Under the Red Sky

I awoke the next morning with a dull pain in the back of my head and the sour taste of old makeup on my lips.

Did he kiss me? Or had I kissed him?

Did it matter?

I didn’t remember falling asleep. Or even crawling into bed.

It must’ve been him, I thought idly, as I rolled over onto my stomach. I was met with a filthy pillow, soaked what I could only assume was blood from the back of my head.

I felt my stomach turn and I pushed myself off the mattress, the tangled covers sliding off my back, along with the bath towel that had swaddled me while I slept. Ms. Kitty, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, meowed loudly, upset that she had been roused from her beauty rest. I ignored her though and watched as she leapt from the bed and proudly left the room.

When I was alone again, I sat there for a moment, paying no mind to my nakedness, hugging my legs to my chest and gazing out of the smudgy window partially covered by the dusty lace curtains.

I had only a vague memory of last night, of cracking my head on the pavement, screaming with bloody murderous rage. Stumbling back home and into the shower, only after falling out of my clothes. I recalled the Joker’s voice, ringing down the hallway and the almost bashful look that crossed his face after discovering me. I remembered yelling at him and the deal we made. I remembered kissing him.

I jumped suddenly, hearing a large crash from the kitchen, followed by a long stream of colorful curses. I leaped from the bed, grabbing the towel from the bed and wrapping it around me once more, as I edged down the hallway anxiously.

I felt my heart leap up into my throat as I reached the living room. There was man in my kitchen, cooking. His back was to me with his head of matted brown hair bowed, looking at the pan on the stove. I took a step into the room and the floorboards whined. The man whirled around, frying pan in hand.

I gasped.

It was the clown. Except, it wasn’t. I almost didn’t recognize him without his purple suit and his lipstick. He was dressed in a regular collared shirt and jeans. His face was free of paint, the dye in his hair washed away. His scars were clearly visible. At the sight of me, he smiled so wide I thought they would split.

“Good morning, you!” he exclaimed, setting the pan down on the counter. “You hungry?”

I was so taken aback by his mundane question that I did not respond. It was then I realized I was only in a towel. My hands moved to cover me and the Joker laughed, shaking his head. “Why bother? I’ve already seen you naked.”

My arms fell to my sides and I felt my face get red. I clenched my fists and I resisted the urge to lunge across the room and give him a few more scars.

He didn’t seem to notice how I angry I was. Even if he did, he couldn’t have cared. He picked up the frying pan and placed it back on the stove, stirring the eggs around with a wooden spoon, the smile never leaving his face.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, grinding my nails into my palms.

The Joker shrugged. “I was hungry. And the boys back home can’t cook for their lives. We could really use a woman at the warehouse, you know.” He shot me a sideways glance.

I glared. “Fat chance.”

He chuckled. “Not for long. Take a look at that.” He nodded over to the coffee table as he peppered the eggs.

I made a face but walked over to find this morning’s paper. And my jaw dropped in horror at the headline.

NEW DEVELOPMENT IN THE INVESTIGATION OF THE DESTRUCTION OF A SHREK DEPARTMENT STORE: security tape recovered and arsonist caught in the act!

And below the bold print were pictures. Blurry and gritty, but pictures nonetheless.

I felt my stomach turn. I had been wrong to be so careless about the security cameras at Shrek’s. But despite the apprehensive things filling my head, I couldn’t help but feel a little proud. It was almost surreal. Seeing myself in the paper as an “arsonist”. As a criminal.

“I was wondering,” the Joker began, pulling me from my thoughts, “Did you mean what you said last night? About the bat?”

I looked over at him, tearing my eyes away from the newspaper. “Of course. That bastard napalmed my arm and knocked me off a building. Why wouldn’t I want him dead?”

The Joker shrugged. “You have a habit of contradicting yourself.”

I frowned even though I knew he was right. I watched as he turned off the oven and spooned some eggs onto a plate. For a moment, I thought it was for me. How silly of me.

“So how are you gunna do it?” the Joker asked casually, his mouth full of food. It was as if we were talking about the weather. Instead of murder.

I sneered in disgust, but my face fell as I thought about his question. How was I going to kill the bat? I wasn’t a killer. Of course, I had said that about being a criminal. And look what happened. But I didn’t have an answer for the Joker. Not yet anyway.

“I don’t know,” I murmured, staring at nothing in particular.

“See, that’s why you need me,” he declared, turning away from me to rummage in the fridge for a beverage.

I scowled, my eyes snapping back to him. “I don’t need you-"

“And I don’t need you,” he replied, cutting me off as he set a brand new carton of milk on the counter. He locked eyes with me and his look said it all. “I found you. And finders keepers. So we’re, uh…in this together. Okay?”

I felt myself nod. And I knew it was wrong.

I should’ve yelled at him, demanded that he get lost. I shouldn’t have let this go on for so long. I should’ve gone to the cops, told my neighbor, my landlord, should’ve told someone. But I didn’t trust that outcome.

I didn’t trust the police.

I didn’t trust the people around me.

And it killed me to admit that I trusted the Joker. But I did. Because he was all I had, just like he predicted. I had only him and my cat and my anger for the city and the Batman and everyone else. But it wasn’t his fault. And that’s why I let him stay and eat my food and taunt me with a smile.

I remained silent as I watched him finish his meal and kick it back with a long gulp of milk. He looked at me, setting the carton down. He tilted his head to the side like he always did, squinting his eyes.

“You look muddled, Bijou. Something troubling you?”

I shrugged, rubbing the forearm of my left arm absentmindedly. “No. Yes. I don’t know.” I winced as my hand ran over the nasty burn.

The Joker smiled at my ambiguity. “It’s probably from that bonk to the head you got last night. Come here. I’ll fix it.”

Before I could protest, the Joker had slipped out of the kitchen, moving for me. He whirled me around and led me down the hallway by my shoulders. His hands were cold but I didn’t squirm in his grip. What more could he do to me anyway?
He directed me into the bathroom and patted the counter like a doctor about to examine his patient. I frowned but did as he said and I watched as he rummaged through the remnants of my first aid kit in the sink.

“Where’s all the damn gauze?” he muttered, tossing several bottles of aspirin to the floor in frustration.

“I don’t know,” I lied.

He groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. “Fine. I’ll work with what I have.” He ripped a towel from the rack and wet it with alcohol.

“Lean forward,” he commanded. I stared at him. He seemed perfectly serious. But was he ever really serious?

I did as he said, resting my bruised face on my white knees and waiting.

I felt a stinging sensation on the back of my head and though I hissed in pain, I stayed quiet. The Joker hummed as he cleaned my wound and I smiled, looking down and finding his scuffed shoes tapping to the beat of his tuneless song. He could be almost normal sometimes.

He poked my shoulder and I sat back up, blinking rapidly, slightly dazed as the blood rushed back to my head. Without warning, the Joker grabbed a fistful of my hair and for a moment, I panicked. He reached behind him and after flicking the switch on the wall, he tugged at my head until my face was illuminated by the fluorescent light.

He peered at the bruise on my cheek skeptically. “Right,” was all he muttered before releasing me and going back to digging around in the sink. He retrieved a tube of Arnica cream that I had bought some years ago. I doubted if it was still good but he didn’t seem to care. He squeezed a small bit onto his fingertips and spread it across the bruise.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. He was being so kind, so genuinely nice. This was weird and I didn’t much like being touched like this by him of all people. So I was thankful when he finally removed his had from my face.

He stepped back as if to admire his work but there was something wild in his eyes I couldn’t read. “Good as new.”

I moved to hop of the counter but he stopped me, taking my face in his hands again, his lips crashing onto mine. I was so surprised, I found myself kissing him back, my hands running through his hair and getting caught in the tangles and I winched feeling his hands do the same.

He gave my ear a tug like a fussy child and I obliged. And without so much as a word between us, he was pulling me down the hall, back towards my bedroom.