Patchwork

The brush of a gloved hand against her cheek made Sarah open her eyes. She kept her gaze locked on her lap, trying to ignore the fear that began to gnaw on her belly. The Joker had been sitting in the room with her since he had finished making the tape. He just sat on a chair and stared at her, his elbows braced on his knees. He licked his lips reflexively now and then, and sometimes he’d chuckle quietly. At first she’d stared back at him, but she couldn’t stand to look in his eyes for long. Finally she’d just closed her eyes and rested her chin against her chest. And now this.

The Joker’s hand stroked one cheek, then the other, and grabbed her chin. He pulled her head up until their gazes met. At some point while she hadn’t been looking, he had moved his chair until he was directly in front of her. His knees were slightly spread, trapping her thighs between them. The hand that wasn’t holding her chin toyed with a knife.

“Tell me,” he said, smiling playfully. “Do you have any scars?”

Sarah swallowed and licked her dry lips. As if to mock her, the Joker reflexively licked his.

“No,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled. “Hmm. I think you’re ly-ing,” he said in a childish singsong.

When she didn’t reply, he let her chin drop. She watched him through her lashes as he carefully removed his gloves and set them on her lap. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. Sarah twitched nervously, and he made a great show of rolling up his sleeves to the elbow. His forearms and hands were strong, his fingertips stained with black, white, and red.

She watched those fingers as one reached out to stroke down her cheek. She tried to turn and pull away, but her restraints only allowed her to go so far. His touch trailed down her face no matter how she tried to move away. His hand slipped around the back of her neck. Dragging her head forward as far as she could go, he placed his cheek next to hers. The feel of those scars against her face made her cringe as he whispered in her ear.

“Let’s find out.”

Suddenly there was a knife in his hand. It flashed as he sliced off the sleeves of her t-shirt and shredded the body to ribbons. Sarah froze, her muscles tense as she struggled not to move. One twitch would put that deadly sharp blade closer to her body than she would ever wish. The Joker’s knife sliced through the ropes and tape restraining her legs. He slit her jeans from thigh to ankle before she could even blink.

The cutting done, the knife ended up with the edge resting gently against her collarbone. The Joker gave her a look that gleamed feverishly, as if he was about to discover some naughty little secret she’d been hiding from him.

His fingers were callused and rough. Sarah tried to ignore it as they ran over her arms, searching every inch for a hint of a scar. His eyes were locked on her skin, and his tongue stuck out just a little as he looked. She felt a shiver starting up her spine, and couldn’t suppress it. This feeling went deeper than fear, and she couldn’t put a name to it.

Her left arm wielded nothing of interest for him. She managed to remain completely indifferent for the most part, until he got to a small one on her right shoulder. When she felt those callused fingers brush over the scar on the front of her right shoulder, her arm twitched involuntarily.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice a pleased growl. She felt the scrape of rough fingernails on her skin as he inspected her scar. He asked no questions about it, just continued his inspection.

His hands scoured her collarbone, stomach, and sides. By the time he reached her legs, silent tears were running down Sarah’s face. She wanted to beg him to stop, but the words wouldn’t come. Never had she felt so vulnerable, so completely at another’s mercy. When he touched her thigh, she started shaking and couldn’t stop. He didn’t seem to notice.

Her left knee offered another scar for inspection, this one slightly larger. He examined it for at least a minute. As he lifted her right leg for inspection, Sarah felt a change come over her. Her whole body went hot, then cold. The fear that consumed her began to smolder, turning into a cold rage. The tears and shaking stopped abruptly. Her breathing was still a little ragged, but her mind was clear. When he reached her foot, he looked up at her, still smiling. Their gazes met, his cold, calculating, and completely insane; hers, full of icy fury. Without thinking, she pulled back her right foot and slammed her heel into his chest.

Whatever reaction she had been expecting, it wasn’t the one she got. The Joker let out a little grunt as her foot hit. He recovered far too fast, and with the speed she’d caught a glimpse of before, he knocked her leg out the way and opened a gash across her collarbone. The burning sensation of the cut hit her only a millisecond before he knocked her over backwards.

Sarah landed hard on her arms, wrenching her shoulders, and her head cracked on the cement floor. She cried out in pain. Sparks danced in front of her eyes. All the fear that had disappeared for that brief, foolish second came roaring back. She kicked her legs uselessly.

Laughing, the Joker slowly circled her.

“She has a bit of fight after all!” he giggled delightedly. Sarah followed his progress with her eyes, cringing whenever he walked past her head where she couldn’t see. He paused his circuit on her right side, crouching next to her. He licked his lips, staring at her with those mad eyes.

“You know what you remind me of? A beetle,” he mocked. “A little beetle stuck on it’s back, kicking its feet in the air, just ach-ing to be killed. And that -”

He paused, digging his hand under the rope that bound her chest to the chair. In a smooth movement, he sliced through it and ripped off the last pieces of tape that bound her to the seat.

“That just isn’t any fun.”

The Joker stood up and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her across the floor and away from the chair. Sarah screeched in pain. Her hands scraped against the coarse wood and then the concrete, opening up raw wounds on her palms and forearms. She felt some of her hair separate from her scalp as the Joker dragged her partway across the room. When he dropped her head, it smacked into the floor with enough force to make her dizzy.

“Come here, pretty,” he growled, grabbing her by the shoulder and flipping her on her stomach. She kicked and bucked; fighting the motion with every ounce of strength she had as she screamed obscenities at him.

She felt the cold metal of a blade briefly against her wrists, heard the rip of severed tape, and suddenly, she was free. The Joker retreated a few steps as she wallowed and struggled to make her stiff muscles work. Finally she managed to get onto her hands and knees. Crawling toward the wall, she used it to help her stand. Her eyes turned toward the Joker.

He was standing over fifteen feet away, a knife still in his hand.

“Now, now, now, sweet pea,” he said, gesturing with the blade. “We’re going to play a little game. If you can make it to the door, I’ll let you go. But if I catch you...” He trailed off, giggling madly. Sarah felt sick.

Sarah shifted her body weight away from the wall, fighting to balance on aching legs. Her eyes darted left and right. The room was roughly square, and she was just about at the opposite corner from the door. It was only about sixty feet away, but it might as well have been a mile. With the Joker in between her and her exit, there was no chance. If she were to have any hope, she’d have to outsmart him.

Devising her plan, she took a step to the left. The Joker followed her. Perfect. She took another shaky step, and so did he. Her breathing grew ragged from the effort of staying on two feet, but she kept inching to her left, toward the wall that held the door. He kept following her.

His breath hissed, and he licked his lips. There was no smile on his face now, just a look of excited expectation.

Her brain calculating at hyper-speed, Sarah stopped a mere eight feet from the wall. He would be expecting a fake. Well, he’d get one. She took one step forward, then another. The Joker didn’t move. Her muscles tensed. She would have to be fast, no small feat when her legs felt as useful as wet noodles. She exhaled.

Suddenly, she was all motion. She faked left, then darted right. The Joker followed her to the right, moving fast. He took two, three steps away from the wall. Abruptly Sarah flitted back to the left, cutting between him and the wall. Taken by surprise by another change in direction, the Joker couldn’t change course as fast as she did, and she made it by him. She took three running steps, four, she felt her heart lift -

- And slammed into the Joker’s restraining arm across her chest. Somehow, he’d come up behind her and wrapped an arm around her. Fighting whiplash, Sarah’s head slammed back against his chest. The arm across her chest tightened, helped by another around her waist. He lifted her off the ground and twisted her away from the door as she kicked and screamed in despair.

Shifting his grip, he slammed her to the concrete floor. She felt her back arch in pain, but she had no time to sit and moan. Before the feeling of pain even hit her she was fighting like mad. Her fists pummeled his head and shoulders, and her feet were kicking at every inch of him in reach. The Joker pinned her shoulders to the ground, reducing her hands to body shots that didn’t seem to faze him in the least, and moved to where her kicks hit him with no more force than a first grader’s.

Sarah put as much force behind her hits to his body as possible, but didn’t elicit more than a grunt of pain. After a few seconds, the Joker just batted away her hands and pinned her wrists down with her arms out to either side. Sarah’s yells became half scream, half sob as she realized her power to fight was slowly being taken away from her.

Struggling madly, she tossed her whole body from side to side, hoping to wrench her arms free. The Joker took advantage of her wild struggles to slip a knee between her thighs. Her kicks were useless; she couldn’t get enough torque in her torso to tear her arms free. Sarah was well and truly powerless.

The realization hit her like she’d had her wind knocked out all over again. Her breathing grew ragged, and she stopped sobbing only because it was impossible for her to breathe and cry at the same time. Taking advantage of the sudden slack in her muscles, the Joker pulled her arms above her head where he could hold them with one hand. Sarah took a deep, raspy breath.

“See now pretty. Wasn’t that fun?” he asked. He was still smiling, but his voice was a low growl. His free hand caressed her cheek, then pinned her throat to the floor, choking her. He kept talking as she struggled to breathe.

“What, sweetheart, no apology for hitting me?” he asked, his voice full of mock hurt. “I’m crushed.” He let go of her throat, and she missed his next words as she coughed and desperately tried to breathe through her abused throat.

“- So, sweetheart, I think it’s time to teach you a lesson.”

A knife appeared in his hand. Sarah watched in terror as he slowly lowered it to her face. She squeezed her eyes closed and cried in pain as the knife bit into her face just below her left cheekbone. The cut was small, but deep, and she could feel blood well up on her cheek under the overarching burn of the gash.

“One for each swing, pretty.”

Her cries of pain blended into one pained yell as the knife bit into her flesh again and again, opening gashes on her face, neck, and chest. When the Joker finally stopped, his hand was smeared with her blood, and Sarah’s upper body was on fire. She sobbed brokenly. She heard the Joker murmuring, but couldn’t make out what he said over her sobs and the rush of blood in her ears. He held her there until the blood on her face and chest began to dry and her sobs subsided. Then she realized he was murmuring to her, making mock hushing noises laced with amusement.

Sarah opened her eyes. The pain in her face faded to a dull ache, suppressed by the burning rage that welled up in her heart. If she had had a weapon in that moment, she would have killed him. The smile on the Joker’s face grew as she glared at him.

“Well, well. She can take a hit. Tell me, do you like it?”

Sarah just glared.

“Well, my pretty, you’ll learn.”

His knee shifted, prying her legs apart. Suddenly his weight was on top of her, and his mouth was on hers.

Sarah tried to rip her head away, but a hand at the nape of her neck held her fast. His mouth tasted sour, and his scars rubbed against her raw cuts, awakening the pain once again. She panicked, wiggling desperately to free herself, but his weight held her down.

Something crashed on the other side of the room; the sound of the metal door hitting the wall hard. The Joker’s head snapped up. Sarah had a brief glimpse of his rage-filled face before turning her head away and spitting, trying to rid her mouth of the taste of him.

“What is it?” the Joker snarled.

“He says we’re ready to go,” a voice replied warily. Whoever it was seemed to realize they’d made a grievous mistake.

Sarah felt the weight on top of her lift, and curled herself into a ball. The Joker’s voice just above her sent shivers down her spine.

“An unfortunate interruption. We’ll pick up later, sweet pea.”

Sarah shuddered.