I don't know why I didn't see it coming. For as long as I remember, I showed clear signs of mental...disturbances. Torture and death fascinated me, insanity intrigued me, and murder...well, it was a topic I loved a little too much. I had three people inside my head, not voices, people. My senses were trained to pick up the slightest movements and breaths. Every detail of a person was engraved in my mind. I could manipulate anyone into doing my will.
When the doctors whispered about me behind closed doors, when I heard the words, "It's a true case of psychosis, and she shows serial killer characteristics," I wasn't surprised.
But he did this to me. This is all because of him. My drive to learn about him, my obsession over him, cost me my life.
I was a journalist for the Gotham City Post. When the Joker began terrorizing the city I loved and grew up in, I needed to know about him. He was just like me.
Crazy.
I had to know him and know everything about him. My job stopped ending at five in the evening. It went on until eight in the evening. A few days later, I didn't stop working until midnight. After that, I barely slept. I missed work to do my work. My boss gave me one last chance. I snapped on him in the office. My brother had to pick me up at the hospital. That's when they told him about my condition.
Being the loving brother he is, he took me in. I have my own room and bathroom, both of which is where I spend most of my time. The only time I'm out of those rooms is to eat on occasion and sometimes at night I take walks.
We live in some fairly decent apartments downtown Gotham. My brother is a city worker by day and mobster by night. He's their inside man considering he has unlimited access to the city. My brother is kind of like me, although not quite as messed up.
Tonight he's out with the mob doing business in Philly. It's perfect for me. Tonight, while my brother is away, I'm going to do something crazy.
I'm going to kidnap the Joker.