A Serious House on Serious Earth

It had been almost a week since I left the manor. Bruce’s public relations team felt it would be best if I stayed out of the public eye, or rather the eye of the media. Apart from Bruce’s two visits, my only social interaction had been with Alfred. And while Batman had managed to catch the majority of the escaped inmates, including Jonathan Crane, the Joker was still on the loose. But that didn’t stop me from sneaking out of the mansion at noon on a cloudy Saturday to escape the confines and loneliness of the limestone building.

Dressed in inconspicuous clothing, ones which did not make me look like an acquaintance of Bruce Wayne, I took a taxi to the mall downtown where I spent a number of hours shopping aimlessly without purchasing anything. The mall and downtown in general were crowded with a mixture of the weekend crowd and summer crowd who were taking advantage of the more mild temperatures and current lack of rain. On a whim, I dyed my hair a blonde, almost white, color at a small salon within the mall. I was relapsing into my former indecisiveness in regards to hair color. I thought about just shaving all of it off and starting from scratch but that seemed a bit extreme, even for me.

Still emptied handed, I left the mall on the Park Avenue side and decided to find a place for a late lunch. Unfortunately, I walked straight into Mister Charles Blakely upon rounding a corner. I bounced rather roughly off the businessman and stumbled back a few feet and I instantly became aware of the man’s hand placed gently on my upper left arm in an apparent attempt to prevent a fall. Blakely was dressed in his usual suit but it did not appear as though he had been working this weekend. In order to ward off any more discomfort the situation already provided, I quickly apologized. “Pardon me, Mr. Blakely.” I added a smile for sincerity.

“That’s quite alright, Marie.” A moment of annoyance stirred in my stomach at the man’s casual use of my name. “And please, it’s just ‘Charles’. How are you and Bruce?” Blakely asked with a smile. His hand was still on my arm and I wished he would remove it. I also noted the way he said ‘you and Bruce’, as in reference to our personal relationship which had taken up more than its share of news reel and print.

“I’m great. Bruce is still on a business trip in Asia, but he should be back in Gotham by next week.” I spoke as Wayne’s secretary. The small talk continued and I become more and more uneasy with the length of our exchange. Blakely attracted just as much media attention as Bruce and the longer I stood on the sidewalk taking to the man, the higher the chance of someone spotting us and snapping a picture. After almost ten minutes of conversation, I was finally able to get away by stating that I had a meeting to attend at Wayne Tower. This was a complete lie and I’m sure Blakely saw straight through it. But he did not question my honesty as we said our goodbyes and walked in opposite directions.

I ate at a small nondescript Chinese restaurant a few blocks away from my run in with Charles Blakely. From there, I headed to my apartment. It seemed like forever ago since I was last there and I was in need of a change of attire. Thicker clouds moved over Gotham, blocking out the sun and threating another round of rain. I was dodging rain drops as I jogged into my apartment building. My apartment was just as I left it: in a mess.

After going through the stack of mail, which thankfully did not contain anything but white envelopes, I started in the kitchen. There were a number of expired food products in my refrigerator and a pile of dishes in the sink. As I set about cleaning the apartment, my mind began to wonder. From Blakely to Bruce to Batman to Arkham and its whole affair. I was throwing dirty clothes into a basket when my thoughts got dangerously close to reliving once again what had occurred on the roof of the asylum. To switch its’ direction, I flipped on the television and turned the volume up.

After a few minutes, the animated female anchor’s voice filled the apartment. “And we have new details tonight on Victoria Bradley, the secretary and apparent girlfriend of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Miss Bradley was seen today in the company of another business mogul, Charles Blakely.” I stopped messing with my clothes long enough to see a short montage of photos displaying my brief encounter with the man. The woman continued with a telling of the information, some more factual than others, behind the pictures. She ended the segment with a simple yet rather opinionated and bias statement. “Mr. Wayne is currently out of the country on business but Miss Bradley appears to be enjoying the company of Gotham’s other wealthy men.”

There was a large amount of assumption in her voice, but I paid no attention to her notions or those of her viewers as I continued about my cleaning. It began to rain harder when I took a break and leaned against the kitchen counter. It seemed so petty to worry about how the public perceived me. I was certain there were worse beliefs to be speculated than my apparent lax relationships with men. There were so many worse, and more factual, opinions that could be made of me. I should be lucky the media had to resort to gossip instead of actual details about me and my life. I was slightly surprised, but thankful, that they had yet to pay any attention to the scar on my arm. The city, and perhaps the nation, would have a field day if they what exactly was in my past or who I use to be.

Who I use to be? Was I no longer the girl who worked for the mob by stealing things they could not? When did I stop being the person who once killed two men? I wasn’t that person anymore. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, but I was sure I had changed. Changed for the better, I hoped.

“She’s still in there, you know.” The Joker said from his position to my right. I hadn’t noticed him until he spoke and I wasn’t sure how long he had been there, leaning against the counter in a stance too similar to mine to be coincidence.

I flinched, but I made no move to run away because I knew it would be pointless so I decided to save myself the pain. “Who?” I asked in an even tone. I didn’t look at him as I spoke; I stared straight ahead into the living room.

“The wonderful girl I meant three years ago. But she’s wasting her time with a loser who brushes his teeth six times a day.” He ended the sentence with a laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, kid. You may be able to fool lover-boy, but not me. I know you too well.” Another short snort of a laugh.

A brief wave of anger swirled in my chest. “You don’t know anything about me!”

Even though I didn’t see it, I knew the Joker was rolling his eyes. “You can’t change who you are. That’s why you change your hair so often. Your looks are the one thing you can change. But a different color doesn’t produce a different you, no matter how hard you try.” With the last syllable, he pushed himself off the counter and stepped into my line of view.

He was wearing the same suit he had at the asylum, only it was ironed and wrinkle free. His hair was more of an emerald color than the grimy green I was used to. It was clean and combed back out of his face, which was newly painted with make-up. The Joker caught me eyeing his new look. He took a step back, posed and said, “Aren’t I just good enough to eat?”

Now that he wasn’t between me and the door, I took a swing at him. I caught him off guard and my fist collided with his painted white nose. Something cracked, and I was certain it was my hand, but I ignored it and darted for the door. I made it to hallway outside my apartment before a bleeding Joker came barreling after me.