Give Me a Smile

I woke up smiling, feeling special. I yawned, stretched, and screamed. Someone was in the room with me. But it wasn’t Joker. It was Batman. He was crouched near me, black eyes on my face. “Uh...hi.” “Hello.”
I pulled a jacket over myself and pretended I wasn’t panicking, praying he hadn’t caught Joker too. “Are you alright?” “Uh...yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” “Let’s go then.”
He scooped me up easily, kicking the door open as he went. He also took Joker’s suitcase. I think I was in shock, unable to move even though inside I was screaming. I wanted to kick and shriek, shout that I wanted, needed to stay with Joker. I didn’t though.

It seemed I was still considered a victim, an innocent hostage, because Batman kept asking me if I was okay, and there was a happy commotion when he carried me outside. Commissioner Gordon was waiting, squinting sympathetically at me.
Batman handed me over to him and took off into the night, still carrying Joker’s suitcase. I watched him go, trying to hide my resentment. I clung to Commissioner Gordon and pretended that the tears leaking from my eyes were of gratitude.
They took me back to the station so I could be evaluated. I noticed how uneasy they were around me, the way their eyes skittered across my scars. Commissioner Gordon led me to a bare room, smiling gently.
“Quinn, we’re giving you clothes to change into, alright?” I nodded thankfully and took his offering of jeans and a t-shirt. It about killed me to remove the jacket, the last part of Joker I had left, but I did. I had to.
Everyone thought I was innocent, and I didn’t want that to change. I didn’t want their suspicion cast fully on me, or to get arrested. I just wanted to get out. A woman came in and gave me a quick physical.
She was young, and she cried as she examined me, gently brushing every bruise and cut. “You poor thing. That monster...he beat you all over. You’re lucky to have escaped.” I looked at the wounds and cried myself, but not from horror.
From the thought that now all the marks that proved I was his would be gone, healed. All except for the tattoo, which they didn’t notice. I touched it every few minutes, felt the bump of the tracking device under my fingers. I wanted to be sure at least part of him was still there. The woman left, letting in Commissioner Gordon again.
He asked me questions. It felt like interrogation, like I was some sort of felon. “Where did he take you? What did you do? Does he trust anyone? Do you know his real name? How did he find the Wolf? What’s he planning next? How did he get Clayface out?”

I lied or pretended I didn’t know. I wept and told them he’d locked me in a closet most of the time, unless he was beating me. It felt good to fool those stupid people into pity. I went over my ‘ordeal’ until 5 the next morning, when half the cops were yawning.
I asked how they’d found me, acting like I was grateful. One of the younger cops explained that Clayface had told. He’d been caught by Batman again and spilled everything. He was sitting in one of the cells, looking chagrined and bruised.
Only his hands remained clay. I smiled and thanked him when we walked by, although I really wanted to go for his throat. Weak, cowardly Clayface.

The cops told me they’d keep an eye on me. I knew what they were really saying-I was being used as bait. They hoped the Joker would come back for me so they could catch him. None of them really cared about me, I knew that.
I played nice, even when my mother came to pick me up, filled with false tears and fake endearments. “Oh, Quinn, baby, my precious daughter, thank God you’re home!” She embraced me, hugging til it hurt, filling my nose with the smell of alcohol.
I wrinkled my face and pulled back, but she forced me close to her side. She angled me in front of the media outside, pushing me closer to the cameras. I winced and tried to shield my face as they descended upon me, cameras flashing.

“Quinn! Quinn! What’s the Joker like?!” “Is he really as crazy as they say?” “How did you stay alive?” “Are the rumors about you and him true?” They crowded around me, shoving cameras in my face, shouting question after question.
I wanted, suddenly, to kill them. It would be easy, I realized. They were all so close together, all I would need was a gun, and their noise would be gone. They were unimportant. I could kill them all. I wanted to kill them all. I think that’s the moment I began to go insane.