The Joker and the Thief

Batman did not go unnoticed by the Joker either. The dogs began barking as I awkwardly tried to stand up. The Joker came to my aide by pulling me upward by what was left of my hair. My emerging insult was silenced when I felt the blade against my throat.

“Let her go.” Batman said in his unnaturally deep voice. Even as he said it, the Joker pushed harder on the knife. Only the pressure on my throat didn’t stop. I felt the blade pierce the skin just below my jawbone. I tried to move away from the impending danger but the Joker’s grip on my hair prevented me moving my hair. A small squeak escaped my lips.

My shaking hand grasped the metal pole behind as my mind raced to find an escape route. I again began trying to force my hands through the handcuffs. I was so panicked I drew blood. My thumb was the only thing blocking me from freedom. No matter which way I bent my thumb, I couldn’t slip the cuff over it. Then a rather crazy, painful idea popped in my head. Before I could dwell on the prospect to much and change my mind, I took hold of my left thumb and quickly pulled it back at an odd angle.

I felt the bone crack and another, much louder, whine fled my lips. The Joker, who was too busy in conversation with the Batman, either did not hear it or took it to be a product of the knife to my throat. I recklessly pulled my left hand though the handcuff and in doings so I caused more cuts to me made on the back of my hand. From the amount of blood I felt on my hand, I assumed I pulled some skin off.

My hands were free but there was a still a knife pressed against my throat so any relieved emotions were short lived. I still couldn’t escape because the Joker still had a hold of my hair. “She has nothing to do with this. Let her go.” The Batman said as I focused my mind back to the conversation at hand. He was my only hope. Surely, he wouldn’t let the Joker kill me. Then again, things had not been in Batman’s favor lately. Or mine.

As the seconds passed, my mind, fueled by fear and adrenaline, began to do a run though of all my options. Soon a plan began to form. My best bet was to distract the Joker longer for Batman to attack and for me to get away. Unfortunately, my timing wasn’t the best. A millisecond before I attacked the Joker, with an elbow to the ribcage, he let the dogs loose. So, as the Batman fought off the dogs, I fought with the Joker.

My attack caused him to remove the knife from my throat but with the distraction of Batman it allowed the Joker to make another attempt. He knocked my head against the metal pole, which again left me momentarily oblivious to everything else as I gripped my new head wound. What came next took me by surprise.

The Joker took hold my waist to prevent me from crumbling to the ground. With one hand, he kept me from falling over and with the other the Joker brandished the knife. “Good-bye, Bradley. It’s been a blast.” The Joker sneered before pushing the knife into my stomach. My body froze. For added effect, the Joker gave the knife a quick twist before removing it. I was forgotten quickly as he turned his attention back to the Batman.

I slumped to the floor and landed slowly on my back. I pressed my hands over the wound in my lower abdomen. I wasn’t a doctor and I practically failed high school biology, but I was pretty sure the wound was around the kidney area. My shirt was already soaked in blood and I applied as much pressure as possible to stop or at least slow the bleeding.

Surprisingly, as I laid there, staring up the boring ceiling, I feel no overwhelming discomfort. My head and body ached but the knife appeared not to produce an exceedingly amount of pain, just blood. I began to think that the wound itself wasn’t life threatening. But I was sure the bleeding was. I had to stop the bleeding. I need to get to a hospital. Surely, the police were here. Where were they? Were they on the streets below or were they already in the building freeing the other hostages? Either way, I knew I had to get up.

That was a task itself. My pain free existence was destroyed when I moved. Bending over was an agonizing experience and I wasn’t sure how long it took me to stand up. When I was finally able to look around the space, neither the Joker nor the Batman were to be found. Walking caused to the wound to bleed more, so it was slow going. My goal was the stairs but that was forgotten when I saw the Batman on one of the open-aired construction platforms. I changed my direction. When I finally reached him, I used another metal beam for support. Only then did I see the Joker hanging in the air, upside.

“You could have just let him fall.” I muttered under my breath. The Joker, who was busy laughing, didn’t hear but the Batman, who kneeled on the ground, out of breath, did.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, noticing my discomfort.

Even in the all the urgency and pain, I still managed to muster up some sarcasm. “Never been better.” As I said it, I heard the sound of numerous footsteps on the stairs but they seemed farther away. Apparently, I lost much more blood than I thought because I lost consciousness again.



The bed was uncomfortable as hell so I knew I wasn’t in heaven. I doubted they provide beds in Hell so I was pretty sure I wasn’t dead. I smelled antibacterial soap and I heard the distance mutter of voices and the beep of a machine. I couldn’t feel anything; no pain or aches, but I attributed that to the plastic IV in my hand. I felt the little plastic monitor clip, which was in control of the constant beeping, on my middle finger. The beeping was getting really irritating.

I opened my eyes and saw nothing but a white ceiling. When I lowered my glaze I saw two people but they were at the other end of the room, by the door. With my good hand, not the one that was covered in bandages, I tried to knock the heart rate monitor off my finger. This drew the attention of the two people in the room. One was a nurse, an older woman dressed in light blue scrubs, who scolded me for messing with the equipment. I ignored her and continued to move, examining the multiple tubes that were connected to me. Frustrated, the nurse left muttering something about more anesthesia.

The other was Jim Gordon, who looked like he hadn’t slept in a week. “How are you doing, kid?” He asked with relief written on his face.

I gave up trying to follow the tubes to their origin. “I don’t know, you tell me.” I was alive and in no pain, so in my view I was doing great. “How long have I been out?” Forgetting the tubes, I began to examine the bandages that practically covered my entire body. But there was one spot, which was no longer bandaged, that caught my attention. It was my right arm where the Joker had dug his knife into my skin. A single word was carved into my arm. The letters were raised scars and I knew they would never fade away. The handy work was untidy and the letters were unevenly spaced across the inside of my forearm. I read the word a thousand times to myself. Smile.

“Eight days. You lost a lot of blood. You had to have multiple blood transfusions. Another inch to the left and the Joker would have killed you. Not to mention your broken thumb.” A weird silence filled the room before Gordon decided to continue. “He’s in Arkham Asylum. Along with the majority of his goons.”

“What about me?” I said with no emotion. I had only been awake for a few minutes but I instantly felt tired.

“You’ve been cleared of all charges and your record is clean. What you do from here is your choice.” Gordon said resting his hands in his jacket pocket.

“What can I do?” I asked almost to myself. I had no high school education, my mother still ignored me, and I was pretty sure I had lost my job at the café for not showing up. The cards were certainly not in my favor.

“I believe I can help with that.” A new voice said as a man walked into the room. I recognized Bruce Wayne from the newspapers. His dark hair was gracefully combed and his black suit was neatly pressed.

Gordon was just as confused as I was. “Mr. Wayne, what are you doing here?” At this point, I was wishing the old lady would come back with more sedatives. There was too much going on. I wanted to go back to sleep.

“I’ve come to offer Ms. Bradley a job.” Wayne said with his charming smile.

“Uh, Mr. Wayne, you do realize that I stole your car a couple of year ago?” My voice was a bit scratchy. Why would he want to give me a job when he knew of my past criminal offences?

“I know. I never really liked that car anyways. Now-“ The rest of Wayne’s sentence was cut off when the nurse returned.

“She’s only allowed one visitor at a time. Where did you come from? Get out.” The old lady said in a harsh tone. Feeling threatened, Bruce gave me his card and told me to call when I got out to the hospital before he was swept out the door by the nurse. She then kicked Gordon out before injecting another dose of sedative into my IV. A few seconds later, I was out.



I awoke sometime in the night. The room was dark but rays of light leaked from the hallway though blinds and into my room. The clock on the wall said it about two in the morning. Unable to return to sleep, I picked up the newspaper that was placed on the side table. On the front page was a picture of Gordon, who had been promoted to Commissioner, and the mayor. My eyes went to the date at the top of the paper. April 6. If this was yesterday’s paper, than today was my eighteenth birthday.

I tossed the paper back onto the table and was prepared to go back to sleep when I noticed what else was placed on the table. A single red rose rested in detailed purple vase. A small paper scroll was tied around the vase. Unsure, I removed the scroll, unrolled it and read the note in the limited light.

Dear Marie,

Parting is such sweet sorrow, dearest. Still, you can't say we didn't show you a good time. Enjoy yourself out there in the world. Just don't forget, if it ever gets too tough there's always a place for you here, with me. And happy birthday.

Get well soon.
-J

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I watched the vase shattered against the wall.

THE END