Patchwork

This is my first shared story, so be nice, okay? RnR is loved, of course.

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Sarah came awake slowly, oh so very slowly.

The first thing to come back was her hearing. She heard the harsh rasp of breathing nearby, almost inside her head. The sound dimmed, sharpened, and came into focus. The breaths were uneven. She could hear someone’s ragged inhale, followed a nanosecond later by another’s. One person’s exhale chased the other’s by a fraction.

Next to come back was pain. Her own, of course. Torso, throat, head, shoulders. She identified the hurting areas one at a time. Then she narrowed her focus. Only the back of her head hurt, she realized, though she couldn’t remember why. As she inhaled, her ribs protested painfully, and her throat burned. It was then she realized some of the raspy breaths were her own. There was a pain just below her sternum, the ache of a spreading bruise. The pain in her shoulders, however, seemed simply to be discomfort brought on by an uncomfortable position. She flexed, pulling her arms forward, only to meet resistance.

That was when the rest of the feeling in her body returned. The tightness of restraints constricted her wrists, surrounded her chest. A jerk of the hips proved that her legs were equally restrained. She was in a sitting position, she realized. She must be tied to a chair.

Memory eluded her. She licked her dry lips and fought the rising surge of panic and fear. Then, for the first time, she opened her eyes.

Light. Dim, but there. From where she sat, she could see half of a starkly empty room. The walls were unadorned concrete blocks, the floor poured cement. She blinked once, bringing it into better focus. Looking down, she saw coarse rope and duct tape circling her chest over her thin t-shirt. Similar restraints fastened her thighs, calves, and feet to each other and to the spindly wooden chair on which she sat. Stretched out in front of her was her shadow, and next to it, the shadow of someone standing behind her.

Her mind was blank, her muscles unresponsive. Terror made her useless.

The second breath, the one that had mimicked her own, hitched. In the silence that followed, she heard the person licking their lips.

“Rise and shine.”

The voice made her stomach pitch and roll. Somewhere, out of memories that hadn’t quite surfaced yet, she knew that voice. She knew to be afraid.

“How do you like your new accommodations? Miss Sarah. Ann. Parker.”

The sound of each word of her name made her flinch. The voice let out a high-pitched little laugh. Footsteps approached her. There was a rustle of cloth, and a length of cold, sharp metal pressed her cheek. It could only be a knife. The blade slid down her cheek and under her chin, a gloved hand crossing the periphery of her vision as it did so. The sharp edge dug into her chin.

“Look at me,” the voice wheedled.
Sarah fought the urge to tilt her head away from the knife’s edge, thus exposing her throat. The blade pressed a little deeper.

“Look at me.” It was a command this time. Sarah resisted.

“Look at me!” the voice snarled. Out of nowhere a hand grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her head back. The knife’s point slithered up her cheek to pose itself dangerously at the corner of her mouth.

The high-pitched laugh came again; only this time Sarah could see who it came from. Poised above her was the face that she had feared from the moment she had first seen it on the television. Smiling down at her was the face that lurked dangerously in memories that she could almost - not quite - remember.

The painted face was covered in a white base, smudged with a little dirt here and there and rubbed away in the lines on his forehead. Eyes peered out of black pits. And the mouth - the mouth was worst of all. Smeared in red, it smiled insanely at her, the edges seeming to stretch far beyond anything possible. But, she saw, the red stains stretching from the corners of his mouth highlighted not his lips, but two grotesque raised scars that curled upward onto his cheeks. It could be none other than the Joker.

The noise that Sarah made was part gag, part whimper.

One of the Joker’s gloved hands caressed her cheek, while the other pressed the knife just a little deeper into her skin. He cocked his head a little to one side.

“Pretty, pretty. Long brown hair, big brown eyes, and a perfect. Little. Mouth.”

In his voice, the words carried a threat. Fear burned a hole in Sarah’s chest. Her breathing came faster, and panic made her eyes grow round. Above her, the Joker’s face sank a little lower, his eyes locked on hers. His thumb ran over her lower lip.

“Please, no.”

For a moment, Sarah couldn’t identify where the pleading, slightly muffled voice had come from. Then she realized it was her own. A corner of the Joker’s already smiling mouth twitched. Suddenly, he broke into full out laughter. Letting go of her, he clapped his hands together in childlike delight. His laughs echoed around the empty room.

“Begging!” he laughed. Sarah turned her head to watch him circle around to her front, still chuckling. He stopped barely two feet in front of her. Leaning over, he braced his hands on the knees of his purple suit. The Joker and Sarah were eye to eye, his face less than six inches from hers. He cocked his head to one side and licked his lips reflexively, considering her.

For the first time, Sarah looked at his eyes. They were dark, almost liquid. The smile that crossed the Joker’s scarred face did not reach those eyes. They remained cold and almost - calculating. She pulled her face back and looked away, too afraid to stare into those eyes any longer. She could see no spark of reason in those eyes. Nothing lingered there to give her hope.
A brief touch of cold metal against her cheek made her look up, just as the maniac stood and turned away.

“Get some rest.” His voice was almost disappointed. “Tomorrow’s your biiiiiiig day.”

The chuckle that followed this comment had little of its former humor. Sarah lowered her eyes to the floor, watching his shadow move away. She heard the click of a door handle behind her, and the creak of old hinges. There was a second’s pause. The Joker’s shadow-head changed direction, watching her. Then the light went out and the sound of a heavy steel door slamming shut reverberated around the room.