Like a Child

Lee came to hours later with a throbbing headache and a shrill pain screaming down her shoulder into the rest of her arm. She felt her throat tighten, and she groaned, touching her shoulder gingerly. There was dried blood all over her shirt, and she could feel it caked into her hair. She sobbed dryly, feeling hot tears run down her face. She was scared, and she didn't want to open her eyes.

Another sob arched her spine, and the pain intensified. She squeezed her other fist into a ball, trying to ignore the ugly sensation of the knife sliding into her flesh, of the skin tearing open and letting in the cold, cruel air. Her eyelids trembled open against her will, and she choked out cries of pain. She felt young, naive, and terrified. The dark room she saw around her was the place everybody woke up to in their nightmares, with dank, dripping walls the colour of mud and dried blood, and a concrete floor crawling with dust and spiders. A cracked light bulb hung forlorn on the ceiling, from a rusted chain. There were no windows, but some gray light trickled in through the crack underneath a door next to the head of the bed she was lying on. She threw her head to the side, facing away from it, not wanting to know what lay on the other side.

Her whole arm was stiff. As she moved, she felt the knife wound bleed afresh. She let out another high-pitched cry and clenched her teeth as tears poured from her eyes and she cried. She felt four years old again, trapped behind a dumpster, wailing into the night, wondering where her parents were.

She heard footsteps outside the door, and immediately tried to calm herself. She hiccuped into the hand covering her mouth, and the arm under the injured shoulder was in a rigor of pain. All she wanted was for the footsteps to pass by, and her nightmare to end. But in her other nightmares, there was no pain.

The door cracked open, as if it were too big for the door frame. Her head whipped around to face the light, her eyes open wide. Her breaths were coming in short, painful bursts. A figure stepped into the room, blocking the light. He glowed with it, and stood still for a moment, staring down at her. She could not see his face.

In a flash, he had stepped forward and grabbed her by the neck. She choked and cried out in alarm and pain. She still couldn't see much about him, other than the fact that he was grossly muscular and much taller than she. His breath hit her like a wall of putrid smoke. She sucked a breath in past her lip and gulped down another sob.

"Oh, good, yer awake," the hulk said. His voice sounded muffled, for some reason. He straightened himself, letting her fall back to the bed. "C'man. Yer comin' with me." She saw him reach behind himself, and drew a gun on her. He pulled back the hammer, and gestured at the door with it. "No funny stuff, either. Just up and out."

Trying to keep her shaking legs and the urge to break into tears under control, she turned and got to her feet. She hugged her left arm to her chest, feeling the wound stretch and ooze. She moaned quietly in pain.

Once she was out the door and into a long, narrow hallway, the man grabbed her shoulder - the uninjured one, luckily - and dragged her along. The gun was still pointed at her. She glanced up at him constantly.

He was a full head and a half taller than she was, and easily twice her width. He wore a faded denim jacket. She couldn't see his face. The muffled quality of his voice was explained by the mask he wore. It was a clown mask, molded in an ugly grin, completing her nightmare.

The massive clown led her down a few more hallways, and up a flight of stairs. She had no idea where she was. It looked like it could be a one-star hotel, or maybe an apartment. It could even be a hostel. They reached a room with the number sixteen encrusted on the door with dirt. He knocked.

"Yeah?" a thick voice called.

"It's that kid off'a the street," her clown called. "Thought I might, y'know, show the boss."

There was a sigh of frustration, and foot steps. The door flew open, to reveal yet another man in a clown mask. This one was much skinnier, but about as tall, as the first. The scowl on his mask matched his voice. "It's just some kid," he said, smacking Lee with the back of his hand - not hard at all, but she winced and drew back. "What the hell good will showin' her to the boss do?"

"I followed 'er fer a couple'a blocks," the big one said. "She looted some money off'a a bunch'a guys. They didn't notice 'er, 'cause nobody came after 'er. Not bad fer a kid, don't ye think?"

The other one shook his head and sighed. "It's your neck, bub," he said, standing aside to admit the two of them.

They were in what could have been a hotel room, without the furniture. The walls were bare, the carpet was stained, and a table with yet more clowns sitting around it stood off to the side. They were playing cards, glancing up only briefly as Lee was shoved forward, toward another door.

As the clown was knocking on this door, she heard a low voice coming from the table. "Guess we won't be seein' Dopey again, huh?" This was followed by low laughter.

"What?" a voice barked from inside the room.

The big clown cleared his throat, and Lee was shocked to hear the panic in his voice. "I, ah, I got a kid here, boss."

"That's ... not my problem."

The voice was closer now; Lee thought the owner might be right on the other side of the door. She was trembling violently, for she had realized who the voice belonged to.

In her terror at waking up somewhere unfamiliar with a stab wound in her shoulder, and having her nightmare deepened by the murderous clowns, she hadn't processed anything. Clowns. She had been kidnapped. Who else in Gotham used clowns as lackeys?

The clown shuffled his feet a little, sounding increasingly nervous. "It's jus' that, ah, I saw her do some lootin'. In a packed night club. She got off with a couple'a wallets and a drink wit'out anybody noticin' she did anything. She's a natural if I ever saw one."

The door creaked open a little, but nothing of the room beyond, or the person inside, could be seen.

"A natural, you say? Don't you know to steal is the most ... the most natural thing in the world?" His voice was high, oily, and mocking. The clown looked at his feet. The voice went on, "So you got a kid. A ... you got a little girl. Not my business. Use her how you ... you want to ... and kill her. She doesn't have any value to me."

The door slammed shut, with Lee gaping at it, horror struck. The clown sighed and began to drag her backwards, inches closer to her own abuse and death. She cried out suddenly, wrenching herself away from the surprised clown.

Lee threw herself at the door, banging on it with both fists. She saw blood splatter on the door where her left fist hit it. She was sobbing uncontrollably, and her words came out in choked and broken gasps.

"N-o!" The word came out in two syllables, because she'd choked on her own saliva. She sucked in a lungful of air. "Pl-lease! I'll d-do anything! I c-can get int-to any p-place you need to go! I'll s-steal anyth-thing! I'll d-do whatever you say! Just d-don't kill me-e!" She dropped to her knees, fists still on the door, her shoulders shaking with the sobs racking her body.

She felt the clown grab her injured shoulder, and her head exploded with pain, but she pulled away with all her strength, clutching the door handle. "No!" she screamed, her eyes wide and staring at the closed door. "Please! Please!"

"Shut up!" The clown kicked her in the side, and she doubled over on herself, still sobbing and shaking violently. "Now come on! Jesus!" Once again, the clown moved to drag her away.

Slowly, though, the door creaked open. Everybody in the room stopped what they were doing to stare. Lee's crying even spluttered to a halt as she stared up from her knees at the man in the doorway.

He stared down at her, hard, from within black pits painted around his eyes. His face was smeared with white paint. Two smiling scars were brought into terrible focus with blood-red paint. His fly-away green hair fell over his face. He looked serene. Lee trembled.

He stepped forward once, fluidly, still staring at her. "I know you'll do whatever I want, sugar," he said, his voice dripping innocence. "That's not really what I care about."