Stockholm: Agent of Chaos

The humid heat in that wet room was almost unbearable. All I wore was a gray tank top and a pair of light blue jeans. No shoes, no jewelry, no bra. How I got into these clothes and lost the other items was unbeknownst to me. It didn't matter really; I just wanted some air conditioning.

"I'm hungry. And thirsty," I stated when I saw him again. He walked in, this time wearing a green and blue shirt with black slacks. Tacky and not matching. That seemed to be his style. "And I need to pee."

"Hmm." He rubbed his chin. "Those sound like personal problems to me."

I growled and sighed. "What's your name anyway?" I asked.

He giggled. "You can call me... Joker."

"What's your real name?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I read something somewhere. Jack?"

Again, no response. My stomach grumbled loud enough for him to hear. "What do you like to eat?" he asked after a short pause.

"Anything but onions."

Without responding, he left me again.

The darkness was consuming. With only the sound of my breath as my companion, my spirit rotted. I screamed. Not to be heard but to create noise to take my mind off of the situation and keep me from going insane. I could feel my bones and muscles weakening from not moving for so long. It had gotten to the point where I wanted him there to keep me company so I wouldn't feel so useless. I was here for a reason. Still alive, for a reason. When he wasn't there with me, I took two steps back from figuring out that reason.

At this point, I was losing track of the days. I could've been on day three but for all I know, I had only been there for a matter of hours, or possibly longer than three days. Time seemed insignificant now. All I could think of was when was he coming back. I didn't even think about trying to escape or get out. I just wanted him back.

A few hours passed, perhaps, and I heard the heavy and wonky footsteps again. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, a light flicked on, again, brighter than the last time, and I saw his face once more. In his hands, he held a fast food bag and a drink. "Listen here," he started, "I'm going to cut the rope loose and free your hands so you can eat. Try anything sneaky, and I slit your throat." I nodded quickly and he put the items down. He flicked open his knife so briefly, I flinched. I heard a laugh followed by fast cuts through the twine. The sudden air on my wrists stung at first, for the skin had been rubbed away from my antics. He handed the food to me and it felt good to simply move my arms around, though they were weak from no recent activity. "Eat," he commanded.

I looked up at him and said a 'thank you' with my eyes that my mouth couldn't mutter. The aroma from the food nearly made me dizzy and I realized it'd been a very long time since I'd last eaten. Normally, I wouldn't eat from a place like this but I was so hungry that it looked like five star steak. I bit into the grease-soaked sandwich and found than it was covered in onions. An intial anger shot through me but I said in my mind, beggars can't be choosers. I continued to eat as this Joker watched intensely, unblinking. I finished the onion-infested sandwich and began eating the fries that came with it. In a matter of two minutes, three minutes tops, I had completely devoured my meal, drink and all.

"How was it?" he asked.

"Good," I shyly responded.

"Even the onions?"

"Even the onions."

He sat back in the sofa. After a silence he stated, "When I... When I kill people. They deserve it. One reason, or another." He leaned forward again and stared me deep into the eyes with a wide grin on his face. "Everyone. I mean, everyone, deserves to die. One reason," he paused again, "or another."

"What's my reason?" I asked boldly.

He laughed loudly. "That's not for me to decide."

"Well then who's is it?"

"Yours." We then shared the longest awkward silence since I'd been there. "Okay. Listen again. Listen closely. I'm now going to cut the rope from your feet and let you clean up in the bathroom. Again, try anything sneaky and your throat is mine." He cut the rope from my feet and the same feeling from my wrists came to my ankles. I wiggled my toes to regain feeling in them.

"Thank you," I whimpered and looked up at him.

"Go," he ordered.

I rose and he stood, unmoving, so that I had to practically push past him. The feeling of his clothes against my bare skin scared me. Put a fear in me that was almost thrilling, in an invigorating way. I hurried to the bathroom shut the door behind me. He tapped on the door, "Remember, no shady stuff."

"Okay."

My reflection angered me. I was dirty, my makeup was smeared, my hair was matted, sweat stained my clothes and dripped from my brow. My cheeks were red and my lips were cracked. A sigh escaped me and I began to wash my face. The water that flowed from the faucet was a light brown color and smelled funny but it was cool, and that's all that mattered. I paced around the room because I'd heard of people getting blood clots in their legs from sitting down for too long of a time. Clots that could be potentially deadly if they break off and go to a lung or the heart. Deep vein thrombosis, it's called. I'd be damned if I let a blood clot kill me at this point.

A hard and sudden knock was heard. "That's enough," he yelled.

I reluctantly turned the doorknob and faced him when the door swung open. Him and his gang of thugs stood there waiting for me. "I can't trust that you haven't made some little weapon in there, so they're gonna check you for me." He made a head motion which signaled for them to grab and search me.

Their hands were filthy and rough and as they searched me they sneakily touched me in an almost sexual manner. "Stop touching me!" I yelled and struggled to get away from them. "Get off of me!"

"Oh, she's a fiesty one!" one of the dirty men shouted. "And pretty too!"

"Tie her down," the Joker said, nonchalantly. The group slammed me violently on the chair and two held me down while the other two tied me up. One of them, the one who spoke earlier, brought his face close to mine. I smelled liquor on his breath and he spoke, "Just calm down, sugar. When this is all over maybe we can spend some time together." Disgusted, I spat in his face. "Oh my God! This sleazy whore! She spit in my face!"

He reared back his hand to hit me but the Joker grabbed his wrist. "Don't do it," he stated calmly.

The man bit his lip angrily. As the Joker let his arm loose, he slapped me hard across the face anyway. I heard him sigh, "I told you not to do that." Before I could process anything, slightly dizzy from the hit, I heard a gun shot. I screamed because I thought it was probably me who was shot. I opened my eyes and saw the man who had slapped me lying on the ground with half of his head blown off and his brains and fragments of his skull splattered on the ground around him. "Clean him up," he said to the other members of his clique.

Nobody moved. One of them was able to stutter, "We— we haven't fin— finished with—"

The Joker interrupted. "Don't worry about her. Clean him up." When he noticed the scared looks about their faces, he shouted with glee, "C'mon, smile! Haven't you ever heard of the healing power of laughter?" They all let out nervous chuckles. "Don't move," he glared at me.

I wanted my life, so I didn't dare move a muscle.

They had dragged the body off and soaked up the blood with ragged towels. "Now leave us," he snarled. After they left, he snickered, "Today's been busy."

"Yeah. It... it has," I mumbled, fearfully.

"Don't be scared," he smiled. He took my hair and softly put it all over my right shoulder so that it wouldn't get in the way of him tying my hands. For some reason, he wasn't aggressive with me. Not so much gentle, but not aggressive either. He tied my wrists together tightly and they hurt my already open wounds, but I made no sound. He the tied my ankles to the legs and stood over me. I didn't want to look at him because eye contact had always made me nervous. He held my chin and kissed my forehead lightly. "I— I'm—" but before he could finish his sentence, he walked away.