The Joker and the Thief

Either I was losing a lot of blood or my tolerance for blood was less than I imagined because the dizziness in my head was growing and my vision was slowly going to black. I didn't think the wound was fatal; I never heard of anyone dieing from a gunshot to the arm. No, I fainted because looked down at my blood soaked clothes. All that blood was my blood. My last thought before I crumpled to the ground, “These clothes are ruined.” Now that I look back at it, dieing there wouldn't have that bad. Bleeding to death on Bruce Wayne's floor was certainly much more appealing than being shot in the head and thrown into the river. And I wouldn't have to bother with the Joker and his insane plan to kill Batman.

I wasn't sure how long I laid on the cold floor before someone thought to pick me up nor do I know how long I was out but I knew it was early morning when I woke up because of the pale pink color of the sky I saw through the window. I was still wearing the now blood ridden clothes but my arm, now just arching softly, was bandaged with clean white strips. I laid there in the bed, staring up at the low ceiling of the small room. The house was silent. It wasn't until I sat up that I noticed something was different. I ignored the pain in my left arm as I brought my hands up to my hair, or what was left of it.

My hair. It was gone. I turned to the mirror and looked at my reflection and hoped my mind was playing games on me. It looked like someone, probably the Joker, just took a pair of scissors and cut my ponytail off. That's it. I knew it was just hair but it was my hair, my head. And now, it looked like I let a kindergartener cut my hair. I was about to freak out when I noticed a pair scissors laying on the pillow next to me. I tried my best to make my hair look halfway normal. By the time I was done the floor around me was covered in my black hair and I could have easily been mistaken for a boy. If I had some hairspray or some gel I could have made it look decent but that was out of the question.

“Rubbing ain't gonna make those beautiful locks grow back, toots.” I nearly jumped when his voice broke the silence that had engulfed my life. The door was now open and he leaned against the doorway with his arms crossed across his chest. His violet jacket was now gone which made me sightly more comfortable. Less pockets meant less knives. “You can relax. I'm not gonna kill you. At least, not yet anyways.” He erupted in an other fit of laugh which caused my comfort level to decrease again. “You're too serious, doll. Either smile or I'll make you a smile.” He pulled a small from his left pocket and I instantly gave my best bright smile. The knife disappeared back into his pocket. “Is that so hard? You have cute dimples when you smile.” I wondered what his definition of 'cute' was.

The Joker walked the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind him. The fake smile faded from my face. The open door was my security blanket but now I was in a room alone with the Joker and with him between the door and me. He threw himself down on the bed before he asked, “Why do you fill the need to constantly dye your hair?” It was an odd yet simple question but I was still reluctant to answer it. “Why do you?” I said, sitting down on the floor by the end of the bed. The Joker gave me a look. “Touche, but I asked you first.” I thought about lying but I didn't know if it was the safest choice. Even though the truth was a little revealing I wouldn't get shot for it. “I don't like my natural hair color.” The Joker pushed himself up by his elbows to look down at me. “Why?” I gave a small sigh. I knew my short answer wouldn't satisfy him. “After my dad died, I got tried of people telling me that I looked like him.” He accepted my explanation without commenting.

“What do you want with me?” I dared to ask the question that was bothering me that most. “That's the question isn't it. And I've seen too many Bond movies to know that you never reveal your plan to anyone. But to answer your question without ruining the surprise, I want to set you free.” I laughed internally at the James Bond reference but the rest of it confused me. “Set me free from what?” I asked, my heart skipped a small beat. “Sanity is so overrated now-a-days. Madness is the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away... forever.”

“How are you going to do that?” I wasn't a psychologist so I wasn't well versed in what caused people to be put in a patted cell. “You'll see because we start right now.” The Joker gave his usual fit of laughter before pulling me out of the room with him.