Monsters

H'ok, more more MORE! Thankee kindly everyone who has reviewed, encouragement is much appreciated! And if anyone's wondering, YES Batman will appear very soon hehe.
ENJOY!
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Sally did not know how long they simply stood there, watching each other, but she knew it was long enough that she was starting to shiver slightly in the night air. She couldn’t even begin to describe the look on his face – whilst his ripped mouth twitched with barely controlled amusement, the humour did not reach his level, calculating eyes.

The silence stretched and she began to wonder whether she should just run. The mad desire to simply turn around and escape filled her – but escape to where? Her eyes flittered away from him for a second to look at the buildings around them. Identi-kit store rooms dotted the edge of a wire fence, whilst what looked like an abandoned factory stood off to her left. One of the many victims of the recession, but certainly not one which she recognised. The realisation that she was lost, in a way she had never been in Gotham before, was yet another stone slab slamming down upon her insides. Escape to where indeed. And to do what, exactly? Her heart pounded evenly, but impossibly noisily, as she tried to consider this all calmly.

They had her car.
They had the Lieutenant, with a screwdriver smothered with her fingerprints, lodged in his neck.

These thoughts lined up politely and processed themselves in her brain, and seemed to be rendered meaningless as she continued watching that strange, wry smile on the Joker’s face.

‘Are you... always this quiet? Or are you just shy because this our first date?’ he finally ventured, eyes narrowing in feigned suspicion.
The snort of laughter escaped her before her brain had even caught up. ‘You think this is a date?’

‘I bought you a present, you unwrapped it... Close enough.’ He said dismissively.

‘What IS all of this?!’ she finally snapped, her voice echoing in the empty forecourt. He blinked and widened his eyes, as if surprised.

‘This? I think it’s pretty simple, there’s me, there’s you, there’s this here store room...’

‘There’s BLOOD all over the concrete between us.’

‘Oh that was your fault, I was going to suggest getting it over with inside, but you had your little “independent” episode out here. All you had to say was you wanted to kill him now now NOW sweetie.’ His airy, teasing tone was matched by an unnervingly playful smile.

‘I didn’t want to...’ she mumbled, but didn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

‘I can see you and me getting along vee-ry well. Of course there’ll be the tears first, the insisting that I’m “making you do it”,’ he rolled his eyes as he mimed speech-marks before that playful smile, the smile that said she and him were in on something together, returned to his face.
‘But then, you and me are going to do just fine.’

She felt physically sick. Sick, and drained and lost, and what shocked her to her core, was the spark of panic she felt when he turned and walked away up the steps and in to the store room. She stood there in the thickening silence, feeling more uneasy as the seconds past. She looked round her in the darkness and let out a growl of pure frustration.

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She followed him into the storeroom of her own free will. He did not make her, and she knew that this meant something, and that in doing so she had lost something. She simply wasn’t sure whether she cared. The muted gloom did little to help her vision, and she glanced up at the flickering light bulbs that stretched the length of the small concrete building. Boxes were piled up almost as high as the ceiling in most directions, allowing only tiny walkways in between them. If the silence had been bad outside, it was unbearable in here.

‘Hello?’ she said, her voice sounding horrendously loud in this enclosed space. Nothing. Slowly she inched herself along one of the walkways, between two of the mountains of boxes. She glanced at the stamped labels on them as she passed. They varied from perfume to cigarettes, clothing to CDs. She guessed this was a holding space the mob had used before moving on stolen goods out of truck shipments. A bloodied handprint streaked across one of the boxes, and she touched the blood, wondering how long it had been there.

A rustling noise up ahead of her made her start so suddenly she lurched backward into a wall of boxes, sprawling her arms wide to try and stabilize the boxes and keep herself upright. She breathed a sigh of relief in the resumed silence when she was not smothered by heavy packages. She continued on, feeling like she was in a maze, that this deceptively small building would in fact stretch on forever in intricate little pathways. Finally the boxes opened out, leaving a space large enough to hold a table, some chairs, and several dense racks of clothes. The boxes continued on all around it, making artificial walls for an enclosed living room in a world of packaged goods. She stepped forward tentatively, taking it in. The table had a pack of cards scattered across its surface, as well as some stripped electrical wires, and the Joker’s gloves.

‘Having fun yet?’

‘JESUS!’ she shrieked, spinning and backing away as the cackling Joker appeared behind her.

He managed to stop giggling long enough to suck in one cheek in admonishment and raise his eyebrows, ‘If I didn’t know better, I could have sworn you were following me.’. As well as his gloves he was now minus his jacket, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The bared skin of his long lean arms and hands looked so normal, only his fingertips caked in the grimy white and red which normally covered the only flesh he exposed, and it struck Sally as unnerving somehow.

‘Then how the Hell did you end up behind ME?’ she retorted, holding on to her chest and hoping she hadn’t had a heart attack. She backed off slightly, looking at the floor and breathing heavily to stop her heart racing. She took a few further scraping steps backwards without even thinking about it, still not looking at him. She had the feeling that no matter how large a space they were occupying, she would always feel claustrophobic if he was anywhere near her. When she finally did look back up at him, she regretted it.

His eyes were narrowed in calculating suspicion as they looked at her, his body deathly still. The aura of roiling, death-black violence that she had felt when she had first seen him, was there again.

‘You know,’ he began as he walked towards her, his voice casual and yet cold as a snake. ‘I think you tried to break my nose before I got to ask you about those... scars of yours.’

She felt her entire body give up its breath and took a few steps back, which he followed effortlessly.
‘I tend to break the noses of men who climb on top of me without asking first.’ She managed to mutter glibly through her shallow breaths, her heart leaping violently when he easily looped two fingers into the neck of her top and dragged her forward. When her fist shot into his jaw he buckled slightly, giving a short grunt of laughter without releasing her. His other hand clamped around her throat in a choking vice-like grip, and then she found her feet tripping over themselves as he forced her backwards. Her vision blurred and then her feet were off the floor altogether and she was on her back, her spine smacking roughly onto the table top, her skull cracking down two seconds later. She gagged and kicked viciously, her heavy boots meeting his leg and stomach at least once each, but he did not relent his grip. Against her will her throat emitted a despairing moan as she felt him lodge one knee between her thighs, pinning her with his body weight and neutralising her kicks. Reaching up she gripped his throat in return, digging her nails in as hard as she could manage from her position. His expression twisted into surprised delight.

‘Oh-ho,’ he giggled, his voice strained around her squeezing fingers, ‘Enough of that.’

His free hand prised one of hers away, and she saw blood on her fingertips as he slammed her arm back on to the table top. He released her throat in order to tear off her second hand and her spine arched up as she gave a huge gasp, the air being restored to her lungs. She forgot for a second about ripping at his throat with her fingers, forgot about fighting, just cherished the flood of breath she was afforded.

‘You are reaaally, going to have to stop teasing me.’

His voice was a low growl and her eyes travelled up to his glowering look as she realised her breasts were pressed against his chest. Slamming her spine back down on to the table she focused on taking in slow small breaths, waiting for colour to flood back into her sight.

‘Now, weee, were going to have a nice little conversation, about your scars.’ His tone was so soft and pleasant her brain was almost telling her she was being absurd for being frightened, even as he was casually swiping the bleedings cuts she had inflicted on his throat, and licking the blood off his fingers. He shifted his weight slightly and she tried to bury herself in the wood of the table, anything other than feel him pressing against her.

She clearly had not responded fast enough, because he was leaning back and pulling a knife from his back pocket, which was soon playing along her collarbone. ‘Or I could just give you some new ones. Then I’d know, ex-actly where they came from!’ He suggested, nodding at her to see if she approved of the idea. She finally managed to get her breath back enough to speak, although the muscles around her larynx throbbed.

‘Which ones do you want to know about?’ she croaked, her weary stare taking in the mangled scars that tore his cheeks.

His eyes gleamed mischievously, as if they were sharing naughty secrets. ‘How many have you got?’ he growled.

‘Dozens.’ She breathed out, abruptly thinking that this was the first time he had touched her without his gloves on. The heat of his strong long-fingered hands gripping her forearms sent a shockwave of sensation through her that she didn’t want, didn’t know how to deal with. The feeling only intensified when she thought of how recently they had been wrapped around her neck. A shudder began in her spine and she attempted to short circuit it, but had no control of her nerves. Her spine arched all the same and she made a silent noise which he seemed to drink in.

Then she remembered what he was asking her, and all feeling, whatever it might have been, was replaced by cold, vivid anger. He wanted to know about her scars.

‘Let go of me and I’ll tell you.’ She said, her voice hard. He tutted and shook his head ‘See, you, Sally Gore, are a vicious, vicious creature. I think I’m safest right where I am.’

She breathed through the anger, and began with the ones that would be easiest, seeing them as an inventory of her body to make them hurt less. ‘Just the big ones.... Scar on my left shoulder, from getting thrown through a plate of glass. Narrowly missed my neck. Scars on my arms, from the last time I met you. Scars on my upper arms from a fight with one of the men I... killed... Scar on my chest... from a man holding a knife to my chest so I would .... hold still.’

She struggled briefly with red hot anger, before submitting as he dragged her top to one side to look at the scar. Something within her was buckling, flinching as she tried to put words to the things she had never spoken about with anyone. It was enough that the memories still lived in her head, pervading all else like something toxic. Her throat seized up at the prospect of letting those feelings out through words, letting anyone see what was inside her.

Her skin felt like it burned where his fingers skimmed, his nails long enough that she felt the scrape of them, making her flinch and shudder all at once. He made a noise that almost sounded like a low purr of approval.

‘Scar... on my stomach. Same guy. More, on my legs.’

His eyes shot up to meet hers, bright and intense. ‘Show me.’

‘No.’ She bit the word out between her teeth, precise as a bullet.

He gave her a wry smirk before wrenching her into a sitting position by the loops of her jeans.

‘For someone who’s been cut up so many times, you seem very eager to ignore the fact that I have a knife in your face.’ He whispered harshly, his tongue flickering out briefly as she met his gaze.

‘What’s one more scar to the collection?’ she hissed back, but her voice wobbled, betrayed her.

‘Some scars are personal though, aren’t they sweetheart? You want to know how I got mine?’ he said almost eagerly, waving the blade up at his scarred features.

‘No. I don’t. It’s none of my business.’ It was a futile attempt at closing herself off, locking her mind away safely from the man who was, she knew, slowly but surely trying to rip her to pieces and see inside of her. Trying to hide herself from him when he was lying on top of her, too close for comfort in every way, was impossible.

‘I’ll tell you how I got ‘em...’ he grated, licking his lips, looking at hers, relishing this. She was nothing but raw nerves as she felt his blunt nailed fingers raking across her throat, her collarbone, across her chest....

She didn’t want to know. She DIDN’T want to know, because as soon as he had a history and a past he would be letting her into the interiority of his nightmare, in however small a way. And even as that hideous shrieking madness terrified her beyond all else... It seemed like the only thing that had ever happened to her that was real.

The echoing sound of the metal door clanging open in the distance was enough to make Sally jump, but the Joker only giggled at her reaction, letting her drop back down on to the table top as he jauntily picked up his gloves and put them on again.

‘Oh dear, an unfortunate arrival. Never mind; we’re going to have PLENTY of time, to get to know each other far better.’ He said, licking his scars before leaping off her, pulling his coat from amidst the clothing rack and shrugging into it.

Sally watched him, hardly daring to move from her sprawled position on the table. Painfully slowly, she drew her legs up to her stomach and curled up on her side. Playing cards were stuck to her bared back, and she idly picked one away, unsurprised to find a Joker laughing at her. She flung it away and closed her eyes.

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When Sally woke up, she was alone. She thought, but experience had taught her not to accept such things as a given, especially recently. She slowly rose, wincing at the uncomfortable angle her neck had been forced into on the hard table, and looked around her. Deathly quiet. As her bleary senses began to function again, the first thing she noticed was the sharp stink of gasoline. It was so overpowering her eyes began to water as she pulled herself off the table and stood up. The smell was the only indication she had that she had not simply been left there. She was quite sure that where the smell of Gasoline was, the Joker could not be far away from.

Vividly she felt all over again his calloused fingers around her arms, digging into her throat, and her gut clenched in something which she knew was not just fear. For a murderer, he really did have beautiful hands. She snorted in disgust, leaning against the table and rubbing her eyes vigorously to try and clear the feeling away, smudging her eye makeup into dark smears. It was simply sensory reaction, flesh on flesh, the only response that was possible when a person who had caused so much emotional and psychological turmoil put their skin against yours. Yes, she told herself, that was all.

Because desire was not something that had happened to her in over eight years. Sex had taken many forms for her, but it had never been about desire: first it was a way to make money when there was no other. It was a manipulation of the weakness of men; men, with their wandering eyes and leering smiles which she had noticed since she was fourteen. Then it had become the thing through which, and for which, she had been destroyed.

The knife had been blunt. It had made the cuts ragged, she would later notice when he was dead and she was lying there sobbing. All she had felt at the time was the searing pain as he forced himself into her, and his panting in her face.

After that, sex had no longer even been manipulation. It had been a weapon, just as much as any knife had. The blade slipping into unresisting flesh, the gush of crimson, had been more than enough.

Desire was not what she felt anyway – she recalled it vaguely, and was sure that THIS, what she felt when the Joker was near her, was not it ; it was so intense and twisted it was practically a physical reaction in its own right, her body rocked with the immensity of it. It was hate and disgust, anger and fear, curiosity and longing and....

She shook herself mentally, fleeing these pointless thoughts that made whatever remnants of control she had itch and shake. She stood up straight, and looked around her before focusing on a particular box in one of the many walls of packing crates.

The scavenger in her died hard, and she hooked her fingernails around the edges of the box, intent on pulling it out and taking its contents, and immediately noticed that the fingernails in question still had the Joker’s blood underneath them. In fact, the tips of most of her fingers had the dull stain of his blood left on them. Hesitantly, half wondering what the hell she was doing, she brought a finger up to her lips, and licked it clean. A quiet but undeniable thrill buzzed through her, and she gave a chuff of self-deprecating laughter. It did not stop her from licking the rest of her fingers clean before continuing to drag the box out. As she did the boxes above it tumbled down in a series of echoing thuds and crashes, and she dodged out of the way and leapt back on to the table, watching the boxes warily as if they had attacked her.

‘Stupid gravity.’ She mumbled begrudgingly before wrenching open the box and picking through the makeup therein. Compulsively she dabbed on more dark eyeshadow with one finger, slicked more red lipstick on. It was automatic more than anything else – she had stolen make up wherever she could, because what whore didn’t wear make up?

Bounding off the table again, she began flicking idly through the racks of clothes. Clothes were yet another thing that she had stolen whenever the opportunity had afforded her; she never knew when she would need more. Certainly on a few occasions she had been forced to leave a tricky situation with fewer clothes than she had entered the situation in. She had been looking with bored disinterest for quite some time before she came across a dark red PVC trenchcoat. She pulled it out of the rack and looked it over. Trashy, yes. But she had been doing trashy for so long it was normal as far as she was concerned. Throwing it on over her clothes she shrugged.

‘Finders Keepers.’ she declared to the silence of the room. Circling the room, skipping over the boxes she had knocked over, she felt abruptly restless. She needed something, ANYTHING, to distract her from thoughts that she did not want to keep inside her head. Thoughts that could not be described as thoughts, more incoherent throbbings of violence and aching, pulsing around her muscles. Giving a loud sigh with all of the good grace of a child she flung herself at one of the boxes on the floor and ripped it open, grunting in annoyance when all she found was amassed copies of some pop bimbos CD single. Tossing them aside she stood up again, and decided to follow the smell of gasoline.

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‘Ahhh, look who has decided to join us from the land of the dead.’

The Joker did not look up, and for her part Sally was quite relieved he didn’t, considering he was in the process of wiring a charge to a drum of gasoline. The amount of lackeys he had seemed to have had doubled – seven men darted in and out of the building through a broken in door to the side, carrying the gasoline drums out into the dull light. Sally squinted at the grey-orange sky – it hadn’t even occurred to her how long she had slept for. Was this sunrise or sunset? She hesitantly approached before shoving a box towards where the Joker was perched in front of the gasoline drum, and sat down. He cast her a brief sideways glance before continuing to connect the wires. ‘Nice coat. Santa Claus meets streetwalker.’

‘That was the look I was going for. Ho. Ho. Ho.’ She responded dryly, finding herself intently watching his nimble fingers slipping the wiring into the casing, twisting the ends around the finishings.

‘Aren’t you going to ask what’s happening sweetcakes? I’m disappointed.’ He murmured. She had to bite back her amusement when she noticed that he stuck out his tongue slightly in concentration as he worked.

‘Would I really want to know?’

‘I just thought I’d open a few eyes.... Get a few bats out of their caves. Create some rubble.’ Buildings burning, flaming shrapnel littering the ground like perverse confetti, filled Sally’s mind.

There was nothing she could say, so she simply rubbed her hands across her face slowly, and looked down at the floor. A shrill whistle caused her to look up again, and she couldn’t resist the slow grin that spread across her face as she saw that the Joker was now holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, which he wriggled at her suggestively, whilst continuing with his work. She took a few unsuccessful swipes at it which he deftly avoided before he finally threw her the bottle, and she twisted it open and took several long pulls of it, wincing as she did it.

She lurched sideways as she heard the cold precise zinging noise of a cutting knife, feeling her hair jerk as she was held in place. She looked up at him in confusion and brought a hand up to struggle only to see the gleam of the blade in the light and restrain herself.

‘Ah ah ah. Anything I cut off you belongs to me afterwards beautiful.’ He remonstrated with a steely undertone to his cheerful voice, wagging the knife in her face. Her insides thrummed like a chord at this threat-promise in a way that made her feel slightly sick. But not as sick as she was sure it should. She did not argue as he took the severed clump of her red hair and scattered it into several of the surrounding gasoline drums.

‘And what was the point of that?’ she asked, unable to keep the clear irritation from her voice.

‘It’s your contribution. Wouldn’t want you to feel left out now would I?’ he said lightly, standing and moving to another gasoline drum, snatching the Jack Daniels off her as he went past.

She saw the provocation that this sentence was meant to be, and didn’t care.

‘Does this mean I’m home alone tonight honey?’ she spat sarcastically, eyes roving around the storeroom even as she said it. A whole day/night (she wasn’t really sure which it was) in one building? Granted there were enough boxes to rip to pieces, but even so she suspected she would go stir crazy.

‘Oh no, no no NO. You’re coming with us sweetheart, don’t you worry about that.’ He said in a tone he probably thought was reassuring, drinking down some of the Jack Daniels with an expression that suggested total disinterest. Her fingers itched to get the bottle back, especially since he had made it clear she was to be part of whatever he had planned, but she wasn’t going to approach him. She knew better considering her own body’s rebellious responses.

Whether it was one day or five, every second that she spent with him was turning this situation into normality for her. The grey that was the Narrows, Gotham, the world as she knew it, was sinking to a low ebb in her memory. How could anything else seem important when she was near a presence like his?

‘You said earlier that you could see me...’

He looked at her, impatient, but waiting.

‘What do you see?’

He giggled slightly at her reluctant curiosity, and leaned forward, even scooting his chair closer to her like an eager schoolkid. ‘You wanna know? I see... A Catherine Wheel.’ He said, his voice hushed.

His laughter grew even more high-pitched at the obvious disappointment and annoyance on her face. ‘A Sally wheel. A firework spinning, exploding and burning. No control, no motivation other than to... SPIN, and keep spinning, and burning. A.... chaotic force. And, most importantly,’ he leant even closer, so that she could see the yellow of his teeth, and spoke against her mouth.

‘Perfectly capable of burning everything around you to nothing but dust, without ever stopping spinning.’

Her insides glowed with a cruel regard, a burst of perverse pleasure. And she followed him once more out into the growing light, without question.

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TA-DAAAAAA! RnR please, I'm really not sure about the end of the chapter. Lemme know what you think.