Sparks trailed behind the '91 Mitsubishi Mirage whose half-fallen bumper scratched the blacktop as Harley weaved around slow motorists and city busses, cackling all the way. Kara held tight, though she knew she couldn't get hurt in a car accident and had flown much faster than this before, she still found it incredibly off-putting.
"You okay hun," Harley began, "...you look like you're about to lose your lunch."
"Just a bit nauseous, I'll be okay."
"You want I should go faster?" Harley asked, pushing her feet down hard on the accelerator.
"Yeah that should help," said Kara sarcastically.
"I like cut of your jib," Harley laughed.
But as much as the movement and jerks weren't her preferred way of driving, Kara knew her nausea wasn't motion sickness. She was growing more and more lethargic by the minute. Something was wrong.
"You wanna postpone it? Joker's not going anywhere. He's a homebody," Harley told her.
"No. I wanna to find him tonight."
Harley's brow furrowed as she studied the girl who seemed to be losing her color. A car honked and swerved as it passed, Harley had drifted into the opposite lane without noticing. "Watch it bozo!" she screamed as she yanked the steering wheel to the right, tires squealing, smoke rising white. "I can't wait to tell Mistah J 'bout our fight with the bat, I saw you kick him down like pow! And then I came in and boom! Down he goes! He's gonna love it! I meant to ask, how does a girl get to get a kick like yours? You eat a lot of spinach, 'Cause I hate spinach."
"I-- it was just luck I guess."
"I'm just messing with you little blue, I know who you are, I may be a little nuts but I'm not stupid. I saw what you did, everyone saw, it was all anyone could talk about. Where you been these last three months?"
"I don't really..." Kara began, then she realized they were taking the bridge. "We're leaving the city?"
"What, you think just because he's the Joker means he can't have nice things?" Harley said. On the other side of the bridge, the buildings gave way to trees, condos became two-story homes with lush green yards. "People make all their money in the city then invest it all outside of it, leaving nothing for the rest. That's Crest Hill," Harley pointed to a beautiful green hill lined with mansions. "Bruce Wayne lives there, another aristocrat who makes all his money in town then comes here to the safety of his mansion."
"Is that where we're going?" Kara asked, her heart starting to race.
"Why would we go there? No, no, Mistah J's a modest fellow, he wanted something comfortable but not flashy..." she began as they pulled in front of a well cared for colonial residence. "...something homey."
"The joker lives here?" Kara asked, surprised.
"He's subletting."
They tapped out of the car and moved to the front door, Harley bent over and picked up a key from beneath a potted plant on the porch and walked inside. Kara was still feeling weak but she knew she could beat the Joker, he was only a man. She had decided she wouldn't give him a chance to speak. Everyone he could use as leverage against her was already gone and the others were safe. She followed Harley to the foryer but stopped before entering. The house was entirely black and her powers were too diminished for her to be able to see more than a few inches through the walls.
"What's the matter hun?" Harley asked as she disappeared in the black.
"Turn the lights on."
"Afraid of the dark?" Harley asked. Silence followed. The house lit up. Harley stood in the hall. "Well?"
Kara went inside. The house was quiet but clean. She moved past Harley toward the living room.
"I think I know what's been making you so sick," Harley said. "It's my perfume."
"I didn't smell anything in the car," Kara told her as she entered the livingroom. A man dressed in a shirt and tie sat on the couch, his body bound by rope, his mouth gagged. He looked up at her, eyes wide with terror.
"It's odorless," Harley said behind her. Kara turned-- a green mist filled the air in front of her. Harley held the bottle in her hand. She smiled. "Kryptacular I call it, made from all natural Kryptonite. Hard to get but I know a guy."
Kara's mild weakness grew to utter helplessness. Her fingers feeling the size of anvils, her eyes losing focus. "I'm sorry puddin'," said Harley as the world lost its shape. "But hey, we'll always have the car ride!"
Kara dropped— her face slamming to the cold hardwood floor. As things started to go black, there were only two sounds she could make out. That of the tied-up man grunting, unable to scream, and a man's shrill laughter bouncing all through the otherwise silent home.
#
"Take this left," Renee said. The car rocked as they tore along residential streets, nearing three times the speed limit.
"You want to tell me why we're responding to a nine one one?" Allen asked over the squeal of their siren.
"We're police aren't we?"
"We're homicide detectives, and in case you missed that big ass bridge, we're out of our jurisdiction."
Renee bit her nail so intently she didn't notice it crack. She jerked her hand from her mouth. Blood grew at the tip of her finger. "I know them," she said. "They're friends. And they have kids." Her partner needed nothing more, he drove as fast as the car would go.
Three local police cruisers sat empty in front of the large colonial house Renee was so used to visiting. She jumped out as soon as they'd slowed down enough. She put her hand on her weapon and ran inside. Three officers stood in the living room, weapons drawn. She showed her badge and went inside.
George, the man she'd known for years lay dead on the couch. His throat had been slashed open, his lips cut from his face exposing all of his teeth in a perpetual red smile.
A young woman lay on the couch beside him, she was half conscious and holding a knife. A message was written across the wall beside her but Renee didn't stay long enough to read it. She ran upstairs, where children slept.
The hallway was covered in darkness. Renee flipped the light switch but nothing happened. A crunch made her heart skip a beat, she had stepped on broken glass. The lightbulbs had all been smashed.
She pulled her gun from its holster and turned on her flashlight. The door at the end of the hall was halfway open, lights flashing inside, the smell of burnt plastic polluted the air. Lily's room, George's wife, and Renee's first love, now her best friend.
"Anything?" Allen asked as he climbed to the landing behind her.
"Check the children's room,' she told him as she continued to move to the door ahead. She pushed it open.
The room had been trashed. The lamp lay on its side, the bulb blinking erratically, a thin slither of smoke rising from inside as it burned the plastic cover. The mirror lay in silver shards on the rug. Renee's eyes were drawn to the wall, another message, the letters dripping red with blood. "HE MADE ME DO IT!!" it read.
She scanned her flashlight over the floor as the lamp went out one last time. Feet stuck out from beside the bed. Recently manicured. The woman wore old cotton pajamas, the kind no one outside family ever sees her in. She'd been stabbed more times than Renee could count. Her face had been cut... smiling like her husband's.
Renee staggered back, her mind hissing blank, she turned. Allen stood in the hall, his face ashen. "No..." she said. She ran, trying to get past him to the children's room. He grabbed her by the waist and held tight.
"Don't," he said. She lost her strength at the words. Memories flooded her mind. Birthday parties, hugs, baby-sitting nights with pizza and movies. Renee did her best not to vomit but the smile on her friends' faces, the thought of the same on the children... she ran to the toilet and tasted the tart acidic bile mixed with the bland chicken sandwich she'd had a few hours earlier.
She washed her mouth in the sink and looked up. A message, scratched on the mirror. "HE MADE ME."
"Renee," Allen called, his voice sweet, full of compassion. She didn't listen to what he said next. She hurried downstairs, back to the living room where the officers still hadn't arrested the young woman lying half sleep on the couch.
"What're you doing? Get cuffs on her," she ordered.
"Ma'am, look..." one of the officers pointed to the girl's chest.
Renee looked down. A symbol had been painted in blood on the girl's shirt. An upside down triangle, inside it, a capital S. "It's really her," the officer behind her said. "It's Supergirl."
Renee looked up to the bloody message written on the wall. The one she had ignored the first time through.
"SUPERMAN MADE ME DO IT."