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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25	By : Meursault Category: DC Verse Movies > The Dark Knight Views: 9298 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, nor any of the characters from it. I have not and will not make any money from the writing of this story. All characters are fiction. Story is set after the Dark Knight movie by Christopher Nolan.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter Seven
After I cleaned up ‘my mess,’ as well as the face paint off the back of my neck, I went to my room to rediscover I didn’t have a bed of any sorts. Let’s just say I didn’t sleep very well.
I wake up stiff the next morning, my neck aching as I stretch it out. I’m still wearing the clothes from yesterday, but there aren’t any new ones out. Guess I don’t have an option. Slowly, I tiptoe to the door. I hesitantly try the handle and am surprised to find it unlocked. There’s no one in the hallway, and the Joker’s door is still closed so I feel it’s safe to come out. I quietly walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. It’s about seven in the morning. I guess I should make breakfast? There’s pancake mix in the pantry; should be easy enough. After following the recipe on the box and making pretty decent pancakes, I slide them into the oven to keep warm and wander into the living room.
As I was cleaning up last night, some of the book I had thrown caught my eye. Assuming these weren’t the Joker’s books, whoever lived here before had good taste in literature. Most of the novels I’ve already read, like Brave New World, Heart of Darkness, and East of Eden, but there were a few I haven’t.
I settle into a plush armchair with Steppenwolf, which we are actually reading in my class. At least now I can stay on top of my homework so I won’t be too far behind when I escape. I read contently for awhile, but then my mind becomes occupied with thoughts of my family yet again. Being away from them at college was difficult enough; I was never truly happy there. Here, it was even worse. I might never see them again. A wave of hopelessness and lack of purpose washes over me.
I don’t daydream for very long, as the Joker soon walks into the kitchen, dressed in his usual violet suit, paint smeared over his face.
“Good morning Elena!” he chimes merrily, and before I can react, strolls over to me and plants a wet kiss on my cheek. “How did you sleep?”
“Splendid,” I answer sarcastically, rubbing the red paint off.
“Splendid!” he repeats, either not noticing the sarcasm or ignoring it. He then grabs the book from my hands, “What are you reading?”
“It’s a novel by Herman Hesse. You wouldn’t like it, no clowns.”
He hands me the book back, “I didn’t know you could read,” he says. This time I ignore him and walk into the kitchen to get the pancakes. He sits down at the table and this time I remember everything- water, plate, fork, knife, napkin, butter, salt, pepper (if anyone actually uses those on pancakes), and syrup. I set the pancakes down in front of him and take a seat on the opposite side of the table. He stares in disbelief at the pancakes, and looks over into the kitchen where the box of mix is still on the counter.
“Ah, Elena,” he says, as he picks up one of the pancakes with two of his fingers and flops it around like some rotten fish, “Are these pancakes from a mix?”
“Yes,” I answer. Is he really hinting that he has the refined palate of a food critique? Unbelievable.
“What’s the purpose of having you here if you are unwilling or incapable of making decent food? Any idiot on the street could make this shit. I really expected better of you,” he replies, face emotionless.
“I’m doing the best I can, ok?” I’m really not in the mood to be mocked by someone who probably ate trash half his life. I stand and walk towards the kitchen.
“My, my, my, you are in rare form today Elena, I didn’t know you could be this feisty. It really is becoming on you.” I don’t say anything and he continues, standing up. “Unfortunately, if you are unwilling to cooperate and do what’s expected of you, you’re going to have to go.”
I perk up a little at this, did he just say go? However, the good feeling doesn’t last long as he draws a knife from his belt and holds it so it’s only a few centimeters away from my heart. I glance up at him for a sign he’s joking, but no hint of a smile graces his face. He pokes me with the knife and then drags it through my skin so it makes a little ‘x’. Blood leaks out and runs down my white shirt. It stings, but I’m too fearful to move. There’s no telling what he will do. Turns out, I don’t have to wait long.
“Goodbye Elena,” he whispers, and draws the knife back to plunge it through my flesh.
“WAIT!” I shout, falling out of the chair in front of him, “please, I’ll do better, I promise. Give me one more chance, I can do this.”
The Joker smiles broadly at me, “Somehow I knew you’d say that,” he cackles out. “But I do expect much better. You know the punishment for insubordination,” he stares at his knife with my blood on it. “Trust me, I’m a man of my wooord.” He brings his hand back and smacks me lightly a few times on the cheek before walking out the front door.
I get off my knees and breathe in deeply, savoring the smell of oxygen. That was way too close; I can’t afford to screw up on food again. I get up and go into the kitchen and clean up the pancakes, eating a few. They’re not bad, I’ve had worse. The remainder of the morning and afternoon is spent learning how to cook. There are a few cookbooks in the house that I go over rigorously. In the beginning, I’m not too thrilled about being forced to learn to cook under penalty of death, but within half an hour I’m having fun. I pretend I’m just studying for a big English final, trying to keep the 4.0. This thought process makes me far more determined and I learn a great deal of information.
It would have been a decent day except I realize how bored I am. There is no one to talk to, and anything that would be entertaining, isn’t.Why read if I have no one to discuss it with? Why watch T.V. if I have no one to laugh with? Why even eat if there’s no purpose in staying alive? Over the years I have learned a lot of great coping skills in therapy, but I am so miserable right now I don’t even feel like trying them. Instead, I throw myself a little pity party and take a nap on the couch. Childish, but I would say I have good reason to be.
After my nap I feel a little better and decide to start on dinner. I look in the fridge and sign in relief. Someone bought a huge honey glazed ham, there is a god! Or maybe someone just knows I suck at anything to do with an oven. Exceedingly thankful I don’t have to cook the ham, I slice it up into stripes and then into small pieces. I cook up some pasta and sprinkle the ham on it along with peas, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, and sautéed mushrooms. Lastly, I take some of the ham juice from the bottom of the pan and reduce it in a small pot with flour for thickening. The cookbook definitely helped, I had no idea how to do any of this a few hours ago. My mom would be proud.
As I plate the food, the Joker comes through the door and sits down. I quickly put the plate of pasta in front of him along with all the other stuff he wants. He motions towards a bottle of red wine sitting on the counter, and I pour him a glass, careful not to spill.
“Looks like someone’s been busy,” the Joker comments as I sit down. “I’m glad you’re finally up to par with the rest of us humans, I wasn’t looking forward to eating frozen dinners everyday.”

“It was probably a good thing I finally learned to cook,” I agree. “It’ll help me when-” and then I cut myself, realizing that I almost admitted out loud that I still have a great deal of hope for escaping.
But the Joker caught on, “When you what? Get out?” he says laughing, “Yeah darling, that’s not going to happen. Or maybe it will, but you won’t live to see the next morning.”
I try to not let his comment get to me, but all the same it does put me in a foul mood. The Joker, still sniggering, twirls his fork into the pasta. Instead of putting it in his mouth, he extends it towards me. “No thank you,” I say, “I’m not very hungry, I’ll eat later.”
“I insist.”
“No, that’s really ok.”
The Joker stops smiling, “I’m not asking you. I need to make sure you didn’t poison it, purposely or more likely, accidentally.”
“I don’t eat meat,” I reply cautiously. “I’ll test your food tomorrow, but I can’t today. I’ve been a vegetarian for years.”
The Joker doesn’t blink, nor pulls back his hand. “Eat it.”
Now it’s not like against my religion to eat meat. However, I have been a vegetarian for a long time. In my opinion it’s healthier and I just rather not eat animals when other things will nourish me. “I’m not going to eat it, but I promise, it’s not poisoned” I reply.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” the Joker snarls, standing up with the fork and coming at me. He grabs me face, wrenching my mouth open with his fingers. I try to get away, but to no avail. He stuffs the fork of pasta in my mouth and closes my mouth shut. Before I can spit it out, he draws is pocket knife and holds it to my throat, “Swallow it,” he demands. I feel like throwing up but force myself to chew the food and swallow it. Small tears begin to form in my eyes as I realize again how uncontrollable my life is right now.
“Good,” the Joker says, smiling again and sitting back down. He takes another forkful and this time eats it himself. “Wow, this is pretty good,” he says through bites and begins to wolf down the rest.
I put my head in my hands as he eats, not wanting him to see my eyes watering a little. He continues talking as though nothing has happened. “You know Elena, you make meal times very difficult; you’re almost like a baby. Always crying about something and messing stuff up and making messes. I’m surprised your parents put up with you so long. I’m surprised anyone did.”
“If I’m really such a burden on you, why keep me around?” I argue, “I obviously get on your nerves.”
The Joker ponders this for a minute; I can tell he’s actually thinking about how to answer. “I suppose,” he says, “I don’t just dispose of you because you’re more tolerable than any other person would be.”
“Is suppose to be a compliment?” I ask wryly.
“If you want it to be. And besides, it has been so much fun getting under you skin, in more than one way,” he says leering at me.
I roll my eyes and don’t respond. We both go silent and get lost in thought. “There’s no purpose anymore to live,” I think to myself. “At least before I had school and friends and family, now I have nothing. There is nothing keeping me in this existence.” My thoughts begin to turn darker when I realize why I’ve been feeling so incredibly down, besides the fact I’m a prisoner.
I look at the Joker, maybe he would… “Can I ask you something?” I say to him.
“No,” he replies.
“It’s not a question, it’s a request.”
He looks at me, obviously intrigued, “Go on’
“Well before I was kidna-… before I came here,” I rephrase, “I took medication. It’s pretty important, and I was wondering if you could get some for me.”
“What is it?”
“It’s called Fluoxetine.”
He gives me a funny look. “Fluoxetine?”
“It more commonly known as Prozac.”
“I know what it is!” he says irritably, “Why do you take Fluoxetine?”
“It’s not really important. Can you get it for me or not?”
“If it’s not important, why should I get it for you?”
“I meant the reason isn’t important, it’s personal.” I reply. Now I’m getting kind of annoyed.
“Tell me why.” he demands.
He may be able to force me to eat meat, but he can’t force me to tell him everything. “No.” I say, frowning.
“Very well,” he says shrugging his shoulders. “I won’t get it for you then.”
“Fine,” I reply shortly.
The Joker’s done eating and picks up his plate, putting it in the dishwasher. He then returns to the table and sits in the seat next to mine, placing his arm around the back. “So Elena,” he says lightly. “Let’s play our little game. Maybe if you’re compliant you’ll actually get to sleep on a bed tonight.”
“You want to know about one of my scars?” I ask, still surprised he would just give me something in exchange for a stupid story.
“Yes,” he replies and begins to run his hand over my upper arm. His hand creeps up my neck and gets to my face. “Where did you get this one?” he asks, stroking the small scar on my left cheekbone.
I stare straight ahead as he continues to stroke my face. “I was ten,” I begin “my family decided to go on a hike, there are some really nice places outside the city. The path we took led to a large stream, where we decided to rest. My sisters and I started to play some kind of chasing game; I don’t remember what, maybe tag. I was chasing my youngest sister when I slipped on a wet spot and fell on top of her. We landed on the rocky ground; I got this small cut and her head got gashed open. She still has a pretty large scar across her forehead.” I take a deep breath. I glance at the Joker, who looks back at me with raised eyebrows.
“You still feel guilty that you accidentally hurt your sister while you were playing with her?” he asks in disbelief.
“Yeah, a little. I mean, most of the time I’m able to forget about it, but sometimes when I look at her, I’m reminded how it was my fault she got hurt. It sucks when people get hurt on my account, even on accident.” I say reasonably.
The Joker laughs, “You need to get over this. I hurt people on purpose and never feel guilty. It’s quite fun actually.”
“Yeah, but you’re a psychopath,” I say before I can stop myself. Surprisingly, the Joker doesn’t get pissed.
“No, you’ve got that all wrong,” he counters, “I’m not a psychopath, I’m just ahead of the curve.” His voice grows deeper and there is a strange gleam in his eye, “Soon, everyone will be tearing at each other like animals. There are only a few things preventing them at this point, and soon that will all go away.” He starts to laugh loudly, “Before long, even sweet little girls like you will be murdering people for the fun of it.”
“That won’t happen,” I say, frustrated. Am I really having a debate with a maniac? “Most people are good-hearted.”
“Don’t lecture me on things you don’t know Elena,” the Joker snaps. “The human race is evil. For example, has anyone tried to find you?” I look at him oddly and he continues, “For the time you’ve been here, do you know if anyone has tried to look for you?”
My heart skips a beat, “Yes” I reply uncertainly, “My family has no doubt been trying to find me. I bet there out there right now, searching.”
The Joker gets up and goes to the living room, returning with a newspaper, throwing it on the table. “This is the paper from a few days ago,” he says smugly. “I guarantee you won’t find a single article about a missing girl named Elena Davett.” I grab the paper and begin to flip through, scanning the pages. Desperate, I even look through the sports section, and find nothing, no inclination that I’ve been missing.
“You did this,” I say, glancing at the Joker. “This is some fake paper you printed up, you’re lying.”
“Believe what you uh, you want,” the Joker replies innocently, “but we both know the truth: no one cares you’re gone. It’s almost like you never existed.”
“You’re a goddamn liar!” I screech, standing up, my chair tumbling to the ground. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
“And pray, tell me what that is,” the Joker says calmly, standing up as well.
“You’re trying to break me,” I huff, pointing my finger at him, “You want me to feel alone so that in order to keep my sanity, I latch on to the closest living thing: you. Well, it’s not going to happen, I know I’m not alone. I know my family loves me, and will do everything they can to find me.” After this last word, I decide I’ve had enough of him and start heading for the stairs. Only after a few steps, a hand catches my arm. I swing my head around and see the Joker.
“Did I uh, say you were excused?” he asks, tightening his grip.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I yell, stepping towards him and smacking him sharply across the face. The slap doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest and he grabs my other arm, gearing me towards the living room. I try to get away, but even when I use all my strength, he is too strong. The Joker pushes me onto the couch, sitting on top of my thighs so I’m pinned under him.
“Listen to me Elena,” he says harshly. I stop fighting to get up for just a moment. He puts his face down close to mine so we’re only a few inches away. “Maybe you’re right hmmm? Maybe your little family is looking for you... but it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re here or there makes no difference. You will always be alone. You were born alone, you’ve lived alone, and you’ll die alone.”
“You think I don’t already know that?” I sneer at him. “You-”
“No, I know you already know that,” he interrupts, “I’m just reminding you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because, you’ve survived the realization of you pathetic life before and you can do it again. Besides,” he says sitting upright, “it’s much more refreshing to speak the truth than to tell lies to ourselves.”
I stare at him, just stare. A frightening thought appears that maybe he can read my mind, because he just spoke aloud the things I’ve been thinking for years, that I’ve gone to therapy for. That I’ve tried so hard to overcome, to block from my view.
“I want to go to bed now,” I say. The Joker glimpses over my spread body, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. He suddenly beings to run his hands playfully down my sides, stopping where the hemline to my shorts are. Then, pinning down my shoulders, he leans towards me and begins to kiss my exposed neck and collarbone. I fight a gasp of disgust and some pleasure as well. He works his way around the base of my neck, then trails up so he’s kissing the curve of my jaw line. I try to move my head away, but there isn’t much room. He lips have almost reached mine when with a sudden force of energy, I’m able to prop my hands under his chest and push him off, almost tipping him onto the floor. Without a fight, he gets up, and with no eye contact, stalks out of the room muttering, “Go to bed.” at me before disappearing upstairs.
I scramble to my feet and go to my room, happy to find the bed I earned from the deal. “Who brought it up here?” is my last thought before sinking down into it. I fall asleep easily and rest soundly throughout the night
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25