A/N:
Rebirth.
Tia! Why did you delete the chapters and why are you starting again?!
Because, Reader, I follow my instincts. Finally, the extended cut of SS is out. Being able to see a little more of the Joker has gotten more of my creative juices flowing. I started getting ideas for ways to improve the story and stuff I wanted to add, but it was a bit too late in the story for that (constant flashbacks get old.) The cleanest, easiest way to solve this problem is to start again. A bit will be the same. What IS the same has been revised and altered and you will notice new content soon where none would have existed before.
I sat at a cheap, faux-wood desk in my office hunched over a newspaper. The article I stared at was one I knew well, as one might assume from the worn paper. I straightened the dark rimmed glasses on the bridge of my nose and read the passage under my finger for what felt like the hundredth time.
ANOTHER GRUESOME MURDER AT ARKHAM ASYLUM, the bolded letters nearly screamed at me. Below was a picture of Joan Leland, a colleague of mine. Well, make that former colleague. I couldn't focus on a single printed word. I was in shock, though I wasn't quite sure why. Looking at it from a psychiatric perspective it was totally normal. The Joker had killed another of his psychiatrists, painted the walls maroon with her blood and a series of HAs. Thankfully I didn't see it.
The brunettes' eyes shined brightly in the headlining photo and her smile was one of content, of happiness. Joan had a way of making you spill your guts, even if you didn't want to. An excellent psychiatrist indeed. Too good for her own good, apparently. Next to her photo was a staple picture for the Joker. It was a mugshot, one of many. The mans' features were striking due to the gritty black and white of the photo. His tattoos and grill were displayed proudly though weren't too distinguishable in the fuzzy print. That was a constant theme in his mugshots: he was proud of what he had done, no matter what it was and it always showed in that unsettling grin he was infamous for.
Another one bites the dust, I sighed. They had to be doing something wrong... Or right. But surely one man could not be so difficult to diagnose, human brains aren't rocket science.
I brushed a couple of loose blonde tendrils behind my ear as my thoughts raced. This meant he was without a doctor. Again. Maybe now I could take Joan's place. Being here for over two years and rehabilitating 23 (24?) patients had to count for something. It's not as if I was glad she was dead, not at all. Joan was one of the few people I actually liked here. Funny how I'd prefer to chat with my patients than half of these jerks on the payroll. They were all so snotty. Joan wasn't. However... I'm not much of a crier. Never have been. I was sad, of course, but no tears would fall from me. I think I even tried to cry. Probably because I thought I should. But I didn't budge.
Returning the paper to the top drawer I wiggled my mouse to awaken the computer. Quick email to Dr. Arkham. A simple 'when you have time I'd like to talk to you' sort of thing written boringly, like a professional. The drab colors of this place were enough to put anyone down in the dumps, he should seriously think about redecorating.
Two sharp raps to the door announced Frank, one of the regular guards, with Emily Trasio one of my newest cases. Butchered her family with an axe and tried to sew them back together. Manic depressive with voices to accompany her every thought. The poor thing was only 14, but extremely polite. She fascinated me indeed. "Come on in, Frank!" I called to the door.
In stepped Frank, Emily in tow. He was a tall man with tan skin, built like a machine. Bright green eyes and dull copper hair colored him. "Morning, Harleen." He said cheerfully, leading Emily to the couch. He wasn't aggressive in his actions, rarely was, but his hand still was prepared to use his gun if need be. Always alert.
"Morning Frank." I smiled, rising and taking a seat across from Emily in a sturdy, dark brown chair. Opening her file I got my pen ready. "And I've told you, call me Harley. Everyone does." The name Harleen aggravated me. It was dated and sort of weird.
"You look beautiful, as ever." He flirted, hovering longer than necessary in the room. Looking up to him I gave him another polite smile.
"See you in an hour." I said pointedly. There was nothing I wanted to do more than talk to my patient. Now was not the time for flirting, and Frank knew it. Sometimes the man just irritated me.
"Er, right. See ya." Frank said, taking the hint I so obviously dropped. His tone was a slight mix of anger and disappointment, but he stayed polite and professional. When he exited, I turned back to smile genuinely at Emily.
"Good morning Emily, how are you?" I asked.
Sitting with proper posture, the girl smiled back. "Just fine, thanks. I get to go outside today." She said gleefully, sing songing her voice. "How about yourself, Dr. Quinzel?"
I looked over the young girl. Her dark, slightly tangled hair hung down her back. Her face was plain, and long lashes made her brown eyes appear almost black. The hideous orange ARKHAM jumpsuit certainly wasn't doing her any favors, although it made her olive skin tone pop a bit. "I'm doing well, thank you. You look well rested, does this mean the Trazod has been working?" I asked, curious of her answer. Last time dark circles had been the prominent focus of her face.
"I've gotten a lot of sleep since our last visit. The voices aren't yelling as much, I can hear my own thoughts a bit more." The young girl moved to lay across the couch instead of sitting, draping her arm behind her head. Whatever made her comfortable enough to spill her guts I was on board with. I was hungry for knowledge. Hungry for insight into her brain. "I hate the Blaanzorfine, take me off of that immediately." She said seriously. "It makes me feel like I'm suffocating." I made a note to find a new prescription that would better fit her.
"Noted." I replied. Glancing through my notes from last time I looked back up to her and removed my glasses, setting them in my lap. I hated wearing them if I didn't need to. "So last time we talked about what led up to the 'Warp'." The 'Warp' is how Emily referred to for the murders. "Today, I want to talk about the incident itself."
Emily's face soured. "That's not something I want to talk about right now." She refused.
"It's a part of healing," I said softly yet firmly. Pushing. "You have to make yourself uncomfortable to heal. To push yourself. If you never confront it, it will never go away." This seemed to make Emily roll her eyes. It didn't surprise me. I received a lot of different reactions and had seen them all a hundred times. "Think of your brain as a refrigerator. If you don't clean out the bad food, everything else in the fridge will spoil. This incident, these feelings have been in the 'fridge' for way too long. That's why you're at Arkham, it's throwing everything else out of whack." I reminded her. "Help me help you."
We sat in silence, or at least I did. Emily was clearly having a silent conversation. She would silently mouth words. Pause. Respond with varying slight shakes of her head and then mouth words again. A whimper escaped her lips. Patiently I waited.
"They were so annoying. All four of them. But I would never hurt them. I think all families think each other are annoying." She paused and I gave her a nod to continue. She wasn't wrong. "My mom made me really mad. She didn't believe me about the people in my head. I think I scared her." She admitted. "She had a special way of making people feel like shit. Sorry, like garbage." Emily corrected herself.
"Please, speak freely."
"We were fighting. Same old thing. My dad took her side. As always. Tommy was in his room. The baby wouldn't stop screaming. Mom and Dad wouldn't stop yelling. Their voices were so forceful and so... persistent I couldn't even speak to defend myself. And it just kept coming, like an angry avalanche. Spot had pissed on the floor and I had the biggest headache. They wouldn't stop, the noise wouldn't stop." Her voice started to rise a bit hysterically. Taking several deep breaths she calmed herself like I taught her. "He reminded me about the axe in the shed. He told me I could just scare them into being quiet, I didn't actually have to hurt them." It was clear the girl wasn't referring to her father, but the entity in her brain.
"It sounded good to me. But when I saw their faces, it was finally silent. Almost all at once. Quiet. The epitome of bliss. They were terrified. Of me. The silence was beautiful. Even he was quiet. I didn't want it to end. Then baby started to screech again and my mom tried to run and call the cops. After that... It was silent forever." Emily sat up and grinned despite new tears trickling down her cheeks. "I slept like the dead. When I woke up the next day I regretted it. In all honesty, when it happened... It sort of felt like a movie. Like I wasn't even in control of body or something. Hazy. A time warp of sorts, like I was watching it through a screen. I tried to save them. But I'm not smart. I'm not a doctor like you." Her grin was strained and tight, it looked like it hurt her cheeks and I grew a bit uncomfortable. "I lived with them for about a two weeks before they kept falling apart, despite the new stitching. I played house with live size dolls. The baby was the hardest to keep together. Someone smelled them and called the cops. That's the whole story. Are you happy now, Dr. Quinzel?" She asked with slight resentment, though who it was directed at was unclear.
I was writing the key parts from the story, highlighting the parts I found most interesting. So she had been hearing the voices before the deaths. Hmm. I nodded. "Is there anything you want to reflect on or add?"
"Not today," she grimaced. The retelling had clearly taken effect on her mood. Good. Even just talking about it would help.
"Okay. We have 20 minutes left, but we can cut it short. Enjoy going outside." I smiled at her, and rapped on the door, signaling Frank. He responded quickly. Truthfully I wanted to push her a bit more, but if you push too hard they crack. And that's a major setback in rehabilitation. In my profession the game is to successfully rehabilitate as many as you can.
"Done already?" He asked. With an affirmative nod from me he led her back to her room without any other comments, for which I was grateful. Huffing as I sat I looked over what I had written. Hearing the story from the woman who did it and seeing the effect it had on her... Unsettled me. Gave me goosebumps. Hooked my interest. Especially how Emily had grinned as she cried. Normally I didn't get shaken by patients, but Emily managed to. Patients like her made me love my job.
My email light blinked and was accompanied by a light ping. Dr. Arkham was free to talk. Perfect. I rolled my head around my shoulders to release the tension that had accumulated and locked my office behind me.
The only noteable sound as I made my way to his office was the soft click of my shoes. They were sensible and comfortable, much like my outfit. Who was I trying to impress, especially here? The asylum was relatively large and gothic in design. Why? I don't know. We held 250 different patients and staffed 19- oops, 18- doctors with 20 guards who rotated shifts.
"Dr. Arkham." I poked my head into his office and tapped the doorframe.
"Harley, hello dear, have a seat." He turned away from his computer and gestured to the plush seat for visitors. I obliged and crossed one leg over the other, folding my hands together. "You wanted to talk? What about?" The elder man asked curiously.
It took me a moment to figure out how to properly phrase what I wanted to say. The subject was delicate. "With Joan's passing I realize her patients will need to be fitted with new psychiatrists promptly." I said slowly, gauging his reaction.
"Go on..." His brow furrowed. I could tell he had a loose idea of the direction of this particular conversation.
"I'll be frank. I'd like the to treat the Joker." I said directly. Jeremiah hated beating around the bush.
"Why?" He asked in confusion. "Most doctors shy away from such extreme cases. I'm sure you're well aware of the risks associated."
"Yes sir, I am. I've been doing this for a while now, and I love my job. However, I haven't quite felt any real challenge in my work lately."
"Harley, I understand, but... Are you sure? I'd rather not put you at risk, but I'll be honest, no one else wants to do it. There's a reason for that." Dr. Arkham was full of concern. "I considered shipping him to another asylum, I'm not sure how much more bad publicity and staff reduction this place can handle before Bruce Wayne has it shut down."
"I have a thing for extreme personalities. You can't deny there's an element of glamour to these 'super criminals'. My plans are to write a book. A book that will forever contribute to understanding of psychology by explaining the man no one can figure out. Give me a chance, Doctor. If I suspect the risk is too high I'll back out." It was bullshit. I wasn't a quitter, but I hoped to further sway him.
With a deep sigh, Jeremiah nodded. "Okay. He will be in solitary confinement until Wednesday. I'll give you a shot, Harley, just please be careful. And if your book becomes a hit, give me a shoutout okay?" He chuckled uneasily, still evidently hesitant considering what happened to Joan.
I grinned. Success. My mom used to say 'Harley, honey, you will never receive anything in this world unless you ask. The worst they can say is no' and the advice has never failed me. Of course I've been told no... But not very often. "Thank you. And don't worry, you'll be the first I mention in the acknowledgments." I rose, smiling breezily at the old man. I couldn't shake my excited grin and flutter in my belly. I would be treating the Joker in less than a week.
The next few days had passed uneventfully and now it was time. I walked to the speacialty room for the higher risk patients in a hurry, almost falling twice from rushing.
Crystal blue eyes bored into mine. The Joker was actually sitting across from me! But I resisted the urge to yawn. Not because he was boring, not at all, but because I had been too excited to sleep much the night before.
The man had not spoken a single word since sitting on the couch across from me. He simply stared. His pale white skin, green eyes and unnaturally red lips were striking in person and I focused on the way he sat. Sloppily. Lazily. Almost as if he were stoned but I knew better. Jeremiah had probably given him some sort of relaxer or tranquilizer before our first meeting as a precaution.
The thought annoyed me, though I didn't let it show. I wanted him clear headed. Despite his body language the intensity in his eyes sent a sort of electric charge through the air that I didn't fail to notice. "I see you have more than a few tattoos, Mister Joker. What might they signify?" I tried again. The question fell on deaf ears, he didn't react in the slightest to the fact that I was speaking yet he still stared at me. So far, a very unproductive 20 minutes. But I'm patient. I could play this game.
Dark circles made his light eyes pop and it appeared he was recovering from a multi busted lip and heavy bruises that were now a few days old. A sallow yellow color that was obvious against his chalky parlor. A tiny fleeting smile spread across my cheeks. I had an idea. "Let's talk about Batman."
Success. The Clown Prince of Crime clenched his fists and started to laugh, releasing his head back. The sound was deranged, loud, a little frightening and lasted much longer than it should have. I gripped my pen a bit tighter in case I needed it as a weapon. I'd aim for the jugular. If it came down to him or I I'd try my damnedest to make it him. "You wanna talk about 'ole Batsy, eh?" He asked in a low, gravelly voice, raising a brow over wide eyes. "My greatest adversary, my biggest challenge! The reason I'm in this lovely place!" He would fluctuate his words in strange ways that didn't make sense to me.
I nodded. "Yes. Batman. Tell me about your relationship with him."
Very slowly, the Joker rolled his head around his shoulders. They cracked sickeningly. "Well, shucks, Doc, Bats and I go way back." His tone darkened. "To the beginning. To my birth. To the very creation of the creature here before you." He smiled hugely in amusement, displaying his grill and clenching his bound fist. Even his posture improved a bit. "The 'yin' to my 'yang' you might say." Highly excitable over Batman, I wrote in my notes.
"Your birth?" I questioned. I doubted he meant his literal birth. "The way you talk about him..." I paused to find the words I wanted. Almost like he was in love with him. Wouldn't that be something for the book!
"Go on..." He said curiously, leaning forward eagerly.
"It almost seems as though you're infatuated with him." I said matter of factly. Almost immediately I regretted it. The Jokers face turned to one of disgust and anger.
"That's not funny." He said as if he didn't understand the joke. "I ain't no fucking fag, Doc-tor." He sneered, rising from his seat. "I should prove it. Smash that pretty little face into your desk over. And over. Until you're gushing blood. Bound you so tightly you can't move a single muscle, like this facility takes great joy in doing to us, then fuck you until can't feel anything ever again." Now he was standing in front of me. His words were spoken with great charisma. Like he was flirting. Very smooth. But I knew the threat was real.
"Please return to your seat so we can finish our conversation." I said calmly, looking up to him. I could see the slight strain of the muscles in his neck. The words put an anxiety in my core because I believed him. Honestly, that sounded like his version of letting someone off easy.
In a strange way he was handsome. But the crazy was too prominent, it took him from a 9 to a 4. I think he saw a little sliver of fear and how I gripped the pen but I can't be sure. If he did he chose not to acknowledge it.
"Oh, don't worry." He bent down to whisper in my ear and I clenched my pen, ready to use it if need be. "I'm not going to do that to you. Yet. But I will my dear, your question has offended me." He returned to his seat with a creepy grin. I knew this man could do beyond unspeakable things to me and truth be told I was scared. "I'm not someone you want to offend, Pumpkin."
"Well, I apologize." I cleared my throat. "Also, I ask that you refer to me as Dr. Quinzel. 'Pumpkin' is highly unprofessional." He actually snorted at my words. Taking a deep breath (more to calm myself than anything, I think) I reorganized my thoughts. What had we been talking about? "Note made. But you said he was there when you were born. What do you mean by that?"
The Joker grinned again. "He created me. Pushed me over the edge. Then threw me in this God awful place." He did his best to gesture to the room through the cuffs. "I hate small confined spaces. Reminds me of my childhood." He said sarcastically and vaguely. What the hell did he mean about Batman creating him?
"If he created you... the way you are now... wouldn't that make him your father in a way?" I wondered.
"You might not as dumb as you look, 'Dr. Quinzel'." He appraised. When he spoke his eyes sort of lit up, like he was glad I understood. "Batman and I are one in the same. He's the light, I'm the oppositional force of nature. I have my own agenda. The mans just as insane as I am, have you seen how he dresses? On purpose? What a riot!" The Joker laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks. The laughter was infectious and I couldn't help but join in as I pictured it. It was pretty looney if you actually think about it.
"Don't forget his matching car!" I chuckled, shaking my head. Holy shit, I was sharing a laugh with the Joker. Highly unprofessional.
"You know Pumpkin, you're not half bad." At my pointed look at the use of 'Pumpkin' again he raised his bound wrists in mock surrender. "Sorry doc, I was trying to compliment you."
"I appreciate it. Please, continue. Batman." I said seriously, though I cracked a smile after saying The Dork Knights name. I wasn't exactly a fan of Batman. Maybe because he had never saved me and I'd never seen him in person. He wasn't real to me and he didn't have a particular importance in my life. All he seemed to do was attract crazy people with mighty vengeances against him. Vengeances mighty enough to risk the city multiple times.
The Joker grinned. "All I want is to make him laugh, doctor. Really laugh. He's always so serious. He won't kill anyone. He won't even kill me! How crazy is that?! I've long lost count of how many people I've killed, the accidents I've caused, the pure, delicious chaos. Precious memories." He sighed fondly. "But still, he won't take me out. Won't put an end to me. Practically allows me to do as I wish. Insane. Tragic, really, I don't think the poor thing knows he's crazy." His tone was faux sympathetic.
Again, a perspective I had never considered. However... It sort of made sense, which utterly disturbed me. Why hadn't Batman ever killed him? Looking down at my case file his list of charges and escapes took up nearly two pages. Why not just kill him and stop the threat for good? It made no sense. I wasn't quite sure how to respond and he didn't continue.
I'm not sure how long we sat in silence staring at each other. It wasn't long, maybe five minutes. The whole session the electric charge in the air hadn't disappeared at all. His eyes were so intense. Too intense. Tap. There was Frank. Without waiting for a cue from me he opened the door, hand on his gun as always. "He didn't give you any trouble, did he?" His tone was uncerimoniously harsh.
"No, we had a decent session, thank you."
"Alright, get up clown, back to your room." He sneered, grabbing the Joker's cuffs and roughly pulling him up. No doubt the harsh metal would cut into his skin. The sight angered me. The man was mentally ill for God's sake.
"Take it easy with my patient, Frank." I warned. The Joker turned to glance at me in mild surprise, a smirk sprouting. But this one was darker for some reason. Maybe because Officer Boles was being a dick, who knows?
"He killed three of my crew when he busted out of here!" Frank said in disgust at me standing up for him. Oh. I hadn't known that. But still.
"Only three? I say next time let's aim for a hundred!" That chilling laugh returned.
"Shut it." He pushed him toward the door.
"Until next time, dear Doctor..." He trailed off as they left. I watched the door trying to organize my thoughts. The first session... Had gone pretty well. I couldn't wait to see him Friday and delve deeper into his mind. Excitedly I took my book to my desk and scribbled furiously, documenting some of the things he had said. What an interesting human being and I hadn't even scratched the surface. This book might actually be possible! But that was a bit optimistic. It was only one session.
