Note: Hello. How are you doing? Long time no see, huh? About a month ago my brother and I rented The Dark Knight. I was blown away by Heath Ledger's performance as the Joker. I was enrapt in the character. I immediately searched for fanfiction…I was amazed and frustrated by the breadth of the Original Character. Out of my frustration, this was born.

It's named after the Halcali song.

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Conversations of a Mystery

"His message was brutal but the delivery was kind
maybe if I get this down I'll get it off my mind",

Sent Me Flying—Amy Winehouse

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As usual it was the creepish orange glow of my LED alarm clock and the murkiness of twilight that woke me up. The Glasgow smiled entity standing—no—lingering at the edge of my bed might have also had something to do with it.

It wasn't all that unreasonable for me to imagine what I was imagining. I had just stayed up for a ridiculously long time, on a school night no less, trying to develop a fanfiction. In fact, it wasn't the oddest dream I've had. But…

There was something wrong. His smile was too lucid, too clear in a place where even my bed was set in squiggle vision.

"You're a dream." I slurred surely and edged off of my pillow and closer to…him. Because if this was really I dream I could do something like that and nothing will happen. I wouldn't be scared, I wouldn't be nervous. I could out-right confess my school girl-ish crush on him.

Quite the contrary.

Maybe it was the oily dark blond hair that was green tinged at the ends. Or possibly the stark white grease paint with black rimmed circles for eyes and plenty of ruby red around his mouth, which was currently orange-peel wide.

"Thanks." His voice held an indescribable harshness that made my throat tingle and bled up my courage. I could see the slightness of his scars past the brazen red. They weren't that noticeable…in the dark.

"No, not that. You're not real."

He was very still, almost inhumanly so, in egg plant slacks, jacket. A sickly green shirt and suspenders. His hands were gloved and gripping at my foot board. His sense of color coordination was…amazingly bad.

And here was little ole me, wiping the drool from my mouth and re-adjusting my head scarf. My tube socks, way too big t-shirt, and way too small shorts were a lot less disturbing concerning normalcy and self-indulgence.

Nonetheless, I felt shabby.

"What are you looking at? You—uh—want to know about my scars don't you." His smile widened and I decided that was the worst of it all. I just wanted to go back to the normal dreams of showing up in 7th period wearing nothing but earrings.

Nothing good ever came from his stories…about his face. Most people he told them to end up dead or…just dead. Dream or not, I didn't want to be dead. I shook my head vigorously.

"No?" He cooed at me. He somehow climbed over the footing and kneeled around my feet…on my bed…with his shoes…still on.

"If not that…" He pulled out a shiny sharp contraption and started to wipe it with my comforter. Was that blood? I guess that was one more permanent stain (next to the Indian ink one, thanks to my clumsy cat). I was just happy he was distracted.

"…then for what do I owe this lovely visit?" It was a reasonable question. For anyone else, I could answer. Not for him. I was too busy being…star-strucked. After a few impatient snorts, I finally broke down.

"It's my—um—um—room. Sir." I added the sir, because that may be the difference between me being skinned or not. He didn't seem to notice. He just kept wiping his…thing.

"And?" And that was it. That was it. The crux of my frustration. It made sense that this whole scene was playing out. Maybe my subconscious was trying to explain something to me. Maybe I was just crazy. He stopped wiping his thingy and looked up at me. It was a twisted smile with twisted skin.

"I'm—um—kinda having problems." Understatement, understatement, understatement.

"You bet you have problems, uh—" He paused as though he was waiting for me to say my name. I opened my mouth and was soon interrupted. "—sailor."

I didn't mind nicknames especially ones from knife wielding sociopaths, but I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. Secretly, I was hoping for something that acknowledged my…womanliness. I mean that lady who was Rachel Dawes got beautiful and she resembled a half-starved cow that wore blush.

Plus it reminded me of that stupid Walt Whitman poem, O Captain My Captain.

"You have a murderer in your room—"

"It's not that—"

"—and you keep interrupting me, which you know cuts you down about…hmm…ten minutes? Yeah, ten minutes." He was snarling and deftly moving closer to my position on the bed. I didn't want the shiny thing anywhere near me so I pulled the sheets closer to me. I regretted it almost immediately.

He stabbed through the comforter and nearly my stomach. There was a big rip and then the loss of my security blanket, literally.

"Oops. That's why you shouldn't be so jittery." He laughed that…laugh of his. He was making fun of me. It wasn't like I could say anything about it. He accidentally almost killed me…so I ignored his jabs (no pun intended). Plus, if I did say something, there was a strong chance that my over-stressed subconscious would turn him into something else. Like a giant walking taco…

He stopped smiling.

"I'm sorry sir."

"It's fine. Now tell me what's bothering you." He had a strange habit of stressing words. It seemed he had many strange habits and that was another problem. Everything about him was a big enigma that I couldn't characterize for the life of me…unless I wanted to drive myself any crazier than I was, and I wasn't ready to go down that rabbit hole yet.

More than anything, I wanted to be able to slip into him and understand. I wanted to have a deeper understanding because I felt it couldn't be—he couldn't be what most people were writing him as. There was something missing or strongly contused. I heard low irregular mumbles and I realized he was talking.

"What do you mean everything?" He made a face that seemed to suggest 'you think way too damn much'.

"I just don't think I can do it, sir—and it's not because I don't want to. I really want to. As a writer, I've prided myself on my ability to correctly read people…but you…I just can't do!" I confessed.

"Sir." I paused. He didn't stop me. I took that as a sign to continue.

"I mean if I knew why you…it would be easier. What's the deal? Bad childhood? Wife left you? The mob did—um—stuff to you? That's the way everybody else is going about it and it seems right but you know not right and—I'm sorry." He blinked at me rapidly. So much that I was wishing that he would stop before I started blinking too much. It was a long moment before he finally awkwardly rolled off my bed.

He turned his back to me and decided to go through my dresser. "Oh sailor. Bless your little heart." Jeans, sweaters, my extensive t-shirt collection, my nice tank tops, my sleeping tank tops. All thrown on the floor.

"You…you…you are exactly what I'm talking about. Does it eat you up on the inside?" Finally bras, first the only two of my sport's bras, then some on my really old ones, then my nice ones.

"Does what eat me up on the inside?"

"Not knowing?!" He barked and shot me eyes of bloody murder. I almost rammed my elbow into my headboard flinching. His glare morphed into amusement. He laughed again, and I promised myself I would never think of this scenario again. It was killing my poor nerves.

"You label everything you can't understand. You plan, plan, plan and label, label, label when there is nothing to understand. Then you meet someone like me, someone who's free and it scares you. You've worked to hard to escape it, to bury it." Now it was my panties…the ugly ones, the comfy ones, and the pretty lacy ones.

He was concentrating on a particular pair, my favorite. They were white with yellow rubber ducky prints all over. He turned back towards me.

"Exactly how old are you?"

"Seventeen." I muttered defensively. He waved his hands as though to say 'okay, okay chill out'. But then

I could have sworn I heard him mumble 'coulda fooled me'. He shrugged and stuffed the panties into one of his jacket pockets. There went my favorite pair.

He was stealing my underwear.

Now all I needed was an Acme anvil to fall on my face and save me of…this. I couldn't even be spared of embarrassment and jokes at my expense in my dreams.

"Where was I…? Oh yeah…When you meet someone who can't fit your worthless compartmentalization you fall apart. Have the thought ever occurred to you that there is no reason? I make a point and that's all that matters. But what you're saying is…I'm just some hurt little pussy who's taking it out on the world?"

Danger Will Robinson, Danger Will Robinson, Danger Will Robinson. This was getting ugly very fast. "Ha. Ho, ho, ho. I am honestly insulted."

"I-I-I didn't mean to—" His sober tone was a concerning sign. A sign that I was very likely to die very soon.

"But you know. I'll—uh—humor you. Sure I had a bad childhood. Sure I had a girlfriend—wife—whatever who fucked me over and…these?" He was back on my bed, nearly straddling me and pointing at his facial scars with his shiny thing.

He was in my face, looking directly in my eyes. He was muttering something like 'look, hey look at me'.

How could someone look away from such a…thing? Now he was holding the kn—thing at my bottom lip and stroking my ear. I held my breath. Now would be a fabulous time to wake up.

"You really wanna know how I got these?" He was as playful as ever…playful as a baby mountain lion. I kept my mouth as tightly closed as one could with a knife to the lips. It was just in case I said something incredibly stupid.

Panic stricken, I wondered if he named his scars.

He sighed, exasperated. "You are so mediocre. I doubt you'd even be worth it." He got off of me and I did my best to ignore the hurt of the insult. Of course I was mediocre in comparison to him. He was…very different. That thought made me feel a bit better.

"Is that it?! No? Next question! Your time is tick-tocking away." Okay…next thought. The one I'd been meaning to voice for awhile.

"Hypothetical okay…don't take me…um…seriously." He nodded, agreeably.

"Maybe…um…sometimes when something bad…um…happens to people…the pure and-and gentle love of another person can…help…change…them…for…the…better." The room was so quiet. I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or through me. I realized he was looking at me. He was looking at me like I sprouted a head from my stomach.

So I guess that was out.

"Where do you get this from? What do you think this is? Some kind of—uh—of—uh—grocery store romance novel?" He was frantic…and irritable. He cornered my hope, shot it down repeatedly, and ran it over with a SUV.

"I have no use for that. Don't you know, doll? I don't know what Lifetime tells you, but there's no such thing as love. We're just animals that follow in the direction that chemicals lead us in. All this hoop-la is just to further the species. You've taken biology, haven't you?" He called me doll instead of sailor which was a plus but he instantly negated it by questioning my intelligence.

"So no hope for you and some Gotham woman—"

"No." He then took my hope to a taxidermist to have it mounted on his wall as a reminder. "Why? Are you offering?"

I shook my head. I could hardly handle sitting across from him in a room. At that point I gave up all delusions of him even having the ability to interact appropriately in a relationship. I was no knife kink, either.

He smiled and laughed again. I really couldn't tell if he was serious, anyway. He was probably just saying that to get to me.

"What about you and…um…Batman?" I had to get my revenge in little ways, it seemed. Even if it ended up with me getting gutted.

"What about me and the Batman?" He scowled. Maybe Batman was a personal subject for him. Something that wasn't to be spoken of except to a chosen few. I shrugged casually.

"I just thought that maybe—never mind. Sorry for even asking, sir."

"Tell me." He growled. This time I did bang my elbow against the headboard, but he wasn't laughing. I rubbed it. There was no way around this…

"Well I've read some stuff where you…and…him…you know." I gestured oddly. Be as vague as possible because there is nothing more mortifying than discussing such a matter with a known killer.

"No, I don't know. You're sounding like a pre-schooler right now and I don't have the patience—"

"Um…like when a man and a woman—or in your case, a man and a man…uh…love each other…they get together and—"

"You mean sex." He interrupted blandly. Thankfully…half of what I said…I doubted would apply to him anyway. But he seemed to be honestly thinking about it.

"Yes, yes. That word."

"Me…Batman...me…Batman…" He twisted his knife around as though he was turning a key. It seemed to be some variation of Love Me Love Me Not.

"He doesn't play nice." He finally said in a far-away voice. Not as gruff and not as high pitched. Almost normal…I felt courage leaking back into me.

"No he doesn't but neither do you. Wouldn't that be the point, anyway? I mean, it would weird if it was normal. You guys are…enemies." I really didn't know what they were but it was something, right? Something could always turn into anything.

I had the odd feeling that I was going to have another dream except about a particular mammal. I doubt the Batman would show much appreciation or agree with…this.

"Enemies mean the possibility of…angry…sex…" I added. He smiled a blood freezing smile and patted me on the head as though I was a puppy that just did a cute trick.

"It would be interesting. A blast." Was that a pun of some kind? He straightened up, persona back in place and pointed at my LED clock with his knife.

"Your time is up. Can't say I'm not gonna miss this…conversation but I have things to do. You know what that's like." He sighed and edged closer towards me. I guess this was the end…

"You don't have to…I won't be offended or anything, sir." I offered hopefully.

"No, no, no. It's the least I can do. You don't go making a promise to a lady and just break it. It's just not right. I consider myself a gentleman, so…lay back. Relax…look here…" I leaned back into my pillow and closed my eyes tightly. I felt something cold and hard against my neck and warm breath against my face.

For the first time I was calm…peaceful almost. I had everything I needed to know…

"Speaking of women, I have a funny story about this scars here…" A story, a cut. I rolled into the orange-ish glow of my LED alarm clock, sweating and breathing heavily.

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Written To: Aural Vampire – Preservative Woman