The Shadows Of Gotham
Summary: We begin to ask ourselves; what is sanity? Really, what is this word, this emotion, this human trait that keeps one sane? And then we click, like the flipping of a switch, like a flash of lightening…we lose it. We lose it. We go mad. The Joker had been waiting so patiently, just like the good clown he was. Then it came to him, the tool, served on a silver tray with 'Escape' painted all over its face.
Written by T-U-X-I-D-O-G-R-E-Y & J u s t . E s c a p e
Prologue
ARKHAM ASYLUM
It's an Institution for the criminally insane, a psychiatric hospital where many psychopathic lunatics have been imprisoned – naming such familiar foes as Jonathan Crane, the Joker and countless others. You'd never expect a typical teen boy to find himself within these walls that seemed to shout rage, scorn, angst and grief. But to his dismay, and maybe yours, here he is.
Ben Crowley is his name. He isn't a killer, he isn't a terrorist, he isn't even a thief; but he has a reason for being here, one his parents are certain he'd brought upon himself.
He isn't the typical punk who smokes pot, brings guns and knives to school, sneaks drugs out of his folks' medicine cabinet whilst they are asleep or who's thrown away his virginity before even reaching maturity. No, young Ben is here for another reason – obsession.
One can scarcely imagine the horror of an Asylum. The cold air that runs from the vents, the men and expressionless nurses that pace the corridors; the prison guards. And then there is that untamable silence that cuts the boundaries of a patient's surroundings out. It is a silence that brings tears to the eyes, pain to the throat, knots to the gut – it's called shock.
They all have their own ways of dealing with the emotional disorders that become frequent symptoms of a patient. Some of them like to scream it out in the halls, fight and kick and wail hysterically. Some of them act up just so the doctors will give them that syringe to calm them down, relieve the anxiety. Others think it's all a big joke, telling themselves that it won't be long and they'll be out, on the streets running amuck again.
Then you have those that keep it bottled up, closing their eyes and looking away, plugging their ears and humming to themselves, wanting to block it out, trying to envision a dreamland and wishing madly that it would be real; that they'd find themselves on some ocean shore free and smiling with only the company of the calling gulls – this is what Ben does.
The room in which he stays is anything but cheerful. It is like taking a hospital room and decorating it with the accents of a prison chamber. There are no windows, save the tiny glass frame inserted into the metal door. The toilet, sink and shower are right there in the open and there is a white bed on the opposite side of that wall. It isn't at all comfortable and it feels like being locked into a box, a cold box.
He is mostly lonesome and he only sees his Aunt on Friday when the staff will allow it – she is sadly the only relative who remains at his side. His parents still can't bear it; their only child being a criminal. But Aunt Marley is here. She's always here whenever she can be.
Little wooden airplanes painted red, blue and yellow dangle from the part of the ceiling that veils over his bed. They're nice to look at; they look so free hanging from that ceiling. Marley had been sure to bring them, as well as a few other little things of his as well, like his basketball shoes, his 'mountaineer hat' as he proudly labels it, his comic books and a journal. But as much as Ben loves these little possessions, they are a far cry from the one thing he so wretchedly desires most; the one thing that had put him here to begin with.
Aside from that, seeing Aunt Marley leave every Friday is the most dreaded thing he can face. It's like losing a loved one to some uncanny death every time. He can't stand it, and seeing this, Marley can't sleep anymore. She's so full of desperation, but her hands are tied and she hates it. Ben is like a son to her more than anything, and to see him here is wrong. It just isn't right.
ҖҖҖ
It had been six months now since they had found the Joker, cuffed him, forced him into a strait jacket and hauled him off to Arkham – and the whole time it was happening he was laughing madly, almost losing his own breath with each vicious mirth.
Several nurses said he'd laughed for days, whilst others claimed weeks. Another said he was silent on arrival; but that was crock, for he was maddened. What better way to except defeat than to laugh it in the face? He was forking it out of himself in his own crazy way. But it didn't matter. As frightening as he was, he fit in here rather well and it wasn't his first stay.
Crazy was everywhere; marked on the walls, scribbled on the floor, etched on the door…
…HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!…
It could be rather annoying sometimes, especially for Dr. Conner, the man who oversaw the clown. But he figured that allowing him his little pastime for doodling was just one easy way to satisfy the insanity within. As long as he wasn't hurting anyone, or even himself, it was all good.
Another tick the Joker had developed – a new one to say the least – was the frequent uttering of a name that poured from his lips like random bouts of rage, happiness, inspiration and maybe a few other unnameable things too.
Batman…The Batman…Batty…Here Batty, Batty, Batty, Batty, Batty! Oh, I'm gonna getcha! I'm gonna getcha! You'd better run! Run! Run away with the wind! MWAHAHAHA!
The more he spoke the louder he'd become, and if wrapped tightly in a strait jacket, he'd pound the back of his head against the wall whilst shouting these sarcasms – or threats, rather.
The younger nurses were wary in his presence, but even some of the older more experienced matriarchs felt the same suspicion. When they came in he'd greet them with a wryly grin and sometimes his wicked face would be tainted with the same illusion as the Cheshire Cat. He had such an air about him that told the nurses how much he savored their rattled emotions in his company.
One nurse, a lovely Oriental in her mid-twenties was the one typically chosen to give him the shots – the only thing strong enough to keep him under control – and she hated it terribly. It was the way he looked at her, like the Devil himself seeing right into her soul, robbing her of all the courage stored deeply within it seemed. Once he had tilted his head to one side, grinned partially and said,
"You aren't scared of me, are you?…Why, just think of me as a friendly clown – you know, the kind you see at a kid's birthday party right before it goes," he illustrated the next word with his wide eyes, "BOOM!" And then he broke out into laughter whilst she trembled uncontrollably.
"That's enough clown." Dr. Conner snarled.
The young nurse knew very well that he was attempting to play with her mind in a sarcastic, egotistic way. That smirk on his face read nothing less than pure evil.
His face had been wiped of that 'clown mask' he hid behind. Now everyone could see the scars more vividly; the scars that no one would ever know the history of – it was questionable if the madman himself even knew. He had a different story every time.
He ate the cafeteria food, seeming to tolerate it far more than others, savoring the gritty meatloaf, the flavorless instant mashed potatoes and whatever that other stuff was they slapped on the side. He didn't complain. The only thing bursting his bubble right now was the desire that couldn't be fulfilled – to get back.
Recently the Joker had been allowed to actually sit in that monitored cafeteria – with four brutish escorts of course – for weeks of ongoing good behavior. They made him sit off to himself at first whilst they lined the wall behind his chair, their eyes never leaving the sight of him, but now he was allowed to mingle and sit where he wished. There were plenty of guards around, it couldn't hurt.
Ben Crowley was brought down into that cafeteria also. He didn't know that a criminal mastermind was taking more notice of him than he should. Maybe it's because he's a kid. Maybe that's why he's being watched. Maybe they're wondering why he's here, what he's in for. Or maybe it's something else.
To Be Continued.