Body Count

"Now," said The Joker, staring off into the blank sky, "I take you to where I wanted to go a month ago."

Squirming on the ground, trying to work out all the little pains in her limbs, Shane looked up at him. "Where's that?" she said, grimacing as her neck cracked.

"You'll find out when we get there, Princess," he said, licking his lips. His eyes roved over her twisting body, watching her wriggle and gasp in pain due to her various injuries. Her right hand, he noticed, was oddly bent, like a claw. Every time her fingers came close to straightening out, a flash of pain shot through her eyes. Her left foot hardly ever left the ground, and her ankle looked a little swollen. It would be hell getting her all the way there in her condition. Raising his eyebrows and sucking in the salty ocean air, he slapped his hands on his thighs and got to his feet.

"Leaving?" she asked, falling limp on the ground. After he nodded slightly, she struggled to her feet and looked fleetingly up at the gray clouds. "Is it very far?" she said, staring a few feet to the left of where The Joker stood.

He strode forward, still hunched over somewhat. With one outstretched, gloved hand, he flicked a strand of hair away from her glistening face and frowned. "Now, Shane, do you think I would let you walk farther than you could? No, no, no, no, no! It's not very far at all."

With that, he walked off down the beach, skirting the edges of the rising tide. His long, gangling strides carried him away from her faster than she'd expected, and she hurried after him, hopping and skipping in a pained way to keep weight off of her injured foot.

They walked, for the most part, in silence. He ambled along tirelessly, humming to himself and slapping his hands against his hips from time to time. The content grin on his face never faltered, and nor did the glint in his dark brown eyes.

She was walking with a little bit more effort, and was still several paces behind him. Her ankle made a discouraging popping sound every time she put weight on her foot, and her right hand was held protectively against her chest. Her stride was staggered, her entire body leaning to the left on every second step. She'd shouldered her jacket around midday, as they'd been walking for hours in the dry heat, but her shirt still clung determinedly to her torso. It was a few shades darker than it had been when she'd gotten it, and there were various dirt stains on the back and sleeves. The buttons had almost all torn off or were hanging on thin strands of thread. It hung open now, revealing a ragged white shirt he'd given her, due to the fact that the purple shirt was the only shirt she'd had on her and the buttons no longer worked.

That, of course, meant The Joker didn't have a proper shirt to wear anymore. He wore his deep green vest done right up, with his tie falling over it. His jacket was always on, to give the appearance that he was completely dressed.

At the hottest point of the day, The Joker pulled a knife out of his sleeve and started playing with it mindlessly. He twirled it between his fingers, his humming reaching higher octaves whenever the knife came close to his person. He began adding, "Doo dee dum" to his tune, becoming ever more excited. She walked along in his wake, glancing at him nervously.

He was shooting polite looks at her now, every dozen steps or so. His eyebrow shot up whenever his eyes rested upon her limping figure, and his humming got more and more pronounced every time this occurred.

Her expression, he noticed, was turning sour. He'd fibbed a bit when he'd told her it wasn't very far - he knew they'd be walking for at least another hour before they reached the docks. His stomach writhed at the thought, startling him. Walking was one of those things The Joker liked to do, because it helped him clear his mind. And he hated the smell of new car, which all of his hijacked vehicles seemed to be rank with. The fresh air, tainted with the stinging smell of pollution and rotting animal corpses, could always bring a smile to his face and a happy lilt to his cackling. So why should his insides gurgle at the thought of a mere hour of walking? Probably the girl, he reasoned. He didn't like being in such close proximity for so long, as he had been for over a month.

A faint grunt of pain floated on the breeze and past him. He turned, expecting to find her still trudging along a few steps behind him, and raised his eyebrows. She was almost twenty feet back, dragging her feet with every step, clutching her left leg for dear life. She was bent to the ground, so he couldn't see the look on her face as it twisted in pain. That wouldn't do.

Skipping lightheartedly and humming louder than ever, The Joker continued to twirl and throw his knife around. He let it fall to the ground, and it struck blade first. It quivered in the gravel, a small ringing reverberating off of it, inches away from Shane's feet. "Problems, Princess?" he cooed, crouching down in front of her. He was still smiling.

"No," she panted, but he was not fooled. He took it to be the kind of 'No,' that people threw at you when they didn't want you to know the truth.

With one hand resting on his knee, The Joker took her face in his hand and raised it so she was blinking at him wearily. "Tired?" he said mockingly, tilting his head to the side.

"A little," she muttered. Her eyes flicked around rapidly, moving over the waves crashing ashore feet to her right, or along the cliff face to her left. Anywhere but at him.

"Look at me," he said, his voice low and gravely. She had sunk to her knees now, but her chin was still resting on his palm. He crouched lower as she stared up at him. "How far," he said quietly, his own eyes now roaming the countryside behind her. "How far do you think you can make it from here?"

Her eyes moved up, her gaze drifting over his shoulder, further along their path. "Maybe to that boulder," she croaked, her throat dry and itchy. She nodded her head up toward a large, gray boulder, sitting under a small hill around the spot The Joker had stopped a few minutes ago.

"No further?" he pressed.

She shook her head feebly.

The Joker noticed, alarmed, that she seemed to be passing out as he spoke. "All right," he said, sounding disappointed.

He wrenched her around, and she fell to the side. Her eyelids fluttered up at him just as he caught her around the shoulders with one arm and put another one below her knees. With a small grunt of effort, he straightened up and started carrying her along the beach.

His progress was slowed slightly by the extra weight in his arms, but he was determined to be sleeping under a roof instead of under cover of rain tonight. His brow was furrowed, and his strides became quicker and more urgent. Shane's listless body jerked with even the smallest motion he made.

The beach started curving gently, moving away from the distant islands out to sea and moving in with the cliff. The great rock face that loomed over head was shrinking, while the ground his feet pounded was sloping upwards gently. He licked his lips, feeling sweat drip down his face. He worried over his make-up as the hill grew steadily steeper.

Seagulls cawed down at him, circling them like pitiful beings of prey. He glared at them, and they flew off into the distance.

Finally, panting softly and licking his lips constantly, he crested the hill. He had reached a discreet docking bay, hidden from the public eye by large, crudely placed shrubs and a chain link fence. There were a few warehouses strewn about the property, and The Joker made for the nearest one now.

When he reached it, he frowned down at Shane. After a few moments contemplation over whether or not to wake her up, he decided to let her be and kicked the door in.

Walking into the large, dimly lit space through a cloud of dust, he kicked the door shut just as a door on the far end of the warehouse banged open.

"Who's there?" a man shouted. Heavy, rapid footsteps thudded towards them. He heard the tell-tale sound of metal sliding along metal, and then, "Get out o' here right now unless you want a nice new hole in your chest!"

The Joker remained still, his feet spread far apart, his arms flexing as they fought against the impulse to drop Shane. Once again, his tongue darted out and slid along his dry, cracked lips. His face paint felt oddly gooey, and he shifted. It was melting.

"Hey!" the voice shouted, now much closer. "Who's that?"

The man had stopped a few feet away, a gun raised in both hands and pointed directly at The Joker.

"Who's that?" he shouted again.

"Lower that gun, or you'll have a nice new hole in your neck to put spare change in," he said.

The man jumped at the instantly recognizable sound of The Joker's voice, lowering the gun. "Boss," he breathed, shaking. "I'm sorry - I thought it was some intruder -"

"Shut up and take this," he ordered, stepping forward and dropping the girl's body into the man's arms. His gun dropped to the ground as he caught her.

The Joker was walking through the warehouse, picking his teeth with the blade of his knife. "Get her a blanket," he was saying, waving his arm over his shoulder at the man. "And maybe have a look at her shoulder. She hurt herself!" he said, laughing.

The lackey was stumbling along behind him, struggling a little with the weight, as he was much shorter and scrawnier than The Joker. Apparently afraid to ask any important questions, he said, "What if she wakes up?"

"She'll hit you," he said unconcernedly. He was now slicking his hair back as he walked.

Sounding utterly confused, the other man said, "Do I ... do I let her?"

The boss cackled at this, whirling around to stand right in front of his goon. "No, silly! You hit back!" he said, laughing and pinching Shane's cheek. She remained quiet.

"Oh! Okay," the shorter man replied, glancing uncertainly down at the form he was carrying. Even through the holes in his mask, she looked young. "But," he started, slowing his pace. "She's just a kid."

Walking away, The Joker said, "And she won't be afraid to hit you!" His tone was high and mocking. They reached the door, which The Joker pulled open. "Stay in here to deal with her. I'll be sleeping. Don't bug me." And he slammed the door in the clown's face.

He stared at it's blackened shape for a moment, blinking. Then, seemingly making up his mind, he walked into the nearest corner of the room and kicked a clump of old sheets into a pile. He put the girl down and looked at her.

Her face was lined with dirt and grime, and there was a small pink line on her forehead. Dry blood was surrounding the healed wound, flaking away even as he looked at her. A long, green jacket that had been resting on her stomach was covered in sand. He tossed this to the side, looking down at her torso. Blood was blossoming on the left sleeve of a purple shirt. He pulled this sleeve off gingerly, afraid the girl would wake up. She didn't move, however, and he was able to bend down and get a better look at ... another sleeve. This one had no blood on it, but he'd been told to get a look at her shoulder, so he began to pull this sleeve aside, too.

A long, oddly lumpy gash extended from her shoulder and disappeared back into the sleeve, which he was holding back. There were generous amounts of blood in and around the wound, most of it dry but some of it oozing sickly down her arm. It wasn't turning green, so it shouldn't be infected, but she needed stitches. The clown removed his mask to get a better view of the cut, and squinted down at it. Eyebrows slightly raised in surprise, he pulled away a piece of wire that was sticking out of her arm. So she'd been stitched up. Looking more closely, he realized most of the stitches had become loose and ripped out. He pulled and tugged at the ends carefully until he finally had a length of crimson black wire.

Thankfully, the cut did not gush blood. It didn't even open. 'Just a band-aid, then,' he thought to himself.

He jumped almost a foot in the air when the girl jerked under his hand. He pulled it away anxiously, cramming his mask back on.

Shane was stirring, her head rolling back and forth and her arms twitching. After a moment or so, her eyes fluttered open.

The clown stared at her silently, waiting for her to say something.

She seemed to be doing the same, so he started.

"Does your shoulder hu -"

He was given no chance to finish his question, however, before her fist came in crunching contact with his neck. He spluttered angrily. "Hey, hey! I'm just trying to he -" Once again, he was cut short by Shane, who had now kicked him in the gut. She had risen to her knees and was punching and kicking at every inch of the clown she could reach, emitting grunts of pain and satisfaction.

"That's it!" the clown roared, getting to his feet.

--

The Joker had retreated to a small office in the back, where he threw his jacket on the floor and dropped to the ground, smacking his lips contentedly. It was about time he got some real sleep.

Around five minutes after he'd closed his eyes, they snapped open. He could hear muffled shouts coming from the warehouse floor. It sounded like the clown.

He listened closely for a moment, and then, he heard the unmistakable sounds of Shane screaming. And by the sound of it, she was in a lot of pain.

Grinning to himself, The Joker fell asleep.