Body Count

Murder. It was what The Joker was famous for - or rather, infamous for. He'd taken enough lives to be given the death penalty hundreds of times over, but he was either never caught, or he was let loose due to "insanity". And yes, he was definitely what somebody might call insane, but not in the traditional way. He wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill, muttering, rocking back and forth in a corner, straight-jacketed psychopath. No. He was one of a kind, unique, and much, much more dangerous.

Shane knew all of this. At least, she knew what she'd read in comic books and seen in movies. An impossibly sadistic (and possibly masochistic) sociopath with a taste for blood and a love of slaughter. In the back of her mind, she'd always questioned whether or not somebody could really behave in such a way. And if so, there was no way he'd be able to slip through the fingers of the city's crime-busters, time and again, like smoke through their outstretched fingertips.

But one look into those gleaming, murderous eyes had confirmed her worst fears - and her most longed-for fantasy. He was, truly, evil.

If he was so evil, her mind reasoned with her, then why was she lying under the shade of a rain-drenched fir tree, weak and vulnerable, falling asleep?

Because, the larger part of her argued, he broke me out for a reason. He won't kill me.

Ahh, are you so sure about that? Her mind seemed to be chiding her, which was ridiculous, because that meant she was chiding herself. He'll kill you easy as wiping rain out of his eyes. And you'll be gone, out of his life, no longer a nuisance!

True, she admitted, but not until he's found a use for me.

Her mind fell silent. Which disconcerted her. Should she be able to argue her own mind into submission so easily? And if so, how did it fall silent? Was she not still thinking to herself, even as she drew the next life-giving breath into her lungs?

"Shut up," she muttered, shifting her position slightly so a protruding root shielded her face from the majority of the raindrops falling on her head. She chuckled inwardly. Silly children's' rhymes.

"What was that?" That wasn't her own mind speaking back anymore. She blinked wearily, struggling to force her eyelids open. Oh, but she was tired. And then there was a hand on her shoulder, squeezing, purposefully bringing about a sickening surge of agony from the new wound. "What was that?" he said again. She could feel his hot breath on her face.

"I was telling myself to shut up," she croaked, unable to raise her voice above anything more than a cracked whisper.

The pressure on her injury eased, and she let out a breath of relief. "They weren't kidding when they declared you legally insane," he said, eying her interestedly. "Want a cookie?"

As her eyes opened a mite wider, adjusting to the dark of night, she saw that he was sitting before her with his eyebrows raised. She sat up slowly, stretching. He was cross-legged across from her; groaning a bit, she crossed her legs. His expression, far from concern or alarm, was that of polite bemusement and unconcern. And she noticed that he was, indeed, holding out a chocolate chip cookie for her.

Her hand shot forward and snatched it out of his, but he merely lowered his hand, not looking offended in the least. He watched her quietly as she devoured her snack, flicking stray crumbs from his lapel from time to time.

"Gee whiz, you sure ain't a picky eater," he observed, shrugging his jacket off. "You eat like that in front of your mother?"

She shrugged her good shoulder, smacking her lips as the last morsel of chocolate slid down her throat. "She never cared."

A moment of silence followed this statement, during which they stared at each other, seemingly trying to gaze the other into submission. In the end, though, he spoke first. "You were talking. Talking in your sleep." he said, smiling slightly.

She frowned. "Saying what, exactly?"

He giggled. "You muttered obscenities - a lot. And talked about me ... little old me," he pointed at himself with both hands, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. "Yes, a lot, quite a lot."

She groaned embarrassedly. "What did I say?" she asked, a look of mild desperation on her face.

He leaned in, licking his lips. "Well," He looked around furtively, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Mostly you just ... just muttered to yourself about how you weren't worthy. Of being rescued." Another glance in either direction. "By me."

She jumped up to explain this, but he silenced her by raising his hand. "No. No, no, no, Uncle Joker's talking now. You just hush hush until he's done, Princess."

No response.

"Very good." He applauded her mockingly, bowing his head in taunting admiration. "Now, now, where were we? Where were we?" he wondered exasperatedly. "Oh. Yeah. You kept saying, 'Them. Not them, me. More. Not them.' Things along those lines. And when you said these things ... your fingers kind of ... fluttered." He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers in her face as a demonstration. "Like that." Another lick of the lips. "And something else I found very interesting ..." He stopped.

Afraid he'd silence her permanently if she spoke aloud, she tried her best to convey the message, 'Keep going!' through her eyes. Tears welled up there, she was screwing them up so hard.

He licked his lips. Silence.

Is he challenging me? she thought frantically, wondering what to do. Maybe this was a test of her will. Or her obedience. So she remained silent, too.

He frowned. "Don't you want to know? What I found interesting? It is a bit personal, too. Even better."

She nodded fervently, screaming the words, 'Tell me! Please!' in her head.

He leaned in closer, and she had to crane forward to hear his next words. "You kept saying, 'I wish I could tell him.'"

Alarm bells went off in her head. What had she been dreaming, when she said those words? Had she been talking about him, about the Joker? She racked her brains trying to figure out what her dreams had been about.

And then it clicked.

"Oh," she groaned, falling back against the tree behind her. "No, no, no." she said.

"What, what, what?" he asked, hopping up and down on his bottom excitedly. "Ohh, I just love secrets. Tell Uncle Jokie, won't you? He won't laugh." he promised.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes you will."

He stopped hopping. "Probably. So. Tell me." Another slimy, all-too-noisy lick of the lips.

Her head snapped up. "I'll give you mine if you give me yours." she stated.

He rocked backwards, smacking his hands onto his knees and chuckling an, "O-ho-ho! A bargainer! Okay, okay, yes, yes, yes!" he exclaimed. "I'll bite. Ask me a question." He propped his chin on a fist, resting it on his knee. Stared at her relentlessly.

"Why did you break me out?" she said in a rush. Despite her calm demeanor (or what she hoped was a calm demeanor) her heart was pounding as she uttered the words, and she was sweating through the rain.

He made an 'Oh!' face, grinning down at her. "Why, why, why did I break you out?" he repeated, his arms flailing. "A very good question." His tongue darted forth once again, slipping along his lower lip before retreating back into the cherry-make-up coated mouth. "But not one I can answer. Nope. Sorry. Try again."

Shane was abashed. "Why can't you tell me?" she blurted, disappointed.

"Ha ha ha hoo!" he chuckled, clapping his leather-gloved hands. "Now that question I can answer!" He lowered his hands, still clasped, to his lap. "I can't tell you. Because ... because, because, because ..." He dragged out the word, grinning at her impatience. "Because you don't need to know yet!" His fists burst open like fireworks in her face, which was much closer than it had been two minutes ago. He was grinning happily. "Now! I've answered one of your questions - I do believe you owe me an answer."

She blanched. "That didn't count as my question!" she retorted, slamming her fist down hard on her own knee.

"Shush shush shush, Shaney Boo, or Uncle Jokie will have to make mince meat out of you!" he cackled at his own joke, falling onto his back and clutching his ribs. Shane, despite herself, grinned sheepishly.

"All right," she said, after a few moments incessant giggling. "I'll answer your damn question."

"Hoo hoo hoo!" He sat up, all ears. With his chin placed casually on two clenched fists, a content smile on his face, he waited.

"Ask me first," she ordered, biting back a grin.

He looked as though he thought about reprimanding her, but in the end he decided on a delighted chuckle. "You remember the rules - I like that. Okay, Shaney Dearest, what were you talking about in that little dream of yours, muttering away about 'I wish I could tell him,'?"

She closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath. She mentally prepared herself for the worst. "I wish I could tell you ..." she started, opening an eye and nodding towards him.

"Yes, me, me?" he pressed.

"I wish I could tell you how I felt." she said in a rush.

He leaned back, chuckling a low, satisfied chuckle. "That, Shaney, was a very clever way of avoiding the entire truth. I like that." he repeated.

Her face was flushed but her grin was full of mirth. "You caught that, did you?"

He touched the side of his nose conspiratorially. "Joker knows his way around a fib, Shaney." he said.

They both sat back against their trees, legs crossed, staring into the dark forest around them. After a while, Shane felt she had to break the silence.

"When will I need to know, then?" she asked, peering at him closely. "Why you broke me out, I mean."

He opened one eye and stared at her for a few minutes. And then ...

"All in good time." His eye closed.

Shane laughed to herself. "The Ace of Knaves really does know his way around a fib."

Their laughter filled the night, causing birds to take flight, lasting until the first light.