The same morning, a loud explosion disturbed the sleep of occupants of Arkham Asylum. Chaos broke together with the fire, giving an impression of something hellish. Ancient wrath overpowering the world, or at least an illusion of it. Just for a moment in one's life.
The staff that remained in the building during the night rushed towards the source of fire, mixing together with unstable, panicking patients. In the end, there was no difference between nurses, doctors and the asylum's madmen. Tragedy brings people together.
Everyone, except one. A tall man in a grey t-shirt, which hugged his shoulders snugly, stood farther away, the fire reflecting on the strands of his light hair. But even the original element could not compare with the heat blazing in his lake-coloured eyes.
Ashwood was feeling... Something. He did not know nor could name the emotion in his chest while watching fire violating the room in which his friend stayed. Comrade. Commander. Lover. A friend. Someone to keep close to his guts. His heart. Someone he swore to protect no matter the circumstances. Someone who swore not to hurt him ever again.
People around him kept running, but the man paid attention neither to them nor a team of firefighters, emerging from the dark. His eyes were drawn to the fiery element, devouring everything in its way with unseen gluttony.
"A body!" A male voice shouted from inside the room. A body. They've found a body.
Later, they decided the body was too disfigured, too burned down to confirm its identity in a guaranteed way. Yet, no medical examiner could deny the fact that the corpse lacked his left limb, an arm. The room was searched for the missing part. None was found.
Pathologists examined the teeth. Even in the heat, they remained in relatively acceptable condition. Enough to conclude that they matched the dental blueprint of her teeth. Without any additional filling in them, it was a rare thing for someone in his thirties to have such healthy teeth.
They decided to bury her in the same graveyard where every other patient was buried. Right in front of Joker's window. Two men, unaware of each other's distant company, followed the simple funeral procedure until the coffin disappeared into the black hole, and people separated.
That night, Joker could not sleep. He laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling, the whole time feeling a phantom, a warm, feminine, yet hard body pressed to his side, breathing down his neck. The illusion lured him, called the clown, murmured sweet nothings in his ear. He was defenceless against the mirage.
With a low, strangled groan, the man lifted himself from the bed, manoeuvering towards the dark window, from where the cemetery could be seen. Until his eyes adjusted to the dark, Joker stood there blind, unseeing and longing. He did not know what he was waiting for.
A dark form materialized from the night, moving swiftly, efficiently in between the graves. Tall and straight, the silhouette stopped in front of her grave with its back facing the window, and bent down, putting something on the ground.
Joker narrowed his eyes, examining the form when it straightened up again, standing still, illuminated by the moon. Clothed in a long, black coat, its shoulders proud and... Lacking, the person bowed his head, forcing a mass of shoulder-length, blonde hair to shift, catching the reflecting light. As if sensing the clown's attentive gaze, he shifted a fraction, turning his head towards the window.
The clown blinked. When he opened his bottomless, black eyes again, the form was gone.
The next morning, when Ashwood took a slow stroll towards the freshly-dug grave, something blue caught his eyes. A beautiful pale colour, draped over the ground, demanding attention in the deep brown background. Flowers, he concluded. There were blue flowers that someone put on the grave. A bunch of Forget-me-nots. His lake-coloured eyes involuntarily widened, words echoing inside the man's head.
The monster never dies. It's a good thing I never have truly been a hero.
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Song of the chapter: In This Moment - In The Air Tonight
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The Schemer
FanfictionEvery reputable city needs its supplies of teachers, firefighters, policemen and lawyers. Gotham was hardly a reputable city. Nevertheless, it still needed its surgeons. Clara Moore, a former war doctor, had her own rules and morals. Schemes that k...
