Body Count

After another - much more gut-wrenching - drive along a sun-parched road, the two were back at the old warehouse, accompanied by a few dozen other clowns in masks. The majority of them were chattering away excitedly, like a group of tragically skewed high school students passing along the latest gossip. Shane listened in on a few of their conversations from her spot tied to a rickety old chair at the edge of the room, but soon found them to be disappointingly dull.

"The boss says he's got big plans for that one ..." one of them said, jerking his thumb in her direction and laughing openly.

"She gonna be dog food?" his friend joked.

"Nah, she ain't meaty enough for that. She's skin and bone," Another said, looking down the nose of his mask at her.

Another conversation, closer by and much more subdued, caught her attention.

" ... not like him, treating her like that."

"Like she's bloody royalty. It's sickening."

"Maybe he's leading her on ... maybe he'll kill her soon ... "

"I hope he lets me do it," said one clown eagerly. Shane recognized his voice once again, as he was the clown she'd awoken to the night before. "That little scum -"

"Shut up!"

Their head's all swiveled in one great sweeping motion towards the far door, through which The Joker had just emerged. He'd been in the back office for hours, and hadn't told anybody what he'd been doing. Shane, though, could guess what he'd been doing by the look of his newly brightened clothes, his somewhat clean hair, and his freshly applied face-paint.

Now, he was stalking through the clumps of minions, glaring at them as he licked his lips satisfactorily. "None of you are very ... restrained when it comes to talking about the little Princess here," he said quietly, reaching Shane's chair and resting both hands on the back of it. "You talk like them. Out there. Wearing their dark blue suits and their shiny badges. Talking about her like she's below you."

Some of the clowns shifted awkwardly at this; the one that had removed Shane's shirt looked down at his shoes, his hands twisting together behind his back.

"Well," he continued, his head tilted up towards the distant ceiling. "Let me tell you something. You're not above her. You're not her superiors at all. You're not. In fact, if I trusted her a little more ..." He ruffled her hair and looked from clown to clown in turn. "She would be holding a gun to all of your heads. She would be laughing at your ugly mugs while I tied you to chairs. But," His fingers curled menacingly into her hair, pulling it, making her grimace under her mask. "She's a little fire ball. If I let her loose, she'd probably take a knife to all of your pathetic throats. And I still need you." A pause. "For a while."

Her mind reeling, Shane tried to twist her neck around so she could look at him behind her, but he kept his grip on her hair and she was left to staring at the wall to her right.

'Kill them?' she thought, inwardly shaking her head. 'Not if he needs them.'

"Now!" said The Joker, regaining her attention and tightening his grip on her. "She needs new clothes. And you," He pointed at the clown who had said he wanted to kill her. "Are going to go to the store and get her some. A new shirt, first off. Purple. Like her old one. Pants, as well. Like these," He bent over and tugged at the jeans she was wearing, which were faded and torn at the knees. "But not denim. And ... face paint. Buy some face paint. White and red, a lot of that. And some black. Maybe a little bit of purple. And not the cheap stuff!" he said happily, tugging at Shane's hair. "Make sure it's expensive. Spend your own money on it. A tie, as well," he added, peering down at Shane's boring attire.

Just as the clown grunted his obviously grudging approval and was turning away, The Joker called, "And hair dye. Purple and green."

The room was full of the low, gleeful laughter of the other clowns as their comrade was sent out on a shopping spree for a little girl. They were pointing at him with black-gloved fingers, nodding at him from under the laughing masks.

"As for the rest of you," the boss went on, now squeezing her shoulder in addition to pulling her hair. "Find the people who were at the bank this morning."

"Why?" one piped up, his voice breaking. He was standing near the front of the crowd, his skinny arms crossed over his thin chest. Shane guessed him to be new in the business.

"Because, I want you to kill them!" The Joker said slowly, with a sweeping gesture. "And make sure people find them."

The crowd nodded collectively, all turning towards different doors. The large space was filled briefly with the sound of low muttering along with the shuffling of thirty pairs of heavy work boots, before the door slammed shut behind the last henchman. There was an echoing quiet.

The Joker slowly uncurled his fingers, releasing her hair. His other hand slithered off of her shoulder.

As Shane sighed with the relief of the pain, she felt his fingers tugging at the knots that tied her wrists together. He didn't bother not hurting her as he ripped the coils of rope away, burning her skin. She remained dutifully still as he walked around her and began untying the knots around her ankles. He slipped the length of rope off of her left ankle, and tore it off of the right. She noticed, with one eyebrow raised in quiet surprise, that he had only been violent with the ankle that was in good shape.

She could see his face as he straightened up and reached around her head to pull her mask off. He looked mild, calm, not at all as though he'd just ordered the imminent deaths of at least fifty innocent people. He pulled the strap of her mask off, and threw the face to the floor.

He then proceeded to rip the duct tape away from her face, earning a quiet, "Ah!" from Shane.

"Were you listening, Princess?" he said, kneeling down in front of her. "Like I told you to?"

She nodded, rubbing at her cheeks timidly.

"And what did you learn?" His voice had reached the low, rumbling pitch she'd learned to associate with abuse if she answered wrongly, so she thought her answer out carefully.

"Well," she started, staring around the room for inspiration. "Ronnie isn't very bright."

She was referring to the skinny youth who had spoken out so rudely when asked to find the hostages.

"Oh, you spotted that was him, hmm?" he asked, his tone lifting slightly. "That's why we call him Rowdy."

She nodded again, biting her lip in thought. "Also ... Odie doesn't think much of my being here."

The Joker clicked his tongue rapidly, shaking his head and chuckling. "No, he doesn't." He looked at her, silently pressing her to continue.

"And ... " she struggled to find something significant in her mind, but she couldn't come up with anything that shouted, 'I'm important!' to her. Instead, she muttered, "Well ... apparently, I'm getting my hair dyed."

He whooped and clapped, jumping to his feet as he did so. "Yes, yes, yes! I was hoping you would catch that! Yes," He leaned over her, one hand resting on the back of her chair. "I want people who see you to know that you're mine now."

Shane snorted before she could stop herself.

He bristled, annoyed. "What?"

"Well ... " she said, still trying to bite back a fatal smile. "You're acting sort of ... in character."

"Character?" Perhaps his anger was abated by his confusion, because the hand that had been raised threateningly a moment before was now suspended in midair as he stared at her.

She fished around for the right words. "Well ... you know ... people write stories. About you. You're very popular."

"Me?" he said, a hint of his old mocking embarrassment showing through.

"Yeah," she said, heartened by the fact that she was still in one piece. "You know, like little fictions. About being criminals, or somebody that you kidnap. And in most of them, you end up dying their hair, or claiming them as yours. Most of the main characters are girls. There's one story I really like, about a girl who's a fan of yours, and she still admires you even after you beat her up ... she even asks for your autograph -"

She was silenced by The Joker finally striking her across the face, not very hard, but hard enough that she fell to the side and off of the chair.