So here's the third installment of Jane Doe.
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far; it's great to get feedback. I really appreciate those of you who take the time to review. (Don't worry, I also appreciate you, readers! 333)
So I'm having a lot of fun with Kitty Johnson. I've never written anyone like her before, and I'm enjoying it! Please let me know if you think anything she does is unrealistic in her situation— although granted, she's a slightly weird person.
And there are even more comics references in this chapter, including the Killer Croc! Run from his evil reptilic badliness!
... Yes, I know that was wholly unnecessary.
ANYway. Please read, review, relax, enjoy, endure, etc! Thanks again!
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The elevator ride down to the maximum security unit seemed much longer than it should have.
It was only two stories underground, but either the elevator went extremely went slow, or Kitty Johnson was imagining things.
She was probably imagining things. She'd never been in a locked elevator before— Dr. Arkham had used a key to summon the lift.
"This is for the lower levels only," Dr. Arkham had told her while they waited. "Our maximum-security wing."
"How many down there now?"
"Patients? Three."
"The Joker, the Scarecrow, and..."
"Confidential, Miss Johnson." Dr. Arkham flashed her a smile as they stepped into the elevator. "I'm sure you'll figure it out quite soon."
Kitty Johnson didn't answer. She already knew who was down there— Waylon Jones, a genetic experiment gone bad, and a crazy man gone worse.
But it was nice to know that Jeremiah Arkham had some restraint. Kitty could withstand such snubs if it meant that the offender had a brain. She didn't like how he detested her, though.
Well, maybe detested was too strong a word. It wasn't that extreme, just a bit unnerving. Most people liked Kitty. They smiled at her when she smiled at them. But Dr. Arkham wasn't bought with her pretty face.
She respected that he mistrusted her. Commissioner Gordon hadn't been very explicit with her qualifications, and she didn't look old enough to be out of college. Usually, she was welcomed with open arms. It was nice to meet someone as wary as Jeremiah Arkham who didn't work for the police.
But she much preferred being here, where she knew who was crazy.
Well, for the most part.
She wasn't going to forget the Dr. Crane—Scarecrow incident anytime soon.
Maybe insanity was contagious?
If so, Kitty was hardly one to disagree. She'd watched it spread before. Mob mentality worked for madness as well as mediocrity and mockery.
Maybe even better.
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When the elevator finally slid open, Kitty let Dr. Arkham leave first. She glanced around the elevator, and was surprised not to see any tell-tale signs of cameras. She had expected more surveillance than this.
Well, they'd learn eventually that idiots, not to mention the insane, could come up with things that clever people like her and Arkham would never dream of.
Kitty glanced over at the psychiatrist, who watched her with a perpetual frown as he led her down the corridor. She knew what he was thinking. He thought he knew how it would end: another victory for the Joker, another loss for Gotham, and the rest of the world.
She wasn't afraid of the Joker. She knew she was beyond his corruption, and not only because she knew things he didn't. They were on completely different levels, so to speak, and she had the access to the elevator.
If he wanted to get on the ground floor, he'd have to cooperate.
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Aaron Cash, one of Arkham's guards, watched the Joker on a monitor as other guards tried to get the Joker onto a metal chair. They ignored his hysterical laughter as he flopped around, striking out at them.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. As the door to the maximum-security surveillance room opened, he turned.
"Hi, Mr. Cash."
"Hey, Terry."
Aaron liked Terry Thirteen. He had more brains than the other two interns did, not to mention he was beyond respectful. Maybe the fact that Aaron had subdued one of the most dangerous patients and saved Terry's life in the process helped, but either way. Terry was a good kid.
Terry glanced at the screen, shaking his head as the guards finally got the Joker restrained. "I dun think that's gunna keep'im down."
"Well, we'll see."
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Dr. Arkham opened the door to the Joker's cell. The two guards who'd strapped him down stood on the other side of the room, near an empty folding chair.
"Aha he ha ha hoo. Heh heh. Aha."
Arkham ignored the Joker's dying laughs and turned to beckon Kitty Johnson in. But she was already pushing past him with a confident grin.
"Joker, this is Dr. Johnson."
The Joker peered up at Kitty, his eyes hidden inside the painted black circles. They followed her as she sat down in the folding chair and crossed her legs.
"Well, hell-lo there, doctor."
"My name's Kitty Johnson, and I'm not a doctor. I'm a social worker." She glanced at Dr. Arkham and nodded. With a final look at the Joker, he turned to leave.
He turned back, though, and beckoned the two guards out as well.
When the door closed, the Joker snapped dark eyes back to Kitty Johnson. He licked his lips.
"Well, well, well."
Kitty ignored him. "What I'd like to know is how come you're still wearing that cheap greasepaint." She met his stare dead on. She ran her tongue slowly across her plump lips. His eyes followed its path. "But I'm sure I can talk to someone else about that."
"You, ah, you think you're so smar-T."
"No, I know I'm smart." She scooted the folding chair closer to him, close enough that she reached out and touched his arm. "We can do this hard way, or we can do this the easy way."
"And what is it we, we're going to, ah, do?"
"Talk about you."
He burst into laughter, and she pulled her hand away. "G-g-good luh-K." His chair trembled from his shakes.
"I know things," Kitty said. She absently scratched her wrist. "I know all about you."
"Whatcha wanna bet on that?"
"Everything."
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Aaron Cash and Terrence Thirteen watched the Joker and Kitty Johnson on screen with Dr. Arkham hovering behind their chairs.
"Doctuh Arkham, I think Miss Johnson knows what she's doing," Terry ventured.
He shook his head. "I don't trust her instincts."
Terry and Aaron glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.
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"Now first I want to get on a more intimate basis."
Kitty was standing behind the folding chair, leaning forward on it as she smiled at the Joker. His mouth twitched with amusement.
"DOES that include-ah us getting, ah, closer?" He licked his lips, and she pursed hers.
"I just wanna be friends, Joker. Is that so much to ask?"
He laughed again, and the restraints visibly loosened. "You're in waaaay over yer-rah, your pretty little head." He was suddenly standing.
He stalked to her, but she smiled. With a shove, the chair clanged away, and the Joker herded Kitty against the wall, where she kept smiling even as he pulled out a needle full of who-knew-what from who-knew-where.
"You wanna know how I got these scars?"
"Not really."
He pushed the needle above the collarbone, making a pucker in her skin. "You see-uh, I had this, this friend."
"A bunch of friends."
He frowned. "Now, now, now." He licked the side of his mouth and sucked in his cheeks. "Hush-sh-sh." He pulled the needle away and pressed it against random spots on her neck, moving up until it was between her lips. "These, uh, these friends-suh, they liked to make jokes."
Kitty laughed through her nose. "Bad jokes," she managed. He shoved the needle deeper until she had to fight not to gag.
"Yeah, baaaad jokes. So I didn't laugh. They thought I was, uh, too, too serious. 'You should smile more,' they said."
She tried to say something, but the needle pierced the back of her throat. He pulled it out. She swallowed.
"You mean they said you should cheer up."
"Hahaha! Yes-uh! So they, they, they get a needle, like this one!" He shoved it back in her mouth and pulled it to the corner of her lips. They stretched into a half-smile from the manipulation. "They make it hot-hot-hot-ah, and they stick it in my mouth, and pull right on up!" He jerked on the needle, and pulled it out of her mouth and shoved it into her arm. He didn't push the canister in.
"So now you get the bad jokes."
"Yeaaaah. I get all the b-b-b-bad jokes."
"I know someone who tells bad jokes," Kitty said. She cocked her head. "I bet you know her."
"Oho! Do I now!" He leaned into her, their noses almost touching. She didn't flinch, simply stared at him. "Surprise me," he growled.
"Does the name... Ingrid ring a bell?" The Joker stiffened and pulled the needle out of her arm. "Ingrid Johnston?"
The needle was hovering an inch from her right eye in a millisecond. She smiled as the door banged open and the two guards from before grabbed him. She took a deep breath.
"See? I can make bad jokes too!"
She laughed, cheerful. The guards glanced at her, bewildered and frightened by her. They never laughed in his face. Did she have a death wish?
Terry Thirteen and Aaron Cash followed Dr. Arkham into the room. Kitty had composed herself by then, and she smiled at the three shocked men.
"When's the next appointment?"