It should have happened on a dark and lonely night, with fog rolling in from the docks. There should have been an ill wind, and a dark shadow lurking behind me, following me down into an alleyway. It should have made literary critics cringe and gasp as they heard about the poetry of my kidnapping. But it wasn't like that at all. My abduction happened on a Saturday afternoon. I was out enjoying the sunshine during my lunch break while reviewing one of my patient's files. I was sitting in a secluded space in the small, concrete gardens situated at St. Mary's Hospital, feeling better about a patient I had just spoken to. No, I'm not a medical doctor, I am, or rather, I used to be, a psychiatrist. I was brought in for a consultation. The patient was showing unusual signs which I had only ever heard about, which showed itself in forms of self-mutilation. It wasn't serious, though had he been given a knife I suspect he would have done more harm to him and others, but let us be grateful that did not happen. What had happened was, he had started scratching his skin vigorously, to the point of drawing blood, and started to pull his hair out, and gave himself Indian burns on his ankles. It had gotten to the point where I had to restrain him for fear for causing harm to others. Thankfully, two years previously I had read upon a similar case of where that had happened… But I'm drifting off, the point is, I brought in to assist and diagnose, and I left feeling successful. I was feeling good about myself, and I hate to say it, but a little smug too. I was a young, female psychiatrist taking over Gotham City. I wasn't doing any Nobel-worthy things, so far I had only catered to whimsies of those who could afford my work and those who really did need it for their day to day problems, but I was happy in helping those for asked for my help. Which was partially the reason why I remained kidnapped instead of turning up dead in someone's garbage can. Someone needed my help, and though I couldn't save them in the end, I ended up saving someone else.
So, I'm still in the garden, getting ready to leave, when a strange man entered the enclosure where I was sitting. It was one of those enclosures where the walls of the building surrounded the garden, all windows peering down so that anyone could have watched me. You could look up, and see nothing but windows until you finally saw the sky. It was a funny box shaped little garden. Anyone looking out of their window would have seen me sitting at the table in the centre of the concrete garden, my back to the entrance, and this stranger with blood all over him. The garden felt like a stage, and we were the actors, beginning our play.
"Are you alright?" I asked carefully, noticing the blood on his hands and up his sleeves.
He peered at me from under his large bushy eyebrows. He crept closer, and I reeled back from the smell of rotting blood and iron. He rubbed one large hand over his face, and stared at my name badge.
"Dr. Charlotte Addley." He said flatly.
"Yes, that's my name." I confirmed, looking over his clothes. He was wearing a black sweater, with darkened patches where the souring blood had started to collect, and he wore baggy, paint splattered jeans that looked well worn. His scrunched up face was turned towards me, his eyes burning into my name badge, saying nothing as something rolled over in his head. It made me nervous, I realised after a few seconds. I wasn't so good around so much blood, and the stench of petroleum was giving to give me a headache.
"Are you on duty?" He asked hoarsely, jabbing his finger at my files.
"Yes." I lied, feeling more and more nervous around the man. "I just wanted some fresh air."
"I've got a friend who needs your help, it'll only take a moment-"
"I'm sorry; I don't think I can help you." I interrupted. "There are nurses inside if it is an emergency."
I awkwardly smiled politely and began to excuse myself, gathering up my things to leave. I was never a very good liar, so lying to this stranger made me feel anxious. He remained motionless, still stood between myself and the exit. I began to walk towards him, but he never moved, but instead chose to watch me. I walked alongside him, our sleeves almost touching, and I had to hold my breath as the smell of his sweat reach my nose, and gagged once I past him, my back to him as I reached for the door handle.
"It is an emergency, but we can't bring him to the hospital." He said, "It will only take a few moments and no-one will touch you-"
I stopped, my eyes widening in surprise. "What?"
I turned around to look at him, about to warn him off, but I regretted my decision to stand and face him, as I realised he held a cloth in his open hand, his eyes burrowing into mine. I yelped as the foul cloth made contact with my face, and leaned back out of pure instinct. Another arm snaked around my body to keep me from running, but that was the last thing on my mind. I reached up to claw at the man's fingers, but I found my hands heavy, and as I struggled for breath, my sight became blurry and unclear as I felt my body limbs twitch beneath me.
The man laid me down, my body folding up beneath him like origami in his hands. I lay on the ground, panting as he removed the cloth and stuffed it hastily into his pockets.
"You'll be okay; it will just deplete you of energy." The man promised, gathering my hands into his, wrapping them up so I could not fight him.
Another figure swam into my line of vision. "Let's go."
My mind became numb as I tried to grasp onto any thought that entered my mind, but a sudden, strange, warm hum of silence created a sieve, and all warnings of danger slipped away as I succumbed to the warmth. I felt slow, my limbs feeling heavy as I struggled to stand when they dragged me to my feet. The raw patch of skin around my throat felt sensitive to the chill spring air, and I looked up at the second stranger. His face was white, his eyes were dark, and fainted before my mind put together the thought that I was face to face with the Joker.