This chapter is dedicated to the late actor Heath Ledger (1979 -2008) and his outstanding performance as the Joker in The Dark Knight.
Cellmates
"You there, guard!" called Arkham's Doctor Melbourne. "Come here, I need you to help relocate an inmate—I mean, a patient."
The guard jogged up and joined the doctor and two other sentinels. "Who is it we're moving?" he asked.
"Our dear friend the Joker," Doctor Melbourne replied. "He'll be going into Cell 12-B."
"Um, but, sir, that's the Scarecrow's cell!" the guard exclaimed.
"I know that," doctor replied coolly. "You don't honestly think I'd put the Joker in with another patient, do you?" He smirked at the relieved guard. "No, we'll have to move Mr. Crane as well. He will be sharing a room. The Batman just dragged Riddler back here."
"Why don't you just put the Riddler in Cell 12-B and not even bother with the Joker?"
"Because 12-B is smaller, and the federal inspectors would be all over us if we put two mentally ill people in that tiny of a space. The Riddler and Scarecrow aren't that unpredictable, so they'll be fine together. The Scarecrow hardly talks at all, anyway. We've had to decrease the frequency of his therapy sessions because all he does is bury his face in his hands and mumble insanely about invisible monsters trying to dismember him. The Riddler, on the other hand, could talk to himself for hours and not get bored. They're a perfect match for each other."
"Here's 7-A," said one of the other guards, a massive man with a deep, imposing voice. He brought a large hand to his belt and selected the proper key, which looked tiny in his meaty fist. Then, he inserted it into the hefty lock and turned it.
"Do not worry, doctor," whispered the third guard. "We made sure there was a mild sedative in his breakfast this morning."
Sure enough, when the door was opened, Joker was lying on his back, his hands folded over his chest. In fact, he looked dead. Because of the instable state of the patients/prisoners, an orange jumpsuit was not required. Joker was garbed in a dingy white dress shirt and a custom-tailored violet vest. The green had barely been removed from his hair, and even though the white makeup had been washed from his face long ago, it did little to alter his pale complexion. He wore a permanent smile, for where the corners of his mouth had once been he had large, curved scars.
"Is he asleep?" whispered Doctor Melbourne.
"I think so…" a guard replied, listening to the shallow breathing coming from the far corner. "Bring in the shackles and muzzle." Stepping oh so quietly, the group advanced on the patient.
The medium-sized guard reached out and carefully made to clamp the manacles about the Joker's wrists. He almost had them on when the man they had presumed asleep lurched forward and wrapped his hands around the guard's throat. The Arkham worker gasped and fell backwards onto the stone floor, dropping the chains.
The dim cell was suddenly filled with the echoing giggling of the madman. The other guards rushed forward, tazers drawn. "I got this!" bellowed the hulking one, foregoing the stun weapon and instead tackling the Joker. They rolled away from the sentry in peril, allowing him to crawl away from the bunk to safety.
"Aah!" the large man shrieked as the Joker bit down forcefully on his forearm. "Taze this madman! Taze him!"
Zock! Zock! Two pairs of darts flew across the brick chamber and stabbed the patient, who went rigid and collapsed to the floor. He was promptly shackled and muzzled. When he regained his muscle control, he went limp and looked up at his captors in an attempt to look like a downtrodden toddler. It was an eerie sight.
After the trio of guards had the Joker safely locked away at the end of the adjacent hallway, they returned to bring in Scarecrow. He only required handcuffs because of his disheveled physical state and his low threat level. However, the sight of him muttering and shaking his head vigorously was thoroughly unsettling. The violent explosions of movement sent his long, shaggy brown hair flapping in a nimbus about his face, which had thick streams of tears perpetually coursing down to leave a field of dots on his navy blue sport coat, which is what he was arrested in after the Batman turned his fear toxin on him. The high doses he received during the fight left him like this; no one envied him.
Next came the Riddler, who was definitely more sane that the Joker or Scarecrow, but for this reason quite dangerous. He was cool and casual as he was processed and led into 7-A. "Um, excuse me, but I believe this room is taken," he commented, seeing the Scarecrow asleep on the bunk where the Joker had previously lain.
"This is a two-bunk cell. Have a nice stay," grunted the guard, shoving the patient inside and locking the door securely behind him.
"I'll be seeing you, then," called the Riddler cheerfully.
Unnerved but trying to hide it, the guard stomped off.
"Well," sighed Riddler, looking disdainfully at his new roommate. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
The only response Riddler got was a long snore. Suddenly, a wicked smile crossed his face. He stepped gingerly over to the occupied bunk and leaned close to Scarecrow's blotchy face. "Boo!" he whispered loudly.
Instantaneously, Scarecrow leapt up, shrieking as if he were in a tornado. He flailed about, ultimately flipping off the insufficient mattress onto the floor.
The Riddler laughed coldly. "I think we're going to get along just fine…"
AN—Well, that certainly was a strange chapter to write, and I can only imagine what it is like to read it. Regardless, I thank you for having the courage to do so, and ask that you please take the time to give input, suggestions, and comments. Thanks again!
