There was a drive, I couldn't tell how long. A goon sat in the back with us; he had a gun and a hard look on his face and there was no talking. We rattled along sitting on the rusting metal floor of the van, getting bounced around every time the tires hit a defect in the road. When the van stopped and the engine turned off, I figured that we were there, wherever there turned out to be. By the river was my guess from the smell, and when we were shoved out I could actually see the water. We were led into a tunnel; at first it was a natural cavern, but it gave way to an excavated passage that was also dank and malodorous, in keeping with the dead fish smell in the cavern. We splashed through puddles on the stone floor and ultimately shoved into one of several small cells that were fronted with rusting bars. The original huge manual lock was still on the door, but the real security was provided by bars that shot out of the ceiling and floor on the outside of the cell, triggered by a key card and reader. My faint hope of using bobby pins to my advantage withered and died. Not that I knew how to pick locks, but I bet Damian had at least tried. The only good thing was that they cut off the zipties on our wrists. Mine had been too tight and my hands were swollen and wrists cut. The cell was empty of furniture but there was some sand on the floor, which for some reason made me feel better although it provided scant cushioning. Damian offered me his coat, but I refused; there wasn't any point in both of us being cold. We sat down side by side, leaning against the cold wall; I think we were both dispirited. There hadn't been any opportunities to realistically attempt an escape; we'd had three guards with guns the whole drive. My shivering got too much for Damian, and I sat between his legs, leaning back against him, his arms loosely around me and my hands on top of his. We were both warmer for this arrangement. Both of us looked around but couldn't see any surveillance. Didn't mean it wasn't there, though, and neither of us had much to say.

Finally, though, I had to go to the bathroom, so we yelled until one of the goons showed up. I explained the issue, and he resentfully took me to a dirty bathroom. Still, beggars can't be choosers, so I made the best of it, washing my hands and face in the lukewarm water, and when I was returned to the cell, they took Damian. When he was returned, we settled back again and I took a little nap.

I jolted awake when a guard entered the cell and pulled me to my feet. The second guard came in and did the same to Damian, but he pulled Damian out of the cell. The first goon followed them out and locked the door behind him. I watched to see where he put the card for the lock. His went in his shirt pocket.

Then all I could do was wait. Damian was a huge psychological comfort as well as a source of warmth. I didn't have a watch on; I depended on my phone to let me know what time it was. If I got out of this, I was going to get myself a wristwatch ASAP. When. When I got out. When WE got out. We. I was shivering from cold and anxiety by the time they returned. I was on my feet instantly; they were dragging Damian between them and they flung him into the cell. I turned toward him as he slithered down the wall, but I wasn't able to check on him. The guard grabbed my upper arm and yanked me out; the second guard took care of the door and followed us. My impractical shoes were a real hazard on the slippery, uneven rock floor, and once when I fell he just dragged me along until we reached the destination, a room much farther back along the corridor.

I hated it instantly although it was warmer. For one thing, the Joker was there, sitting on the only chair. Secondly, he had a gun. An absurdly big gun. Thirdly, a total of three goons were in the room, including my two guards. And fourthly, a woman leaned over his shoulder, the infamous Harley Quinn. She made the level of crazy amp up.

"Pick her up," the Joker said coldly. The goons pulled me to my feet, holding me with hands clamped over my biceps. I began to shake in earnest. The Joker stood up, brushing Harley off, and strolled over to circle me. He stood too close, and I could see that his skin was peeling. There was no inflammation, so it was probably a normal condition brought about by the chemical bath that had turned him into ...this. And there was an odor to him, sour, the smell of hamburger just as it starts to turn. He was quite a bit taller than me; my eyes were on the level of his tie bar. "Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?" he asked me almost cordially. "I went through a phase when that was my catchphrase," he mused, looking me up and down. "Haven't for years. But you make me feel like dancing. Of course, there's dancing, and then there's dancing. Get out of here, Harley," he snapped, and she stood straight, glaring at him.

I glanced at her, terrified. She was another woman. If she was being sent away, that couldn't be good for me. "Mr J--" she said, but he cut her off.

"Get the fuck out of here, Harley," he growled, his voice changing to a buzzsaw rasp. She sauntered over and looked at me. There was faint bruising on her face. Then she reached over and plucked something from the strap of my dress.

"Cheap dresses are always losing sequins," she said to me dismissively, looking at it casually. Then she straightened the Joker's lapel, and pivoted and left the room. As soon as her footsteps faded away, he put his hand on the neck of my dress and pulled. But the fabric was stretchy and didn't rip. He snarled, then leaned forward; his rough jaw was coarse against my cheek. He yanked the skirt of my dress up and ran his hand up my leg and ripped a hole in the crotch of my hose, thrusting his hand inside my panties.

"No!" I shouted, and twisted away from his probing fingers. He backhanded me, throwing me off balance. The guards struggled to keep me upright and his fist hit my face this time, making me scream. This was nothing like boxing, even sparring. I couldn't fight back and there were no rules. A couple more strikes to my face had my eye swelling and nose bleeding. I took two hits to my midsection, barely missing my ribs, and crying and gasping for breath, I hung between the two goons, sagging, eye to eye with the Joker's growing erection.

"Pretty, pretty, not so pretty," he said excitedly, and undid his belt, whipping it through the loops on his pants and cracking it against my leg. I screamed. He chuckled darkly. "Oh, pretty, not so pretty, am I going to have some fun with you." He whipped my legs a couple more times with the belt, then coiled it around his hand. Then he undid his pants and pressed my head down.

Nope. I surprised everybody, including myself, by headbutting the Joker's crotch with everything I had. He started to fold and sink , his mouth twisting in a silent rictus, and I took advantage of the guards' temporarily loosened grip to punch one as hard as I could in the groin and twisted away from the other. But the Joker grabbed my ankle and pulled, and I fell heavily. "Put her back in the fucking cell," he barked thinly at the remaining guard, and turned the full force of his malevolent insanity on me as the guard heaved me up. "You shouldn't have done that, bitch. You're going to regret it. And you'll be regretting it for a long time as you beg me to kill you. But I won't, bitch. I'll play with you until I'm bored. Then I'll give you to to my minions, who won't be fussy about what you look like, bitch. You could have been my next squeeze, but you had to ruin it. Harley's been a good time, but she's getting some years on her," he growled painfully, his hands protectively cupping himself. "Go!" The man dragged me out of the room and back to the cell, throwing me against the wall. I waited until he locked the door and started walking away before dropping down by Damian.

He was only semiconscious, and his handsome face was a mess. There were several cuts to his arms, but the ones on his left arm were bleeding a lot more than the ones on his right. I had a plan now, but I had to act fast. I took off my shoes, hastily stripped off my ruined hose and tore it along the crotch seam, making two halves. I wrapped one half on his upper arm as tightly as I could but couldn't get it to make a real tourniquet. It slowed the bleeding, at least. I tried not to look at the gore in the sand under him; it wouldn't do any good and my throwing up would burn valuable time. I'd kind of counted on Damian being able to move by now, but if I wanted to get out of here, I was going to have to transport him. I undid his pants and worked them down his legs and over his shoes. I was relieved to note in passing that he had boxers on tonight.

Then I put the crotch of the pants at his spine and put each pant leg under an arm. His wallet fell out, and I stuffed that in his inner coat pocket. I rolled him onto his back, put my shoes on again, and took a cuff in each hand and pulled him over to the bars. Ok. This was going to work. I fished a key card out of the front of my dress. I'd taken it from the shirt pocket of the goon I'd dropped. My hands were shaking but not too badly, and I got the swipe right on the first try. I didn't know if I'd need it again so I tucked it back in over my boob and dragged Damian out and down the hall.

It was slow going. The floor was uneven and I had to stop to strip off my shoes; one heel had broken and I couldn't drag Damian in four inch heels, especially if I staggered. I looped the straps over my hands and picked up the cuffs again. I needed to hurry, but Damian was heavier than he looked, the pants weren't the most effective towing equipment, and my wrist hurt from where I'd landed on the floor in the room. The corridor seemed endless and I was panting in terror and exertion when we finally hit the cavern. I was counting on the van still being parked outside. Otherwise... I shifted my mind away from what the Joker would do to us if he caught up and redoubled my effort.

I whimpered when I saw Harley near the entrance. So close, so close. She turned when she heard me and we stared at each other for a moment. Then she looked out the entrance and sighed. Then she started over. I had to fight the urge to drop Damian and try to get past her. It was a real fight; everybody in the city knew that the Joker had driven noted psychiatrist Dr Harleen Quinzel nuts. Violently nuts, in fact, and I wondered if she'd heard the Joker say he was planning on replacing her. And if she'd take it out on me.

But all she did was take one of the cuffs from me and together we dragged Damian out of the cavern. The van was still there and she opened the cargo doors and helped slide him inside. Then she walked away, past the van, and I saw that there was an old Mercedes Benz parked by an outcropping of rock. There was no doubt to whom it belonged; it was painted a bright metallic purple with a kind of tribal flame design on the sides in neon green. I closed the van doors and went around to the drivers side.

I had started to pull the door open, but a hand on the glass slammed it shut and I looked up to see the goon who'd dragged me back to the cell. The Mercedes peeled away with a rooster tail of sand, no more help from Harley. He smashed his fist in my face and I fell back. But the sudden pain unlocked anger that swamped the terror and I relaxed into a disciplined stance. I could almost hear my uncle coaching me as I blocked the next blow and raked the heel of my sandal across his face, gouging him deeply. He shrieked and a strike from the heel of my hand broke his nose. I pivoted and caught his windpipe with my elbow, then a kick to the midsection pushed him back and out of the way. I jumped into the cab of the van and almost wept to see the keys still in the ignition. I followed Harley's tracks out of there and soon we were on the road. The dawn was breaking, and I was able to determine which way back to the city. And/or the nearest hospital.

It was a silent drive. There was no radio in the van. Damian occasionally moaned, but that was it. I white-knuckled the wheel and put my foot down. There was no pursuit that I could see. I was just starting to relax when there was a loud thump on the roof, right overhead, and I screamed as the windshield exploded and a hand grabbed the steering wheel, struggling with me for control before yanking it to the side and putting the van in the ditch running beside the road.