© Ellie Goodson 2016

Chapter One-Welcome to Arkham Asylum

~Arabella Jones~

My throat began to swell as I walked through the iron gates that led me to the grey, brick building commonly known as Arkham Asylum. It was my first day, after ten years I was finally able to work as a psychiatrist at Arkham. The Asylum was well known for holding a variety of psychopaths, creeps and people who were just plain crazy.

I had to admit, it made adrenaline pump through my veins ever so slightly. The thought that I could possibly meet and examine such...unique people let alone help them, well it was so unbelievable my eyes widened every time I once again realised that this Asylum would become my work place.

Ever since I was twelve, I had dreamed of growing and evolving into a sophisticated woman that could control a job as wild as being a psychiatrist in Gotham. There was all manner of insane men and women in this city. Just think of Poison Ivy.

Poison Ivy was a woman completely obsessed with those of the plant kind; she would turn one hundred percent psychotic with rage if anyone mistreated a plant. She called them her babies. Poison Ivy's real name was Pamela Isley, but she got the nickname as Poison Ivy for many reasons. Her kiss could kill and she had control over the plants, with the ability to speak and feel with them.

Ivy had red hair that tangled in curls down her back. Her skin was a pale shade of green and she wore a darker shade of green clothing. Her clothing was very little however, only ever covering the main parts of her body. Some days she'd choose to just cover herself with Vines. You could easily say that the woman was one with nature.

Of course, everything I knew was all spread through word; it could all easily be rumours. I had not yet met the woman. Poison Ivy was currently locked up in Arkham, and I was hoping to possibly speak with her and help her one day. Her attitude, the way she spoke or acted or even looked, was unknown to me. All the same, I still looked forward to our first encounter.

Through all the thoughts, I had finally made my way along the paths that led up to the doors of Arkham. Three guards stood at the doors, guns always at the ready-just in case. "I'm Arabella Jones, today is my first day as a psychiatrist." I told the guard who faced forward.

Pulling out my identity card, I handed the piece of plastic over and waited nervously as the man's eyes processed the picture and words. He nodded his head, telling another guard to open up the doors.

The Asylum was shockingly white, each wall pristine clean and possibly sparkled. I slowly made my way down the hall, small heels clicking on the hard floor. My nerves were truly beginning to take over, each leg shaking as they made the next step forward.

Reaching the end of the hallway, I had two possible ways of turning. I knew the basic way around, but from here I was utterly lost. And then appeared a face I was too glad to see. "Ah, Doctor Jones! Welcome, welcome to Arkham!" The overly cheerful man named David Black exclaimed, having spotted me looking lost already.

David Black was also a psychiatrist at Arkham, higher up in the hierarchy than I was of course. He had greeted me with ease when I came for my interview and 'tour' and we had instantly made some form of friendship.

The man was tall, quite lanky in his age. Doctor Black-what an odd sound that had to it- had hair that was greying and there were a few, small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. I guessed his age to be around forty. Although his appearance seemed to be ageing, the man's personality was definitely not. David was erratic, and if he wasn't able to control his behaviour and didn't mean good at heart, he would be a patient at Arkham.

I smiled politely at the man, feeling my nerves ease slightly. "Please, Doctor Black, could you show me to my office?" He nodded his head furiously, making a gesture with his hand for me to follow. At least, that was what I hoped it had meant.

I followed the aged man through a couple corridors before finally approaching a large, oak door. On a silver plate, written in bold, black letters were the words 'Doctor A. Jones'. "As you can see," said Doctor Black, "this is your office. Here is where you'll go every morning until you have your first appointment. After that you shall return here until your next session or until the end of the day-unless you wish to collect some food or speak to someone importantly." I nodded my head, too busy processing the information to think of words.

I opened the door which led me into a rather large office. A desk sat in the centre of the room, with a stack of files and a computer on it. There were draws underneath the desk that were most likely filled to the brim with extra information. A clock sat on the wall to the right of me and there was a small window on the back wall. Apart from that, the office was pretty bare.

I walked over to the files, eyes scanning the names. "You'll have to personalise the room as time goes on, Doctor. Sadly we cannot give you an easy first day and we've had to put you to work with several cases immediately. My apologies." With that, Doctor Black gave a sympathetic smile and excused himself.

I glanced down at the first file once again, having found that I couldn't remember the name. Harleen Quinzel-commonly referred to as Harley Quinn. I sighed to myself; my first appointment was with the weak minded jester.

Harley Quinn used to be the Jokers therapist, until he manipulated her into falling in love with him. Harleen took on the name of Harley Quinn and went under the disguise of a jester, her outfit accompanying the colours of red and black. The woman was childish and weak minded, after many years of the Jokers abuse she had truly gone insane.

My appointment with her was in ten minutes, they really didn't give you time to settle in before putting you to work. I scanned over the notes of Harley's file. It stated continuously how she refused to accept the fact that the Joker didn't love her, and stayed loyal to the psychotic man no matter what. I planned on changing that.

Collecting her file, a notepad and pen and putting on my white, laboratory coat, I made my way out of the office-locking the door after myself. I wandered down hall after hall, seeing an endless amount of insane people. Eventually I came across Harley's cell which was heavily guarded.

I showed them my badge, explaining that I was Harley's new therapist. The men backed away from the door, and I stepped into the glass cell. I felt the men's eyes on me the whole time. "Good morning Harley, I'm your psychiatrist."

"Yeah, yeah," she spoke in her high pitched tone. The jester flopped lazily onto the seat on the other side of the table. "Hiya!" She said, grinning at me. I sat carefully onto the fabric chair and placed my things onto the desk.

I clicked my black pen and wrote Harley's name at the top of the plain paper. "How ironic this is, a therapist now needing a therapist." I said slowly, raising my eyebrows.

"Girl, I don't even understand why I'm here. I'm perfectly sane, just look at me." I jotted notes down, finding her belief unbelievable.

There was a moment of silence, as I wondered how to word my next sentence. "Harley, let's not waste any time. We both know the reason you're in here is because the Joker drove you to insanity." Something changed in Harley then. Her smile disappeared into a thin line and her hands balled into fists.

"THE JOKER LOVES ME!" Was all she screamed at me before standing up.

The chair fell back from the force of her tantrum. She stomped her foot childishly before turning her back on me. Taking this as my cue to leave, I got up quietly and made my way to the door. "Harley?"

"What?" She snapped at me, glaring daggers.

"We'll be speaking about this again tomorrow." And with that, I left the glass cell.

Back at my office, I placed the notes into Harley's file. I noticed a picture of the woman, all her makeup removed. Her blonde hair was in pigtails, and a green bruise rested on her right cheek. No doubt from the Joker. It showed only her face, which looked tired and aged. I almost felt sorry for the poor woman. But that's what happened when you're weak minded like Harley Quinn.