Hi everyone! There was such a great reception to the prologue and I am so happy that people like it so far! Here is the next chapter! Enjoy!

4 months earlier

I wondered if my daisy printed navy blue dress was professional enough to wear to my Masters final. Psychotherapists were supposed to look professional right? My body was overtaken by a case of anxious jitters. Psychotherapist? What's a psychotherapist? What am I doing here again?

I had spent the night before pouring over the patient file my professor gave me. No name. It had been colored over with black Sharpie. This was the infamous final that every Psychology Masters student at Gotham University had to pass to become a licensed psychologist and move on to write their PhD thesis.

Few passed.

And none spoke about it.

I remembered sending Facebook messages to all of my friends who had taken the test.

They all saw the message, but none responded.

It made me wonder if they were sworn to secrecy. Another part of me that made my stomach lurch thought that they just couldn't bring themselves to talk about it. They wouldn't even tell me who it was.

It kept me up almost the whole night before the final. The patient file they had me study was...unreal. The patient clearly was a lost case. A criminal, deemed mentally insane, and incredibly dangerous. A psychopath. And my department wanted to put me in a room with him for a 1-hour session.

The thought alone was enough to keep anyone awake at night. Part of me thought it was cruel, but it was my final. I was so close to becoming a licensed psychotherapist and then I could have patients of my own and begin writing my thesis. I had come too far to back out now. I would not only be disappointing my parents, but my mentor and professor, Dr. Carlson, who saw the potential in me 2 years ago when I interviewed with him about joining the Masters program at Gotham University. He took me under his wing and aided me in all of her classes. I had the highest GPA in the school because of my hard work and his aid. If I didn't pass this or even show up, I would never feel I could show my face to him again.

The thought made me tug at the sleeves of my tweed jacket as I walked towards the security gate of Arkham Asylum.

The September sun in the sky made the place look less grim, aside from the towering guard posts looming over the large building on high alert. A shiver went up my spine and I almost tripped on a crack in the cement, scuffing my brown loafers.

"You okay there, Woodward?" A voice called out.

I saw the tall and sturdy figure of Dr. Carlson standing by the entrance of the security gate accompanied by the security booth and a man dressed all in white holding two visitors passes.

I shifted the files and my book under my arm nervously as I approached. His own tweed jacket gave me comfort that I was dressed somewhat appropriately. I needed everything to be perfect today.

His massive, warm hand enveloped mine as we greeted each other. I could tell by the ring tan on his left hand that he had signed his divorce papers this morning, and he couldn't seem happier about it.

'25 years flushed down the toilet with her,' Dr. Carlson had once confided in me as soon as lawyers were hired.

I wish I could feel that happy right now.

He handed me my visitor pass with a raised eyebrow.

"You ready?"

My voice got caught in my throat and a nod was all I could muster.

The gates opened.

I had to keep reminding myself that my personal items, my phone, wallet and car keys, were safe at the visitor's desk on the first floor as soon as I followed Dr. Carlson through a locked door on the top floor. I couldn't shake the uneasiness in my body the moment I stepped into Arkham. It didn't have anything to do with the fact that I was in a building that had the highest security next to the White House, only that I was merely minutes away from the final exam that could determine my future as a psychologist.

Relax. Breathe. Remember your breathing exercises. You have nothing to worry about. You have been preparing for this your entire life. You are so close, don't give up now!

A blast of cold air hit my face and flashed my bangs off of my forehead, cooling my warm face and slowing my heartbeat.

Thank goodness.

I was met with a half-a-dozen stares, and the gray flashing of television monitors. My heartbeat sped up again.

The patient's profile had stated that in the therapy office where I would be holding the session had cameras. This flustered me not only because I would be watched and analyzed by the whole faculty of the Psychology Department, but because it violated therapists #1 rule: the patient's information mustn't be shared.

I wondered if it was because he was a dangerous criminal. I mean, they shared his file with me, maybe it was because this was a collective therapy; this patient had multiple therapists. Or maybe it was because he was the exception. Nothing he said or did should ever be kept secret.

In the dimly lit monitor room, the multiple television screens displayed black and white videos from various hallways and rooms within the asylum, and even some outside spying on the gates and watch-towers. One screen remained black. The entire Gotham University Psychology Department faculty sat in chairs in front of the monitors, their eyes fixed on me, their faces sullen and serious.

I swallowed hard and shook hands with them all.

"Miss Woodward, this is Allen Push," Dr. Carlson introduced me to a thin gentleman. His hair was neatly combed back and the lines in his faces were so deeply set that I was certain he had never smiled in his life. "He is Head of Security here at Arkham, and he will be here to make sure that if anything happens he and security will act quickly."

I assumed that was said to make me feel better. It didn't.

I cleared my throat. "It's good to meet you. Thank you for...uh...your possible assistance today." I felt embarrassed heat rise to my face as I shook his hand weakly. "If you don't mind my asking," I continued, straightening my shoulders, "isn't it a serious breech of privacy for the patient to have his sessions recorded?"

The eyes of the faculty shifted to one another, but I couldn't read what any of them meant.

"For your security during your final, we will keep the monitor on," Allen Push replied.

Dr. Carlson coughed. "Very good, Miss Woodward. It'll be just for your final today. We otherwise, uh, don't record the sessions."

I felt my heartbeat slow, but my cheeks were still warm from my statement. I hated being a rule-breaker. I never made any exceptions. I was always called a "good two-shoes" growing up, but then again, I never got arrested, detention, or so much as a timeout after the age of 7. The rules were there for a reason. However, this wasn't my test to give.

"I understand, thank you," I replied, my lips pursed.

"Very good," Dr. Carlson said, an awkward smile plastered under his thin, long nose.

I eyed the clock on the wall above the door behind me. 5 minutes till 11, when the session started.

"In that case," I began, my chest tightening, "I should need to know who my patient is."

The room grew so tense and quiet that I could hear the screaming of a patient a floor beneath us. I pushed the rim of my large horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose, my hand shaking.

"Your patient, Miss Woodward," Dr. Peabody sitting in front of me began, drawing her pale lips into a thin wrinkled line. She looked at Dr. Carlson, who gave her an approving nod. She locked eyes with me. "Is none other than the King of Gotham himself: The Joker."

I instantly felt the blood drain from my face. When did the room start spinning?

"Miss Woodward?" Someone asked.

"Yes," I managed to say through my tight throat.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yes," I repeated.

Breathe. Remember to breathe. You can't back out now.

But it was him. The Joker. The psychopath himself. I remembered reading in the newspapers 2 years ago when I came to Gotham to start my Masters degree that the Bat had caught him and he was being put into Arkham Asylum. The headline was everywhere.

The Clown Prince Caught by the Bat!

Crime Lord Caged!

Batman vs. Joker: Batman Wins!

The Joker was an anomaly to a psychologist, and now, remembering the file tucked under my arm, everything made sense. It was then that I finally admitted to myself that I was scared of my patient. The file alone would have brought a chill up anyone's spine; it was detailed and gruesome, outlined with every mental and emotional observation. But finally putting a name to it, humanizing it just a little, and not to mention his name...this only made my situation more frightening.

I had to do a 1 hour therapy session with the Joker.

No wonder my friends never talked to me about it.

"Miss Woodward," Dr. Carlson began, his voice emanating that of an executioner. "For your final exam to become a licensed psychotherapist and to write your PhD thesis, you must complete a 1 hour long therapy session with the patient known as The Joker. If you come out early, you fail your exam. If you do not pass a psychological exam following the full 1 hour therapy session, you fail your exam. Do I make myself clear?"

My mouth had gone dry and my feet were glued to the spot. Now I understood why so few passed the exam, and those who did, don't speak of it.

"Y-yes, Dr. Carlson," I tried to reply as confidently as I could. Now was not the time to chicken out.

"Very good. Please follow me."

I followed him out of the monitor room, risking a glance back at my professors, their eyes full of doubt. My stomach twisted; not out of nervousness, but frustration.

"I hate to see such a sweet girl go into that room with that monster."

"He'll eat that girl alive before she can even squeak out a word."

My face flushed as their murmurs faded behind the closing of the door. They had a reason to be doubtful; a petite bookworm with an affinity for ruffly lace blouses, vintage patterns, and musicals. The girl with the face of an 18 year old and the sweetness of strawberry tea. Her soft-spoken nature, except when it came to rules or psychology principles, melted everyone's hearts.

I clenched my teeth. Well not today. I was determined to prove that I had what it took. I steadied my breathing and cleared my mind.

We had traveled down the hall where two armed guards stood watch in front of two closed doors.

Dr. Carlson turned to me. "Are you ready?"

I turned to him and saw the eager, worried look on his face. I took another deep breath and nodded confidently.

"You'll do fine. I know you will. Just one thing though...don't let him get inside your head."

I chuckled, trying to bring some humor to my situation. "You didn't bring me to see Hannibal Lecter, Dr. Carlson."

He stared at me for a second, his eyebrows knit with a hint of worry.

"No, I didn't," he replied. "The Joker is much worse."

My heart skipped a beat as he nodded his head towards the double doors, signaling that it was time. I turned to the doors and walked between the two guards. My hand shook as I clutched the cool handle and opened the door.

Thank you all so much for reading! I know I left it on a cliffhanger! I'm a little puzzled as to what to do with structure of the story. I have some thoughts and ideas, so please tell me how you like it as it goes along! The comments have been so kind and now I hope I don't disappoint.

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