My Dad, the Joker (A Batman fanfic)

Chapter 1 (Harmony's POV)

I sat alone in the apartment I shared with my dad, getting ready to watch a favourite TV programme of mine – CSI -. I was into that kind of thing. Not just the investigating, but the way people were murdered or the way someone committed a murder. I know weird, right? Well, it’s not at all weird to me because that was the way I was brought up. Besides I get that from my dad, or at least I think I did; you see, I don’t really know my mum.

My mum went missing a few days after I was born, according to my dad. Dad and I wouldn’t know if she’s alive or dead because she either hasn’t been able to contact us or just can’t be bothered with us; my dad hasn’t exactly explained why she went missing, but he does know a reason behind it all. I knew what she looked like through her photos; dad kept a few around, ranging from when she was a teen (that seemed to be the time she and my dad met) to just after I was born. She looked so sad to be honest in the photos she was holding baby me. She was beautiful, but the sadness made her look… older. It made me sad to think maybe I was the reason behind it, behind her being that sad.

Dad had to give me a couple of photos because at a young age, I was shown the pictures and dad had put them in his sock drawer for safe keeping. I continued to get the photos out, to just look at my mum; I wanted to be sure I hadn’t seen her around. In the end, dad finally gave me a few to keep in my room. I was told I have most of my dad’s personality (essentially the attitude and some of the things I liked), but dad thought I had her features: the mischief look in my eyes, my figure. My personality does consist more of her: caring, the fact I didn’t let nasty comments get to me easily, and the fact after getting pissed off, I can calm down quicker than my dad.

Dad and I lived alone in the apartment, except for the odd henchmen coming and going; it was more than likely me alone in the place, almost all the time. Dad was ‘busy’ most of the time, working; his henchmen did help to look after me and care for me, but I preferred dad. The henchmen also had their own homes to go to and their jobs to do. When I was younger (around eight), my dad had his henchmen baby-sit me and they would always agree to do it because 1. they were scared of my dad and couldn't say no. 2. They all loved me, not to be modest, but I spent a lot of time with them and from a young age too, so I was used to seeing them around as they were with me.

You see, my dad isn’t any normal dad, or man for that matter; he was in fact, the Joker. People more often than not, presumed I would have his ‘behavioural problems’. I don’t and he doesn’t have any, yeah sometimes he may have acted like he did, but I know he doesn’t. It was hurt, most of the time, and for what I didn’t know. The kids at my school thought I would attack them or something, but I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone, not even the person I most despise. People did always assume the worst of me, of me and my dad. I hated it.

Dad did not want any social workers or teachers finding out I was his daughter with the risk of losing our little family. I was everything he had, and he was everything I had. I couldn’t live without him; they would take me away from him and we wouldn’t see each other ever again. It was hard enough to think about, never mind it actually happening. So, to avoid all of that, dad changed my surname and used one of his henchmen to be my ‘parents’. It worked, for a while. 

Some of the ‘popular’ children found out who my real dad was, and they did just as I said: they assumed the worst of me. No one wanted to be friends with me, and some even bullied me behind my back. They didn’t want to know me and I was alone at school. So, basically my dad was my only friend I had. I was bullied for who I was and who my family was. I’m Harmony Napier and proud to say it!

I was wearing my usual: black leather jacket, low cut blouse and jeans. I had a box of popcorn on my lap and a can of energy drink on the glass coffee table, in front of me. I sat chilled out on the couch, when my dad’s face came on the TV; I looked to the clock and it read 18:00 (6:00). That meant he was starring on the Evening News. I was in fact disappointed in him as I knew what particular reason he was on for, and it was confirmed when I saw the headlines: ‘The Joker – previously Jack Napier- murdered Carl Grissom, gangster leader. Obvious evidence found at scene of the crime.’ Dad left, what I called, his trademark at every murder or break-in he did; he left a Joker card from a deck of cards, though he had edited it to remind people of himself: the dark green hair, pale skin, red lips.