Maniaphobia//Joker Fanfiction//FINISHED💚

Nightmare With A Smile

It costs you only some taps on a keyboard and a press on the 'search' button to find out where the sheriff of your city lives. Where his wive watches tv while she cooks dinner. Where his children believe they are safe when they close their windows at night. Where the sheriff scratches his wrinkly butt ordering his files. Where there are fights over the remote control. Smiles after high grades and pay checks, and tears when the pet dies. Where a normal life, yet of a man with more power than all the inhabitants, continues through day and night.

Only some finger movement on an electric device, strong enough to find out exactly where this life schedule does it round.

And in just a few clicks you can turn it all down.

After writing the adresse down on the palm of my hand, I breathe in and out deeply to calm the nerves that are now trying to take over. I know that I'm willing to do whatever to get him back to me. He's the only person that can make me smile still. And who would ever like to live a life without those satisfying raises of the corners of your mouth? It's one of the most magnificent feelings of all. And I won't let go of it.

It sucks that the Joker has brought me to the boat with the yellow school bus. It means I'll be needing to find my own way to the head of the police' house. Public transport is a no go, if anyone only catches of glimpse of my scars, the warm urine will walk down their pants. I must say,

it has it's advantages.

I decide that going on foot is the best way. When I walked into the bank with a shotgun, people passed by me easily. Than some stitches on my face wouldn't be noticed at all. I haven't thought my plan through. Joky always told me not to be a schemer. Plans never end up well, because you get certain expectations that the world will never live up to. So I just find my way out of the hallow building, and onto the streets of my city. MY city.

The crowds that were first everywhere when the police officer brought me 'home', are now all back at their homes. Being normal families behind their doors that keep them from the harsh outside world.

The harsh outside world will be creeping into someone's home tonight.

James Gordon' night will walk a little different than usual.

I put in the hoodie that's on my vest. And I feel like a day to day teenager, just making it's way to home or McDonalds maybe. The cloth covers my face, but I still have all my sight. I've aways had a weird love for watching people on the streets.

They're all walking stories.

When I went shopping with my mom before the train wreck, I used to do it all the time. We'd both. Picking the terras with the best seating places, ordering cappuccinos with lots of cream on top, and than just look. Sometimes we would make a story around the people we saw. The woman with the dreadlocks and her lips fully pierced. The kid with the lolly bigger than it's little blown up face. The dog with three legs. The man taking photos off all the buildings. It was something I shared with my mother, together with a lot of other things. More physically than characteristics.

The memories always felt like a hot iron being forced it's way into my heart. And I shake it off quickly before the tears come and vague my sight.

I need to be clear tonight. I can't afford mistakes or stupidity.

Luckily enough I know my way around the big city. And an hour later I'm in front of the house of the commissioner. A grey building, way smaller than I had expected. With fire ladders on the sides, and endless seeming stairs that walk to more homes. For such a highly appreciated cop I would have definitely expected something more.

Knocking wasn't and option. The grin on my face would give away my horrifying plan.

So I look up, and as I expected, one of the house' windows is open. No light coming from it, so either the family was already deep asleep, or not home. Which one it was didn't bother me. I have patience.

I easily set off against the brick wall. Feeling the stones crumble underneath my feet takes a little of the self sureness away, but I have a goal to achieve here. I set off with a broken stone, which creates a hole for me to lean my foot in. And I push myself far enough to be able to grab on to the windowsill. The muscles in my arms are on the edge of popping. And I feel all my blood stream to my head, causing it to feel like I'm lit on fire. With all the power my arms can produce I pull myself up, and end up dropping in a unfamiliar room. If there is actually someone sleeping where I am now, they must've woken up by the noise of me dropping on their bedroom floor.

But the bed that's standing against a brightly painted blue wall, is empty. The blankets have fallen on the ground, and there are car toys all over the ground, a closet with child books beside a wooden desk and posters of superhero films.

"A little boy. His little boy", I mumble to myself. Satisfied with my choice of room. Taking his son would be the perfect thing to do. Panic, fear and the control over a life of his in my own hands. Adrenaline flushes through me like a drug. And the energy I feel in that second is uplifting. I walk around, in full believe now that I'm alone in the house.

How stupid of a cop to leave a window open when leaving the house. Hasn't he ever heard of robbers, intruders, murderers...Jokers?

I'm mostly drawn to the little kid's desk. It's covered with drawings, made out of colourful charcoal. Fury raises up in my stomach at the sight of multiple Batman logo's. The kid is an idiot already, and I barely know him. I seek through the pile for an empty paper, and when I find it I rush coloured pencils over the sheet. Creating a little piece of art for the kid to find when he returns. When it's finished I proudly leave the pencils on the wooden desk, and make my way out of the room.

A standard living room, big brown couch, fridge thick television, family picture on the grey wall. I take my hand over the dusty glass plate that covers the picture. An ordinary happy family. A young looking Gordon laughing so brightly, the tooth flesh is visible more than his teeth are. And a thick brown moustache to finish his image. A nice looking woman, dark brown hair 'till her shoulders, matching perfectly with a set of almost black eyes. An alike smile. And than the little kid. About four years I guess from the picture, but I've seen Gordon on tv and he'a older looking now. The photo must have been taken some time ago. The boy has naughty brown eyes too, but with light blond hair not reaching any further than his tiny ears. There is a smile, but almost no teeth. Looking at the natural picture, the hot iron of memories is forcing it's way back in me. And I push it off by leaving the living room and checking out the kitchen.

My eyes catch the row of knives and don't leave them anymore. A set of five, walking from big to smaller. The blades all shine in the light of the moon that starts to turn up outside.

Adrenaline was a new feeling for me. But what the knives take with them is almost unsettling.
A hunger and a thirst.

For blood.

For panic.

For ripping flesh and taring muscle.

I smile.

And with the biggest knife of them all, almost the length of my lower arm, I make my way back to the blond boy's room. The kid will have a horrible nightmare tonight. A nightmare with a smile.