In the Mind of Madness

Her head was pounding.

Kenna could hear the weak groan that came from her lungs as she shifted her legs under the covers, and slowly she pushed her excruciatingly dry tongue against the inside of her lips. Another unhappy noise left her at the unpleasant taste in her mouth. Metallic and fetid. Gathering her courage, Kenna cracked her eyes open and felt her brow crease.

She was squinting up at a ceiling that could belong in any generic house or apartment across the country. Off white, brought to a bland, uneven texture probably by use of a sponge by an underpaid maintenance man. Kenna swallowed with a mighty wince and focused. It was difficult to think with the steady thump thump thump just between her eyes. Where was she? What day was it?

A quiet crash close by made Kenna turn her head. Too sharply, causing another flinch. The rest of the room was even more confusing. It looked like…no. It was her apartment. That was the chair she bought at an estate sale in college sat by the door. Complete with its one short leg, propped up with a piece of cardboard from a shoebox. It was hardly safe to sit in, but she was attached to it. Kenna opened and closed her eyes several times, slowly. Nothing changed. This was her bedroom.

Looking down revealed the deep green comforter Kenna bought when she first moved into this apartment. The exact sight she was greeted by every single morning before getting up for work. Making coffee and showering and doing normal things. Kenna was definitely confused but she wasn’t hallucinating. Even with the fog in her brain she knew she was home and she knew it wasn’t right. Some tiny part of her suggested that the past few months were just a vivid dream, but Kenna knew better.

Her hands moved to push her up and Kenna hissed, pulling her arms from under the blanket and finding her wrists heavily bandaged. She made a face as the tiny hopeful voice was smothered back into silence. Letting her injured arms drop into her lap gingerly, Kenna sat up with a low noise of pain, her eyes clenching shut for a moment. Everything hurt at least a little. Her skin felt raw.

Using her legs to kick the blanket away, she turned to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the carpet. It was surreal enough to make her smirk a little even when her feet protested the effort of standing. Kenna looked down at her mostly bare body, grimacing at the fact that she was wearing the same underwear as…well, however many days ago she’d been kidnapped. A shower sounded like far too much effort, so she merely stripped naked (with a great deal of quiet cursing and pausing to work through the discomfort) and reached into her closet for the blue terrycloth robe she knew was there. The soft material brushed her neck and caused Kenna to stiffen, using her hands as little as possible to move it away. Now that she noticed it even the air her movement caused brought sharp tingles of pain to her throat.

Knowing there was a mirror just out the door and into the hall, Kenna crept quietly out of the bedroom. There was someone else in her apartment. That much she could tell as soon as she listened. They were in the kitchen doing something with her pots and pans, which caused a faint ping of irritation, but they wouldn’t be able to see her from there which was what mattered. Kenna tip toed into the bathroom and slipped behind the door and out of sight, releasing a breath through her nose before looking at her reflection. Ouch.

Her eyes were bloodshot and there was a healthy goose egg near her right temple that apparently wouldn’t hurt as long as she didn’t touch it, whitish yellow in the middle and slightly green around the edges. That wasn’t the worst of it. It was obvious why her neck hurt. Kenna pursed her lips as she leaned her head to one side, trying to see all of the violent bruise between her jaw and shoulder. Purpled and splotchy, it seemed to circle something. After a moment Kenna realized there was an angry red hole in the center. Someone had shoved a syringe or something of a comparable shape into her neck with a good deal of force.

The sound of the television coming on startled Kenna out of staring at her abused body. It sounded like an ad for a vacuum cleaner. Fear was almost ordinary now, but finding out who was there with her seemed important. Realization that it could be The Joker hit her right in the windpipe and she gave herself a little shake despite her injuries before turning to leave and investigate.

“Fuck!”

Kenna’s hands flung up automatically to block any attacks when she nearly walked into a body in the hallway. Darla was obviously alarmed as well, crying out before gaping in surprise. “Oh my God, you’re awake.” she whispered, staring at Kenna as if she might topple back over at any second. It didn’t seem impossible.

Relaxing visibly at confirmation it was only Darla, Kenna sighed heavily. “What the hell happened?”

“You must be starving. I’ll make you pancakes while you tell me what you remember.” Darla hovered momentarily and Kenna thought she was going to offer assistance getting to the kitchen, but apparently she thought better of it and went ahead of Kenna out of the bathroom.

Kenna followed silently even though her stomach felt more sour than anything, looking at Darla’s back. The bags under the henchwoman’s eyes made it seem like she hadn’t slept for days. Maybe she hadn’t. “The last thing I remember is being in that freezer with Crane. He was filming…” Kenna muttered, her head aching as she fought to bring back those last memories before the lurching wave of darkness. “He drugged me.”

With effort she could recall Crane shooting a puff of white from his sleeve and into her face, trying not to inhale, choking. Then there was screaming. Hers’ or someone else’s, Kenna didn’t know. She shuddered as she warily put herself in a kitchen chair, ignoring the odd sensation of déjà vu that accompanied being back in her kitchen after all this time. “Why are we here?” she tacked onto the end, watching Darla move to the stove. There was already a bowl of pancake mix on the counter.

“Um…” Darla didn’t look at Kenna as she mixed the contents of the bowl, setting the pan that caused the clang Kenna heard earlier on the stovetop. “I didn’t really know where else to go. The warehouse wasn’t safe and I still had a key. I figured they’d be done searching the place by now.”

That didn’t make sense. Kenna let her weight rest on the table as she looked at the front door, closed and locked now though there was broken crime scene tape on the floor. “You didn’t know where to go?” repeated Kenna.

The skillet sizzled as Darla poured in a small measuring cup full of the mix. “The boss usually has a fallback place or two, but…not this time.”

Something in Darla’s voice sounded off. Kenna cleared her throat, wanting a glass of water desperately but unwilling to get up again. “You mean he didn’t tell you where to go?”

All Kenna got in answer was a brief shake of Darla’s head. Kenna sighed again and drooped lower into her seat, eyes drifting to the mildly scratched tabletop where she had eaten so many times. Whatever was going on, Darla wasn’t going to be divulging any details. Kenna knew that well enough. She would have to wait and see what happened. Since that was all she could ever do.

Behind her in the living room the TV was still on, playing the end of a local advertisement for some new dance club. Kenna was gathering the stamina to try and work a bit of information out of Darla when the dramatic opening music of the Gotham news played, followed quickly by the voice of the new anchor, loud and fast in exhilaration.

“Welcome back, Gotham. Vicki Osborn reporting on the latest terrorist activity enacted on our city by the madman we all know too well. I regret to report there are no new updates on the situation. The Joker is still thought to be either dead or once again at large, though undoubtedly severely injured after the at least four hundred foot fall he took from the top of Wayne Tower in downtown Gotham following his mysterious showdown with Batman. I go now to my co-anchor Roderick Vandberg on the streets. How’s the investigation going, Rod?”

Ignoring the soreness in her body, Kenna was up and standing barely four feet from the television as soon as Vicki mentioned the fall. It was mainly due to the video from a police helicopter that was being played, probably for the hundredth time since the footage came in. The copter circled Wayne Tower, its spotlight focused on the small but unmistakably purple shape of The Joker standing on the roof of the tall building. The feed switched to a different angle. Another helicopter, and this one was focusing on the swirling black figure of Batman. Bruce.

“Jesus.” Kenna whispered to herself as she slowly moved backward until she felt her sofa, sitting down and leaning forward intently to watch what she missed unfold on the screen.

Vicki’s energized narration faded into the background as Kenna’s eyes moved back and forth between The Joker and Bruce. They were on opposite ends of the roof, seemingly staring each other down. What she would have given to have audio. It was impossible to look away, but Kenna could feel Darla hovering near the back of the couch. She knew. That was why Darla didn’t know where to go. Dead or once again at large. Where was The Joker now?

Both Bruce and The Joker broke into such sudden movement Kenna jumped slightly. They were running straight at one another, the circles of light jerking to keep up. The Joker was faster. Kenna’s hands clutched at her robe anxiously. Though she knew this footage was hours if not days – how long had it been? – old she felt helpless. The two titans collided and seemed to become one shape for a few seconds before Bruce threw The Joker off, but the clown lunged back at him in a heartbeat. They tumbled, rolling until The Joker pinned Bruce. Kenna’s eyes narrowed. What was he doing? It almost looked like The Joker was searching Bruce for something.

Bruce’s arm moved in a black blur and The Joker went sprawling again, this time being butted back to the ground as Bruce stood again. Again Bruce’s arm did something, and Kenna watched in confusion as The Joker crawled away from his adversary on the ground. To the untrained eye he was trying to escape. But that wasn’t him and Kenna knew it. He was scrabbling after something. Kenna’s fingers tightened on her robe as Bruce walked after The Joker, reaching down to grab him by the back of his coat.

With a strike like a cobra The Joker flipped over, wildly kicking Bruce’s legs out from under him. Again they rolled, closer and closer to the edge of the roof. The urge to cover her face like she was watching a scary movie pricked at Kenna, but she couldn’t look away. Just a yard away from the brink The Joker and Bruce were fighting tooth and nail, Bruce’s cape obscuring a good deal of the fight for a moment. One more roll to the right and they would both topple over. But it wasn’t both of them that moved that way. Kenna could see Bruce grab onto the front of The Joker’s coat, shaking him, yelling something. Her stomach dropped as Bruce gave a violent pull, hoisting The Joker’s body over his own and letting him drop over the side and into blackness.

It was deadly silent in the apartment as the video continued. Bruce stared after The Joker for a few seconds before turning onto his stomach to push himself up a bit waveringly, glancing up at the helicopters filming him and seeming to hesitate before spreading his arms and disappearing into the night sky. The news returned to the Vicki’s pressed blazer and bright hungry eyes. Kenna reached over for the remote control and shut the television off. Her throat felt constricted as she spoke to Darla without facing her.

“What happened?”

Darla searched for words before she answered softly. “I don’t know. The boss told me to have Squirrel meet him at the top of Wayne Tower. I don’t know what happened. I don’t…I don’t know.” The woman was lost for words, starting to chew on her thumb nail nervously.

“What was he doing?” Kenna asked, mostly rhetorically. She didn’t expect what Darla replied.

“He was getting the antidote. I know he was. Probably.”

Turning quickly enough to start her wounds throbbing again, Kenna gawped at Darla. “The antidote? To Crane’s drug? For me?”

The look on Darla’s face read that she knew The Joker wouldn’t be pleased she disclosed that data. If he was alive. Kenna slowly moved back into a proper sitting position, her eyes out of focus. That didn’t make sense. It just didn’t. For reasons so obvious Kenna didn’t bother to list them in her head.

Bruce had the antidote to the drug. Of course he did. Batman was the only reason Crane didn’t succeed when he poisoned the water supply. Kenna felt almost separate from herself in shock. The Joker knew Batman would have it. He sought him out. To stop her from losing her mind. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Hadn’t that been his goal all along? It had to be because he wanted the pleasure for himself. It had to be.

She didn’t know what she was feeling. “You haven’t heard anything?” she whispered to Darla, vaguely wishing again that she had some water.

“Nothing.” muttered Darla. The sofa moved as she perched herself on the opposite end of Kenna. “Not from him or Squirrel. Which could be a good sign…” She didn’t sound hopeful.

The Joker being dead meant freedom, didn’t it? Kenna didn’t feel free. She felt sick. The glass screen of the TV reflected her face back at her and Kenna had to look away. That level of worry should never have been directed at the man who made her life hell. Why couldn’t she bear to think of him dead? Did it just seem so impossible for such a creature to die?

“I’m going to try calling Squirrel again.” Darla made to stand, stopping in a crouched position when the sound of the elevator dinging cut through the silence of the apartment.

Kenna didn’t move. Cold with fear and something else, she waited.

Halting footsteps approached the door. The thud of someone leaning heavily against it made Darla twitch. Two heavy knocked followed by a cough and a soft laugh.

“Doooolllllfaaace. Daddy’s…Daddy’s home.”