Author's Note: I want to thank everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed my story so far. It really means a lot to me :)

She had opened her eyes expecting to see the light casting a red glow through the scarlet curtains of her bedroom window. She felt more tired than usual, and drowsily muttered how she needed a strong cup of coffee. As she sat up and rubbed her eyes, she noticed that there was no light shining in, and her feet touched cold wood instead of her warm, fuzzy carpet. Her eyes immediately shot open and panic rushed throughout her body. She had no idea where she was.

Looking around, she realized she was alone, trapped in a dark, barren room. A twin bed with a rusty brass frame rested in the center and to its left of it was a window, its sill composed of rotten, peeling wood. A dusty and desolate mirror hung on the opposite wall. There were no curtains or decorations; just the bare essentials. The walls were stained beige, with strips of paint peeling off in various locations. The blanket on the bed was old and faded, and it was difficult to tell what color it had been in its prime. Possibly a lively green, but whatever life it had once contained obviously dissipated a long time ago.

Everything in that moment was so surreal. It all hit her at once. It was as if she was living a nightmare. She never thought she would find herself in a situation like this. Never in her life had she been the victim of any criminal activity, and today (or was it yesterday? How long had she been out?), there she had been: face to face with Gotham's most notorious criminal. Seeing his face in the newspaper or on television was chilling, but it was nothing compared to seeing it inches in front of her own.

It had all happened so fast after he found her in the back of the SUV. She had begged and pleaded for her life, but it would have been a miracle if he had understood a word she was saying through her incessant sobs. He just laughed; she was pathetic to him. He wasn't going to pity her. He didn't care if she lived or died. He was a cold-hearted murderer. He had killed hundreds, maybe even thousands of people. He took pride in that fact.

He wrapped his hands around her ankles and pulled her out of the car in a careless and sauntering manner. He was stronger than he looked, and Alice found that out the hard way. She had attempted to resist his tugs by kicking and thrashing her legs, but he skillfully held them in place.

"Where do ya think you're going?" He had taunted her.

When he had pulled her completely towards him, he held her up so that her face was level with his. He wore a false expression of betrayal, as if he were completely shocked that she had tried to get away from him.

"I just wanna talk ," he crooned.

When she refused to say anything or even look in his eyes, he grabbed her face on either side of her cheeks with one of his gloved hands. He squeezed them roughly and shook her head.

"You know, it's not very po-lite to ignore someone when they're talking to you." His eyes narrowed and darkened.

"Oh- oh- okay . . . I'm sorry," Alice choked out.

"Now, ah, tell me . . . What's your name?"

She was immediately thrown off by his question. Why did he want to know her name?

"Come on, spit it out," he said, losing his patience with her.

"Al-Alice." she squeaked.

"Alice, hm? Well, isn't that a pretty name." He said, grinning at her. His rigid scars stretched across his face, creating an even more unnerving smile than the one he already wore.

He took his hand off her face and reached into his pocket, his other hand still holding her in place. He pulled out a small, metal switchblade and opened it in one smooth flick of his wrist. Alice began to panic, losing what little composure she had. Blood-curdling screams seeped out of her lips and echoed into black, hollow sky. She began squirming from underneath his strong hold, trying to kick and claw her way out, but in her frenzy her head forcefully hit the door's metal threshold. Her body went limp in the Joker's arms, and her vision blurred, a dark vignette surrounding his face, slowly closing in on him. The last thing she saw were his black hollow eyes as she drifted off into unconsciousness.

And then there she was, lying atop a hard, foreign mattress. Looking out the window, she could see that the sky was a deep black. She had been slumped on the bed for a while, and she knew she wasn't alone in the house. Occasionally she would hear small thumps echo through the walls, but none had originated near her room. Her body was shivering, not from the cold, but from fear.

She sat there thinking about how much she wished she were home in her bed, safe and secure. She didn't understand why he had put her in this room. She had examined her body for any unfamiliar marks, but she was perfectly unharmed, minus a few carpet burns on her arms and her cheek.

The best conclusion she could come up with is that he wanted her fully awake for what he intended to do to her. And what he intended to do to her, she didn't even want to think about.

And she didn't want to stick around to find out, either. She hopped off the bed and darted over to the door, trying to twist the rusty knob open. When it didn't budge, she ran over to the window, the wooden floorboards creaking under her weight. She tried to slide it open, but it too, was firmly shut. Examining it more closely, she noticed that corroded nails were hammered into the decaying wood. Her eyes scanned the room for anything she may not have noticed before that she could use to bust the window open, but her search came up empty. She pressed her face up against the cool glass, determined to see what was out there and where she would go when, if, she did manage to escape.

She discovered that she was on the second floor of the house, and that it was surrounded by dense woods. There was not a road in sight, and now that she thought about it, she hadn't heard any traffic since she had woken up. It was as if she were literally in the middle of nowhere.

In one last desperate attempt, she scoped out behind the bed for a hidden vent she could crawl through, but there was none. She could think of no more ways to escape. All she could do now was sit there and wait for the inevitable. And soon enough, the inevitable came. It came up the stairs with heavy footsteps, shuffling right to the door of Alice's room.

It came with a seemingly genuine smile and a bottle of water.

"Hey there," it spoke, its voice dry and raspy. The inevitable was the passenger seat rider, the Joker's only surviving accomplice. She remembered his voice from the few times he had spoken to the Joker while she was hunkered down in the back of the SUV.

Alice shrunk back against the wall behind the bed and stared at him with wide, tired eyes. She knew nothing about this man, and that made her extremely uneasy. At least she had heard about the Joker and what he does on the news. However, the guy hovering in the doorway was a complete mystery to her.

He had long, dark shaggy hair that hung just below his chin. A thin line of hair branched out of his sideburns on either side of his face, accentuating his already strong jawline. He was still dressed in all black, but this time without the gloves, mask, or gun.

"It's alright, you can trust me," he assured. He slowly walked over to her bed and handed her the bottle of water. Alice took it, reluctantly.

"So, Alice is it?"

She nodded.

He raised his eyebrows at her, still flashing his smile. He had perfect teeth, she noted.

"I'm Jeff," he told her. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm sure you already know. You're gonna be in for quite the ride."

Alice looked up at him, her eyes prodding him to clarify what he meant.

"You know," he answered, his eyes drooping down at her, and his smile fading into a frown. He looked as if he were trying desperately hard to sympathize with her. "The Joker's not a very friendly guy."

"What's he going to do to me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well now, I sure as hell couldn't tell ya. But I think I know enough to tell you that you won't like it, a sweet little thing like you."

"Is he going to kill me?" she asked, beginning to tear up.

"Hey, I can't read his mind. But I can only think of one other thing he'd want with such a pretty girl as you."

Alice looked down at her arms. She was unable to hold her tears in anymore, and they slowly rolled down her face. She wasn't exactly sure what Jeff meant by the 'one other thing' the Joker would want from her, other than to kill her, but she knew didn't want to ask.

Jeff, noticing her cries, sat down beside her on the bed and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She flinched back at his touch.

"Don't cry, beautiful. I can make it better."

"How?" she croaked, bursting into full-out sobs. How could she trust a man who works for the Joker?

Immediately, Jeff grabbed a handful of hair from the back of Alice's head and pushed her lips into his. A loud, muffled scream echoed throughout the room, but he didn't stop. She clawed the side of his face with her nails, droplets of blood seeping out of the wounds.

That got him to stop.

"You bitch," he growled and banged her head back against the wall. "Is this how you treat someone who tries to help you? Who wants to make you feel better?"

She felt him tugging at her pants, but she could only lie there. She was a small woman, and she didn't have the energy to fight him. Her head weakly rolled to the side, and she noticed the Joker standing in the doorway, his arms folded and his ankles crossed. He looked extremely annoyed.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat.

Jeff immediately jumped off Alice, and turned to face his boss. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or even more horrified.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" the Joker snarled at Jeff.

"I – uh. . . Well, I wanted to check her out for myself."

"And didn't I tell you not to come up here, hm? Didn't I tell you that?"

He removed his weight from the doorway and buried his hands into the pockets of his purple trousers, strolling over towards Jeff. Only when there were a few inches of distance between each man's face did he stop. Jeff tried to back up, obviously feeling uncomfortable by the close proximity of the Joker, but found himself trapped by the bed.

"You should know by now what happens to people who don't listen to me," the Joker growled, his voice nerve-rackingly deep.

Jeff answered with an audible gulp, and stammered, a series of incomprehensible sounds blurting out of his mouth. However, conversation between the two of them diminished into background noise as Alice eyed the open doorway and wondered if she should make a run for it. For a second the idea seemed perfect, ingenious really. But she soon realized that she didn't know what was beyond that door. They knew the house better than she did, and if she ran into a dead end, she'd be recaptured in no time, and the consequences probably wouldn't be very pretty.

Her thoughts halted when the Joker's dark, narrow eyes found their way over to her and, feeling his burning glare, she looked up, making unintentional eye contact. And what she saw sent shivers down her spine. She had never seen such lurid, empty eyes. It was as if they were void of all emotion, a haven of evil compulsion. They stared right through her.

"Let's, ah, continue our little chat downstairs, shall we?" He asked, his voice returning to its usual nasally tone and averting his eyes back to Jeff. He grabbed him by the back of the neck and roughly pushed him towards the door. He followed immediately behind and shot one last glance at Alice before slamming the door shut as he exited.

She listened as their footsteps disappeared and slumped back into the bed. She grabbed the bottle of water Jeff had brought her and gulped the whole thing down, not even stopping to take a breath. Her heart felt as if it were beating out of her chest, all from looking into the Joker's eyes. The fear and anxiety she had felt with Jeff, or from being found in the back of the vehicle was only minute compared to what his glare had invoked.

Being left again caused her mind to wander . . . She thought about his scars, wondering how he had gotten them. Had he given them to himself? Or had he actually been on the receiving end of the knife?

Her racing thoughts were, however, shortly interrupted by loud, raspy screams. She had never heard someone cry out in such extreme pain before. What was the Joker doing to him? She thought back on what Jeff had told her when he first came in her room. She thought about how he had bashed her head roughly into the wall. She thought about what would have happened to her if the Joker had not walked in when he did.

And now, she could only think about how Jeff was the one who was in for a ride.