake so
deeply coiled between her ribs at that very moment. He thirsted to hurt, to
inflict pain, just as she wanted to hurt him right then. The thought
repulsed her, disgusted her�yet she couldn�t deny the parallel urge in his
eyes, if more sadistic, more blind and reckless for the madman.
Rachel�s fingers bit the leather of
her furniture as he continued toying with his knife, carving with a steady hand
as if it were flesh. She could see the restraint within the gloved digits, the
careful exertion of exact pressure to as not to pierce through the object and
tear it apart. It was something he had learned with practice, with skin
rather than stronger leather, something much more easily breakable.
�I have a right to want to kill
you.�
Why was it so difficult to make
herself sound a little more sane in front of
him? Her words burned as they left her throat, sharp enough to cut the air with
her tongue alone. But she couldn�t help it; maybe it was the lingering
dementia, maybe it was her situation at the moment, of being a fucking
captive in her own room. Maybe it was the still-painful loss of Harvey that
tore her apart with every forceful breath she took. She couldn�t help but be
vicious, angry, chaotic.
The knife stopped as it curved
upwards to leave more white scars against the leather. In the blink of an eye,
its tip stabbed through the arm, the impossibly sharp point wrenched deeply
through the surface. She almost expected to hear a scream, to see blood gush
from an opened wound. The gloved hands pulled themselves away from the sharp
object for a moment, folding with surprising calm across his lap.
It frightened her the most when he
was calm. For some reason, it was much easier to shout and verbally argue with
criminals, especially the sadistic ones, even to be battered by them physically,
than to endure the unresponsive calm this man relentlessly emitted. Calmness
meant he was not threatened in the least; it meant he saw himself as in the
utmost position of power. It meant he was gathering strength, it meant that all
the violence and aggression was boiling within him, to the point of unwanted
explosion.
He was in his element, even now. She
was playing into his hands, and she couldn�t help it.
Maybe justice is equal to insanity,
and he�s been the sane one, all along.
Dark mirth flooded her body,
threatened to burst from her lips in sadistic, bitter laughter. She wanted to
scream against the urge, knowing her helplessness was what offset this panic,
her aggression was what quenched his thirst, what satisfied him. Helpless again. It was almost redundant.
He disrupted her thoughts as his
head cocked lazily in the opposite direction, and his eyes bored throughout her
in the darkness, two holes of night threatening to devour her.
�Oh, you have every right to
want to kill me, Rachel. I�and every-one else who made you suffer. Now,
my question is��
He was leaning forward in her seat,
the abysmal eyes looming closer, the snake-like tongue flicking outward
momentarily as he spoke,
��Why don�t you? Why don�t
you just kill the people most responsible for your�Smarvey�s
death, why don�t you bring them your warped little sense of just-ice,
because we know Gordon will refuse to? Why don�t you just get up and
kill me right now� if that�s what you really want?�
Unbidden, the provocation jerked
life into her limbs. As if on his command, Rachel found herself standing from
her position on the couch, eyeing him warily as he continued to sit, as if
unfazed by her movements.
A snake,
coiled and ready to attack.
She had no weapons. Her eyes darted
to the knife wedged along his side for a moment, and he followed her gaze and
chuckled harshly,
�That�s not how you play the game,
girl. You want�to fool me, don�t you? To make me think you�re
less of a defenseless little toy than you actually are?�
The words bit her, sharp and
venomous. Her eyes narrowed and she could see his smile widening in the
darkness, a glowing jack-o-lantern against the night. She was walking, for some
reason; contemplating on whether to take his words seriously, on whether to
actually try and hurt him when his knife lay right next to him, when he
could reach over and stab her before she could blink her eyes.
Trap. Of course.
It�s always a fucking trap.
�Why didn�t you tie me up?� Her
voice echoed across the room as she stared at the sitting figure before her
with growing suspicion and wariness.
Another
chuckle from the darkness, as if it had come from nowhere.
�Why would I tie up my host�unless
you preferred it that way?� She could imagine the Joker quirking his
brow, a smile playing on his lips, �But I don�t need to tie you up to have a
chat, do I? No, not for someone as violent as you,
someone who reminds me so much of myself. No, you�d be
less�cooperative in your restraints.�
�I�m nothing like you,� She
whispered in a low, scathing hiss.
An amused
giggle. His black eyes seemed to shine.
�Oh, is that so? Let me tell you
something, Miss Dawes. Gordon and the Bat wouldn�t kill me if
they had the chance, but you�you live for it! This is the only reason
you have to live since your dear old Harvey died, your sick, twisted
little ob-sess-ion, and don�t lie and say
otherwise. I can read people better than they can read themselves. And
you�re just dying to do it right now, aren�t you?�
No. He wanted her to nod her head,
yet she stood there, unresponsive, realizing he would take her silence as an
assent as well. The giggle intensified into a cackle, one of deep, immense
entertainment,
�I�ve got Gotham in the palm of my hand,
you know,� He reminded her casually, placing his arms behind his head and
leaning into the couch, �There isn�t a person who doesn�t fear me, who
doesn�t�loathe me in that horribly wonderful way in which they all want
to make me bleed.�
Pure pleasure coated his voice like
sugar; he was practically cooing, the way he spoke, and Rachel could
only stand and listen, for once transfixed on this man�s sadistic words. He
continued after a short pause, raising his head to gaze straight at her�she
turned her head away, staring resolutely down at the carpet where her
dismantled gun lay, and he giggled at her reaction,
�I love that, the way they
try to pretend they�re not like�us. Not at our level. But give them
a�a�� He gestured down at the battered pistol lying in a black mark against the
carpet, ��a gun, or a knife, and see how much they�d love to make
me squirm! Does that go with justice, with the Gotham way, miss D.A.?�
He was wagging a finger at her now,
the taunting edge to his voice, as if daring her to contradict what he spoke
with such astonishing honesty. Because his words rang with such startling
clarity in her head, because it disgusted her so immensely to find herself
almost�agreeing with him, she began to lose her careful composure,
allowing the anger to affect her to all the Joker�s
delight,
�I�m nowhere near your level,
and neither is the rest of Gotham! We don�t go around killing just for the fun
of it, we don�t torment each other and torture and��
She knew her argument was worthless
even when she began to speak. How could she reason with a madman? How could she
try and win this useless verbal rapport when this night would end in blood,
whether it be hers or�much less possibly�his?
�Oh, but you do. Mentally,
you all do�I just don�t�inhibit myself. I don�t live by rules, because
the only sensible way is living without rules. You know how they
restrain you, beautiful�you know right now by the look on your face, the way
you want to slice me open with my knife and make me just shut up, don�t
you?!�
His words were a near-shout, ending
with a loud, long torrent of laughter. He was reading her mind, reading it
through the way her hands were balled against her hips, the way her lip
quivered, the way her eyes burned with the lingering image of him still alive
before her.
�No,� She found herself almost
crying stubbornly, uselessly arguing, if only to retain those morals that even
now, even she acknowledged as rapidly crumbling before her when she
tried her hardest to keep them solid, �No, that�s not true! I�m not at
your level because I don�t kill,and
I don�t want��
�No? No?!�
A burst of cackling erupted from his mouth, so loud she was frightened the
entire apartment building would awaken, �But you just said you wanted to
kill me! Oh, you make no sense, Rachel, with your self-contradictions
and your stupid stubborn morals that you don�t even fucking believe
in anymore! All of that shit�all of it died when Harvey died, don�t you
see? Gotham never had morals. All it had was a fake shell of hope, a
chain of human lives that they just fucking sacrifice over and over to
try and justify themselves, to try and prove that they�re not all animals, that
they�re just being victimized��
His excitement was so intense his
voice was shaking, a gloved hand gripping the blade of his knife with such
tightness she watched as the skin cut into it, red blooming across the white
like blood in milk. She was backing away, ever so slowly, struggling with all
her strength to distance herself as far as possible without alerting him to her
actions. It was the fear that made her do it, so human and flawed and prevailing
with every word from his lips.
�That�s not true,� she repeated
again; stupidly, mechanically, like a little sheep, �You�re lying�you�re�you�re
craz��
�Crazy?!� He screamed the word, and in an instant he was on his feet,
the couch upturned against the ground, the knife in his bloodied hand. His
chest was heaving, and she was still backing away, through her living room and
into the kitchen, her eyes wide and her breath heavy.
The fear stained the air, making it
tense and suffocating; he seemed to enjoy it, as he walked slowly forwards, the
stretching grin intensified by his deep scars,
�I�m. Not. Crazy.
I�m the sanest one in Gotham!�
He was walking towards her, his
knife in hand; she hit her back against her kitchen table, swearing at the
familiarity of it, of being trapped again after backing away�goddamn d�j�
vu. He chuckled as she gripped the edges of the object that hindered her,
realizing just as she did the cruel irony of the situation. Then, he was
grabbing her, his speed surprisingly swift�like a snake, and now I can�t
escape�and she was in his strong grip as if coiled, trapped, his hand
squeezing at the delicate muscles in her face, fingers roughly digging into her
jaw.
Rachel was staring straight up at
him, the rage intensifying, imagining Bruce in the exact same grip, watching the Joker�s sadistically amused face and the
budding thirst mirror exactly what had crossed it earlier. She wouldn�t let him
cut her up; somehow, she wouldn�t let him see the fear that flickered across
her face, jerking her limbs with every throbbing pulse of her heart in her
throat.
�Listen to me, Rach-el. I don�t like�restraining you like
this, myself. But you�ve brought it upon yourself, like you always do.�
Naughty girl, his voice taunted soundlessly, you deserve to be
punished for your disobedience.
His bloodied finger caressed her lip
for a moment, smearing the fluid from his own wound along her mouth. Rachel
opened her mouth slightly and wildly thought of biting him; but he saw it in
her eyes, withdrew the finger and raised her head so
her neck was exposed. Another bloodied digit traced along her throat, leaving
another smatter of red like an imprint upon her skin,
�I know what you�re thinking
right now�you want to fight me, to hurt me. And I can�t fathom why
you don�t DO IT!�
His angry shout filled the room as
her head connected with the wall behind her; with a sharp crack she was sliding
down towards the floor, her back arched against the cabinets and drawers, her
eyes blurred with tears of pain and pure hatred. She was pulling herself to her
knees, scrabbling frantically, struggling as she heard his footsteps�yet he was
on top of her, now, straddling her, and when she twisted her head up to
look at him he was leering down with his painted grin, her hair in his hands.
Just like before.
�Now really, what does it
take to convince you that your morals aren�t going to stop me?! That maybe if
your legal system had killed off the mob all this time, your beloved
little Har-vey would still be alive? That if
the Bat wasn�t so pathetically fucking weak��
He finished his sentence with the
point of his knife against her jugular, his shaking laughter causing it to
spasm wildly. Its tip stung as it bit against her skin,
��I wouldn�t be about to kill you
right now.�
He was pushing forward�about to
break the flesh, penetrate the vein. The panic rose
and possessed her and she couldn�t let this happen, not like this.
He was flicking his wrist, a giggle
against his upturned, scarred mouth. Rachel shut her eyes and braced herself�
And then she kneed him in the groin.
He collapsed on top of her, yet she
was quick enough to roll to the side, pulling herself to her feet and grabbing
frantic hold of the closest knife from the sink on her counter. Her hands shook
as he pulled himself, growling, to his knees, gazing at her from the corner of
his eye. For a sickening moment she was stunned to see him smiling, almost
delirious in the ecstasy upon his painted face,
�Now we�re talking.�
He pulled himself to his feet and
lunged for her.
Rachel was fast despite the aching
in the back of her head; she sidestepped him as he swiped at her with his
dagger, again, licking his lips with open hunger, his eyes wide and lusting
beyond reason,
�Doesn�t this make you feel powerful,
Rachel, the fact that you can stab me any second?! Isn�t it exhilarating?�
She held the knife readily in her
hand, disgusted at the way it filled her body with adrenaline, at the way she
was envisioning exactly where to stab with her instinctual urge for self-defense,
even as he circled her like a voracious predator, his eyes more deadly than any
carnivorous animal she could ever encounter.
But this was it. She was so
close, so close to ending all of this. She couldn�t answer him because she
didn�t know how to respond�yes frightened her, yet it was what she ached
to say, and he could see it as transparent as glass upon her tormented face. He
was shaking with impatience, now, in the subtle twitch of the way he held his
knife, and she gripped hers more tightly in response.
It was then that her doorbell rang.
Her eyes widened, she was taken
aback in surprise�the Joker�s leer deepened at the noise, and he watched her
expectantly, that disfigured grin on his lips,
�Now I wonder who that is,
hmm? Who could it be in the middle of the night?�
�Rachel?!� The voice screamed on the other end of the door, the
pounding harder, almost frantic.
Her fingers trembled against the
knife; the Joker�s own grip seemed to slacken, the flint of his soulless eyes
glinting with renewed mirth.
It was Ramirez on the other end, and
she was breaking in.
Rachel watched from the corner of
her eye as her door began to burst opened on its hinges, the lock crumbling
under the strength of a few penetrating bullets. Her knife still steady, she
found herself backing away again, a reflex not unnoticed by the Joker�s cruel,
barking laugh. God, that stupid girl couldn�t come in now, not when
there was a psychotic killer on the loose in her fucking apartment.
�Now�now�s not the best time! Go
away! Please!� Her voice choked frantically, stupidly, as she glared at
the Joker�s smug face with crumbling resolve.
Yet the door broke open, anyway, and
Ramirez burst into her home, staring wildly about the darkness with her gun
before her. She saw both Rachel and the Joker in that instant, her face
contorted in some strange, unreadable expression�
And she pointed her gun straight at
Rachel.

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