In the Mind of Madness

“Kenna.”

Bruce was saying her name softly in her ear. A whisper of passion, a hot breath against her cheek as his fingertips skimmed from her elbows to her shoulders. The contact was so light she could barely feel it, and she leaned against him to try and find more. He backed away. Kenna furrowed her brow and followed him.

“Bruce.” She sounded irritated, but she wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

On fire, that was how she felt. Like if he didn’t grab onto her and squeeze she would scream, or maybe she would clutch him and take it upon herself to show him how she burned. She wanted to feel his hands thread through her hair and pull, exposing her neck to his ragged lips, his biting teeth.

Wait…she didn’t want that did she? Pulling her hair? And…ragged lips? Bruce didn’t have ragged lips. His mouth was yielding and slightly chapped, but soft. It didn’t make sense. Did it? Where was she?

“Bruce?” this time she sounded confused, but her hands kept moving of their own accord, slipping around his torso and tightening. So warm and firm, and she could finally press her body to his. A long sigh that was mostly a moan caught in her throat, the length of her thigh colliding with his. At last his hands touched her, one gripping the back of her neck and the other seizing her hip hard enough that she anticipated it would leave bruises.

Why did she want this? It didn’t matter. It felt too good.

His lips ghosted over hers and she sucked in eagerly, tasting his breath. She wanted to swallow him whole, feeling his bones crack under her teeth. But…that wasn’t how things had been with Bruce. He had gone slowly, treated her like she was fragile. They had made love.

Kenna wanted to fuck.

The thought reverberated in her head, and it took her a moment to notice that another sound had joined it: an evil rumbling that was familiar, fanning the flames licking at every surface of her body. How was it familiar? The noise was getting louder, and Kenna responded by thrashing away. But he increased the intensity of his hold on her until she could barely breathe.

“Joker!”

The name came out of her mouth and Kenna opened her eyes. Her heart was beating so fast it was almost painful, and Kenna was dazed as she put her hand over her chest. She couldn’t remember where she was, blinking to adjust her eyes to the light, surprised to find a red-haired teenager snoring loudly in front of her, handcuffed to a toilet.

She remembered after only a second, the hand on her chest moving to her forehead. It was hot and slightly damp, even in the chill of the bathroom. Kenna realized she was shaking and took deep breaths to calm herself down.

It had only been a dream. No, a nightmare, she corrected herself. Nightmares weren’t anything to get worked up over, no matter what Freud said. Screw Freud. Kenna gulped, pretending that she didn’t feel any of the desire remaining from her dream. The desire had been for Bruce anyway, not for him. She was sure of that.

Kenna winced as she moved her legs and arms, incredibly taut from how she’d been sleeping. Her head was sore from resting on the stall, and her legs threatened to cramp from being curled up under her. She had to stand up, attempting to do so quietly. The kid had probably slept even less than she had for the past few days, which was almost not at all, and she was glad he had the chance to do so. Maybe her presence was even a little comforting.

Tip-toeing away from Brawley, Kenna began pacing the bathroom. She wasn’t pleased with being caged like an animal, despite how she had been treated like one by The Joker before. This was a new low, even for him. When it came to how he treated her anyway. Kenna didn’t feel stunned by it as much as angry, and she wanted to lock him in a room for a while to see just how much he liked it. There wasn’t any way to tell how long she’d been there either.

“Urgh…hullo?”

Hearing Brawley wake up, Kenna went back to the stall and looked in. “I’m still here.”

“Okay.” He groaned, stretching his arms around the toilet. “I thought maybe I’d only dreamed ya were here.”

Kenna grimaced, thinking of her own dream. “I’m not that special.”

“Better than nothin’.” Suddenly there was a howling like a wounded animal, causing Kenna to jump. Brawley looked down sheepishly. “Sorry…s’my stomach. Nobody brought me anythin’ to eat since yesterday. Or I think it was yesterday.”

Anger prickled at her temples, and Kenna squared her jaw. “Be right back.”

She saw Brawley’s eyebrow lift in uncertainty before she walked over to the door, banging her fist on it a couple times and shouting. “Hey! I know someone can hear me! HEY!”

“Shh.” said a gruff voice after a moment. Kenna looked down and could see the shadow of a person standing outside the door. “The Boss told me not to talk to you.”

Kenna glared at the goon through the door. “You’re talking to me right now, aren’t you?” there was a baffled pause, and Kenna had to count to ten inside her head. She wasn’t in any mood to deal with the third-grade drop outs The Joker employed. “Go and get your boss.”

“Uh, the, um, Boss said not to bother him or he would--”

“Whatever he said he would do to you, I’ll do it twice if you don’t go get him.”

There was another brief lull, and then the man defended himself. “Lady, I ain’t scared of you. You’re half my size and you’re behind a metal door. What could you do to me?”

“I can keep nagging until you welcome sweet death’s embrace.” Kenna slammed her fist on the door one more time, sighing in defeat. “Just tell him I want to talk to him…” it pained her to say it, but… “Please?”

Another silence. Kenna was thinking that it probably took him all that time to process what she said and come up with a reply when the guy groaned. “Whatever, lady. Just shut up. I’ll tell him.”

“Thank you.”

Shaking her head, Kenna went back to where Brawley was trapped and smiled at him. He was grinning a little bit, but still appeared bewildered. “Whaddyou want to talk to him for?”

“Get you some food.”

Kenna didn’t let it show that her stomach was impossibly tight with nerves. If The Joker did show up, which it was possible he wouldn’t, she didn’t want to see him. Even imagining his face in her mind made her feel nervous. Brawley sat up a little more against the wall, cringing.

“Well…thanks. Maybe you could try an’ convince him I won’t go nowhere if he unchains me?”

She nodded quickly. “Definitely. It’s doing more than he has to keeping you handcuffed as well as locked in here. You’re just a kid.” Seeing the offended look on his face, she went on. “Or that’s what he thinks anyway.”

“Yeah, sure.” Brawley mumbled, his head falling back against the wall. “God, why couldn’t Da just try talking to the guy?”

A derisive snort came from Kenna as she rolled her eyes. “The same thing would have happened. The Joker doesn’t listen very well.”

“Neither does my da.”

The boy looked so hopeless Kenna was about to try and comfort him, but the sound of approaching footfalls that were too memorable for her to ignore stopped her. She was shocked he’d come so soon, having thought he would probably leave her to rot there for a while longer.

His voice came from the other side of the door and Kenna went rigid. “What do you want, doll? Daddy’s very busy today.”

Glancing down at Brawley, Kenna saw he was just as surprised as she felt. The Joker sounded far too happy for anything good to be in store. But it did make he blood boil to hear him call himself ‘Daddy’ again, so she used that to muster courage and walk back to the door.

“What kind of business are you running?”

The Joker was quiet for a few seconds, apparently not sure what Kenna meant by that. “A good one?”

“No, you’re not.” Kenna nearly pressed her face to the cool metal, having a hard time ignoring the fact that The Joker was just on the other side. “What kind of criminal mastermind lets their hostage starve? A sloppy one, that’s what. What good is he to O’Dwyer all wasted away?”

This time there was no pause, The Joker immediately beginning to hoot so loud it echoed even inside the bathroom. Kenna’s jaw twitched, her ears ringing. She itched to wrap her hands around his throat, or punch him like she had done before. Man that had felt good.

“Did you hear her trying to…trick me?” The Joker was talking to his man who had been guarding the door. “Did you?”

It sounded as if the thug didn’t respond quickly enough, because Kenna heard The Joker’s fist collide with his face and then a pained groan. Glaring at the ceiling, Kenna tried again.

“The kid needs food, Joker.”

The clown giggled. “I gave him food yesterday.”

“He needs more.” Her foot started tapping with her effort to sound patient. “Not everyone eats only once every few days.”

“Are you implying I have unhealthy eating habits?”

Kenna resisted the urge to pull her hair. Why was he so…insufferable? “Just give him something. I’ll sit in here quiet as a church mouse if you do.”

“A church mouse, you say…”

Her forehead fell against the door. Then she had an idea. “Or you could let me out and I’ll cook his food. That would work, too.”

“Why would I let you out, Kenna my darling? You were very, very nasty to me yesterday.” She could practically see him mocking her.

Wrinkling her nose, Kenna remembered what he was talking about. She had called him a demented circus freak. But she wasn’t going to apologize. She knew he didn’t actually want her to anyway; he was just getting his kicks from pissing her off. “You know you’re bored without me.”

His laugh bellowed through the room again. “On the contrary, doll, I find it hilarious that you’re trapped in there! And I’m getting so much work done without having to babysit you.”

“Joker.” Her teeth were grinding together so hard it was agonizing. “I’ll…cook for you, too.”

The moment the words left her mouth she regretted it, but she was getting desperate. Not only did she want Brawley to have something to eat, but she didn’t think she could stand one more minute in that bathroom. She was sorry for the kid, but there was nothing she could do for him in there. Outside where she could try and find the key to his handcuffs, however…

After a moment Kenna could hear him chuckle. “You know, I’d like to see that.”

“Well, then I need some things.” Kenna pretended she wasn’t getting anxious about seeing him again. “We never have anything edible in this dump.”

“I’ll send Darla.”

Kenna waited, but she didn’t hear the sound of jingling keys. “So aren’t you going to let me out?”

“When Darla gets back.” replied The Joker matter-of-factly.

Exhaling noisily, Kenna turned around so she was leaning her back on the door. “Alright.” Then she called out to Brawley. “Are you allergic to anything? Have any favorite foods?”

“No, and no.” the answer came from the other side of the door.

Kenna scoffed. “I wasn’t talking to you, Joker.”

“Rude.”

Disguising her laugh as a cough, Kenna repeated the question more clearly for Brawley, who responded the same as The Joker did. Well, if he didn’t have a favorite food she would just make something she knew was filling, for Brawley’s benefit.

“Okay, I’m going to need pork chops and potatoes…”

---

Kenna kept her eyes down as she slowly sliced potatoes into small squares. She was extremely aware of The Joker sitting at the table in the cramped kitchen, only a couple yards behind her, his feet propped up on the table like he was entirely at ease. At least the room wasn’t silent, the news chattering on the television propped on top of the fridge.

The sexy new anchor, Vicki something, was talking about The Joker, and Kenna couldn’t help herself after a moment. “Don’t they have anything better to put on there?”

“What could be more interesting than me?” The Joker giggled, and Kenna didn’t need to look back to know he was grinning at her. “You’re just mad they don’t talk about you any more. Unless they’re having those disgusting Morning Talk women debate whether or not you’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome.”

A derisive snort came from Kenna as she started spreading the potatoes out on a cookie sheet and popping them in the oven. “That’s a good one.”

“I do dictate what you can or cannot do.”

“Like hell.”

The Joker chuckled. “Whatever you wanna tell yourself, kitten.”

Things were quiet between them again as Kenna prepared the stuffing for her mother’s stuffed pork chop recipe. She used her hands to mix it, pretending it was The Joker’s face she was jamming into the side of the bowl. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but it made her feel a little better.

Her ears pricked when the voice of Jim Gordon came from the speakers. “—search is ongoing. And yes, Mr. Wayne is still aiding the Gotham P.D. in whatever way he can. Dr. Archer and her family are personal friends of his.”

“Would you say Archer and Wayne became more than friends while she was under house arrest at Wayne Manor? Why was her discovery hidden from the public until after The Joker kidnapped her again? Commissioner Gordon!”

Kenna scowled at the screen, watching Gordon slip into the Gotham Police Department to evade the shrill-voiced reporter. It was still strange to hear herself mentioned on television. What a way to become a celebrity.

“Did you become ‘more than friends’ with Wayne, Dr. Archer?” The Joker asked her, his voice mocking with some other edge to it.

Her neck felt warm, but Kenna acted like it was nothing. “That wouldn’t be your business.”

“Everything is my business.”

“Why do you follow Wayne so closely anyway?” Kenna diverted the subject, mostly to avoid getting angry, but also she was curious. She had seen The Joker watching Wayne on the news more than once.

When she turned her head back a little to see his reaction she was met with a menacing smile, sending a lightening bolt from the nape of her neck to her tailbone. “Who doesn’t like watching Gotham’s own Donald Trump? He’s a saint really, helping out a woman he barely knows. A real saint…”

Mouth open to retort sharply, Kenna stopped again to listen to the news. A short video clip of a large black shape flying from one rooftop to another was playing, the words running below it shouting ‘INCREASED BATMAN SIGHTINGS IN THE NARROWS’. Kenna’s stomach twisted nervously, imagining Bruce running into a gang of thugs (belonging either to The Joker or The Irishman or freelancing) while he was looking for her out there. She wished he wasn’t looking for her.

While she wasn’t happy about it in the least, Kenna was aware that the people she cared about were a lot safer while she was in The Joker’s clutches. The rest of Gotham however…well, Kenna wasn’t sure if they would ever really be safe.

“Oh, Bats.” The Joker sighed almost fondly, using the remote to switch off the TV before throwing it somewhere behind him with a clang. “He hardly ever comes out to play anymore.”

Feeling a bit smug, Kenna finished stuffing her pork chops and slid them in the hot oven with the roasting potatoes. For a moment she considered how ridiculous it was that she was cooking in this place, with The Joker sitting in the room with her. Like she was a housewife. The thought almost made her laugh, but she stayed grim.

“I’m sure Batman has better things to do than play with silly old clowns.”

“Oh? Like what? Making the world a better place? Pleasuring himself to images of bats?” The Joker cackled when Kenna looked disturbed, clasping his hands behind his head like he hadn’t a care in the world. “You like to point out just how crazy I am, sweet cheeks, but you never do stop and think that no ‘normal’ person would dress up like a nocturnal rodent and swoop around beating up bad guys. Hm?”

Kenna narrowed her eyes at him, leaning her hip on the counter. “He’s a good kind of crazy, then.”

“What kind of crazy am I?” the clown at the table leered at her expectantly.

A smirk tugged at her lips and Kenna hid it with a snarl. “Batshit crazy.”

At that The Joker laughed so hard a couple tears streaked through his makeup, and Kenna allowed herself a complacent smile as she crossed her arms and waited for him to quiet down. He pulled out a green and purple striped handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes with it, and Kenna saw the smudges of black on the fabric as he tucked it away.

“You kill me, Kenna.”

“I wish.”

He cackled swiftly, pointing at her. “Good one.” Then he sighed, leaning father back in his chair. “Now, get me a drink like a good girl, would you?”

Fury crackled inside her head like a lit fuse, causing Kenna to spin and snatch one of the crappy plastic cups stacked on the back of the counter. She opened the bottle of whiskey that sat among them with shaking fingers, glancing at The Joker to find him raising an eyebrow, surprised she was actually doing it. A lot of effort was required to keep her from quaking too hard and spilling, but she managed to keep her hand steady long enough to pour a suitable amount of the amber liquid in the cup.

The Joker’s infinite brown eyes watched her like a hawk circling above a field mouse as she approached him. A church mouse, maybe. But she didn’t look away, nor did she show any signs that she was intimidated by him. That wouldn’t do. That wasn’t how this worked. Kenna’s pulse elevated to dangerous speeds, like a train out of control, her fingers so tight on the cup she worried it would crumble apart. But it didn’t. Her slow footsteps seemed to boom in the hush, but they didn’t really.

“Here.” She spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible, and she was careful not to let the mug make a sound as she set it on the table. “Is your drink.”

As his hand reached out for it Kenna bent over the table, looking down only long enough to aim, then locked eyes with The Joker as she gathered the saliva in her mouth and spit it into the drink.

In the stillness the impact of the heavy bead entering the whiskey was like a comedic water drop sound effect. Kenna stole a glimpse down to see it sitting foamy and whitish clear on the surface, and felt mirth rising up inside her. She looked back at The Joker and could see a parallel expression on his face, but there was something else.

There was heat in his eyes.

“There you go, Daddy.” Kenna kept her voice low, so it wouldn’t tremble with her glee.

The Joker kept moving for it. Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. No, he wouldn’t do that. That was disgusting. Just to screw with her? No. But his eyes said yes. She couldn’t watch him swallow that. Kenna’s hand struck out, closing on his wrist just as he touched the cup.

“What’s wrong, princess?” The growl that came out of The Joker was so deep it was unbearable, and Kenna couldn’t suppress the goose bumps that rose all over her body. “It’s not like I haven’t had your spit in my mouth before.”

She realized he was about to laugh. Her wrath was blinding. With a swing of her hand she released The Joker and knocked the cup off the table, listening to it clatter and splash on the floor. Her breathing was wild, her chest rising and falling like she had just run for miles as she stayed bent over the table, staring into The Joker’s eyes and trying to see through the haze of red.

She felt like something was about to happen.

Darla walked into the kitchen.