Patchwork

The street was quiet, except for the low rumble of the van’s engine as they slowed. The Joker kept his eyes ahead, looking out the windshield. Sarah could hear him muttering excitedly as the van thunked to a stop, though she couldn’t make out what he said.



“Come on,” he growled to the two men in the front seat, smiling widely.



He shoved past Sarah, knocking her into the barrels as he exited. The two men in the front slid out more decorously. She heard them opening the rear doors as she stepped outside.



The street lined with apartment complexes, all four or five stories tall. They all looked a little beat up. Sarah stared at one of them, guessing what the inside was like. There were probably twenty or so apartments, judging from the number of fire escapes lining each side of the building. Personally, she thought, she wouldn’t have trusted the fire escapes. Several of the steep metal stairways seemed to be barely hanging on to the face of the building.



Slowly her eyes fell to the front door. It was standard for such buildings, glass covered in a crosshatched grate of metal rods. There was a buzzer next to the door, along with the building number. Sarah’s eyes hardened as she read the numbers: 1329.



There was a grunt from the back of the van, followed by a somewhat dulled metallic thunk and the sound of liquid sloshing. Keeping her distance, Sarah watched as the two men picked up one of the barrels from the back of the van and carried it around the back of the building. She was so focused on their progress, she didn’t notice anything else until she felt a hand clamp around the back of her neck.



Automatically, her shoulders shrugged up as she wrenched away. One hand whipped her knife in a sharp arc as she turned.



The Joker caught her arm easily. Chuckling, he grabbed her hand and forcefully folded it to her chest.



“So quick to attack, pretty” he said, smiling. “Here, set the timers for thirty seconds.”



He tossed a briefcase at her. Lurching to catch it, she almost dropped the knife. Juggling case and blade briefly, she managed to slice into her finger. Once she had everything under control, she glanced up at the Joker.



He was staring at her bleeding hand. Suddenly conscious of the blood, she wrapped it in the edge of her gown. She stared at the Joker warily, watching his eyes slowly rise to her face. The smile he gave her was full of something Sarah couldn’t name. Their eyes remained locked as she set the briefcase down and used the knife to hack a strip from the edge of her gown. She was the first to look away, to wrap the strip as tightly as possible around her injured finger. When she looked up, he had turned his back. Sarah felt a shiver run down her spine.



Sarah sat on the pavement as the two men returned to grab another barrel of gasoline. She ignored them and opened the briefcase. Staring at the contents, she paused. There were six cellophane-wrapped packages of something that looked vaguely like putty. Pressing carefully into the substance, she discovered that it gave slightly under the pressure. Shoved into each block was a computerized timer of some sort, all displaying the 88:88 status that told her they weren’t set.



She had picked up the first one and begun to set the timer when the name of the substance came to her: C-4. Glancing briefly at the building, she felt a small smile pull at her lips.



Just as soon as the smile came, it was gone, replaced by a frown. There were at least nineteen other apartments in that building. Her anger was directed at only one of the residents, not all of them. Not at the families that surely lived there.



“Smile, my little pretty,” the Joker said, crouching beside her. “You start your revenge tonight.”



“There are other people in that building besides him,” Sarah said, watching the freak carefully out of the corner of her eye as she set the next timer.



His hand reached out and grabbed her by the chin, forcing her face around until their eyes met. Snarling, Sarah grabbed her knife from the ground. He grabbed her wrist before she could even grip the handle correctly.



“It was on the news,” he whispered, his face mere inches from hers. “And they did nothing.”



Sarah could feel her heart harden in that moment. Rather than reply, she tore her chin and wrist free.



“I warned you about touching me,” she growled.



The Joker chuckled, holding his hands up in mock defeat. Still laughing, he stood and grabbed the briefcase full of C-4 with all the timers set. Sarah watched him follow the two men around the back of the building. Standing slowly, she wandered over to the van and sat in the open door. She stared at the corner of the building, thinking of nothing, idly scratching at one of her stitches as she waited.



Finally all three of them turned the corner. Even from the other side of the street, Sarah could see a block of C-4 still in the Joker’s hand. As the two men came to fetch the last barrel of gasoline, the Joker yanked down the sliding ladder from the fire escape and scrambled up it like a monkey. She watched curiously as he fiddled with the block of explosive on the half-attached stairway and then slid back down to the ground. The men were returning once more by the time he approached her.



The Joker walked straight toward her. Sarah stared at him as he approached, her eyes seeking his. When he finally looked at her, he smiled. The glint in his eyes was dangerous, but she couldn’t look away.



The Joker approached, closer and closer, until her was standing directly in front of her. He was so close that his legs were pressed against her knees and Sarah’s neck hurt from having to look straight up at his face. He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips, his tongue hovering for a moment on the swollen flash of his scars.



Slowly he leaned over her, forcing Sarah to lean farther and farther back to keep their bodies from touching. She put both hands behind her body to keep herself from falling just as the Joker put his hand down to steady himself. He was so close that she could feel his quick, excited breaths on her face. Their eyes were still locked. Sarah was lost somewhere in the dark, swirling madness hidden in his eyes.



He moved just a fraction of an inch closer as his hand reached past her into the van. When he brought it back, he held the object he had picked up between their faces. Sarah blinked, changing focus sharply to the object.



“Let’s have some fun.”



Sarah hesitated for just a moment. Then, suddenly, she snatched it out of his hand.



“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, yes.”



A single hysterical giggle burst out of her mouth before she could suppress it. She slid out from under his body, only barely aware that he followed close behind her.



The detonator was heavy in her grip. It was a simple little thing, just an innocent looking plastic box with a single button. Gently, she ran a finger around the outside edge of the button. She looked up at the building, trying to guess which apartment belonged to the man called Joe Carleson. Her chest was practically on fire with excitement, and the corner of her mouth twitched. She pressed the button.



Nothing happened.



Frowning, she pressed it again. Still nothing.



Sarah turned toward the Joker, confused. He was standing just behind her, his expression expectant. Looking at him, she held up the detonator and pressed the button again.



The Joker lunged at her and growled, tearing the remote from her grip. Sarah spun away and landed on the pavement, hard. Muttering under his breath, the Joker pressed the button several more times. When there was still nothing, he growled again and smashed the detonator against the asphalt.



He spun quickly to face her. His eyes swept over her face and rest on something above and behind her. Turning, Sarah saw the two men standing at the rear of the van. Both looked nervous.



“You two,” the Joker said, his voice eerily calm after his previous show of temper. “Go start the timers. They’re set for thirty minutes, so make sure you get all of them.”



His gaze dropped to Sarah’s face. She felt her expression become calm, almost deadpan, except for a tiny little smile.



She was still smiling when the first bomb exploded.