The Session:
By: Nicole Reis
"Three of the last four you forced in to quitting. Dr. Harkins, you murdered."
"And?"
"And if it were up to me, you wouldn't be allowed contact with anybody outside of yourself."
"But it's not up to you, is it doctor?"
"…No. It isn't."
"And that's why you're here, isn't doctor? Because you feel the crushing weight of responsibility for the countless certified psychiatrists who have passed through here, unheralded, throughout the years? It's simply scandalous what passes for a doctorate these days, is it not? You fear, somewhere, that their time wasted and their lives lost is a result, however indirectly, of the grotesque and unprofessional negligence you've shown, yes? And so, here you sit, hurling yourself head first in to the jaws of the beast, speaking figuratively, of course. After all, this isn't a session with Croc. And is it to quell some burgeoning sense of guilt you now, and doubtless have for many years, felt racking your very soul? Most surely, it is."
"Let's talk about you Joker."
"Okay."
"If the guard's were to step out of this room, would my life be in danger?"
"Your life is in danger regardless, doctor. And your question is in relation to you. I thought you wished to speak of me?"
"You said I was 'hurling myself in to the jaws of the beast', did you not? I was wondering if that was to imply a threat against my life? And if so, why would you make such a threat?"
The Joker shrugged, his arms bound by a straight jacket, his ankles manacled to a bolted down chair.
"It merely was an observation of your own perception, and of how you've projected that perception on to others."
"How so?"
"You see me as something dangerous, and you ascertain that others must see me the same. Thus, in coming personally to conduct my treatment, you then conclude others will think it a selfless act of bravery, as you yourself think it to be. But deep down, you require that these others agree and approve of it as such. Because only then will you feel less burdened by what you call your conscience, only then will you feel you've made emends with the innumerable psychoanalysts you've sent my way, only to have them emerge in a body bag or vegetated, or so ridden by self-doubt so as to be rendered utterly ineffectual in their work."
"What about what you just said, that my life is in danger regardless of whether the guard's are here or not? Does that mean you would attack me even still?"
The Joker laughed.
"It means what it says. That light above may come loose and hit you on the head, and that very well could end your life. You might slip while standing, lose your footing, and hit your temple on this desk's edge. That similarly could kill you. Or I might free myself of these restraints and reach across the table to strangle the breath from your lungs."
He smiled.
Dr. Bartholomew looked uncomfortable, flicking a nervous glance to the two guards who stood behind The Joker, their sights fixed on the inmate.
"Would you like that?"
"Would I like what?"
"To strangle the breath from my lungs?"
Again The Joker shrugged.
"That's dependent entirely upon you, doctor."
"Really!? How?!"
The Joker again smiled.
"Are you a man of conviction, doctor?"
"I would like to keep the questioning focused on you Joker."
"You will be. But I cannot answer the question posed to me without you first answering what I've asked of you."
"No Joker, I don't think so."
"Then you'll never knooow Barfolomew."
The doctor's brow twitched, just slightly.
"I won't take that from you. Any more name calling or childish behavior, and this session will end, is that understood? You're far too intelligent to be acting that way."
"Oh, you flatter me doctor! But really, you'll do nothing of the sort."
"Excuse me?"
"Your tenure at Arkham is one of the asylums longest lasting. Of course, you know this." The Joker laughed lightly. "In being so, you've garnered some respect among your peers and a fair portion of inmates alike. You've never ended a session early, never walked out on a patient. This action alone, the fact you haven't allowed any one among us to frustrate you in to quitting, is largely responsible for that respect doctor, not any sort of progress you've made with the house residents. If admiration were earned by such accomplishment in a place like this, no esteem would exist among the asylum staff, no regard given by the prisoners housed here."
"If you're suggesting that no one at Arkham has ever been cured, then I'm sorry to inform you Joker, but you are patently wrong."
The Joker laughed.
"You speak of the minimal security patients Bartholomew. Why, any doctor with even a basic knowledge of various diagnosed mental disorders and their treatments would be capable of repressing and controlling the emotional and physical tendencies of such individuals. No doctor, I speak of the more renowned cases of Arkham, those residing in the middle and high security cell blocks. You've yet to discover a way to govern any among us and that, along with the ease in which one takes leave of this place, is why the facility is regarded as nothing more then a bad joke. Though the criticism is unwarranted. How is one expected to control what they fail to understand?"
Dr. Bartholomew said nothing.
The Joker continued.
"Of course, in order that you retain such hard earned respect, you simply cannot walk out on me, doctor." He laughed. "After a show of such dogged determination, over so many years, attempts at manipulation from the asylums most notorious have ceased in your sessions, yes? Even uncooperative behavior has lessened for you. Even I speak to you. Though, I must say, the two sessions conducted with me those many years previous offered me little chance to try my hand at you." Again he laughed. "But I digress. If you were to allow something as minor as my harmless, good humored insults to drive you from my treatments, surely that reverence would dissipate, to some degree."
The two starred at each other for a good, few moments.
"So, Dr. Bartholomew, are you a man of conviction, or are you not?"
"… I'm not sure I understand the question." The doctor answered after a few, silent moments of hesitation.
The Joker smiled wide.
"Is it so difficult? Quite simply I mean, do you believe in what you purport as true, in what you claim to be fine and right? Is your faith in such ideology so strong that to compromise it seems, indeed is, unimaginable, in fact, for you, unacceptable, no matter the circumstance?"
"If you're asking whether I'm willing to practice what I preach, then the answer is yes, of course I am. I fail to see what this has to do with my initial question."
"No matter the circumstance?"
The doctor grew impatient.
"Yes! Of course! I'm no hypocrite Joker. But what has this got to do with my question?"
The Joker continued to smile.
"If you were telling the truth doctor, the answer then to your question would be no. Your death would bring me no pleasure."
"What do you mean if I was telling the truth?"
The Joker chuckled.
"Well, you're lying doctor."
"No I'm not!" Bartholomew sounded defensive.
"You are. You most certainly are. Though the lie is sub-conscious. You're unaware of the claims falsity."
"That's… completely absurd. You can't possibly know something about me that I myself am unaware of!"
"I can, and I do." The Joker answered calmly.
The doctor put his hand up and breathed out heavily through his nose.
"Just…" He paused. "Tell me why, being a 'man of conviction' as you put it, would that make my death not enjoyable to you?"
"The comedic nature of death lies in the irony of its existence in relation to life and how desperately most cling to it. To live, to extend and preserve life, that is the driving force behind the actions of nearly all. Everything done is done with a singular purpose of survival in mind. The rare occasion presents itself in which you come across another who, so strong is their conviction in their ideals, that they willingly and without reservation will place themselves in harms way, indeed, will sacrifice their very life so that they might preserve and protect those tenant's. The irony in the demise of such an individual is so rendered absent, the humor, thus, gone."
"Would you not kill a person who was willing to die for their beliefs then?"
"I would."
"But why? If it gave you no pleasure, what would be the reason?"
"Why must there be a reason at all? Objectively, there is no reason to anything. Everything just is."
"So you would kill someone just… because?!"
"If at the moment, it struck my fancy to do so, then yes, I would."
"But if it isn't something you enjoy, how could it ever strike your fancy?"
"If it is how I envision them to be."
"Are you saying that you sometimes see people as dead, and that you sometimes see them as alive, and that dictates whether you murder them or not?"
The Joker tsked.
"Oh, murder is such an ugly word doctor; one with so many negative connotations. I wouldn't call what I do murder."
Bartholomew scoffed, and The Joker starred back at him, his eyes cold, the smile disappearing from his face.
The doctor shifted uncomfortably.
"But to answer you, yes," The Joker at last spoke. "I allow my vision to dictate my actions. It is what any true artist should do."
"You call murder art?"
The Joker's head cocked to the side, his expression curious. "… Again with that word doctor. That word means nothing. Your use of it shows clear incomprehension of my work. Of what I do."
"And what do you do Joker?"
"I reflect the great joke that is life doctor. I've explained this to you previously, have I not?"
"Once, I think. I just wanted to hear it again."
"Because you don't understand, but wish very much that you did."
"Hardly."
The Joker smiled.
"Would you call what you did to Dr. Harkin's art?"
"It was, yes."
"You crushed his larynx and strangled him to death. How is that art?"
"It is performance art, doctor. As already I've stated, a form of expressing the comedic nature of life."
"I see. And did you enjoy his death?"
"Yes, I did."
"Why? Why was his death enjoyable to you, but killing someone like me wouldn't be?"
The Joker laughed.
"Jeremy's entire presentation was facetious. The pompous arrogance he displayed in lieu of the underlying insecurity he felt. Classic! Far too easy a spot. It was boring, really. But he wanted so much to believe himself special, as something extraordinary. I couldn't resist unraveling the hope he had in any such notion ever being true. The devastation he promised was far too enticing to let pass. Of course, I would much have preferred to shatter his delusion, make him privy to the unmitigated commoner he truly was and leave him having to accept and suffer through that realization for the rest of his miserable life. But his weakness of character caused in him a violent reaction to my taunts, and he attacked me."
Dr. Bartholomew looked incredulous.
"Oh, I know you don't believe it doctor, but it's true. He tried to strangle me, can you imagine?" He laughed. "Naturally, I couldn't overlook such a display. I had to show him the grave error of his final action, use it to reinforce to him just how great a fool he was. Once again, the opportunity presented was simply too alluring to go neglected."
"So you got some sort of kick out of killing him?"
"It made me laugh."
The room fell silent.
"Oh, and allow me to point out, your previous statement is incorrect, doctor. I too would find pleasure in your death."
The guard's moved then.
Bartholomew raised a hand to stop them.
"Are you suggesting that I'm in danger from you?"
"Yes doctor, you are."
Again the guard's moved to him.
"It's fine!" The doctor stopped them once more.
"Physically? You're bound by that straight jacket, and your feet are shackled. You can't even move, and even if you could, there are two armed guards directly behind you."
"All easily overcome. I could free myself. And the buffoons beyond me would present no challenge."
"Is that right clown!?" One of the men pressed his billy against the back of The Joker's head and shoved forward.
"Mr. Dawson, please!" Bartholomew chided, and the guard fell back.
The Joker only smiled.
"If it's as easy as you claim, if it would amuse you, as you say, then why don't you simply do it?"
The Joker continued to grin, but said nothing.
When it became clear he wouldn't answer, Dr. Bartholomew opted to change the subject.
"How often do you change Joker? How frequently?"
"You are referring, I assume, to what you've called my great affliction, doctor?"
"Your psychosis is unique." Bartholomew answered. "We've never come across another case even similar to your own."
"Well, doesn't that make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!"
"It shouldn't. I would think it a veritable nightmare waking up every day, not knowing who you might be, how you might view and react to the world."
The Joker grinned.
"You see so clearly, in fact, you are so acutely and fully aware of not only yourself, but everything around you, that you are incapable of filtering any of it out, unable to ignore any portion of the sensory-information you receive, unable to discriminate between what you wish and wish not to see. Everything comes to you as it truly is, and your mind finds it an impossibility to delude or taint it with personal bias. Super-sanity, we call it, or ultra-sensory perception, super powers of observation. Seeing with too much clarity. Processing so much information so quickly, without any way of blocking any of it out, that the only mechanism of defense is for your personality to change and adjust to whatever the circumstance or situation presents itself to be at the time, to mold your persona to fit what's going on around you, rather then molding what's going on around you to fit your personality, as the rest of us do. We cope by allowing through, sub-consciously of course, only what our minds can and will accept as reality, or by changing and morphing certain bits of information to the point where they become acceptable and manageable and believable. But your brain won't allow that, it can't do it, you perceive the universe in its pure form, at all times, as it truly exists, and depending on what you're exposed to that day, in order that you remain functional, your entire personality shifts to accommodate it, to work with it, rather then against it."
"Am I that interesting?"
"Yes. You are." Dr. Bartholomew answered. "How often does it change?"
The Joker leaned back and smiled.
"As often as the wind deviates from its previous course, doctor."
"But how do you handle it? Not having a true identity to call your own?"
"Very well. I honestly could not be more deeply content then I am. After all, no one likes to be tied down."
"And who are you today?"
"Who am I?"
"Yes."
"The Joker. Who else should I be?"
"But what are you seeing? What does the world look like to you, right now?"
"Oh doctor, you may as well pull the Rorschach cards."
Bartholomew said nothing.
The Joker sighed.
"I see you, doctor."
The doctor blinked.
"Me?"
"Yeees. I see you. I see right through you, to the very core of you."
Bartholomew couldn't help looking away as The Joker's bright, green eyes bore in to him.
"Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. "What exactly do you see?"
The Joker abruptly laughed, causing the doctor to jump.
"Well, one needn't possess super-powers of observation, as you described it, to see how deep running your infatuation with me truly is."
Bartholomew scoffed.
"I would hardly call it infatuation Joker. Your psychosis merely fascinates me, as a psychiatrist."
"Oh goodness! Denial is admittance doctor, often indeed." He laughed. "Having such a scientific understanding of my… preternatural condition, I should think you also aware of how truly impossible it is to fool me, or divert my attention from the truth. If not, you need only ask Harley."
The doctor, having grown incredibly uncomfortable, did not hesitate to use the mention of the former Dr. Quinzel to shift the focus from him.
"Speaking of Ms. Quinzel, let's talk about her."
"If you wish."
"Do you love her?"
"Most of the physicians here think me incapable of such an emotion, doctor."
"Well, I don't. Do you love her?"
"I love what she does for me."
"And what would that be?"
"She makes me laugh."
"But do you love her?"
The Joker smiled.
"No." He answered flatly.
"She seems to think you do."
"Only because I wish her to."
"Really? And why do you wish her to?"
"It allows her to continue in eliciting my delight."
"Well, she's lasted with you several years. If she was so dispensable, as you claim, why haven't you killed her, as you often do your hired help?"
"Her continued presence fulfils a desire her death would fail to deliver."
"That sound's like you love her Joker."
"No. I love her blind devotion, the comedy of her absurd naiveté, her unabated need to please me. It's proven an endless derivation of amusement. Her death would serve only to end a perpetual fountain of enjoyment. I can kill any man, woman or child in order that I experience the delectation such an act brings. But Harley gives me a unique sort of pleasure. You can imagine, there is no other so wholly consecrated to me as she is."
"So you do view her as something more then everyone else?"
The Joker leaned back.
"She merely affords me an alternate, perhaps longer lasting source of amusement, but still, she only is a source of amusement, just the same."
"And if she stopped being that source?"
"I would kill her."
"You would?"
"Without hesitation. But as it stands, she pleases me alive more then if she were dead."
"I'm sure she would be interested to hear you say that."
"I'm certain Dr. Leland has informed her already. But my little Harlequin is unshakably loyal and unquestioning in her trust of me. She knows better then that. She never will believe a thing you tell her." He laughed.
The doctor looked away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable.
The Joker starred at him.
"So doctor, have you figured it out?"
"Figured what out?"
"The fact that you've compromised your convictions? I knew you would. The ease with which it was accomplished though! Doctor, simply disgraceful."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The Joker laughed.
"Of course you don't. Your attention to detail is, at best, minimal."
Bartholomew starred at him blankly.
"The veneration with which you regard me is nearly on par with that of Harley's."
"Don't flatter yourself Joker!"
"I'm not. I merely state facts. You admire my brilliance, my ability to see the truth. You would give yourself over as my disciple if not for fear dictating your actions, controlling your desires and tendencies."
The doctor scoffed, but The Joker continued undeterred.
"You want so much to understand me doctor, to grasp existence as I see it, to yourself gain the purity with which I perceive. You strongly protested when first I asked you a question in relation to yourself, declaring vehemently how you wouldn't allow me to turn the session on you. But how quickly that declaration proved false when presented with the promise of further insight in to my psyche. You didn't mean what you said doctor. In fact, you don't really mean anything you say, even if you've convinced yourself that you do. The ease with which I was able push you towards abandoning your proclamation should make obvious, even to you, how effortless the total degradation of your spurious ideals would be, as well as the eradication of any misgivings or inhibitions which might serve to prevent you from delivering yourself to me completely. I could handily turn you to just another Harley Quinn, the transition being even more facile, given no ground work need be laid, your esteem for me being already firmly in place. Though, you would make for much less an attractive cheerleader, it must be noted."
"You're… you're wrong."
"Am I? Then let's put it to a test! If your faith in what you advocate is true, if in your beliefs you have total certitude and the trust in yourself you claim, and if, as you say, my assertion of you is wrong, then most assuredly, you'll have no hesitation in continuing in our sessions together. If truly you mean what you've said."
The Joker smiled.
"But you don't Dr. Bartholomew; you don't mean or believe a word of what you've said. And you won't be coming back. Not to sessions with me. Not to sessions with anyone; at least, not as a doctor; perhaps as a patient. Whether as a patient here rests entirely upon your decision. You're intelligent enough to understand what I've implied, doctor. Your warning has been ample. And familiarizing yourself with my case study as you have, reading every bit of literature, listening to and watching tapes of my sessions with other doctors, becoming the expert you are on my psychosis, you know me to be perfectly capable of what I warn you against."
They starred at one another for nearly a half minute, neither saying a thing.
"That's… that's all. Guard's, we're… we're finished." Bartholomew finally stuttered, standing from his seat, his hands shaking visibly.
The two guards moved then to the patient, who followed the doctor with his eyes as they unshackled his ankles and pulled him roughly to his feet.
Bartholomew said nothing as The Joker was pushed from the room, starring ahead blankly, snapped from his shock only when he heard inmate's hysterics explode in his ears, and he looked to him.
"You know now why your death would delight me doctor! You know now!" The Joker leered. And he then threw his head back, erupting in to giggles.
"Shut up clown!" One of the guards jammed their nightstick against his back and pushed forward.
But the laughter continued. And Dr. Bartholomew could hear it still, out of the room, down the hall, and around the corner, fading out of reach only when they'd entered the lifts and the elevator doors had slid shut.
Epilogue:
The day following his session with The Joker, Dr. Bartholomew handed over his resignation, to the great surprise of the institutes staff and administration alike.
Bartholomew had been a 20 year man, a hard case who had built a reputation as unshakable, impenetrable and beyond intimidation or manipulation by the asylum patients.
When questioned about his decision, the doctor gave no explanation other then to say "It was time".
But everyone knew. And for three months following, the board of directors was unsuccessful in their attempts to find a doctor willing to take The Joker on as patient. Only when they had hired a slue of new psychiatrists were they able to fill the position.
Word spread quickly through Arkham, and within a day of his stepping down, all the inmates knew of Dr. Bartholomew's resignation and who had been responsible.
The same day learning of the asylums most recent development, Two-Face called across the hall from his cell, to The Joker's, whose room sat directly opposite his own.
"Hey, Joker. Heard about Bartholomew. What the hell did you do to him? The rest of us've been tryin' to drive that mook over the edge for years, and you get to him in less then an hour? It must have been somethin' nasty you did."
The Joker laughed, lying on his cot, not bothering to look out through the bars of his cell door.
"I made a bet with Eddy that in one session, I could deliver his resignation. He thought it impossible for anyone to get to the old man. I told him I could do it. He didn't believe me, so we made the bet, and I won my dollar."
"But what did you do Joker? Did you try to kill him or somethin'?"
The air hung silent or a moment, before The Joker at last answered.
"I talked to him Harvey. All I did was talk."