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Part Nineteen: Chapter 135: Sliver Of Hope

Several weeks had passed since they had arrived at their current hide out. They had cleaned the servants quarters and were living comfortably in it. The Joker has since illegally turned on the water and gas. Both worked pretty much the same as the electricity. So they had all the amenities and none of the bills. Bills would have only created a paper trail somehow. The Joker didn't need that.

The Joker sat near a window in the kitchen, staring out aimlessly in the dark. He missed the bat signal blazing in the night. Here the sky was black and full of stars. A glass of whiskey was in his hand. He had pretty much stayed drunk since finding the liquor stash. Being there in that house awoke several emotions he would rather avoid. He was trying to deal with it, but it was sometimes too much. The liquor helped, but not completely.

Harley and Johnny could both tell that the Joker was battling some personal demons. However, neither of them tried to talk to him about it. When it came to what the Joker thinks and feels, he's a very private man. So much so that most people thought he didn't have the feelings the rest of us did. They thought him incapable of normal human emotions. But Harley and Johnny both knew that wasn't the case. They understood that the Joker spent a lot of time living in his own head. And he hated to be asked questions, especially if it pertained to the way he felt. He's all too happy to let people think everything but the truth about him.

Still, Harley and Johnny could tell there was definitely something wrong with him. The first clue was his drinking. The second clue was how much time he was spending in solitude. The third clue was that he hadn't attempted to find out what was going on back in Gotham. Frost has witnessed his boss like this before. But it was new to Harley, and it was really starting to worry her.

The Joker hadn't exactly been prepared for being in that house. He couldn't have known that it would have the effect on him that it was. He hadn't counted on the way it was awakening memories that he had forgotten. Memories that he didn't know had been lost. To be honest, he wished he could forget them all over again.

He brings his glass to his mouth and gulps down the last of its contents. He sits the glass down and brings his hand to his temple and bows his head. The pain never went away completely without cocaine, but he's told himself that he wouldn't touch the stuff anymore. He wanted an heir more than he wanted the drugs, no matter how much they might have helped with the pain.

"What are you doing to yourself Jack?" Comes a voice and the Joker looks up.

Sitting across from him, hands folded, was his dead wife. The Joker reaches for the bottle of whiskey before him and refills his glass. "You're not real. You're just in my head," he says and brings the glass to his lips. But when he lowered the glass she was still sitting there smiling at him.

"I'm worried about you Jack," she says in a humbled voice.

The Joker huffs, "Yeah right," he rolls his eyes.

"Of course I am. Jack, I love you," she said and the Joker stares at her.

She seemed so real, but he knew that she couldn't have possibly been. He killed her, he knows without a doubt that he did. Since coming to this place he could remember laying with his dead wife's body after he killed her. He could vividly remember his tears and how cold her body was in his arms.

The Joker growls and slams a fist down on the table, "Liar," he he shout at the figment of his imagination. "You didn't love me! If you loved me you wouldn't have done what you did!"

"Jack..."

"And stop calling me that! I'm not Jack anymore! Jack is just as dead to me as you are!" He yelled at her. He grabs his drink and gulps down more.