I woke up at 6am, sliding my finger across my phone screen to shut off the alarm. I'll admit I was excited and perhaps a little apprehensive but excited none the less. I had been anticipating this day for months as staff from the asylum, police officers, and military professionals tried to prepare me for one of the biggest if not the biggest moment of my career.
I spent seven years at an Ivy League university to get my PHD in psychology, forced my way up, and fought to create a name for myself. I had treated many patients, my work had been published, and I had conducted seminars, and buried myself in research all for an opportunity like this one.
My colleagues thought I was stupid to take the job, for one hour, one day a week at 10am sharp I would travel to the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane and analyse one of Gotham's most notorious criminal: The Joker. My colleagues thought it was a waste of time, why try to fix or understand an un-fixable and insane man? They kept asking me. Call it naive, but I didn't believe that, I believed everyone could be saved in some way; they just had to want it. I wasn't a fool either, despite what most people thought. They don't give a damn about my publications, my PHD's, or my work with The Riddler. All they see is the blonde and the boobs, and the naivety… but I know my value. I know I am damn good at what I do, and again, I am no fool. I know what The Joker has done, he is a murderer, an arsonist, a terrorist, and that is only a vague and shortened list of his crimes. He had been deemed criminally insane, and I, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, his last chance at redemption.
Many psychologists had tried, most quitting, others going completely insane. The most notable case was in regards to Doctor Iobard Shrike. He had had a similar opportunity with The Joker three years ago but it did not end well. Four sessions, that's all it took for Iobard to decide to set his house on fire with his pregnant wife trapped inside, rob a bank, and then shoot himself whilst surrounded by the police. No one knew what The Joker had said to him, Shrike had burned his tapes and his notes to make sure of it. It took me weeks just to convince all parties to keep the cameras off to gain the patients trust, under the condition that once my time with him was done (however long or short that may be) I would surrender a copy of my files to the police and undergo a thirty minute debrief/psychological evaluation after every session.
Getting out of bed I showered and dressed for the big day.

***
It took me an hour to get through security and again to listen to what I had already been briefed on but I didn't complain, I was too focused, too excited, too nervous. Once I was in the room I pulled out my notebook and his rather thick file. Having the file out was more of a formality though, I knew that file back to front. I must have straightened and re-straightened the file a dozen times; strumming my fingernails on the cool metal table, practically buzzing with the anticipation of it all, and then he entered the room. He did not disappoint, he laughed, actually, as the guard roughly shoved him into his seat.
Bound in a straitjacket, his teeth had been fixed with silver, his hair was the most vibrant green I had ever seen, his skin was pale, lips rouged, and his eyes… there was something indescribable about his eyes. I wrote notes about his appearance, mentally noting the irony of the 'Damaged' tattoo on his forehead. I turned my recorder on.
"Well aren't you a dream," he purred, before laughing again.
I pushed my glasses up with my forefinger. "Mister… J, my name is Doctor Harleen Quinzel, I will be seeing you for one hour, once a week from now on."
"Is that right? Is that right, Doc?" He laughed lightly.
As cliché as this first meeting would start out, I felt like it had to be done.
"So, how are you today, Mister J?" I asked.
He looked down at himself, "A little tied up, but other than that, just swell," he said in a half mocking tone.
I powered on, flipping through his file without needing to look. He just stared at me, he rolled his head cracking his neck and extending it. I wrote down that it may be a telling tick of some sort, or perhaps his bindings were simply uncomfortable.
"So, Mister J, you have been deemed clinically insane,"
"Well shucks," I ignored him.
"You're in here for murder, theft, arson; you have more crimes under your belt than most."
"Just makin' a living," he purred.
I arched a brow, "Okay, your most recent endeavour resulted in an Italian mobster being tortured for five days, why? You call that making a living?"
"He didn't laugh at my joke."
"And you think that's justified?" I asked.
He leaned back in his seat, "Do you think it's justified?"
"I want to talk about you."
"But I think you are so much more interesting."
Licking my lips I clasped my hands together on the table, "Mister J, do you think it was justified?" I repeated patiently.
He groaned a loud, long, and obnoxious groan that annoyed me slightly and he rolled his neck.
"Mister J-"
"Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah! Tell me, did your mommy and daddy read to you growing up?"
I shifted in my seat, "Mister J I want to talk about-"
"Tell me if you know this one. Little Miss Muffet, she sat on a tuffet-"
"Mister-"
"Eating her curds and whey;
There came a great spider;
Who sat down beside her,"
He stared at me in a way that made my blood run cold, "And frightened Little Miss Muffet away."
I cleared my throat before resuming, "Mister J I think we should utilise the time we have left-"
He smacked his head hard on the table and I jumped. "Little Miss Doctor," Another bang of his head and I began to panic.
"Please stop!"
"Was off her rocker," BANG.
"Thinking she could save the day," his voice rose with each line, and blood dripped down his forehead.
"Then came The Joker!" BANG. The guards burst into the room, grabbing him as he struggled.
"Who wanted to choke her," his eyes burned me as he was yanked from the room. I could hear his laugh as he yelled the last line of his sick poem, "And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!" More laughter before it died off in the distance.
I must have stared at the blood on the table for several minutes, scarcely breathing before I was able to pack up my things and leave.

***

Bolting upright in bed I was drenched in sweat and I could still feel his eyes on me, I could still hear his dying laughter. Turning my lamp on my Chiappa Rhino 60DS was aimed at the silhouette by the window in seconds.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Doctor Quinzel," The Bat said in a deep gravelly voice.
"No, you're just here to break and enter, not very classy."
He ignored this and I lowered my gun, I couldn't see his face but I knew he was looking at it.
"It's registered, it's a dangerous city we live in," I said, not that I owed him an explanation.
"That's why I am here, to protect this city, to protect people like you, to make it better."
I gave him a look, "I can take care of myself, now may I ask why you are here?"
Just because he was Batman it didn't give him the right to break into people's houses whenever it pleased him.
"I wanted to ensure you were okay, The Joker, he's tricky. He is manipulative, and I just don't want him to use y-"
I let out an indignant laugh, "You've broken in to offend me by insulting my intelligence and capabilities as a psychiatrist?"
"I meant no offence," he said quickly. "I'm just saying he is a lunatic, a psychopath, many have tried and failed to 'help' him. He has a way of breaking people and as a woman-"
I clenched my fists. I was so tired of people like Batman, The Joker, and my colleagues thinking that I did not have what it takes. They reduced me to my sex and they only saw what they wanted to see, everyone always did.
"Look Batsy," I cut him off, "If you have issues with my sex or intelligence I'd be happy to show you my degrees, or the door. I'm a professional; this is what I do for a living. I understand The Joker is a dangerous man; I have dealt with many like him. Thank you for your concern but please leave."
He was silent for a moment before he gritted out quickly "Keep your guard up, you don't want to end up like Shrike, keep him out of your head."
And then he was gone, back to whatever cave he crawled out of. I couldn't help but wonder if The Joker was already in my head. All I could hear, echoing in the recesses of my mind was his voice as he recited the last line of the poem, And frightened Little Miss Quinzel away!
Almost, Mister J, but I'm going to prove him wrong. I don't give up that easily even though I was kind of rattled, I can take it. I knew what I was getting myself into, and unlike Iobard Shrike, I was going to last damn longer than four days. The joke will be on The Joker this time. He only made me more determined to help him today. Thinking about the look on his face when he saw me at our next session made me smile, but an awful sense of foreboding washed over me as well. As I slowly began to fall asleep his shocking antics invaded my dreams once again.

(That is it for chapter one. The reason we made Mister J have a violent outburst instead of immediately laying it thick on the charm, is because we figured he has been through this too many times. He wanted to test her, he wanted to see if she can handle him and it was kind of a scare tactic to weed out the weak if that makes sense.)