Genevieve backed away slowly towards the door, and she found herself having a difficult time blinking. She couldn't figure out how this could have happened, how she could have possibly ended up in his room instead of her assigned one. She would have thought of it as a sick joke, but a wrenching feeling in her gut told her that the wording of that particular phrase was probably not the most comforting during a time like this.
"H-hello, Mr. Joker," she said, trying her best to make her voice sound as normal as possible. It wouldn't make a difference if the Joker could smell fear—it was written all over her.
"Call me Mr. J," he said with a suspiciously friendly tone to his voice. He remained seated on his bed, his stark-white hands folded politely on his lap.
"Um, I'm sorry, I-I must have come into the wrong room…" she sputtered anxiously, trying to subtly reach for the metal box behind her. For the first time during her two days at Arkham, she was thankful that Skelter had opened his mouth.
He got up in a flash and pressed his hand against the shockingly white wall, his arm blocking her from the task of pressing the button for help. She bit her lip as the tall man lowered his head so it was level with hers, pressing her against the wall, his bleached-white face too close for comfort.
"Oh, don't leave so soon!" he said, his voice suddenly high-pitched and disappointed. She felt a fresh stab of fear hit her straight in the chest as his already disturbingly large smile grew even wider. His voice quickly adopted a more scolding tone. "Don't you want to know what I'm thinking? You are supposed to be a shrink, you know."
Genevieve didn't want to know what was he was thinking; all she wanted to do was get out of there and run away as far as her wobbling legs would allow. But something about his tone was so chilling, so inevitably threatening, that she felt like she had no other choice but to inquire what was on the mind of this utterly insane man.
"W-what are you thinking?" she asked, her voice merely reduced to a weak, trembling whisper. He paused, and his wide grin suddenly turned into a leer. She felt her stomach grow weak as his bright green eyes bore into her own. He leaned in even further, the wall preventing her from evading the strong lack of personal space.
"Just how much," he whispered quietly into her ear, a long finger brushing against her cheek, "you remind me of a young Harleen Quinzel."
His finger slipped off of her cheek lazily, heat replacing its presence on her skin immediately after. She stood there, frozen. She just wanted nothing but to melt there right on the spot so she wouldn't have to endure this torture anymore. Being cornered by the Joker in a small, locked room while he compared her to his long-time lover was not how she wanted to spend her day. She was completely aware that he was just trying to make her uncomfortable, playing with her fears, and enjoying the reaction thoroughly like the sick psychopath he was. He was certainly succeeding in his efforts.
"Did I see a blush?" he asked loudly, his voice now frightfully gleeful. Genevieve looked down, because she feared that looking at him for another second would give her a heart attack. She felt weak. She hated how this man could reduce her to nothing but an empty shell of fear, making her incapable of coherent words and any kind of assertion. But she supposed that was the effect he had on most people. There was a reason why he was the most feared man in Gotham.
"Well," he said, his hand now wrapping around her neck delicately, "I wonder what the rest of your lovely face would look like just as red." She gasped, and his hand squeezed her neck fiercely. She reeled at the pain, and her knee came in hard contact with his crotch. He let go of her neck and growled, falling onto the floor in pain. She immediately ran to the metal door and pounded on it profusely.
"Somebody help me!" she screamed as loudly as she could, her voice still hoarse from the Joker's crushing grip. "Please, somebody! Please!"
She screamed again as she felt a hand clutch around her ankle, which only made her slam her fists against the door even harder. She then felt him yank abruptly on her leg, and she stumbled, hitting the ground with a painful thud. His loud, raucous laughter filled her ears, and she couldn't help but pray during what she was sure to be her last living moments.
Then she heard another noise. She looked up, and a cold, bitter burst of relief flowed through her as she saw the open door to the room. Skelter was standing there with a taser in hand, his expression peculiarly neutral. He charged forward and pressed the small device to the Joker's wrist, and the green-haired man yelled out in pain, releasing Genevieve from his clutch once again. She scrambled to her feet and made a dash towards the door, not looking behind her as she ran as fast as her legs would possibly allow her.
Genevieve quickly grabbed her purse from her employee locker and immediately began to make her way towards the women's restroom. When she entered the bathroom, she hastily slammed the door of the stall behind her and dropped down onto her knees. With a cry, she heaved whatever contents her stomach held into the toilet. When she finished, she sat down on the tiled floor beneath her and wiped the tears of strain and horror from beneath her red eyes.
She didn't understand what had gone wrong. She couldn't fathom why the first two days of her new life happened to be the worst two days of her entire life. She just wanted to help the helpless, to examine the truly fascinating, and to live the rest of her life happily working at the job of her dreams. Instead, she met very unfriendly people who probably have very unfriendly intentions, and was locked in a room with the most renowned serial killer in all of Gotham. All she wanted to do now was to go to her home in Opal City and see her aunt again, the only family she had, and the only person she loved; but she was stuck in this absolute Hellhole of a city, and she had nowhere to go but her small, unwelcome apartment. A quiver from her lip and a fresh stream of tears told her that leaving this horror of a building and going home to that very place would not be a terribly bad idea.
She wiped her mouth with a piece of toilet paper and headed out the door, not before splashing a handful of cold water on her clammy face. If she was going to cower all the way home, she at least didn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of her tears.
She walked quickly through the dark halls, avoiding looking into any of the rooms completely. She didn't even think twice about the 200s wing when she passed it; her only concern was getting out of there, going home, and dealing with her emotions in a more private environment. Once she got to the front-office, she approached the slight man, attempting to disguise her anguish with nausea.
"I think I'm going to head home a little early today… I'm feeling really terrible right now." She pressed a hand to a stomach for effect. He looked at her disbelievingly, then nodded once.
"Get some rest," he said. He then looked down and resumed writing whatever it was he was working on. She sighed and left the office, the fresh air hitting her face and calming her nerves slightly. She stumbled wearily towards her car, pulled her keys out of her pocket, and began the long drive home.
When Genevieve arrived at her apartment, the very first thing she did was collapse heavily onto her bed. Her life had just shattered before her, and she didn't want to have to deal with any obligations or problems whatsoever. All she wanted to do was lie there, away from reality, away from fear.
She rested there quietly for what felt like ages, until she felt herself drift into an exhausted sleep. She slept for about six hours before the sound of her house phone broke her out of her long, empty, meaningless dreams. She lifted herself up off the bed slowly and made her way towards the kitchen, her feet dragging morosely as she did so. When she finally got to the phone, she answered it, the cord wrapping around her arm as she leaned warily against the counter.
"Who is it?" she asked, a little irritated that her sleep was being interrupted. Out of all the times someone could have called her, why did it have to be tonight?
"Sweetie, it's me, Elaine," the voice coming out of the receiver said, its tone warm and unexpectedly familiar. "Are you alright? You don't sound so good."
Her aunt. She didn't know whether to feel happy about hearing her voice or miserable that she wasn't there with her; but either way, her lip started to tremble, and she began to sob into the phone. She cried to her about the last two days, and the woman on the other end of the line remained completely silent as she did so. After she finished recounting what happened after she had her meeting with the Joker, Elaine finally spoke, and she sounded afraid.
"I knew moving there would be a terrible idea," she began, her voice urgent. "You should come home right now. I don't like knowing that you're in that horrible city when I can't get a hold of you."
"What do you mean?" Genevieve asked, her tears slowly subsiding with confusion. "You haven't tried contacting me before tonight."
"That's not true. I called your cell at least three times today."
Genevieve froze. She had forgotten her cell phone at Arkham. Not just her cell phone, but her credit card, her money, and her driver's license. She must have left her purse in the bathroom stall after she had vomited, too shaken up to even notice that she had forgotten it.
"Shit," she whispered to herself.
"What was that? Is something wrong, sweetheart?" Elaine asked, concerned.
"It's nothing," she lied. She didn't want to add on to her aunt's concern. "Thank you so much for calling, it was really, really great to hear your voice again." Genevieve truly meant it. She had been so lonely in Gotham that it was almost surreal to be talking to someone who wasn't out to make her life miserable.
"Of course. Please, come back home. You can stay with me, and we can find some place else for you—somewhere back in Opal City, where you belong." Warmth flooded through Genevieve. Her aunt's words eased the pain in her chest, and she seriously considered her words. As upset as she was, she wasn't entirely sure if she should give up on Gotham, but the offer was undeniably tempting.
"I love you, honey. Take care," Elaine said, stressing the last sentence with pure sincerity.
"You too," Genevieve responded, her voice soft. She hung up the phone and sighed warily, pondering what her next move should be. It was a Friday, so she didn't have work tomorrow, and she definitely couldn't go without her purse for an entire weekend, especially when she knew that it was abandoned at Arkham. She didn't expect that it would be exactly safe out in the open in a restroom, even if it was just for employee use. For all she knew, it could have been stolen by now, someone already adopting her identity and buying large meals and fancy jewelry with her long-time savings. She groaned angrily, grabbed her coat, and headed towards the door of her apartment. She wasn't tired at all, so she might as well pick up her purse before it got swiped, assuming it hadn't been already.
The cold night air sent a shiver down her spine as she climbed into her car. She had a feeling that going back wasn't going to do well to her mood and comfort, especially after the terrifying ordeal she had gone through earlier that day. But she wouldn't be inside a cell anymore, and that thought comforted her somewhat as she turned her key in the ignition.