Twin lamps flank the bed, yet he’d still felt the need to clip a reading lamp above his side on the right. Joker stares down that little halogen strip while stacking Penny’s throw pillows. The bench in front of the television is where he usually built this pyramid. Years have passed and Joker doesn’t miss a beat. Each cushion’s weight distributes with eerie precision for someone so out of practice. Television set’s off. Lamps are off, too. The answering machine in on what once was his side…along with a postcard of California’s coast tacked onto pink and yellow floral-dove wallpaper. That feeble attempt to stake a claim in this torture chamber is lost behind the corded phone. Sends a chill up Joker’s spine.
Carpeting absorbs footfalls, yet Joker’s soles don’t leave behind so much as a dent on those fibers. He moves like a ghost…and his ghost watches in the doorway with pale, lifeless eyes. Joker swallows a lump the size of what feels like a watermelon and coughs as he rounds the bed to resume pulling back the purple crushed velvet blanket and floral printed sheets. Penny’s feet tuck in first. Her pajama bottoms ride up just enough for his fingertips to graze her calf.
The accidental brush catches his throat. Werewolf stiffens like she’d taken those same scissors he bludgeoned Randall with and speared his arteries. His stance stiffens. Piano fingers lock into bizarre contortions that shaking his leg cannot jar loose. White base paint leaks into his eyes, staining them pink. All the while he listens to how easily Penny breathes — light snoring due to a lifetime of smoking. That’s likely in his future as well, though he doesn’t dwell on it.
Joker succumbs to a tremble that seizes his hands once again ere he turns their heels up and finishes smoothing blankets over her legs. He’s blind to the tear that drags the gashed diamond under his left eye. That cyan streak bleeds over his mouth and fades where the scarlet smile ends. Batting his lashes only clears the powdery white residue from stage makeup. His sclera remain blown. Congestion roils his every breath, leaving Joker little choice button square his shoulders and clear his throat until he swears he tastes blood. Strawberry blonde hair, drawn into that limp half-pony, splays across the pillows now that he’s got her situated.
Buttresses of shadow entrap him. Joker follows each black shaft from the fire escape outside their window across the ceiling. It’s too dark. As Penny pretends to lie still and pretend those spidery fingers won’t curve around his wrist and implore him to stay, Joker coughs and throws his momentum into shaking his leg. Another cough sends soft green hair into his face and over his ears. Darkness suits him ill. Likely makes the white foundation even more ghoulish.
Joker dunks a hand into his pocket until a fresh cigarette hangs between his fore and middle fingers. Theotokos and Jesus Christ hang above the bed in what Joker now realizes is a twisted embrace. Why is he clinging to her like that? He sniffs back the taste of rot; barely able to hear more than his heart thumping and ashen lungs wrenching. Penny should be wheezing through dirt and decay, yet here she lies…every fine line and straw-like hair where it once was as opposed to what they should be: compost. He could do it now. His left hand curves into a claw to coil around her neck and snap in one squeeze. He could do it. Her bones will crush like a bird’s then here, too, he will free himself of her.
Speaking Nix’s name in her presence is already enough to flip his stomach. That entire kitchen sink sandwich he’d slapped together is well on its way back up. Shoving the filter in his mouth and flicking the silver lighter twice can’t kill it.
His intestines knot. A faint, barely perceptible sway shifts Alpha Wolf’s weight from paw to paw. He could strike at any given second. His left hand remains in that curve to end it now…yet here, too, he cannot bear down. He stands between the bed and the window, glaring at Penny as old Arthur looks on from the doorway. Joker’s back faces the window, yet sodium vapor floodlights manage to flood his eyes and cast the illusion that he, like his canine counterpart, possesses tapeta lucida. Joker harnesses the reflection almost as a warning for CarnivArthur to keep back. Penny’s chest rises and falls heavier than he recalls. He tilts his head at her as he strains to bite back the laugh that will certainly wake her and spell trouble for him. What golden pools of light manage to seep past that open window play off of his wedding band. Joker flicks and curves that wrist. It seizes nothing, but he tries willing it forward to finish the job once again.
Nix’s name is a slow scalpel from that supple stretch under his chin right down to his hips’ crux. Perhaps ghost Arthur can watch him bleed out. Werewolf bends into that metaphorical knife’s path so he can potentially watch himself get disemboweled. Feels he’s hemorrhaging. He likes the feel of blood rushing free to saturate the carpet and bed. Maybe even Penny, too, if she’s in the splash zone.
Joker coughs and rocks back and forth, smiling as he does so and nodding along to a rhythm that solely lives in his head. Hasn’t even made it to Second Addition. Hidden behind a smoke cloud, Joker brings that glowing stick back to his lips and takes a deep breath. Then he replies, “The other half of me,” in too thick a voice for comfort. Heavier, hastened thumps resound in his ear as his shoulders buckle under the pressure. The weight of his laugh rolls from his core first, but he bites his own tongue and gags to keep from waking Penny. She’d wake to his laugh. Joker hasn’t blinked since the light returned to his gaze. He hones it on past Arthur.
“I told you I’m married. I’ve been…” he exhales smoke, “Married. Nixie’s short for Phoenix. Like the firebird.” Before he gives himself the mental picture of immolation, Joker adds with a quick bat of his left wrist, “T-the one that never dies.”
— Arthur remains in the doorway , shoulders slightly slumped and his hands settle at his sides . Emerald hues are cautiously honed in on the werewolf , analyzing his every move . The way he drifts through his home in silence was unnerving : it’s polar opposite from the shuffling of Arthur’s feet as he often drags his heels with every step as if his feet were made of cinderblocks . The faint glow from the city’s streetlights bring dim light to bleed into the room through the window between the open curtains , enough to cast shadows and Arthur swears they are moving . Manifesting into something darker that would soon engulf both Joker and Penny until they vanished entirely . His heart threatens to halt and he inhales a soundless breath through his nostrils as if fingers of his right hand tap against the side of his leg . Cyan bleeds further down Joker’s face than before , indication of tear shed . Arthur only assumes that it’s from hurt feelings from Penny’s previous neglect to acknowledge Joker’s attempt to inform her of his family . The thought alone was enough to sicken Arthur . The way she neglected to even acknowledge the news as if it were of no importance . No matter how many thoughts flood his head , he cannot seem to muster a single excuse to justify her actions .
— Joker’s cough reels him back to the moment , brows furrow with certain concern as he hears it rattle through the werewolf’s chest : was he ill ? He sounds that way and Arthur had noticed it earlier in the living room but only chalked it up to be the stuffiness in his apartment . Penny’s room was no better , though Arthur manages to find time to dust , the room still feels thick with it . Each breath feels weighted and even Arthur struggles to breathe , though the only time he’s hacked the way Joker does is when he’s fallen ill with a chest cold . Joker’s hand disappears into his pocket to withdraw a cigarette and the sight alone brings Arthur’s own hand to itch as he begins to crave one of his own . It wasn’t until the scent of burning tobacco hit his nostrils when his hand finally moves to retrieve a cigarette from the pack tucked away in his left pocket . His eyes leave Joker’s silhouette for as long as it takes him to light up : the old zippo lighter he flicks barely wants to work , but with a strike of good fortune , a flame finally comes to life and burns the end of his cigarette . He closes and drops the lighter back into his pocket , cigarette tucked in between thin lips until his hand returns to tuck it between his index and middle finger . He holds it close , keeping it by his mouth so that he can nurse it , eyes rising once more to meet with the ominous figure that remains at Penny’s side .
— Joker answers his question , Arthur watches the way he rocks in place and his head bobs in specific rhythm . To anyone else , they’d think he looked crazy , but Arthur recognizes the motion : they’re merely a reflection of himself and he’s suddenly reminded that Joker is him . “ Sorry ... I just ... ” he waves his hand slightly in attempts to gather his own words , brows pinching together as he struggles to get them out . “ It’s been a lot to take in . ” He recalls Joker mentioning that he was married : he’s even spoken to Joker’s children , but everything is moving far to fast for Arthur . He cannot wrap his head around this and he’s slowly coming to terms that perhaps , he never will . “ Does your wife — does she know you’re here ? With me ? ” He can only assume that perhaps , Joker would treat the situation in the same light they are with Penny . Not to confuse anyone , but the difference is his wife is not his mother . And from what Arthur knows of marriage ( from what he’s seen on television ) is that you tell each other everything . He gnaws over his own question for a moment ; if there are two of himself , then were there two of everyone ? He doesn’t plan to actively seek this out : it’s far too much for him to bear , but it was worth asking just to know . “ Has this .... ” he uses his hands gesture between Joker and himself “ happened to her too ? Or is it just us ? ”
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