Bruce's Diary

I spoke to the Joker today. I never thought I'd have a one on one conversation with him, not in his current form. He hasn't got my prerogative of being able to put down his identity: without his make-up, he still looks deformed. He's always carrying that grin.

He still hasn't mentioned his name. Not to anyone. The prison staff used to refer to him by his cell number, but allegedly that angered him so much they had to drop it. So when I stepped into the room with him, I had nothing to call him.

He looked up as if my presence hardly interested him, and continued playing a game of cards with his bound hands. I sat down, two guards stood by the door. He looked at them and said out loud: "This wasn't what we agreed to, doctor."

Dr Shikoba, who had asked me to step in with the Joker, opened the door and gestured at the guards, telling them to get out. She gave me a look of reassurance and I looked back, forcing a smile. She had told me she was getting nowhere with the Joker, and that the only thing he had asked for repeatedly was to talk to me. When she asked me to help her out, I didn't hesitate to say yes. I was curious myself. I had dropped my mask: would he be able to drop his?

After the guards had left the room, he took up his last card and showed it to me. It was a joker card, of course.

"Well, what do you know. What a coincidence," he said.

I continued smiling. "No, it's not. You had that one up your sleeve the whole time."

His grin widened and he started shaking his wrist. Four or five more cards fell out. All joker cards, and from different decks.

"You're right. Nice trick though, huh?"

I folded my hands across the table. "What do you want?"

He glanced at my hands. "You not afraid of what else I might have up my sleeve?"

"No."

"Why not? Think you're safe here?" He folded his hands as well, his and mine almost touched at the middle of the table. "Don't pretend to be a fool like them," he said, tilting his head towards the door. "You're not like them at all, Batsy."

"I'm not the Batman anymore."

"Yeah. And I'm sitting here waddling in my own happiness. Go spread your fairy tales someplace else, Batsy boy."

"My name is Bruce Wayne," I insisted and leaned across the table. "What's yours?"

He chortled. "Mine's Joker. I thought you knew that by now."

"You weren't always. You used to be…"

"No, you're wrong. I was hoping you wouldn't go so low as to try and copy their methods. It's disappointing." He sounded calm and rather bored, like a tutor explaining something to a student over and over again. "I am the Joker. If ever I was anyone else, that person had been long dead and I can't even remember who the hell it was. It's not like I can break out of it, like it's a disease you can cure. It's me. The only way to cure me is to kill me."

"I feel sorry for you," I said.

"Feel sorry for yourself." He shot back. "It's who you are. Bruce Wayne was a scared little kid who died at age nine in a backstreet alley, weeping over his dead parents. You think you lost your mask? This is your mask, my friend. This and your whole 'I'm just a normal Joe'-act. Lose it. It's not who you are."

"You don't know me."

"I know you better than you know yourself. You thought you came here to talk to me? You came here so I could talk to you. I don't pretend to be in control – I am in control. You people just don't realize it yet."

At that point, the door opened and the two guards came back in, followed by doctor Shikoba.

"Your conversation has ended," she said, looking angry and flushed. I wanted to get up and leave, but suddenly the Jokers hands reached out and grabbed mine.

"If you won't listen to me, listen to yourself," he grunted. "You know I'm right." One of the guards lifted his weapon, the Joker let go and held his hands up, to show he meant no more harm. I tried not to stagger when I left the room, I didn't want to admit how upset I was.

I still feel that way right now.