Monsters

Helllooooo lovelies, so sorry this has yet again taken me ages - chapters will be a little slower coming along as I have a few other writing projects I should be working on. Never fear, there shall be more filth soon :D.

N.B. IMPT I realised whilst re-reading a chapter that I had written the wrong name at one point - so just so this chapter doesn't make any sense, it was KARLOF that the Joker killed after they had left Yentov's, not Yentov himself.

Anyways, enjoy! XX
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‘Jim.... Jim, sweetheart, where are you going?’

Commissioner Gordon was used to the strained look on his wife’s pretty face, the worry lines that trailed around her mouth. It didn’t make it hurt any less when he saw her look at him that way. He gave her a gentle smile, squeezing her arm reassuringly.

‘I’m just going out for a cigarette Helen.’ He said softly, the hum of the cartoon the kids were watching intermingling with the sound of traffic passing by through the open windows. His wife gave him a long, weary look. Her husband didn’t smoke, but she knew what this meant all the same. She squeezed the hand that touched her arm between both hands, before bringing it to her mouth and giving it a lingering kiss. ‘Ok. Be careful.’ She whispered finally.

He wanted to tell her he didn’t need to be careful. But of course he couldn’t. He was lucky that Helen had respected his decision to still confer with the Batman at all. He had always known she would find out. He couldn’t ever hide anything from her, and it had been a long running joke between them that she had just as advanced deductive skills as he did. She would have made a fine detective he thought wryly as he stepped out the front door of their small flat.

At the top of the fire escape, he waited. He was sometimes tempted to take up smoking just so he would have something to do with his restless hands, when he waited for Batman to turn up. It was a little less exacting when he didn’t have a neon signal to suggest he wanted the mysterious man’s attention, but whenever something as big as yesterday’s back robbery occurred, he had always appeared eventually. Brief concern shot through Jim’s mind – his men were ordered to fire on sight and apprehend if they saw Batman. What if he had been injured?

The subtle noise behind him would have been negligible to anyone who was not accustomed to black-clad men appearing from nowhere. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he turned and met Batman’s glittering stare.

‘You’re not hurt?’ he asked cautiously, eyes scanning the dark to see any sign of discomfort, any stiff posture about the man before him. All the admiration and respect that had once been blatant between them now run cold beneath the veneer of all that the everyday world required of them.

‘No. Your men are good, but....’ He said gruffly, not moving from the shadows.

‘But, you’re better.’ Gordon completed for him, smiling wryly. Batman did not respond to this, simply watching.

‘We managed to secure the hostages with a hoist. The majority of them were in hospital overnight, but most of them have been released. What did you make of....?’

‘The writing outside? “Sally”? Why don’t you tell me?’ Batman interrupted in a low growl. Gordon gave him a long, cautious stare and then exhaled deeply.

‘Sally Gore. She was there with him on the day that he broke into Gotham County...’

‘I know. But she wasn’t there yesterday. Who is she?’ His tone suggested he was a man who had been looking for answers to this question and had found none.

Gordon sighed and shrugged broadly. ‘Honestly? We didn’t know much until very recently. Sally Gore, aged 26, lived in Gotham all her life. Record has only ever included vagrancy and prostitution – until about a week ago. Lieutenant Suarez went over to Central in relation to a girl his boys picked up in a room full of corpses. Called in to the station about two hours later saying he wanted all the cold cases of knife murders in The Narrows over the last TEN YEARS dredged up...’

Gordon threw a folder down next to the shadows where his companion lurked.

‘He never came back to the station. ‘

Batman flipped open the folder and surveyed the report and photos within it with a severe expression hardening his features.

‘He was found two days ago floating along the river with a screwdriver in his throat. Wounds to the chest and stomach too. Sally Gore’s fingertips all over it. And one of these....’ Gordon took the liberty of stepping up to where Batman stood and turning to a particular picture. ‘In his coat pocket.’

The picture was a Joker card in a baggy, documented for evidence. Written across it in precise print were the words: BAD JOKE???????????????

‘I’m guessing Suarez was on to something.’ Gordon said dryly, squinting in the darkness.

‘Maybe. But it would seem the Joker and Suarez got to her at the same time, and Suarez ended up the worst for it.’
Gordon grunted in agreement. ‘But what about the writing? That’s got to mean something right?’

‘They’re communicating to each other through the News.’

Jim blinked. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Smoke signals. Just because everyone in the whole of Gotham can see her name in fire doesn’t mean we can understand what they’re saying. She’s gone, and he’s talking to her. So we need to see what she has to say back, because if she’s gone, it’s for a reason.’
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It was early morning, but there was plenty of night left as the cold wind cut clarity into her. It was an urgent determined frenzy that gave her the first focus she had known in years. Such a simple thing, such a simple relief, after all of this, all of it, every single second was unravelling and proving worthwhile because it could. Be. Burnt. Everything of the past was expendable, she knew that now, it could be maimed and butchered. She knew what she wanted, and that want was a forest fire within her, propelling that determination in to needle-point intensity.

‘No no, no no no no.....’ she murmured to herself as she looked down at her clothes, and so she slit the skirt in three places with her knife, making long tears up to her mid-thigh. She threw Derek’s jacket away, took the lighter that he had left in an inner pocket, his wallet, and slid them in to the boot that was did not normally carry her knife. The neckline of the long-sleeved top she simply ripped off, slicing material off in a vague V-neck. She ruffled her hair vigorously, licked her finger and dabbed her eyelids to smear the fading eyeshadow, and wandered out of the ink black of the alley, and to the front of the queue.

Hurry hurry hurry hurry, he’s waiting I’m waiting I need this need this, got to hurry, got to prove it....

‘Easy pretty girl, where d’you think you’re going?’

The Bouncer easily shoved her backwards, towering over her with the bored expression of a man who had been dealing with flirtatious attempts to skip entrance fees all evening.

‘Relax sweetie, your boss asked for me. I was meant to be meeting him later, he asked me to turn up here. Thought we might start the... festivities earlier.’ She purred. Close behind her cajoling words she heard her breath and felt the dense concentration of her mind as she watched him intently. Hot anger hit her heart and bit in (Out of my way or I will fucking GUT you you fucking piece of shit) and her face was all smiles, smile and light, happy and cute, harmless and sexy.

‘Sure, sure, whatever lady....’

‘Well why don’t you ask your boss then? Get him out here, sure, you do that baby, just so he can fire you for wasting his fucking time.’ She spat sarcastically, locking his gaze in direct challenge. He met her look and chewed his cheek, keeping his temper. MovemovemoveMOVE.

‘Oh yeah? So what’s our boss’ name wise-ass?’

‘Yentov. I’m a friend of Grace’s, she couldn’t make it tonight so he asked for me.’ She shot back, sugary sweet. There was a scowl, a muttered conference, and then the two behemoths let her through.

Shuddering edges of amassed people in washes of vivid red and black hit her eyes as she forced her way in to the club, the music a bass beat that overtook her heart’s rhythm and re-orchestrated it. She found an opening and began pushing her way into the sweaty throng, delving further in to the noise until it soaked her skin. Her eardrums juddered and the people around her howled, pressing tighter in excitement and delirium. She kept moving even as her senses thrummed with familiar hedonistic enjoyment that was only partially made by these people. She finally shoved her way through the frantic dancers that densely accumulated around the main body of the dancefloor, and found the areas where dancers were more loosely collected. She let her eyes skim the raised platform where the seating area was, and saw the flash of blond hair she needed to.

Luckily, she had always known how to get attention when she wanted it. Ever since she was fourteen she had been informed that it was the only way she could get anything she wanted in life – you got nothing for free, so you might as well tout what you had. It had been so long since she had needed to make the effort though; a whore didn’t have to. She shook her hair out and began moving her hips to the beat, her arms taking on a supple rhythm of their own as she writhed with the music. Her head tipped back and her spine arched, body rippling and thrusting as the music heightened. She let the music soar and let her body do the rest, sweat beginning to bead as the beat got faster and more intense.

When she looked upwards, his gaze was on hers. She smiled, slowly, before turning, hips rocking, fingers entangled in her own hair....

. . .

Pre.Dict.Able.

She had straddled his legs and ground against his hard cock, licking his neck and tasting his cologne as they had ridden the car back to his apartment. And she had been thinking every second about digging her teeth into that neck and tightening, tightening tightening, until blood hit her tongue and flesh split. About the tearing sensation as she wrenched the flesh open...

The bodyguards had been watching of course, their avid eyes checking out her legs, her ass. She had not missed a single thing they had done, her nerves tense strings as she headed into the lift with him, willing herself not to react when his hand groped her ass. It was easy now, butter smooth, and the carpet made her think of the sea and the gleam of the metal doors was a brief fascination...

‘Bet you’ll never have seen an apartment this big baby. Cost me a fortune.’ He insisted, giving her butt a lingering squeeze. She danced out of his grip as the lift opened, giving him a teasing pout. ‘I don’t doubt it, I can’t wait!’ she trilled, slipping an arm around his waist excitedly as they headed down the corridor.

She skipped in laughing when he opened the door, genuine laughter rolling out of her lungs in howling relief. It could have been a hovel in that moment and she would have loved it, because this beautiful space was going to be her playground. She knew in a delicious second that she would own all of this in the next few minutes. Own it to love it burn it destroy it, whatever she wanted.

‘Oh it’s wonderful Yentov baby, it’s gorgeous!’ she exclaimed, flinging her arms around him and kissing his neck. He pretended to indulge this affection good-humouredly – the hard on against her hip belying his indifference a tad – as he looked at his bodyguards.

‘Guys, how about you get us some champagne, hmmm?’ he asked, his look knowing.

‘Oh they can give me a tour! You get yourself ready baby, I’ll be right with you.’ She murmured, flicking her tongue against his bottom lip before bouncing after the two bodyguards.

They were big men, and they would only be in the kitchen for a few minutes. Her eyes darted swiftly around and saw a knife rack at the opposite end of the large tiled space – both men still had their back to her as they entered, talking amongst themselves, ignoring the ditzy whore behind them. She slipped a wine bottle from the wine rack smoothly and swung it like a club, up, round and down upon the man to her right’s head. It impacted with a brutal solid sound, and he slumped like his bones had been removed, collapsing in an instant. Using the momentum of the first blow to swing herself back, she brought the bottle up to hit the other man’s jawline, sending him flying in to the counter with a vicious crunch of glass and teeth mashing, the wet noise of his lip splitting. He went to straighten, eyes groggy, and she smashed the bottle down on his face again, sending him sprawling to the floor, before her knife came out....

. . .

She turned up the music louder, and let her arm trail across the counter, sending pictures and art-deco figurines crashing to the tiled floor. The blood in her veins was trembling, singing, impatient and delighted, but she was moving oh-so slowly. It was oh-so-nearly perfect, getting there, getting there, getting there...

Kicking a figurine clear across the room, she wandered back over to the two unconscious men tied to weighty dining chairs, and rummaged in their pockets until she had their wallets. Patting Yentov lightly on the cheek with his, she leafed through it, removing the large wad of bills before flicking the empty wallet at his face. He stirred, but didn’t wake up, the blood clotting on his forehead glittering in the overhead lights. She was relieved she hadn’t killed him – she had never tried to simply knock someone out before. Folding the money neatly, she went to the nearest window and flung it open, peering up and down the street. Across the road and about ten yards down a tramp was slowly traipsing towards her in the darkness of early morning, head down and feet shuffling, with a bottle between his limp fingertips.

‘Hey...’

The man didn’t even look up.

‘Hey buddy! You, with the beard and the snappy dress sense, up here, look at me!’

Slowly he raised his head, hesitantly. She gave him her best smile, and waved the wad of money at him. His drink-addled eyes widened, and he took a nervous step forward, faltering.

‘Wanna earn some money buddy? Some liquor? I’ve got a little job I need you to do for me...’

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It was morning, but Alfred was unsurprised to not find Master Wayne in bed when he brought him his coffee and breakfast. He took the tray into the living room of the penthouse, and found Bruce training, his skin slick with sweat as he attempted to practise as slowly as possible, muscles bunched with tension.

‘Is the living room really the best place for this Master Wayne? You’re liable to break something.’ Alfred commented dourly, placing the breakfast tray on a side table. Bruce’s posture loosened slightly, and he stepped down from a fighting stance, coming over to the table and pouring the coffee.

‘Would you prefer I practised on the roof?’

‘Well whilst I certainly wouldn’t sir, I’m sure Miss Adderson in the Penthouse across the street would be more than delighted.’
Bruce shot Alfred a sardonic frown of mock-annoyance, turning up the volume on the News as he did.

‘You seem to constantly have the television on at the moment sir. Are you hoping to rot your brain?’

‘That worked when I was ten Alfred, I’m a little less inclined to believe you nowadays. Anyway I’m looking for something.’

‘Something sir?’

‘Yeah.... I just don’t know what yet...’ He said absentmindedly, his eyes narrowing as he flicked channels and a ‘Just In’ news-bulletin flashed over the channels emblem.

‘A homeless man, approximately in his late forties, was seen wandering through Gotham Central Park first thing this morning, pushing a trolley that contained a brutally murdered man. The images you are about to see were taken by a passerby who was in the park with his family.’
Bruce stepped forward, tension beginning to tighten his chest as he put the volume further up.

There was a brief second or two of a young woman’s smiling face, before her face grew slack with shock.

‘Oh my God....’

‘What..? What is it?’ the cameraman asked, swivelling in the direction of the woman’s gaze. When the camera re-orientated its focus, the man cursed quietly under his breath. Slowly trudging through the park, the homeless man’s wobbling gait and bleary gaze suggested someone who was habitually and exceedingly drunk. Shoving the trolley in front of him over the grass caused its contents to lollop and judder, constantly seconds from tipping out in a heap in the dirt.

‘Oh God, Henry, the kids....’

‘Call the police. Get my phone and call the police.’

As he spoke the man was zooming in on the body, the unsteady frame taking in the limp hands, trailing up long suited legs to a torso smothered in blood. The man’s stomach was a ripped open mess of blood and lacerated flesh, guts draping out over the belt buckle.

On a blood-stained placard around the man’s neck, read the note: ‘FIREWORKS AT THE RUSSIANS.’

The news report continued but Bruce was no longer listening. He slowly lowered his arm and stared at the screen blankly, faintly hearing Alfred’s murmur of astonishment.

‘Is.... this what you were expecting sir?’

Bruce swallowed and set his teeth. ‘This? No. But one thing is for certain – this Sally girl likes to respond in a fashion that the Joker understands.’

‘I’d say he’s the only one that does! Fireworks? The Russian? What do you suppose that means?’

Bruce turned and headed for the elevator, knowing Alfred was not far behind.

‘That’s exactly what we need to find out.....’

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I am a tidal flood, I’m a tropical storm, I’m a motherfucking fire, I’m the rushing arbitrary death sentence. My heart is glowing and I have never felt this ALIVE. And this feeling can, NOT, be BOUGHT, I spit on your fucking money.
I’ll take the feeling from you when I have my hand inside your throat.
... Is this how he feels, all the time?


Sally had woken him up with darts. She hadn’t been particular about where she had aimed them, and when one hit and stuck, imbedded in his pectoral area, he had jerked away, giving a bark of pain. Their conversation had not been up to much since then, mostly revolving around screamed insults on his part while she continued to take pot shots. After a while the surviving bodyguard woke up too, and joined in the general cacophony, the curses, the threats, the grunts of pain. She welcomed the noise of them; it drilled in to her nervousness as she waited, heightened the itching sensation. She couldn’t focus on being nervous if she was listening to them, their delightful promises...

‘You’re going to be one dead fucking whore when I get out of here, you hear me? I’m going to have you gutted and knife-fucked, you stupid little CUNT!’ Yentov roared, spittle flying from his mouth as he struggled to loosen his bonds.

‘Ooooh, stop, baby, I can’t handle all your love-talk!’ she swooned, pretending to shiver before lancing another dart towards the bodyguard. It hit him in the shin and he let out a terribly unmanly shriek of pain.

‘Awwww, blub blub blub sweety, that hurt? I’m just killing time, we haven’t even started yet.’ She chided animatedly, marching over and twisting the dart before wrenching it out of the bodyguard’s leg.

‘What the fuck ARE you waiting for, bitch?? What d’you even want?’ shouted the bodyguard.

‘Well, I want Yentov. You’re kinda supplementary, I figured one guy to torture might not be enough. And as for him....’ she swaggered over to in front of Yentov, leaning down and smiling into his sweating, wild-eyed face. He was still angry at this stage. Good.

‘He’s a present for.... a friend of mine. A friend of mine he ratted out. You know you really should try and remember faces better Yentov. Then next time a woman starts humping your leg you’ll know it’s not your winning personality, because you’ll RECOGNISE them.’

Yentov’s face was blank, before his eyes widened in realisation. ‘You were with the Joker. You FUCKING whore!!’ His struggles renewed in earnest, his limbs wrenching frantically against his bonds.

‘You must be one sick bitch, to be fucking that freak.’ he spat venomously.

‘Now, now, NOW,’ she said leisurely, velvety smooth steel in her tone as she began digging a dart precisely into Yentov’s thighs with each word. He flinched, hissing in pain at each deep perforation. ‘I like a man with uhhhh..... character! And Mr. Joker certainly has plenty of that. So no more of this “freak” talk sweetheart, or you’ll tempt me to cut your tongue out before the party’s even started. How about some music?’

Sally flung any CD that was of no interest over her shoulder across the apartment, and this turned out to be the majority of Yentov’s collection. She finally came across some familiar music, noticing that her hands were trembling as she put the CD in. She rocked back on her heels as the heavy beat began swelling over her, letting her head roll before she began giggling to herself again. The urge to walk back down the stairs to the living room where she had left the two of them, and simply slit them open from throat to cock, was unbelievable, so strong simply because she knew she COULD. No more can and can’t, no more can or can’t do’s. Yes and only yes, more and only MORE.

Distractions, other, the light, the noise, the noise would help. Fill up the echoing gaps inside her brain, densely pack it with the booming NOISE. She turned the volume up until the floorboards beneath her feet were throbbing and began throwing herself in to the music, arms flailing wildly, head swinging. Laughter sprung out and kept coming as she kicked over tables, danced through broken glass and howled with enjoyment, tearing down bookshelves and paintings. Spinning and skipping over the carnage to the beat meant that the music could eat up her other senses, and she would not have to see, so she closed her eyes and flung herself forward.

It took her some time to realise that she was not the only person laughing.

In the middle of spinning like a dervish she lurched to a halt, gripping the banister and focusing on the Joker, standing in the doorway with the clown boys, laughing at her. Relief flooded her as she watched him buckle at the waist, trying to contain his hysteria, and her heart swelled hot and loud and bright at the sight of his beautiful torn face, twisted with laughter as he looked over the two bleeding, tied up men before him.


NOW, it was perfect.


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BWAHA! I KNOW it's a horrible tease that they're only back together at the very end, but next chapter they will be back and at their best (or worst, depending what end of the knife you're on I guess). RnR, God knows I need encouragement at the mo. hehe. XX