A/N: Last chapter (sob, sob) Do I need to say anything else? On with the show!

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It wasn’t the end, apparently. Lizzie rolled over, making sure she could still move. Her left arm was numb. She poked it.

“Ah!” She gasped, closing her blue eyes. The sudden blaze of pain made her want to throw up, she sat up and heaved. Nothing. She remembered she hadn’t eaten for days. She should have been dead by now!

Lizzie breathed slowly and steadily as the pain dulled as quickly as it had flared up. Her forehead was shining with sweat. She looked down at her arm. It was bound messily in a sling that greatly resembled a jacket; she peeled it away and got a good look at her arm. She almost gagged again.

The bone in her left arm stuck right up, veiled thinly by skin, looking as if it were about to tear through the delicate membrane at any moment. The skin where the bone poked at was riddled with bruises in hideous shades of black and blue.

This time when Lizzie retched, something did come of it; a clear liquid, almost like water, slopped to the floor, little bubbles breaking on its surface. Lizzie turned her face away, nauseated. A snicker sounded from the other end of the room.

Lizzie glared at the Joker, who stood giggling in the corner of the room. “A bit the worse for wear, are we?” He enquired. “You were so upset last night, sweetie, but you should know by now it doesn’t solve anything to turn to suicide!” He scolded, waving a disapproving, purple-gloved finger.

Lizzie ignored his chatter and looked around the room, trying to get a grip on her surroundings. She was in a dirty, dingy room, cluttered with mismatched furniture and giving off a musty odour, like a nursing home. Papers reigned everywhere, on the table, the chairs, and even on the ugly vinyl sofa on which Lizzie lay.

“Where am-“

The Joker interrupted before Lizzie could complete the hackneyed phrase. “Welcome to my humble abode!” He crowed, waving his hand around the squalid room. “Isn’t it lovely?”

Lizzie groaned inwardly, but knew she had to keep up the act. “Sure is!” She agreed. She picked up one of the many newspapers on the arm of the couch and scanned it. She was surprised to see an article of herself on the front page. Lizzie read it with enthusiasm:

Gotham Daily News: Insane and Dangerous: MacMillan on the Loose

Lisbeth MacMillan, 20 years of age, is the woman believed of influence with the terrorist the Joker, and the killer of two citizens of Gotham. The double homicide would most probably result in a sentence of up to 6-10 years, in the case of MacMillan still being at large, maybe more years will be added to her impending sentence. Aside from the two murders, MacMillan has also allegedly caused the destruction of Wayne Tower, therefore greatly upsetting Mr Bruce Wayne, and broken into a private home of Bob and Stephanie Martin, and reportedly threatening to kill their 5 year old daughter, Bethany. MacMillan is rumoured insane, and reportedly is set for Arkham Asylum the moment she is pulled off the streets. Citizens of Gotham, if you see this girl, please dial the hotline on 04 1934. Turn the page for pictures of MacMillan, so you will be well informed if you do spot her. Be of vigilance.

Article by Stacey Newman.

Lizzie turned the page and stared intensely at the myriad of pictures. They were all taken recently, and the first one, a little blurry, showed Lizzie, Dawn and their friend Harry at a local restaurant. Tears sprang to Lizzie’s eyes. That photo had been taken with Harry’s camera! Had he condemned her insane as well? She tore her gaze from the photograph and turned to the next one. Again it was of herself and Dawn, laughing at the camera, their faces bright and happy. Lizzie scanned the rest of the pictures. All Dawn and me. It was as if the pathetic newspaper was trying to torment her. It was working. Lizzie slammed it shut; the papers rustled angrily, she threw it down to the grubby floor, intending never to look at it again. But the page it fell open to caught her eye:

It was a picture of Lizzie, with no one else in the frame this time. It was a large portrait, only showing Lizzie’s head and shoulders. Lizzie’s cream skin was lit up with a rosy flush in this picture, her black hair smooth and glossy, her blue eyes sparkling.

Out of all the pictures, this one hurt her the most. It clawed at her heart to see the happy, naive innocence of her azure eyes, so different from the dull, melancholy stare she now wore. Eyes that had seen too much, compared to eyes that had seen nothing at all.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, running in rivulets on her skin. She let out one dry, gasping sob.

The Joker giggled. “Aww, why so serious, love? No need to cry, I have something that will cheer you right up!”

“What?” Lizzie moaned, sick of him; sick of everything.

“I’ll take you to my lab!” He announced, as if this were a greater treat than being taken to the candy shop. “You’ll love it there, Lizzie!” He enthused, his black eyes gleaming fanatically.

Lizzie somehow doubted she would, as he put it, ‘love it there’. But she followed him out anyway, rubbing all signs of tears away with her white hands, hating the Joker, and hating herself even more.

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A long while later, the Joker ordered his henchman to stop. Lizzie was startled by the sound of his voice, for everyone had been completely silent on the way to the laboratory. Lizzie had leant her head against the wall and tried not to cry; it was useless. She would see the Joker’s stupid lab, then go back to wherever and figure out a plan. She got out of the car, slamming the door. She didn’t look up to suss out her surroundings; she no longer cared. The Joker grabbed her arm and pulled her through a swinging door, down a hallway, and they finally came to a stop at a large, forbidding metal door.

“Now, Lizzie, this is the entrance to my lab. I only have one rule in here...break the rules!” He laughed and theatrically threw open the door. Now Lizzie was interested; she gazed around.

There were a great many people moving around, the air was hot with all the active bodies. They were all dressed in chemical resistant suits, white with red numbers on them, that read from zero to god-knows how many. Brightly coloured liquids bubbled away in beakers and test tubes, and scorched over blue flames made by Bunsen burners.

The Joker bounced up and down, as excited as a puppy. He was clearly in his element here. His dark eyes searched the room, and then locked on target, obviously finding what he was seeking. He giggled and grabbed Lizzie’s arm again, he dragged her over to a Bunsen burner that was heating a bright blue liquid to boiling point.

“This is the antidote to the poison I gave you! You want it?”

Lizzie’s eyes brightened.

“Too bad!” The Joker sang, leading her away from the antidote to another section of the room. Lizzie’s eyes flashed; God, he was so CRUEL!

“You didn’t think I’d let you off that easy?” He taunted, his black eyes searching her face. “I’m disappointed, Liz! I thought you knew me better than that?”

Lizzie tuned out of his banter and glared down, fuming. Her eyes fell upon a small, glass bottle, with a skull on it and a label shouting:

POISONOUS CHEMICALS!

And underneath it, in slightly smaller black letters, were the two words that made every unresolved dilemma of Lizzie’s fall into place. Lizzie pulled her arm away from the Joker (surprisingly, he didn’t notice) and gazed at it the way a devout priest would gaze if God himself appeared before him. Everything suddenly made sense:

She couldn’t escape the Joker, and if she somehow happened to, she’d be put into jail or Arkham for life. This held the answer. She’d tried to kill herself, she’d failed. This held the answer. She’d been poisoned; the clown wouldn’t give her the antidote. Again, this held the answer.

Amazing, that it all boiled down to the contents of this tiny bottle. Lizzie picked it up and gazed at it in reverence. It was so beautiful, the crystalline white liquid swirling in the beaker; it was the remedy to all her problems. She clutched it tightly.

A sudden loud noise, a splintering of glass, made her turn, shocked. She swiftly moved her good arm so it was behind her back, her fingers still clinging tightly to the neck of the bottle. The Joker’s eyes burned with rage, they were black fire as he glared down at Number 31 Chemically Resistant Man.

“That was important.” He snarled, his eyes narrowed to tiny slits. Lizzie followed his gaze, and saw that a vial lay broken on the floor, liquid in a poisonous shade of green seeping from the mess of shattered glass.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” babbled Number 31; his eyes were scared above the protective mask. “I won’t do it again, I promise!”

The Joker’s bad mood mysteriously evaporated, but Lizzie could tell the storm wasn’t over. “That’s for sure!” He agreed, and pulled out a small pistol.

31 gasped, beginning to hyperventilate, his eyes darting left and right. There was no escape; nowhere to run. “Please, no!” He begged, pressed up against the bench.

The Joker grinned devilishly. “Kill him.” he ordered, holding the gun out to Lizzie. She hesitated, and then picked it up. Lizzie weighed the gun in her hand, cocked it, and made the crucial decision.

“NO!” She said boldly, curling her finger around the trigger. The bottle she had picked up was now inside her sling, she had palmed it when no-one was looking.

“What do you mean?” The Joker growled, his bad mood returning. Lizzie looked upon him with contempt.

“I mean, no, I won’t kill him!” She said icily, pointing the gun instead at the Joker, although they both knew she would not kill him.

“Is this a joke?” The Clown Prince asked, raising his eyebrows.

“The joke’s on you, Joker!” Lizzie replied, and then laughed; the wording sounded so ridiculous. “It’s over. Finished! You think you can control me? You’re so wrong. The poison’s gone, and I’ve got the guts to do what you can’t!”

“And what, my darling, would that be?” The Joker snapped, his voice like the grinding of ice floes.

Lizzie stared him down, her blue eyes dancing triumphantly. “I’ve got the guts to end it...before it ends me!” She replied quietly. She raised her broken arm. It was agony, of course, but that didn’t matter. All agony would soon be gone.

She showed him the bottle. “Arsenic acid,” She read off the label, “a very poisonous and deadly chemical. DO NOT SWALLOW...Well, Joker. You said that your only rule in this lab was to break the rules! Here’s to you.”

She pulled the cap off the bottle with her teeth. Lizzie closed her eyes, breathed in one last time, and downed the contents of the beaker in a single gulp.

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At first, nothing. I wait, disappointed, wondering if the acid works after all. The next second...an explosion of agony. Every single nerve of my body is alive, and joined to the throbbing pulse of my infected heart. As the liquid fire courses through my veins, surging and burning through every cell, I can feel a cold finger on my cheek. A silken voice whispers to me through the inferno inside me.

“Goodbye, Lizzie. It’s been fun...ny.”

The finger strokes softly down my cheek, and then he’s gone. The fire is centred now around my beating heart. Its pounding is fading now, the conflagration dulling. And I’m no longer falling. I’m flying.

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Lizzie MacMillan smiled and closed her eyes.

THE END

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A/N: Acknowledgements:

Thanks to all the people who reviewed: Grace Dark, Sanestar and Ghost of Merilwen, you guys are awesome!

Most definitely a lot of thanks to Gemmie XD (Gemma) who gave me some really good constructive criticism on my draft and helped me at school. I tried to make this chap a bit longer, Gem. Love ya xxx

Thanks to the Thesaurus I got from school, it helped me find great words to put in this story, such as conflagration, crystalline, squalid and more...

Thanks to everyone who has read this and did not review! Thanks for reading my story!

xxx =)