Page 2 of Enter if you Dare: Part Two

I don’t stop as I drag Rowan past the truck, but the Jester steps into my path. “You look like you’re about to commit murder. I love that energy.”

I growl, and the Jester’s smile gets wider.

“Do you need help inflicting pain? I can drive, plus I have a strong appreciation for torture and the melody of violence. The way their screams echo, and the pitch they reach when they realize they’re about to die. And don’t get me started on the sound of bones crunching. It’s different depending on what bone. Femurs sound different to ribs, but skulls are the most musical.”

I assess whether it is worth taking the Jester with me. Its voice is too musical, too floaty, but I’m intrigued by its love of death, so I nod sharply.

At my gesture of assent, the Jester opens the truck door.

“Get in,” it tells Rowan, its voice changing to poisoned honey—now this version I like. “You, too, Scarecrow. Let’s go make some art.”

I throw Rowan into the truck, and he lands hard against the opposite door, gasping and bleeding all over the seats. The Jester climbs nimbly into the driver’s seat, as I slide into the back next to Rowan, and then the truck starts to move before I can even get my door closed.

“So,” the Jester says, pulling out onto the bridge. “Where are we going? And more importantly, who did Cipher piss off enough to get shot?”

The reminder of what Rowan did surges through me, and I grab his neck again.

“Oh, so you’re the one who did this? How delicious.” The Jester looks in the rearview mirror while making a sound of delight. “You look terrified. Do you even know what’s about to happen to you?”

“Please . . .” Rowan begs. “I was just⁠—”

Rowan cuts himself off and his eyes go wide as I remove my corn sword. If I have to end him now, I will.

“W-what the fuck?!” Rowan shrieks when I bring the handle down against his leg. It’s a warning that I’m not afraid to use it but would prefer not to spill blood inside the truck.

“Ah, the infamous corn sword,” the Jester muses. “Do you know how satisfying it is to hear bones crunching? It’s like music. The human body is so fragile, with all those bones just waiting to break under the right pressure and blood waiting to spill. It’s beautiful. The highest form of art is suffering, but I prefer others to suffer for it.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Rowan whispers, his entire body shaking.

“Yes,” the Jester agrees happily. “Completely and certifiably insane, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, tell me everything. What does the Scarecrow want from you? Speak quickly, or we might need to break some bones before our destination. I would love that a lot, and I’m sure the Scarecrow would too. Simply look at his hands.”

Rowan looks at my hands, then my sword, and then back at the Jester.

“I owe money to Steedy, and he wants my sister as payment.”

The Jester nods. “And where might we find this Steedy?”

“He has a warehouse down near the old pharmaceutical place. That’s where he runs his operation,” Rowan rushes out.

“How many men?”

“I don’t know, ten, maybe. I don’t go in—I only know where to go.”

“Because he has forced you there.”

Rowan nods, and the Jester cackles. “Well, you better lead us there, as I have a feeling the Scarecrow isn’t happy about someone wanting his woman.”

“He will kill me,” Rowan protests.

The manic laughter from the Jester echoes around the truck. “The big, scary Scarecrow to your right is going to kill you quicker, and if he doesn’t, I have not had blood on my hands in too long. It’s calling to me like the lullaby your mom sang to put you to sleep at night.”

The drive takes forever, and during that time our self-appointed chauffeur rambles enthusiastically about the sound of screaming, and how each scream is different depending on the levels of fear, increasing in pitch when there is pain involved. We also hear all about the harmonious contrast of the silence after the body has given up.

“The beauty of violence is that it doesn’t lie,” explains the Jester. “A man can lie with his words, but when you break him, he becomes truthful. It’s magical to behold.”

The warehouse comes into view ahead. It’s old, a good place for bodies to never be found, where screams will not be heard.

Three men gather outside, armed with handguns, staring suspiciously as the Jester pulls the truck up to the entrance.