I was transcribing my notes when there was a knock on my door. "Have you found anything new?" I looked up to find the lead psychologist, Dr. Gerald.

"No, I've just been talking with him. Mostly jokes and a few stories. All ones that he's told before according to the notes." I rubbed at my eyes.

"I've been told that you refuse to give the guards your scarf. Do you realize how dangerous he is?"

"I am well aware of how dangerous he is, but if he's going to hurt me, he doesn't need tools to do so." I watched as Dr. Gerald sat in the chair opposite my desk.

"Do you mind if I ask what happened?"

"Very much so."

He waited, unwilling to let it go.

"If that's all you wished to talk about-"

"Joker likes you." My eyes snapped to his as he smiled, leaning back in his chair like he'd one a prize. "You think you're the only one seeing him? I do have to keep tabs on him as he's officially my patient."

I leaned back in my own chair. "What is the point of this visit?"

"A warning. Do not egg him on anymore. Don't joke with him or rehash stories. You are not here to make friends, Dr. You are here to work."

"Dr. Anything I do will be meaningless if I don't have his trust."

"You'll never get his trust. That's the point. He's a hopeless case. The most you can do is keep him talking. Hope he slips up or comes up with some new material."

"Then what does it matter what I talk to him about?"

"Because he will twist it to manipulate you. As you analyze him, he does the same to you. There is a reason we had an opening, Dr. He's it."

I watched him leave with a flap of his white coat and turned back to my notes, thinking.

I woke with a start, a crick in my neck as lightning flashed and thunder boomed so loudly that my pictures rattled against the walls. When I gathered my senses, I peeled a postit from my forehead and managed to dig a flash light out of my desk. I rested it vertically on my desk and dug around for the walkie talkie I was issued for instances such as this. I turned it on and found the proper channel. A lot of chatter regarding codes floated in and out in between static. I jumped at a knock on my door. "Dr. Reese? It's John from security. Are you in there?"

"Yes."

"Good. Is your door locked?"

"No."

"Please lock it now and stay put until I come to get you. The power is out and we have a prisoner in the middle of transfer." I nodded until I realized he couldn't see me.

"Of course." I got up and locked the door. "Thank you."

"Stay put and be quiet."

"Yes sir."

I rubbed at my neck as I went back to my chair. When I did, the stuffiness of my office got to me and I reached up to undo my scarf. I untied the knot and slid it around so that I could hold it in both hands. I laid it against my desk and smoothed out the wrinkles. The air hit my scars, making me lift a hand to touch them. It had taken me a long time to be able to touch them, even now, I flinched at the first brush of my fingertips. The hard knots in my skin where there should be smooth, the tightness of the flesh from the surgeon having to pull the skin to close the wound. I cleared my throat and sat there until I couldn't take it any more. I put the scarf back on with practiced ease. I had been lucky.

Most people think it easy to cut someone's throat, when in reality, muscle and skin texture made it very hard to do a lot of damage. If I had been stabbed rather than sawed at, I would not have survived. If the blade had been sharper or there had been more muscle behind it, I might not have survived. If my attacker had known his anatomy, I would not have survived.

With a sigh, I let my hands fall to my papers. I'd been rereading the notes of my predecessors. They all said the same thing. Unsalvageable. Incorruptible in his delusions. If I had done things a little differently, I might be in the same boat as he. I might even have the cell next to him. I had been luckier than he, my scars were easily hidden, but if mine were a little higher, would I be on the same side of the door?

I stacked the papers I'd scattered and tucked them back into the file. I rubbed at my eyes again and dug out a little crusty bit that was stabbing me in the eye. I put the file in my desk, locking it. There was one thing in all the stories he told. One thing that people like to forget about him. He thought himself a good man once. But that all changed when he got his scars. In every story. Whether it had to do with a wife or a parent- except, except the one that had to do with him being a low level thug. That was his exception. But even then he seemed to have some sense of morality.

I stood at my window. The dirt and dust and bars prevented me from seeing anything outside, but I wasn't really looking anyways. I was still thinking about the Joker. Because whatever the cause of his pain, it had been the trigger that his mind needed to watch the world burn. He wanted everyone to live in a constant state of chaos.

When the power came back on I looked at the door. I really had to pee. I was glad that I had a small bathroom attached to my office. However, when I opened the door someone came out. I started to yell, but a hand covered my mouth and I was pulled into the bathroom and pushed against the sink. I yelped into his hand. Panic ate at me. My arms were trapped, one was trapped within his embrace, the other, he'd grabbed and pulled behind my back. His eyes were smug and his hair was wild. "Hi Dollface."

I didn't say anything, I couldn't. Instead, I stomped on his foot as hard as I could and pushed him off of me. I made it to the door when he grabbed my hair and pulled me back. I yelped and clawed at his hands. He threw me over the toilet and pointed a sharp bit of metal at me.

I righted myself, glaring at him, as I flipped my hair out of my face. "Joker," I panted. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"Jail break, toots." I looked around.

"How exactly do you plan on that?" In a flash of lightning, the power was out again.

"Well, that's your problem? Isn't it?" He leaned down to my face with a wicked smile. I sneered and shoved my head into his. He fell back and I gave him a good kick in the ribs before I ran back to the door. I slammed the door closed and locked it. I grabbed the radio and started to say something when I heard him slamming against the door, laughing that awful laugh. He broke the door on the third try and looked at me like a wild animal about to pounce on prey. I threw the radio at him, which he batted like a fly and it slammed against the wall, shattering to bits. He lunged at me, going for my throat.

I screamed, flinging my hands up in a shield he easily batted away. He was so strong. I felt a bookcase at my back, the shelves digging in before they fell, books flying all around us in a flurry of papers and hard edges. I tried to claw at his hands, but he didn't care. I reached for something heavy and grabbed a statue. My hand grabbed at it and I let my arm swing. He caught my arm and I dropped it. His awful smile in my face. I kicked him and he fell to the ground, clutching himself as he cackled again.

I put my hand to my throat, gasping. My scars greeted my palm as I crawled away from him. He recovered quicker than I could. He kicked me in the ribs, flipping me sideways into the wall.

He picked me up by my hair and shoved his face close to mine. His breath was foul. "You're a fighter. I like that." He pushed my head away as he gave me some space.

He looked around as I recovered and started digging around my desk- trying to anyways. He realized quickly everything was locked. But that didn't seem to matter as he jerked hard enough to break it open. "Oh! Someone's got a candy stash!" He pulled out a bag of chips and a handful of candy.

I picked myself up from the floor, but still sat where he'd thrown me. He didn't seem to be paying me any mind as he munched on Cheetos and Reese's pieces. A bag of skittles landed in my lap and I looked up to find him rattling and breaking more locks on my desk. "Why do they give you such a big desk? Make you feel important or to make you feel inadequate?"

"Bit of both, I would guess." I sighed, opening the bag. I hated skittles, but I ate them anyways. When I looked at Joker again, he was watching me. "What happened to your escape attempt?" My voice was hoarse and my neck ached where his hands had been.

"I'm still working on it." He gave me a lopsided smile and I looked away, back to my skittles.

I picked myself up, sore and aching. The skittles irritated my throat. I coughed a bit and placed the package on the desk before I headed to the bathroom. When I came out again, he was looking at my photos. "Didn't take you for a cat person."

"Not mine." I shrugged, sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. "It came with the frame." I snatched a Hershey's kiss from the desk. "I thought it was cute." He watched me, popping a skittle into his mouth.

I let my hand flit to my neck. The skin was tender and already swollen.

The lights flickered again and he stood with a stretch and made his way to the door. He opened it and looked out a bit, and then he was gone.