Chapter Text
“Hey Brooke, a bunch of us are heading to Wiley Rover, you should come with. You’re off in 20, right?”
You rolled your eyes and tried not to let out an audible sigh. You glanced at your watch. “Yeah I’m off at eight. I’ve gotta get home though, appointment in the morning.” You looked back to the clipboard in your hands, refocusing on finishing the inventory. Michael was about your age, and objectively handsome. He worked out front with the customers, and he was friendly… too friendly.
“One of these days I’m gonna get you out of your shell, I swear.” He laughed teasingly.
You snicker, still not looking at him. “Yeah, you do that Michael.” You kept your tone light. He probably really was a nice guy. You’d been at this job for a year and a half and he was still trying to get to know you.
“Alright Brooke, you have a good night.” He says, still chuckling. You offer a polite wave goodbye, finally looking in his direction to watch him walk away. He was clearly determined to become your friend, and it was unbelievably frustrating.
Your job was perfect. Stuck in the back of a grocery store, dealing with deliveries, products, all the boring stuff behind the scenes. It kept you busy, paid the bills, and most importantly kept you hidden. The less noticeable you were, the less people knew you well, the better. The closest thing you had to a friend was Kenny, who delivered products to the store every week. He’d smile and nod, silently passing you a pill bottle, never asking questions. It was perfect.
You finished everything up five minutes early, quickly collecting your things and heading home. You’d invested in a car, once you’d built up the necessary funds. Riding the bus had started to make you feel uneasy, and the security of your own car had changed your life for the better. You drove home quickly, taking a few backroads to avoid any traffic.
You hurried to your apartment, locking the door behind you. You were ready for dinner and a hot bath. You glanced around at the scarce furniture and lack of decor. The downside of investing in a car, was that your money didn’t go toward anything else. Between rent, bills, car insurance and upkeep, money was tight. Making your apartment cozy was low on your list of priorities. You had a bed, and that was all you really needed.
You warmed up a frozen dinner, poured yourself a generous glass of wine, and relaxed in a hot bath as you ate. Once you’d taken a pill and finished eating, you sank down into the water and lit a joint. You appreciated the feeling of your nerves calming. You’d taken up smoking weed to fill the void that cigarettes had left, having fully quit months ago. It did the trick.
Once the water had started to cool and the joint was finished, you drained the water and wrapped yourself in a towel.
You took your dishes to the kitchen, then stood at your living room window. Your building was elevated on a bit of a hill, and you just barely had a view of the downtown area. It was safely at a distance, which helped give you some peace of mind.
For the most part, your paranoia had calmed down. It had been almost 2 years since the last time you’d seen Arthur, since he’d become Joker. If he was planning to kill you, he would have done it already.
Arthur had officially come out of the shadows a year and a half ago. Just as the speculation about him being dead or alive had reached a fever pitch, suddenly he was on every TV screen and every newspaper. Him and his goons had robbed a bank, and Arthur was caught on one of the security cameras. You could still imagine the footage vividly: He’d paused while his thugs were hard at work, utter chaos surrounding him. He looked straight up at the camera and smiled ear-to-ear. He was in full Joker attire: his bright red suit and green hair a stark contrast to the modern, neutral color scheme of the bank. He lifted a hand and gave a cheerful wave, saluting the camera before turning to finish the job.
The city had gone into overdrive, the confirmation that he was very much alive catching many people off guard. You, of course, found it unsurprising. You’d known with every fiber of your being that he was alive. What did surprise you, however, was how quickly he rose up in the ranks of Gotham’s dark underbelly. He’d quickly climbed the criminal ladder, and now it seemed that he was untouchable.
It simply didn’t compute in your brain. How could Arthur, sweet, tender Arthur, be a criminal mastermind? Was it always there, just lurking beneath surface? You’d always believed him to be smart, but the cunning nature he presented as Joker … It was something you didn’t think you would ever understand.
You’d purposefully stopped watching the news about a year ago, tired of being bombarded with his face. The face that wasn’t truly his. You didn’t want to hear any more about the destruction of a human being.
As you lay in bed, trying to get comfortable, you heard a siren go screaming past. You’d escaped most of the action of the city, but it bled into the outskirts of town. There was really no way to escape it. Of course, you could move out of Gotham entirely. Someday, you would.
You drifted to sleep, imaging a small house on a beach somewhere.
*** A Week Later***
After picking up your Celexa, you remembered the empty fridge that awaited you at home. The idea of grocery shopping today made you want to die, so instead you headed to a nearby restaurant and took a seat at the bar. Glancing at the menu, you quickly ordered something and made sure to order a meal to go as well. Some leftovers in your fridge would save you a trip to the grocery store for another day or two.
You were in the middle of taking a bite out of your burger when a man sat one seat away from you. You glanced at him as he ordered a beer, inwardly cringing. He looked to be around 40, his hair was slicked back and greasy, and his face off-putting in a way you couldn’t put your finger on. You looked away, focusing instead on the TV behind the bar.
There had been some type of political debate recently, the new Mayor talking about how he’d fix the city. The volume was turned off, but you didn’t need to hear it to know it was all bullshit.
“Can you believe that guy? He actually thinks he can put a little band aid on the city and fix everything within two years.”
You side eyed the man beside you, soon realizing that his statement was aimed at you. Mouth full of food, you offered a polite smile and nodded your head as if agreeing with him. You did agree with him, but you didn’t want to encourage further conversation.
“I’ve lived in Gotham my whole life, and there’s nothing that guy can do to fix anything. Poor son of a bitch doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He guffawed, taking a gulp of beer.
You laughed shortly.
“Have you lived in Gotham for a long time, too?” He asked, his eyes trained on the TV.
“Uh, yeah. Most of my life.” You offered curtly.
“So, you know what I’m talking about.”
“Definitely.” You took another large bite, thankfully almost done with the burger. The waiter came back with your box of food to go, and you gladly offered him your card to pay for the bill. He’d just disappeared when familiar colors in your peripheral caught your attention.
You allowed your eyes to find the screen, and there he was in all his twisted glory. You stopped chewing, entranced. You’d avoided the news like the plague, not even bothering to glance at newspapers. It’d been so long since you’d seen him, and your heart jumped in your chest. You weren’t even sure what the news was talking about, what vile thing he’d done this time. Everything around him seemed to blur.
“You alright?”
The man’s voice broke you from your spell, and you regained your senses. You tried to nonchalantly look back to your food, taking another bite even though your hands were trembling slightly.
“Jesus, we’ve got the clueless politicians, and then we’ve got that guy. The stupid fucker. The media can’t get enough of him, they just eat him up. He gives them news coverage on a silver platter.” The man grumbled, and you weren’t even sure if he was still talking to you until he asked “how do you feel about him?”
You shrug your shoulders, motioning to the food filling your mouth. He keeps looking at you, however, and eventually you have to swallow and clear your throat. “You know, I don’t watch the news to be honest with you. So, I can’t really comment on the topic.” It’s not necessarily a lie.
The waiter came back with your card, and you quickly signed the receipt, annoyed to find your fingers still trembling. When you glanced over, the man was looking at you with his head tilted, a curious look in his eyes. He slightly shook his head, thoughtful.
“You ever seen him? Like, in person?”
You choke on your food, instantly playing it off as a laugh. You raise an eyebrow. “Me? No. I’ve heard of some people that have, but I guess I’m one of the lucky ones.” You laugh, trying to bluff.
He slowly starts to chuckle, an odd glint in his eye. "Yeah, you must be very lucky."
You took the final bite of your burger, praising the gods as you clutched your bag of take out and glanced at your watch. “So sorry, I’ve got an important meeting to get to. Have a good rest of the evening!” you announced, mustering up a convincing smile.
“Yeah, you too.” His face twists into a lopsided smile, somehow unsettling.
You don’t relax until you’re in your car with the doors locked. You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes for a moment, trying to get ahold of yourself. It’d probably been over a year since you’d seen Arthur or talked about him out loud. You felt knocked off your equilibrium. You angrily hit your hand against the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Really? That’s all it took to turn your mind to mush? A glimpse of him on a screen and a stranger asking your opinion of him? After two long years, this is all the progress you have to show for it?
Once your hands were no longer shaking, you drove yourself home and got straight into bed. You took two pills, praying for your mind to quiet.
***
The next few days were lethargic. You quietly made it through each work day, successfully avoiding as much human interaction as possible. You got a fresh bottle of pills, thankfully. Your boss announced he was putting together a holiday celebration for the entire team. It shocked you a bit, realizing that Christmas was indeed just over a month away. And you finally, begrudgingly, went grocery shopping to stock up your kitchen.
It felt like you were carrying fifty pounds on each arm as you struggled to your car. The night was dark and silent, except for a siren wailing a few blocks away. You leaned into your backseat, relieved to set the bags down and regain feeling in your arms.
You felt someone surge against you from behind, knocking you into the car entirely right on top of your groceries. A hand painfully pressed your mouth shut before you could scream, terror rushing through your veins as they rushed into the backseat on top of you. The hand that wasn’t on your mouth pushed your head into the car seat, keeping you from turning to look at them.
You struggled to breathe through your nose, trying to kick with your legs to no avail. That’s when you noticed the smell, so strong and overpowering that you started to gag. It felt like hours passed as you grew drowsier, your vision spotting and growing fuzzy around the edges. Soon you couldn’t feel your body, unable to struggle against your assailant.
***
Your eyes shot open as you sucked air into your lungs desperately. You sat up, your head heavy with the worst headache you’d ever experienced. The world was pitch black, and you blindly reached for the bottle of pills next to the bed. Your hand found nothing but air, right where your bedside table should be. You cried out, desperate for some relief from the pounding of your skull.
Suddenly it felt like your guts were doing somersaults. You quickly rolled out of the bed and your body met hard floor with a thud. It was too dark to see anything, though your eyes were beginning to adjust. You gasped when your hands found some sort of container. Maybe a trashcan? Whatever it was, it would serve its purpose. Unable to hold back any longer, you vomited until there was nothing left. The world was spinning as you rested your head against the cold floor, instantly curling up on your side and drifting off.
***
You groaned at the brightness of the room. Your body was aching, your muscles sore against the hard floor beneath you. Your head was still aching slightly, but you felt much better overall.
Your sight came into focus, and alarm surged through you as you sat up. Prison bars. You were facing a wall of prison bars. You lunged to your feet, crossing the room and wrapping your hands around the metal. You pushed against them, but there was no give. You quickly noticed a gate, but it wasn’t budging. It was locked from the outside.
Tears filled your eyes and heated panic flooded your veins. “Hello! Hello, can anyone hear me!? Please help me, is anyone there?” You screamed. “Help, please help me!” there was silence. The room beyond the bars was quite large, the walls and floor white. It was completely empty, aside from a desk and a chair. Light was pouring in through a couple of windows. At the opposite side of the room, was a door. “Help! Please, I’m locked in here you have to help me!” You cried, your voice cracking.
There was only more silence, and you pressed your face against the cold steel in defeat. Eventually, you turned around to take in the rest of your surroundings. A decent sized bed took up most of the space, and the rest of the room was empty. All except for the black bin sitting to the side of the room, the one that had come to your rescue before.
The walls were bare, although painted a nice cream color. Your eyes bugged when you spotted a wooden door on one of the walls, and you rushed to open it. Disappointment hit you like a freight train, however, when you were met with a bathroom. Toilet, sink, a tiny shower. You stepped back, pressing a hand to your temple as you sat on the bed.
Fuck, why couldn’t you remember what had happened? You remembered being sick last night, but everything else was a blur. You’d picked up your Celexa, and then gone shopping. You could remember picking up a bottle wine, setting it in your cart. What the fuck happened to me?
A sound from across the room had you leaping off the bed and flying to the gate. “Thank god! Please help me! You have to help me!” You yelled, your hands gripping the bars like your life depended on it. The door swung open, and a man in his late 30s stepped into the room.
He seemed surprised for a moment, before his features calmed into a chilling grin. “Oh good, you’re awake. Was beginning to wonder how long you’d be out.”
His nonchalant behavior caused your brow to furrow, and you noticed he was carrying something. It was a large tray, covered in food. “I’m so happy to see you, I don’t think you understand. I’m locked in here, I can’t remember how I got here and I need you to find keys to let me out. Please.” You pleaded, pointing to the latch on the gate.
He just grinned and stepped closer, and something about him made you step away until the backs of your legs hit the bed.
“Oh, I understand completely. Here, this is your food for the day. Make it last.” He walked right up to the gate, bending down to unlock a small hatch which he slid the tray of food through. You watched as he relocked the hatch.
“Wait, look! That keyring. You must have the key to the gate!” You pointed in excitement.
He stood up, holding the keyring up and glancing between it and you. “What, you think I would have the key?” He chuckled like you’d made a joke. “Only the boss has that key. Sleep tight, alright?” He winked, sticking his keys into a pocket and turning away from you.
Your heart dropped and you sank to your knees. “Wait…what is this? Where am I? What boss? You have to let me out of here, I don’t understand, please!” You cried, tears filling your eyes. He didn’t answer you, simply disappearing as the heavy door thudded shut behind him.
The reality was slowly sinking in. This was no accident. This was a personal prison. The room had a bed, and a bathroom. You were being delivered food. This was designed for a long-term confinement. Your whole body trembled, and you gasped for air as your throat seemed to be tightening.
You were absolutely fucked.