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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter Eight
As I mentioned before, I slept quite well thanks to the bed. When I wake up, I find some more clothes on the ground beside my bed. Thank god! I never go this long without changing, and the dried blood down the front of my shirt is pretty gross. The clothes left out are similar to the ones before- two pairs of shorts, two different colored v neck shirts, and a dark blue silk evening dress (I have no idea when I’m going to wear this). There is also more underwear, which I’m especially grateful for. I go down the hall, shower and change. By the time I get downstairs, the Joker is already gone, having left a note saying to spend the day doing something productive. Also, that there’s a mess in the basement I need to clean up.
After breakfast, I go down into the basement, expecting there to be another pile of dirty laundry. Instead to my horror, I find a body. I gag and almost throw up my breakfast at the horrendous sight and smell of the carcass.
It was impossible tell whether the person was male or female; all the skin had been flayed off leaving a bloody, unrecognizable lump. An oozing pulp was all that remained of a face. Blood was still dripped from where fingernails had been ripped out.
I can’t handle the sight and run out of the basement to the bathroom where I promptly throw up my breakfast.
“What had the person done to deserve this? Did anyone deserve this?” I think to myself. Knowing the Joker, it was probably some innocent man on his way home from work. And knowing the Joker, I better get the mess cleaned up or the same thing could happen to me.
I wash my face off with some cold water, steady my shaking hands and return to the basement. Seeing the corpse make my stomach heave, but I push down my sickness. Due to the size of the…person, I won’t be able to move it on my own. I’m going to need some help if I’m to get this floor cleaned.
I walk back upstairs and peak through the blinds of the kitchen. Just as I suspected, there are a few men spread through the field surrounding the house. One of them might help. Hopefully, these guys aren’t all bad and just trying to earn some money.
I cautiously open the door and yell in their direction, “Um, excuse me?!” They all turn around and stare at me, eyebrows raised as though they’re surprised I’m daring to poke my face out of the house. “Can I have some help with something?” I continue. They look at each other warily. “I’m not trying to escape,” I add, “I just need some help…lifting something.” Finally one of the men approaches the house. He’s looks to be in his mid thirties, dark brown hair starting to gray, tall and bulky with a permanent scowl across his face.
“What?” he asks gruffly once he reaches the door.
“There’s a body in the basement, I need to move it but it’s too heavy.”
The guard pushes past me into the house and down to the basement as I follow behind. He doesn’t grimace at the sight of the mangled body, instead slinging it onto his shoulder and hauling it out of the room. Quickly, I gather all the cleaning supplies around the room, and dump all of it onto the floor. I have no idea was will clean blood so I just take a rough sponge and start scrubbing. Slowly but surely the blood begins to come off, dying the soap pink.
I’m only a quarter ways done when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn around and it’s the guard; he’s covered in blood and dirt, obviously just back from dumping the body. “Is there anything else you need?” he asks dully.
“No thank you,” I reply, “You’ve been very helpful.”
He begins to walk out of the room when an idea pops into my head. It’s a risk, but at this point it’s worth it. “Wait!” I call out to him.
He turns around again, “What?”
“Why are you here?’ I ask.
The guard looks at me funny. “I don’t have time for this” he answers gruffly.
“No, I’m sorry. I mean, why are you working for the Joker?”
The guard’s face goes dark for a moment. “Doesn’t matter.”
I give him a pleading look. “Come on, you can tell me. I’ve been so lonely. It would help me to at least talk to someone.”
He glances around the room before he comes closer to me and whispers, “I owe a lot of money to someone powerful in Gotham. This is an easy way to get that money without paying taxes on it.”
“You seem like a good person,” I begin. “It’s sad that people like you have to work for the Joker just because you’re in debt.”
“Yeah, well that’s what happens when you have a family.”
“There must be another way,” I reason. He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “Help me escape, and I will give you all the money you need. My family is pretty wealthy and would give your anything for my return.” It’s a bit of a lie, we’re not that wealthy, but he doesn’t have to know that.
The guard shakes his head, “That’s not a good idea.” He turns around to walk away but I grab his arm gently.
“Please,” I say, “do you have a daughter, or a sister maybe? How would you feel if they were in my place? I have a family too. I need help.”
The guard sighs and puts his face in his hand. A few anxious minutes pass while he considers my offer. Finally he faces me, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
A huge grin spreads over my face and a few tears well in my eyes, “Thank you!” I cry, hugging him. “Thank you so much.”
He pushes away from me and says sternly, “You’re not to mention this to anyone. It may take a few days of me to devise a plan; you’ll have to ignore me in the meantime. Also,” he adds, “as soon as you’re free, I need that money.”
“You have my word,” I reply. I feel bad about lying and resolve to get the money somehow; maybe the city will pay his dept if he helps track down the Joker. The guard leave, and I go back to scrubbing the blood out of the ground, truly happy for the first time in many days.
The day passes quickly, and soon I have to start preparing dinner. Since the Joker will probably make me taste his food again, I decide to make a vegetarian dish. He needs more fiber in his diet anyways. I’m able to whip up some kind of mock stir-fry with brown rice, edamame, olive oil, mushrooms, tomatoes, peppers and spices. It looks pretty random, but smells good.
I finish up as soon as he bangs the door open and storms into the kitchen, a scowl smeared across his face. Looks like someone’s in a bad mood! I quickly set his plate down and take my normal seat opposite him. The Joker neither smiles nor greets me with his customary snide comment, and instead motions me to take a bite of his food. I do so; pretty proud at how well it turned out. Once I’m done, instead of eating, the Joker simply stares at me with his dark green eyes. I stare back, unsure of the sudden hostility.
This continues for a number of minutes before I finally break. “Are you angry or something?” I ask apathetically.
The Joker doesn’t answer my question, instead saying, “I heard something ah, in-terest-ing today. One of my guards told me you asked him for a favor. Is that true?”
My mouth drops open. What the fuck? That idiot must have just been playing me. I doubt he even needs money for his ‘family,’ son of a bitch.
“Yes,” I respond. “I couldn’t move that body by myself so I asked for help. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Don’t play games with me, Elena,” the Joker snarls. “Apparently you asked him to help you escape. Now tell me, is that true? And ah, here’s a little hint-don’t lie to me.” He folds his hands together and stares daggers at me.
“I…I…nooo,” I sputter out. The Joker continues to stare at me. He knows I’m lying. “Well, ok yes. Yes I guess that’s true,” I confess, “but it’s not like I actually-”
The Joker cuts in, “You stupid bitch!” he screams, small dark eyes bulging, “Did you really think anyone here would help you?! Did you honestly believe I wouldn’t find out?! And to think I assumed you’d learned your lesson the last time you tried to escape! You’re lucky you didn’t succeed, otherwise I’d be carving a bloody smile on that pretty face of yours right now!” he slams his fist down on the table, standing up.
I stand up too, backing up so I’m against the wall. “Please,” I beg, “I’m sorry, I really am. It’s only natural, that as human, I use the fight-or-flight technique when in danger. It’s nothing personal, just brain chemistry, adrenaline, whatever. All I want is to see my family again.”
“Oh shut it! Don’t you try to reason your way out of this with crap about ‘brain chemistry’,” he growls as he approaches me, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me. “I don’t give a shit why you’re trying to run away, all I care about is that it stops!”
Tears start to flow from my eyes, “Well, maybe if you were nicer-” I begin.
“Nicer!” the Joker laughs loudly at this, spit flying from his mouth and hitting my cheek. He pinches my jaw in his hand, forcing my face up to his. “Although you haven’t been here long sweetie, you should’ve learned by now that I am not a ‘nice’ person. I don’t threaten you with death and beat you senseless because I’m nice. You’re here for one purpose only- to be used. Don’t think one day I’m going to start caring for you and let you go. The only way you’re leaving is in a body bag.”
Tears stream down my face as I whimper, trying to pull away. Of course I never imagined he’d just let me go, but to have my hopes soar so high today and then dashed is devastating.
“I’m sor-”
“Shut the fuck up!” the Joker yells at me, “stop crying!” He throws me to the ground and steps back, examining my crumpled form. Obviously he’s determined not to let me get away without retribution, because as I glance up at him, he grabs me by the shirt collar and crashes me down onto the table. He brings his fist back and begins wailing on my face, my torso, whatever he can reach. I try to scramble away or at least block my face from the blows, but he uses his other hand to hold my two above my head so I’m helpless.
I must have blacked out, because one minute I’m getting beat and the next I’m on the floor, bruised and bloodied while the Joker finishes his meal. I don’t move as he eats; moving hurts to much, and I fear drawing attention to myself.
I close my eyes, and minutes pass. A chair screeches again the floor, and sounds of a dish put in the sink echo from the kitchen. Suddenly, I feel myself lifted and flung roughly over the Joker’s shoulder. My body screams in pain from the impact, and I feel a few gashes on my face reopen, blood dripping down my cheeks. I choke back a sob as I feel us ascending up the stairs. I have my eyes closed, so I’m surprised when I open them and find us not in my room but the Joker’s. He carefully lays me on his bed, and goes into the adjoining bathroom, twisting the bathtub faucet so a strong stream of water flows out. Watching him through squinted eyes, I see him taking off his purple overcoat and rolling up the sleeves of his light blue shirt. A sickening feeling appears in my stomach; I don’t know what’s about to happen. I budge each of my limbs, deciphering which of them are still moveable. My left arm hardly aches; if he tries to hurt me again, I can at least put up a fight.
The Joker comes back into the bedroom. He moves my arms so they are above my head, and begins to pull my shirt off. I try to tell him to stop, but only a groan issues from my swollen lips. When he starts to unbutton my shorts, I swing at him half-heartedly with my arm, and manage to whisper “no.” The Joker ignores me, and tugs my shorts down my legs and off my body, throwing them on the floor.
Then, as you would a new bride, the Joker picks me up and carefully carries me to the bathtub. Still in my bra and underwear, the Joker sets me in the warm water. The aching in my limbs lessens slightly, but the cuts sting. I close my eyes, praying that I fall asleep or even die. However, my dream is interrupted pulls one of my arms up and begins to washing it with a lathered sponge. Though I’m still dizzy, the water has made my thoughts more coherent and I’m able to murmur, “What are you doing?”
“Washing you,” the Joker replies sharply, “You’re covered in blood.” I don’t have to ask the reason why; it’s obvious that the Joker can’t afford to have damaged property, who would cook and clean for him? He lifts up my other arm and scrubs, then lifts my legs out of the tub and does the same. I’m not fretting over just being in my underwear, it’s not different than a swimsuit, and the Joker seems in too foul a mood to try anything. This reason however, doesn’t keep him at bay for long. After he’s done soaping me down and cleaning out the cuts, he moves my body so my back’s to him. Then, he plants a kiss on the top of my head and begins to play with my hair.
“Stop it, I d-” I begin to mumble.
“Would you rather play with my hair?” he asks. I don’t answer. “That’s what I thought.” His hands move to my shoulders, and he begins to massage them as well as my back. It feels good, and I’m so tired that for once I let myself relax in his presence. He starts working at my lower back and I lean forward to give him better access. My willingness apparently makes him think that I’ve given up. He grabs my body and twists it around so I’m facing him. He grips my bruised face tightly and plants a rough kiss on my cracked lips. I squirm and push his face away from me, disgusted.
He doesn’t object, instead looking at me exasperated. “What are you doing to me?” he snarls quietly to himself. I don’t answer and stare at the pinkish bathwater.
“Elena,” he says, and I look up. “Where did you get those scars?” He’s pointing to the ones on my inner arms. I quickly fold them across my chest.
“Nowhere,” I mutter. There is no way I’m telling him this story.
“Tell me,” he demands, reaching over the tub and unfolding my arms so he can see the thin white scars again.
“No,” I counter harshly. “Can’t we do this tomorrow?”
The Joker flips open his knife, sliding it underneath front of my bra, seconds away from cutting it open.
A small yelp escapes my lips, “Ok, if you really want to know, I’ll tell you.” I blurt out. The Joker smiles for the first time that night and puts away his knife.
“This better be a ah, a good story,” he says, almost excitedly.
“I’m not going to tell you all the details tonight.”
“What wrong with tonight?” the Joker asks and then adds sarcastically, “We’ve got all the time in the world, deary.”
“You know what’s wrong with tonight,” I say harshly, motioning to my cut up face, “I’ll tell you the details later.”
“Fine,” the Joker surprisingly agrees, “Now, begin.”
I stare at my scars throughout the whole of the story. “About two years ago I became depressed. Although I went to therapy, it wasn’t helping as much as I needed. By the time I got to college I was miserable, so within the first week I attempted suicide. Obviously at the last minute I changed my mind.” I look up at the Joker, “The end.”
The Joker claps mockingly, and then takes my forearms, bringing them close to his face and staring at them. He runs his fingers lightly over the small white scars that crisscross down my wrists. Then, he looks at his own wrists, and for the first time I notice that he too has scars, some old some new, decorating his white arms. The Joker sits like this for awhile, just looking at our arms. Finally, he lowers his, and kisses my wrists before letting them fall back into the tub. He then helps me out of the bath, eyeing my barely clothed, dripping wet form. After much delay, he gives me a towel, which I quickly cover up with.
“What do you want?” he asks suddenly.
“Huh?”
“What do you want for your ah, your prize?” he smacks.
I think for a moment- that’s easy- to leave! Or for him to stop messing with me. I know that’s not going to happen though. “A piano,” I finally say. The Joker doesn’t seem surprised; given who he is, he probably already knows I liked to play.
I start to leave, but the Joker taps my shoulder and motions to the towel.
“Are you serious?” I ask, exasperated.
‘That doesn’t belong to you,” he smirks.
I unwrap myself and fling it in his direction. As I stumble painfully out of the room, the Joker calls back at me. “You should walk around in your underwear more; it’s a good look on you!”
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- 9
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Living in Darkness- HIATUS/editing ch 19-25