Legend's Apprentice

Peril

There was a drive, I couldn't tell how long. A goon sat in the back with us; he had a gun and a hard look on his face and there was no talking. We rattled along sitting on the rusting metal floor of the van, getting bounced around every time the tires hit a defect in the road. When the van stopped and the engine turned off, I figured that we were there, wherever there turned out to be. By the river was my guess from the smell, and when we were shoved out I could actually see the water. We were led into a tunnel; at first it was a natural cavern, but it gave way to an excavated passage that was also dank and malodorous, in keeping with the dead fish smell in the cavern. We splashed through puddles on the stone floor and ultimately shoved into one of several small cells that were fronted with rusting bars. The original huge manual lock was still on the door, but the real security was provided by bars that shot out of the ceiling and floor on the outside of the cell, triggered by a key card and reader. My faint hope of using bobby pins to my advantage withered and died. Not that I knew how to pick locks, but I bet Damian had at least tried. The only good thing was that they cut off the zipties on our wrists. Mine had been too tight and my hands were swollen and wrists cut. The cell was empty of furniture but there was some sand on the floor, which for some reason made me feel better although it provided scant cushioning. Damian offered me his coat, but I refused; there wasn't any point in both of us being cold. We sat down side by side, leaning against the cold wall; I think we were both dispirited. There hadn't been any opportunities to realistically attempt an escape; we'd had three guards with guns the whole drive. My shivering got too much for Damian, and I sat between his legs, leaning back against him, his arms loosely around me and my hands on top of his. We were both warmer for this arrangement. Both of us looked around but couldn't see any surveillance. Didn't mean it wasn't there, though, and neither of us had much to say.

Finally, though, I had to go to the bathroom, so we yelled until one of the goons showed up. I explained the issue, and he resentfully took me to a dirty bathroom. Still, beggars can't be choosers, so I made the best of it, washing my hands and face in the lukewarm water, and when I was returned to the cell, they took Damian. When he was returned, we settled back again and I took a little nap.

I jolted awake when a guard entered the cell and pulled me to my feet. The second guard came in and did the same to Damian, but he pulled Damian out of the cell. The first goon followed them out and locked the door behind him. I watched to see where he put the card for the lock. His went in his shirt pocket.

Then all I could do was wait. Damian was a huge psychological comfort as well as a source of warmth. I didn't have a watch on; I depended on my phone to let me know what time it was. If I got out of this, I was going to get myself a wristwatch ASAP. When. When I got out. When WE got out. We. I was shivering from cold and anxiety by the time they returned. I was on my feet instantly; they were dragging Damian between them and they flung him into the cell. I turned toward him as he slithered down the wall, but I wasn't able to check on him. The guard grabbed my upper arm and yanked me out; the second guard took care of the door and followed us. My impractical shoes were a real hazard on the slippery, uneven rock floor, and once when I fell he just dragged me along until we reached the destination, a room much farther back along the corridor.

I hated it instantly although it was warmer. For one thing, the Joker was there, sitting on the only chair. Secondly, he had a gun. An absurdly big gun. Thirdly, a total of three goons were in the room, including my two guards. And fourthly, a woman leaned over his shoulder, the infamous Harley Quinn. She made the level of crazy amp up.

"Pick her up," the Joker said coldly. The goons pulled me to my feet, holding me with hands clamped over my biceps. I began to shake in earnest. The Joker stood up, brushing Harley off, and strolled over to circle me. He stood too close, and I could see that his skin was peeling. There was no inflammation, so it was probably a normal condition brought about by the chemical bath that had turned him into ...this. And there was an odor to him, sour, the smell of hamburger just as it starts to turn. He was quite a bit taller than me; my eyes were on the level of his tie bar. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" he asked me almost cordially. "I went through a phase when that was my catchphrase," he mused, looking me up and down. "Haven't for years. But you make me feel like dancing. Of course, there's dancing, and then there's dancing. Get out of here, Harley," he snapped, and she stood straight, glaring at him.