Joker's Journal 7

#42

It's morning. Mouse is gone. Smart girl.
It's time to wake Harley and get this show on the road.
I'm sick of writing on the dry bits of piss-soaked newspaper.

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September 11th

Finally, a notebook to write in. And a ballpoint pen. Funny, the little things we take for granted in life. Where do I begin? Well, I have a lot of paper, and a lot of time to write, so I'll start at this morning.

This morning.

J woke me up with a little kick which startled me at first, then made me laugh at at how feeble it was compared to his past kicks. Then it made me worry because the idiot kicked with the leg that still had a bullet in it. That man either honestly forgets when he's injured, or is in such denial that he believes that ignoring the injury will heal it.

Mouse was gone. At first I was worried he got rid of her personally. But his gun still had full ammo, and I knew he didn't have any other weapon on him. Of course, there was the possibility that he simply threw her out the window but I did my best to not think abut that option.

As we began to make our way out of the shelter, still clad in the homeless disguises (well, not so much disguises at that point) I worried about Mouse. Her well-being clouded my mind for a good hour, just like the storm clouds that brewed overhead. Cloud cover was always good for us. The dimmer lighting ironically made both of us feel safer as we walked down the abandoned streets of the poverty-diseased district. Before we left the top floors of the warehouse J snatched a tattered hoodie off a body to use as better cloaking for his head. We had to make the slow transition from rags and scraps of clothing to more clean and citizen-like garments.

The details aren't important, but eventually we were a few blocks away from the homeless district and in slightly better clothes. Joker was certain that he knew a druggie that lived somewhere not too far away. I didn't know if he was planning to do the usual kill and replace technique or to barge in and expect to be treated like guests. Although he limped, his pace was close to his usual un-hurried stride. I still felt like we weren't completely ready to move on. Just before I was about to forget about poor little Mouse, I felt the urge to look back down the street. You know, just in case she was there or something. Stupid wistful thinking.

But it worked. There she was, running with her stomping childish footsteps towards us. She had found a mismatched pair of tattered sneakers small enough for her feet, and she was wearing the clothes I bought for her yesterday. I grinned as I saw her, instinctively crouching and holding out my arms to her, while J stiffened and bore a defensive stance. I knew he had slid his hand in the pocket with his gun, but he wouldn't use it.

Mouse hesitantly hugged me, and I loved the feeling of her small body against mine. So sweet and so precious. I wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and keep walking, carrying her toward a good home where I could make her cookies and braid her hair and read children's stories to her before bed.

Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me.

Mouse said she wanted to come with us, and I giggled and told her that she didn't even know where we were going. She said that she didn't care and hugged me tighter. I began to cry.

J's warning voice was what shoved the tears off of the edge of my eyelids and to their deaths upon my pale cheeks.

All he had to say was my name, and I knew. Part of me wished he would just disappear so I could be that little girl's new mother. It would have been such a wonderfully happy ending. I took a deep breath and stood up, gently breaking Mouse's hug. I looked back at him with the bravest face I could muster and began to offer a 'what if' scenario. He wouldn't have it, and he let me know by switching off the safety mechanism on his handgun.

I glared at him as my vision went blurry with more tears, then turned back to Mouse. "Sweet, girl, you can't come with us." I whispered. She began to whine and beg and grip my waist tighter and plead, staring into my eyes with mirrored tears of her own--only terrified by the thought of being abandoned yet again, and not by being shot by the monster behind me.

"I'm coming with you!" She yelled, her voice cracking.

She was met with a sharp and thunderous "No." from J.

Finally turning her gaze to him she screamed at the top of her shrill lungs, "YES!" and I immediately knelt and grabbed her and brought her into my chest for I knew at that instant that he had brought his arm up and aimed. He would not tolerate being yelled back at by a child. My back shielded her from his aim as I whispered rushed words to her, telling her that she was not safe and she needed to listen to me. I told her that she could not come with us and I told her to stay at the shelter, and I promised her that I would come back for her.

I promised her that I would come back for her.

She sobbed, crumpled into a sitting position on the ground. I broke her grasp again and stood, repeatedly begging J in my mind not to shoot her. I turned and saw that his arm was lowered. It was the arm that had the bullet still in it. His muscles wouldn't let him keep his arm raised and aimed for longer than a minute. For a second, I was glad he was hurt. And I didn't feel guilty for thinking that way.

We began walking again as I tried to see where I was stepping through the blurriness of my tears. Her screams and sobs still haunt me. She had to watch her chance at a better future walk away. How unfortunate that her chance at a better future had to be me, ME, stupid me, who was cursed with this burden of loving such a monster. But I'm so glad she listened to me. I'm so glad I didn't have to see her be killed.

We reached our destination. I was too numb with mental and emotional pain to care what J said to the middle-aged man with 4 ft-long dreadlocks who was more stoned than Stonehenge. Whatever conversation they had, it made us welcome into this guy's shitty apartment. I grabbed the first notebook I saw and stormed out here to this bus stop bench. I'm fuming mad and terribly heartbroken. I should have picked her up and walked away to start a better life for both of us.

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#43

I think his name is Lambert. Or some shit. Lamp-burnt. Ha. I don't care if it's his real name or not, I like it and I'm sticking with it. This is the man I met that day at the park, that sold me that weed I used to bake the brownies with. You meet fun people at the park.

I went back a few weeks later and Lamp-burnt was still there selling weed. I bought more drugs and we came back here to his place and hung out with some more of his friends and they were so stoned/drunk that they seriously thought I was joking about being the Joker. Haha. How ironic is that? They were really fucked up. I think they still think I was joking. I showed them the scars and everything.

Lamp-burnt's a nice guy. He's one of those super chill black guys that loves the peace sign and all that hippie shit. And he knows how to get the good quality stuff.

He's passed out on the couch now, and I found some paper. He wont notice it's gone. Nor will he notice some of his weed's gone. Hell, he won't notice anything if he doesn't even fucking notice he allowed The Joker into his apartment to hang out. Haha.

It's been a while since I watched football on a television. Such a funny sport.

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September 12th

I went back to look for Mouse yesterday after my meltdown at the bus stop. I couldn't find her.

I was honestly planning on taking her and moving to a different city and getting help from a charity or something and starting a new life with her. But I didn't find her. and now I'm stuck here with this shitty life with a never-ending guilt that I turned someone down who truly, truly needed whatever good was left in me for help.

I went back and looked for her again this morning. I called her name, the name that we had given her.... she was nowhere. I promised her I'd come back for her.

I can't bear to imagine what horrible things happened to her. I can only pray that she is either safe and warm and happy, or dead and free of her misery and pain.

Oh sweet little Mouse. I am so very very sorry. I hope you and God can forgive me one day.

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#44

Harley's been a real bitch since we left the shelter.

She won't sleep in the same room as me. She slept on the kitchen floor when she had plently of room on the couch with me. She's so pissed off at me. It makes me grin.

She should be grateful I didn't shoot the kid. In reality, all I did was forbid the maggot to come along. I didn't even hurt her. Harl needs to get over it. Every time she is confronted with a child she freaks out and melts down like butter. Women. What are you going to do?

She and Lampy have ignored each other. I don't know if he knows she's here with me. This guy is definitely on more than just marijuana and alcohol. It intrigues me. Of course Lampy hides his best drugs and saves them for himself. I want to find out what he has in his secret stash.

These drugs are really making the pain go away. Much more than the shit Harley insisted on buying at the pharmacy.

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Dear **********,

I'm leaving. Get better soon. Take care of yourself and don't stay around this guy too long. You don't need the cops to do a drug-bust and get a jackpot in the process. I don't know when I will see you again. I'm really hurt and really emotional. You're such a fucking jackass and I hate that I love you.
But unfortunately I still love you.

--Harley

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