Body Count

Falling asleep listening to alternative punk music is not something Shane thought possible, but it wasn't long before she found herself blinking tiredly up into a hanging light bulb, her surroundings new, The Joker gone. Her shoulders ached without the presence of his arm to hold her steady.

Sitting up slowly, with her knuckles rubbing her eyes and her lower lip jutting out, she felt her back stiffen and crack pleasantly. She groaned. Her whole body was stiff with sleep. Rotating her torso so her back would loosen up, she realized that she had been lying on the floor of The Joker's office, her head resting on his crumpled up jacket. The room was empty of the food or loose papers that had littered it before. She pulled herself up using the edge of the desk as support. The surface of the mahogany structure was swept clean. The filing cabinet that had been knocked over was standing in a far corner.

A yawn escaped her reluctant lips. She stretched her arms high over her head. Though she was standing inside, in a room devoid of windows, the calm chill in the air suggested it was sometime early in the morning. She stepped forward and pulled the door open.

The hallway and main floor were deserted. Feeling oddly free for the first time in quite a while, she walked purposefully towards the door, and stepped into the bright morning sunlight.

Her eyes were dazzled by the great flaming ball of light that was the sun, as it was just rising over the ocean. She had been staring straight at it when she opened the door, and now she looked away, blinking the stain it left on her retinas away. Every time she inhaled, lungfuls of refreshing air energized her, encouraging her to explore this familiarly unknown landscape.

Walking through the still morning quiet, she looked over at the second warehouse, and her path altered towards it.

When she reached the door, she was happy to find it unlocked and unblocked. The air inside was warmer, mustier, and she felt suffocated. Ignoring this, her feet pushed her forwards through this room she'd spent too much time in with her goons, as if her brain had planned this excursion for her many weeks ago.

A staircase to her left caught her eye. Curious, surprised, she made her way over. She had never noticed it before. Looking down the stone steps, her gaze met nothing but darkness.

'Maybe this is where he keeps his explosives,' Shane wondered idly, taking her first step down the stairs. 'Or his endless supply of knives and sharp objects.'

The air grew colder instead of warmer as she made her way down, sending shivers down her spine and excitement through her veins. Finally, it turned to the right, and ended with a dark green door. This she pushed open with astonishing ease. She had been expecting a lock, or a chair, or even the door to be stuck shut. But it swung open at her lightest touch, and she stepped into a small room, looking around interestedly.

The space she'd entered was a small square, hardly as big as The Joker's Office room, dark and lit only by four fluorescent flashing numbers: 07:13. These came from the door of an old microwave, which trailed a long black chord to the only electrical socket in the room. Surrounding the microwave, the doorway, and Shane herself, were piles of television dinners and frozen vegetables that had dripped all over the dirty floor. Her jaw dropped.

'So this is where all of your miraculous food comes from, is it?' she thought incredulously. Picking up a stray granola bar and ripping off the aluminum wrapper, she stared around and noticed another door in the gloom.

Thinking that her unexciting day was getting more and more stirring, she hurried forward and shouldered the door open.

The next room did not hold another pile of food, as she'd been hoping, or even a fridge in which to store soda or apple juice. Instead, an old television set sat in the corner, dusty and pathetic. Wondering what it would be like to watch T.V. again, she took the one step necessary to cross the room and switched it on.

Rough static covered the image on the screen, and the voice of the man speaking was grossly distorted, but she knew exactly who it was the moment she saw his distressed expression, his unkempt blond hair, and heard his choking voice.

"Dad?" she said quietly, thinking that he must surely feel her intense gaze, he must know she was thinking of him now as she watched him sob into a microphone on a stage she did not recognize.

"... know where she is, I'm begging you, please, tell me where she is! She's just a kid, she won't know how to survive on her own, she'll get hurt! She could die!" He clutched the microphone stand desperately. "Please, let me know where my daughter is! If you know ... if you can tell me ... I'll be in your debt for the rest of my life ... tell me! Where is she?! Shane!" She flinched at the sound of her name. "Please, sweetheart! Shane! Mio bella! Come home to me, please! I miss you, I'll be here for you through anything sweetheart, please come home!"

She had dropped to her knees without realizing it, and she was clawing at the screen, trying to break through the infuriating miles and laws that kept them apart. He needed her right now. She should go to him. A blind recklessness washed through her, and she was halfway through the food-stocked room when The Joker stepped in front of her and blocked her path.

"Move!" she said, forgetting her place, pushing him in the chest, trying to see past her tears. "Get out of the way!"

"You can't go and see him, Shane."

She stopped, tears still pouring freely down her face, a lump in her throat. "I have to."

Showing his softer side, for perhaps the third time since she'd met him, he put a comforting hand on her heavily scarred cheek. His other hand came to rest on her waist. "Not today, Shane. Not yet."

She looked up at him beseechingly. Her eyes were wide, glistening, shining with grief. "I can see him?" she choked.

"Oh, yes," he said. "Of course. I wouldn't keep you from him, no, no, no. I wouldn't do that. Not to ... mm ... mio bella."

The recklessness that had consumed her mere seconds before gave way to a more powerful wave of heartache and gratitude. She collapsed forward into his half-open arms, her fists clenched at her sides, her face screwed up with wracking sobs.

"Crying again," he said slowly, clicking his tongue. "Did it make you sad, Princess? Seeing Daddy needing you so badly?" His voice dropped. "Seeing Mommy in the background, dry eyed and impassive?"

She didn't answer. Yes, it had anguished her to see her father that way. She was used to him being her rock, her constant hero, her unwavering ray of light. But seeing her mother, sitting in the background and staring off into space appearing uninterested, had hit her harder than she'd thought it might. She hated herself for feeling so betrayed and hurt. The feelings her mother had toward her were not exactly a state secret - she'd always known no real love was shared between them. But her heart still beat a tattoo against her ribs when she saw her own flesh and blood ignoring her father's pleas for help.

He lifted her awkwardly, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, his hips jerking up so she left the ground. Her hands clutched the sides of his jacket. He took three long strides forward and put her down again.

"Look at it again, Princess," he said, turning her around and placing his hands on her waist once again. "Look at that picture of your Daddy. That stage. That room."

She did. She found herself committing it to memory, inexplicably wanting to remember every detail. It was a large white room, with windows on two walls, looking out on tall buildings on either side. A stage, on which the podium her father had stood at resided, dominated. Chairs were all around it, full of media personnel and local cops. A newscaster was speaking over the scene.

"... tomorrow at three o'clock. It will be open to the public, first come, first serve to get seats. Topics discussed will revolve around what will happen after the imminent capture of the elusive Shane Fatello. Where is she? Who were the robbers she is known to be associated with? Does she regret what she did? The press conference tomorrow will cover these subjects and more. Back to you, Jeff."

The Joker reached over and clicked the television set off.

"Bella," he said in her ear. He said it slowly, sounding as though he was trying to savor it, keep it lingering on his tongue. "Bella ... I like that. Mine, too ... all mine ..." His voice tailed off, and he was silent for a few moments, breathing heavily in her ear. "That press conference. You're going."

She exhaled slowly. "Am I?"

"Oh, yes, bella ..." Once again, his voice became low and rough when he said the word. Thorough enjoyment dripped off of his words. "Max and Odie are taking you."