In the Mind of Madness

Kenna walked on her toes into the large open area where Darla and the other goons would lay about drinking, watching TV, and cursing at each other. Despite the fact that the cement floor of the warehouse was freezing cold, Kenna had only been wearing socks on her feet for the three days since her confrontation with The Joker. At night she slept curled up close to Darla in case one of the guys tried something while she slept, and she only entered the communal kitchen to grab something and skitter away. It was all in an effort to traverse the many hallways silently, and so far it had worked well.

When Kenna heard his voice or the clicking of his shoes, she turned tail and galloped in the other direction. She was content to keep it that way, especially when she’d heard The Joker’s voice bellowing in absolute fury at one of his unfortunate minions. The sound had echoed from the back of the warehouse all the way to the front, and it had made Kenna shudder when she thought it could have been her that he turned that power on.

Once she was sure The Joker was nowhere nearby, Kenna hurried towards where Darla sat on an old black couch. There were a few things she’d been meaning to ask her former neighbor, but avoiding The Joker had been taking up a large chunk of her time.

“Hey, Darla.” Kenna announced her presence softly as she sat down on the sofa beside the only other woman in the warehouse.

Darla nearly jumped out of her skin, narrowing her eyes at Kenna. “Are you ever going to quit this whole sock-ninja thing? It’s making me and the guys super jumpy.”

“You’re not the only ones who are a little uneasy.” snapped Kenna, knowing her argument with The Joker couldn’t have gone unnoticed. Satisfied that Darla looked a bit repentant, Kenna went on. “I wanted to ask you about that guy from the bar. The big, Irish one.”

The red-head looked bemused, then nodded in remembrance. “Oh, yeah. I forgot The Boss left you out of the loop on this one.” not seeming to notice Kenna’s grimace, Darla continued. “His name’s Mickey O’Dwyer and he’s just taken over the mob in Gotham.”

“Huh.” Kenna chewed on her lip for a moment. “Call me ignorant, but I thought the Gotham Mafia was sort of…well, Italian.”

Snorting, Darla smirked. “That it was, and a little bit of Russian. ‘Til this Mickey guy comes to town and blows up Maroni’s mansion. Maroni being the guy who got the reins after Falcone flew over the cuckoo’s nest.”

“Blew up his mansion? With him in it, I assume.”

Nodding grimly, Darla sighed. “With his wife and two kids in there with him. The sick bastard had plenty of chance to kill just Maroni while the wife and kids were on vacation, but no…O’Dwyer waited for ‘em to come back then bombed the place.”

Kenna mulled that over for a moment. She had a comment about The Joker being a sick bastard sitting on the back of her tongue, but Darla just ignored her when she made remarks like that so Kenna stayed quiet. To say she had a great amount of knowledge regarding the mafia would have been a lie, but Kenna had watched the news like everyone else. Also, she could recall seeing a few patients in Arkham who King said were former members. Regardless of the inner working of Gotham’s organized crime (which she didn’t include The Joker in, the keyword being ‘organized’), the question remained what had happened between the Irishman and The Joker.

“So what did O’Dwyer do to provoke the whole picture thing?”

Darla looked smug. “Tried to take one of The Boss’s banks back for the mob. Really stupid idea.”

One of Kenna’s eyebrows had risen skeptically. “The Joker has a bank?”

“Four, actually.”

Pausing to sneer to herself, Kenna imagined it. The First National Bank of Mad Clows. Then she thought of the unfortunate people with money or stock in those establishments, and was sober again.

“Okay, so what did The Joker do to get him back?”

As she had been speaking Kenna realized she felt uncomfortable saying The Joker’s name. Well, it wasn’t really his name, but it was all she knew. There were a few expletives she could come up with to describe him, but Kenna had never really been big on cursing and she wasn’t too fond of doing so. Though usually if she did it was due to The Joker. And she would never call him The Boss like Darla and the others did. Kenna had been so absorbed in the issue of The Joker’s name that she nearly missed Darla’s reply.

“Kidnapped his son.”

When Kenna concluded that Darla found nothing amiss about her nonchalantly said statement, she gaped in disbelief at the woman. “His son? How old is he?”

“Seventeen, I think.” Darla shoved a handful of popcorn into her mouth from a bowl Kenna couldn’t see, glancing at the TV every now and then like Kenna’s questions were keeping her from something she wanted to watch.

“Did he return him?” Kenna said tersely, beginning to feel angry as well as horrified by The Joker’s actions. It was rather amazing he could still surprise her.

Glancing confusedly at the blonde beside her, Darla shook her head. “Don’t think so. Not really sure what he’s gonna do with the kid.”

Kenna stood up. “Where is he?”

“Who? The Boss?”

“No, Santa Claus!” Kenna bit out at Darla. “Yes, him!”

Looking a bit hurt, the red-head pointed. “His workroom.”

All thoughts of avoidance or fear were forgotten as Kenna stormed through the warehouse. She could deal with a lot of crap from her painted captor, but keeping a child prisoner in addition to her was too much. Feeling a bit on the verge of hysteria, Kenna ran through the many narrow hallways to the rear of the warehouse. It reminded her of the time just recently she ran from The Joker, but she pushed that memory away.

The room Darla had been talking about, The Joker’s ‘workroom’, was the room where Kenna had found the televisions that The Joker was using to keep watch over her mother and King. Where Kenna had smashed all of the televisions. She didn’t let herself think too much about what she was going to do, turning the handle and pushing the door to enter the room.

There he sat, as if she’d expected something different. Her eyes rested on him and goose bumps sprung up along her arms and back. He must have been able to hear the door open, but he hadn’t moved. The broken TVs were gone, but there was still a fine dusting of bluish glass on the floor where they’d been destroyed. Now there were lots of cardboard boxes and a few fold-out card tables littered with various things Kenna couldn’t identify. Except one table that clearly held a very large gun that was partially disassembled. Kenna found herself hesitating, nearly unsure of why she had gone there.

There was only one light in the room, a cheap floor lamp fitted with a very bright fluorescent bulb aimed at the table where The Joker was working. Whatever it was his hands were prying at, Kenna again didn’t know what to call, but he was very focused. Standing bent over the little bits of metal, plastic, and wire on the table, a chair crooked behind him as if he’d kicked it away in annoyance and stood to get a better view of his project.

Kenna realized she’d never paid much attention to him working. His purple jacket and gloves removed, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The light threw shadows on the lean muscles, stringy tendons, and thick veins in his arms, straining with whatever he was doing. Yes, he was skilled with his hands. Nimble. Good at building things…and destroying them.

“What?”

His voice startled Kenna. Not only because it was so sudden, but because it was lower than normal. Not entertained. Not even angry. But not calm. Kenna found herself stepping backwards slowly.

When he got no reply The Joker slammed down whatever he held, causing Kenna to jump as he turned around. His bright red mouth was open to say something, but when he saw Kenna it snapped shut. She had some momentary desire to mock him for being at a loss for words, but it quickly dissipated when he didn’t smile. Not even a leer.

“What?” The Joker repeated after a moment, quietly, his face barely visible in the dim light but his eyes shining like usual. Kenna tried to pretend that didn’t provide her with some level of comfort.

After swallowing thickly Kenna found the ability to respond. “I…was going to…”

She stopped. The Joker wasn’t looking at her, instead staring heatedly at the wall. The anger she could sense emanating from him causing her to take another step back towards the door.

Something was off between them, making the air seem to crackle with tension. Kenna couldn’t be sure exactly what it was, but her stomach was clenching so tightly she thought she might have to be sick. Maybe The Joker was feeling the same thing.

But, as it always was with her lunatic warden, she couldn’t read anything on his face.

Her captor. Kenna remembered why she had given up the blessed lack of The Joker’s company. Then again, he didn’t seem too pleased to see her either.

“The Irishman’s son…” Kenna clenched her toes and fingers, forcing her voice to be steady and loud. Why wasn’t she angry anymore? The only thing she felt she couldn’t name.

The Joker abruptly put his back to her again, bracing his hands on the table. But there were no sounds of him resuming his work. “What about him?”

Running a hand over her ponytail, Kenna inhaled slowly to answer. “I want you to let him go.”

It sounded like The Joker mumbled something about Darla having a big mouth, and then he shook his head. “He stays here until I get O’Dwyer.”

“Kidnapping a teenager? All over some money? Since when has that mattered to you?” Kenna felt suddenly exasperated, sick of not knowing what was going on. Also sick of being continuously baffled by her own thoughts as well as The Joker’s.

A deep sigh made his spine bend even more than normal. “That isn’t…Are you done?”

“No.” Kenna felt indignant at his dismissal of her, but she felt something familiar and cold in her chest.

But what could she be afraid of? The Joker was being more passive than she’d ever seen him be. Despite the fact that she didn’t know why she took several very determined strides towards The Joker.

“Where is he?” she demanded, only a few feet behind him, anxious.

Sighing again, bothered but not quite irritated, The Joker didn’t reply. Kenna went closer, right at his side. Gathering all of her courage, Kenna pressed her palm to the round bone of his shoulder and pushed.

Staggering a bit, The Joker looked over at her. His expression was genuinely surprised for a second or two, then a spark she had seen before flickered. Adrenaline rushed in her veins and Kenna almost smiled. As she shoved him again she ignored the shout in her head of ‘what the hell is wrong with me?’

“I asked you where he is.” her voice was low, trembling a little. With what was a mystery to the pair now staring each other down.

The Joker took a fast step forward, his face barely an inch from hers and his shoulders squared. “No where!” boomed The Joker’s voice, inhumanly furious as it bounced off the walls and against Kenna’s eardrums.

A deep shiver ran from her neck to her feet, and Kenna tilted her chin up defiantly. “Fine.”

She turned on her heel, walking briskly back through the door to the hall. Darla would tell her. Seeming to gather what she was planning, The Joker followed her.

“She’s not going to tell you.” sneered the clown from behind her, sounding more like himself.

Kenna scoffed, barely able to suppress her excitement. “Wanna bet?”

They were getting closer to the big room and The Joker was becoming irritated. “I said he is no where, peaches. That means he is not any place that is your business.”

“You abducting and possibly torturing some kid just because of who his dad is is most definitely my business.”

“No, it is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Kenna—“

“Joker?”

Fingers wrapping around her elbow like iron tendrils brought Kenna to a harsh stop, her body whipping back against the momentum of her walking. The Joker grabbed onto the material of her sweatshirt on the side of her opposite his hold on her elbow, bringing her to a full stop. Kenna jerked forward to try and break free, but it was useless. She knew that.

“Kenna…you’re going to make me angry.”

The unexplainable grin tugged at the corners of her mouth again. “Maybe I don’t care if you’re angry? Hm? Maybe I’m not as scared of you as you – for some reason – think.”

There was a noiseless laugh near the back of Kenna’s head. The Joker’s grip grew impossibly tighter, her forearm going numb.

“Was mommy too busy drinking the pain of losing daddy away to teach you that lying is wrong?”

Anger, guilt, grief, and hate stabbed Kenna in the chest. She realized she hadn’t been thinking of helping the captive boy at all. The Joker touching her was suddenly repulsive, but when Kenna began to struggle he released her only long enough to wrap his arms around her in a crushing steel embrace. Kenna couldn’t move her ars, growling trough her clenched teeth in frustration.

“Let go!” her voice came out as an angry wildcat screech, fingernails trying to reaching some bit of skin on the man restraining her to tear at.

The Joker didn’t seem fazed by Kenna’s fighting him, though she was exerting all her strength. “You started it.”

“I hate you!” snarled the squirming woman, craning her neck so she could have a bit of The Joker’s face to glare at.

The white, black, and red face came to life then, splitting open in a taunting sneer and spilling out peals of manic laughter. Carrying Kenna with him, The Joker spun around and walked them back the way they’d come. Kenna flailed her legs and made a high-pitched noise of frustration.

“No! No! I’m going to--”

“Oh, stop throwing a tantrum!” The Joker interrupted her, sounding like he was close to exploding with mirth.

Trying to kick his shins, Kenna exhaled heavily. She was wearing herself out, and she noticed her feet weren’t touching the ground. “Just put me down…leave me alone.”

“Did mommy also forget to tell her precious daughter not to start what she doesn’t intend to finish?”

Kenna could feel her face turning bright red. “Say one more word about my mother, I dare y—HEY!”

The Joker had unceremoniously dumped Kenna on the ground, her knees buckling in surprise at being on solid ground again. She landed on her hands and knees, only having time to process that she was in front of the men’s bathroom door before The Joker unlocked it and more or less kicked her inside. It was dark in the crappy old bathroom, even more so when The Joker shut and locked the door again.

After a moment of rubbing the spot where The Joker’s shoe hit her ribs, Kenna sat up and stared incredulously into the blackness surrounding her. It only took a second for her anger to come back.

“You motherfucking piece of shit ASSHOLE! Open the door right NOW!”

Kenna could hardly hear The Joker’s laughter over the pounding of her fists on the metal door. “Be careful what you wish for, doctor.”

“I wish you were dead, you demented fucking circus freak!”

The Joker’s cackling grew fainter as he walked away, but Kenna continued calling him names and beating on the door until she was hoarse and her hands were numb.

So this was what she had come to? Purposefully provoking madmen and throwing fits like a child? Kenna felt sickened by her own actions and enraged by The Joker’s. the three days off from him apparently hadn’t done her mental health any good.

Exhausted, Kenna rested her back on the door and panted. But she didn’t have very much time to feel miserable, because she could hear another person in the room breathing almost as heavily as her.