Patchwork

A sudden burst of light exploded in Sarah’s eyes. She shrieked in pain. During the long, dark hours her pupils had expanded to a size she hadn’t thought possible, making the contours of the room almost visible in complete darkness. The light, dim though it had seemed before, shredded her vision to painful ribbons.

“Good morning to you, too,” came the Joker’s delighted voice. His hands wedged themselves between her back and the chair she was tied to. He tilted her back and whipped the chair around in a half circle on one leg, dropping it down when she faced the opposite direction.

The pain in her eyes blurred her mind to anything else. With tears coursing down her face, she shrilled obscenities.

“Now, now. This will never do,” his voice rose above her shrieks. Her eyes were closed, so she didn’t see the open-handed slap that silenced her.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Better, pretty one. We can’t have you ruining your voice before you get to talk to your family.”

“What?” Sarah couldn’t stop herself from asking the question. She struggled to open her eyes. Blinking away the tears and squinting, she peered at the scene in front of her. There was a handheld camcorder perched on a tripod only a few feet away, pointed in her direction.

“Your family, sweet pea,” the Joker explained patiently, his smile taking a cruel twist. “Particularly your dear, dear uncle.”

“Uncle...?” she repeated, not quite comprehending.

He held up a remote for the camera and pressed a button. “Smile for the camera, sweetcakes. You’re on TV.”


--


The tape arrived at the police station in an innocuous brown envelope. It had been delivered by a standard messaging service. The messenger had been interrogated for a full half an hour before he was allowed to leave. The only information he was able to provide was that a man had come in, given the envelope to his boss, and instructed him to deliver it to Commissioner Gordon at the Gotham Police Department as soon as possible. There was no sender.

The envelope was checked for bombs, fingerprints, drugs, chemicals, traces of explosive or bio-warfare ingredients by the lab before Gordon was even allowed to touch it. By the time he got it, it had been through more hands than a dollar bill.

He set it up for viewing in one of the squad rooms. The new district attorney was present, as well as the mayor’s aide, half of the major crimes squad and several high-ranking detectives. After a glance around to make sure everyone was ready, he hit play and stepped back.

The image on the screen shuddered, blurred, and settled as the automatic focus adjusted itself. The picture was simple. A bare room, with a girl tied to a chair in the middle. There was duct tape and rope around her thighs, calves, ankles, and chest, and her arms were pulled behind her.

“Look at the camera, sweet pea,” a voice crooned from the speakers.

One of the detectives spoke. “Is that the Joker talking?”

Gordon nodded absentmindedly, while the others hushed the speaker.

The figure on the screen was barely in focus, but they saw the person in the chair shift. Slowly, the girl raised her head. The camera zoomed in on her face for a moment, then panned back out. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon saw the mayor’s aide go an unhealthy shade of puce and pull out his cell phone.

“Tell them what your name is,” said the Joker’s voice.

The girl mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“You already know my name,” she grumbled rebelliously.

The camera’s view shifted down to the bare concrete floor, and two purple-shod feet strode across the top of the screen. The footprints echoed tinnily in the television’s speakers. There was a series of harsh whispers, followed by a choked noise. They heard the Joker’s voice murmur, “Don’t play games with me, sweetcakes.” The feet crossed the screen again, and the camera tilted back up half a second later.

“Your name?” the Joker asked, his voice sickly sweet.

“Sarah Ann Parker.”

“How did you get here, Sarah Ann Parker?” his voice took on an eager quality, as if she was about to tell his favorite story.

“You kidnapped me from my apartment.”

There was a pause. Clearly prompting her, the Joker said, “And?”

The girl on the screen swallowed visibly. “You sent someone,” she started, licking her lips. “You sent someone to my apartment, and he said he had a delivery. He came in, and -” a strangled inhale paused her story. “And hit me, and kicked me, and then there was blood - you killed him.” She was rushing to get the words out now, racing through what he wanted her to say. “And you grabbed me, and choked me, and slammed my head into the floor until I passed out.”

“Good girl. Now tell me.” For the first time, the Joker appeared in the screen, crossing slowly to the girl and grabbing her hair to pull her head back. He pulled a knife from somewhere, waving it in front of her throat. “Tell me why the police should care what I do to you.”

“Because.” Her voice was half sobbing now. “Because I’m the mayor’s niece!”

The Joker leaned down, whispering unintelligibly in the girl’s ear. Then he came back to the camera, all but skipping, and stopped right in front of it. There was a moment’s close up of his chest, then the camera jiggled as he picked it up. The camera angle skewed the maniac’s features, and the strange lighting highlighted his scars.

“So, Commissioner,” he said, licking his lips. “I’ve got the mayor’s fa-vo-rite relative with me, and you,” he cackled madly. “You have three days. Three days to find the mayor’s pretty little niece, or she’s dead. Your first day is almost all gone. Better hurry.”

The picture dropped back to the floor and the Joker’s crazed laughter echoed over the speakers for a full fifteen seconds before the screen turned to snow.

The squad room was dead silent. Gordon stared at the screen for a full five minutes, while everyone else in the room stared at him. They all knew the trouble he had gone to in order to protect the families of Gotham’s key players, including his own. He went so far as to take valuable officers off the hunt for the Batman to guard them. It seemed his protection hadn’t stretched quite far enough. Finally, after five minutes of silence, he took a deep breath and let it out.

“Increase the protection on the families already being guarded, and expand the coverage a much as possible to include extended family,” he said, rapping out orders. “Find the list of the Joker’s known associates that aren’t dead and bring it to me. Make two copies of that tape. Deliver one to the mayor and out the other on my desk. I want people going over every second of that tape with a fine tooth comb. Let’s see if we can’t find something to tell us where she is. You two, come with me.”

He pointed at the mayor’s aide and the district attorney, Harvey Dent’s successor, beckoning them to follow. His exit was followed by a flurry of activity. Calls were made, officers radioed, files searched. But in the back of every mind lingered the sound of the Joker laughing.