Hi, I want to thank you all for the reviews and interest shown in the story. Sorry it has taken so long to get the second part out, but I will try to update more frequently. Enjoy!

"Yes, I should be back on the eighth…No, he should be fine. Just make sure you always start the conversation with 'How is it you want to talk today?' or else he won't say a word. It's a weird quirk he has, but just go with it. And as for Ariana, just don't look her directly in the eye and act like you are distracted with something, or else she'll think your listening…What?...Oh, just make sure you don't mention anything to do with bugs. He has a huge phobia and he'll go berserk." I listened to the frantic voice of Dr. Kendrid as she feverishly shot questions about every one of my patients. I could hear her scribbling what I said in the background. She was fairly new and very afraid of screwing things up. If she did a good job replacing me while I spent the month evaluating the Joker, she might get the promotion she always wanted.

I didn't bother smiling at the man who guarded the steel door to the patient's cells, simply flashing my pass and going through, my heels clicking, the sound bouncing off the walls. I was still miffed about having to do the whole thing in the first place. "Okay listen, Helen, I got to go. My appointment is going to begin. Good luck." Without waiting for a reply, I flipped the phone shut. It wasn't that I was bitter towards her, though I suppose I was a bit jealous that she got to do my job, work with my patients while I evaluated some murderer. Never, in the past four years at Beckfield (with the exception of the incident), had I missed a single appointment. Now I would be missing out on a month's worth, all because the government wanted me specifically to tell them whether the clown was insane or not. Bloody hell, I had figured it out in as little as fifteen minutes in the courtroom with the guy. There has to be someone else with half a brain and a PhD to do this job.

My supervisor, Dr. Jonathan Crane, a good-looking man in his late-twenties, met with me in his office. We briefly went over the Joker's profile and he handed me forms and a few tapes. Afterward, he led me to a small room, which would be my office. It was half the size of my own at Beckfield, but that was okay. I would only be working with one patient, and this was only temporary. I set down my box, filed with my books, studies, and other files I thought would help with the case. "You have about an hour to review those tapes and the information before you are scheduled to have a contained session with the Joker. The session will only last one hour, because let me warn you now: He is very good at mind games. Previously, he has driven numerous psychologists to their breaking point; so if there is anytime at all during the session you feel overwhelmed, don't hesitate to leave. You will meet with him twice a day, to fill the two-hour-a-day quota the court demanded. Any questions?"

I shook my head, and he left me to stuff a tape into an old VCR. Absently, I watched as the screen flickered to life. There was something I didn't like about Dr. Crane. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I trusted it. Usually my gut feelings were right, as if my subconscious had picked up on something that reason couldn't digest. Eventually, it would play out, but until then, I would keep my distance from Crane.

An hour later, I knew everything I needed to know about the Joker and more. But I was disturbed. There were moments where I could sense the sanity in him; no matter how twisted it was, it was there. But then there were times that he was just as crazy as the next Arkham patient. I wasn't sure what to label him.

I waved off the guard at the door and slid my entrance card into the slot. The red light above the door flickered to green and the steel door opened. I stepped in, resisting the urge to shield my eyes. The room was unbearably bright with overbearing fluorescent lights and luminous white walls. I hated bright places almost as much as I hated being touched. Would it look odd if I wore sunglasses for the next session?

The only source of color in the room was the Joker himself. He was even more scuffed up than the last time I had seen him. Most of his make-up had been smudged off, but instead of giving a more clarifying view of his face, it distorted it. The scars were far more visible and my interest peaked as I wondered where they came from. He was dressed in the usual Arkham attire: white jumpsuit. His dark eyes followed me as I made my way to the desk.

The room was split in two, divided by thick, bulletproof glass. The Joker's side was bare, with the exception the chair that he was handcuffed to. My side was similar, although I had a small desk to place my files on.

I sat lazily, setting the folders down neatly. There was a moment of silence as I simply observed the Joker, trying to read him though his posture. Presently, I got the feeling he didn't care.

I broke the silence with a strong, though detached voice. "What do you live by?" He raised an eyebrow and I clarified. "What set of codes, not necessarily morals, do you act by? What's your motto?" I leaned back in my chair, letting myself assume the laid back posture. It was always best with his types to act as if I couldn't care less whether he answered or not. But he would answer. I had marked him as someone who liked to be heard. How could he mess with my mind if he didn't speak?

It turns out I was right. He wetted his lips thoughtfully. "It changes from day to day," he answered finally, knowing my next question.

I asked it anyways. "And what is today's?"

His grin grew malicious. "Curiosity killed the cat." I couldn't help but smirk. Now I remembered why working with the criminally insane had always been my passion. They are just so much more interesting than the others.

"And the day you blew up that building? What was it then?"

Had he been able, he would've stroked his chin. "I ah, believe it went along the lines of the Big Bang Theory…"

He was trying to plant the suggestion of multiple persona in my mind. He clearly wanted me to think he was insane. Oh yes, he was good. Too bad I was better.

After another moment of silence, I suddenly sat upright in my chair. "I'll bet you like games, Joker?" I let excitement flood my actions and voice. I wanted to change that 'I don't give a damn' posture he was carrying.

He rolled his eyes. "If this is one of those 'you ask a question and I answer' sort of games, you're in for a disappointment."

I let a small smile play on my lips. "Not exactly."

He met my eyes for an unnaturally long time before saying, "What are the rules?"

Although the intensity of his gaze unsettled me, I kept the eye contact. I'm naturally competitive. "No rules, except one: You must lie. That's it. Let's play it like the rest of the world plays it: with lies. In fact, that is a fabulous name for the game: The Lying Game. Now I start. Ready?" Ah, there it was: a twitch of his fingers. He was interested after all.

He nodded. "Okay, my first question is this: Have you ever killed by accident?" I noticed in satisfaction that he leaned forward a little. I saw the curiosity flicker in his eyes. I had his attention.

He smirked. "Yes. My granny was in a mall when I blew it up." He dissolved into a fit of giggles. Meanwhile, I translated it into the truth: No, he had never killed by accident.

Well, either that or it was just the story about his grandmother that was untrue. That was the problem with this game, too many open options, so I just had to trust my gut. "My turn!" he squealed and made to clap his hands, but was prevented of this by the handcuffs. He glared down at them, his lip twitching in annoyance. "Have you ever been handcuffed?" he suddenly asked.

I settled back and folded my arms, appreciative of the fact I could do so. "Nope," I lied. "Been pure as driven snow since birth." He finally turned his attention away from the handcuffs and to me, a menacing smile on his face. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but I was careful not to show it.

I thought for a moment. "What is more satisfying: watching someone die slowly, or watching their mind crumble?"

I didn't like whatever flashed through his eyes. After wetting his lips, he answered sinisterly, "Watching someone die." I wasn't naïve as to what he was hinting at. I saw the threat behind those words. But of course, he had just provided me with something incredibly useful.

He was a manipulator.

And manipulators are always the best actors. He had just moved himself one notch in the sane scale, and one step closer to death penalty. However, a few seconds later, he randomly started giggling again. Okay, one notch back down.

I gestured, as it was his turn, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but was interrupted when the steel door swung open. In stepped a woman with beautiful golden hair, pale brown eyes, and full lips. Panic flitted through her pretty features as her gaze fell on me. She didn't even bother glancing at the Joker. "Dr. Dawn, I need to speak with you for a moment," she announced, her voice slightly shaking. I stood in surprise. No one was allowed in the room while an evaluation was taking place. I crossed the room, the Joker grumbling about how he was missing his turn, and approached the girl. She leaned in to whisper something to me, laying her hand on my shoulder as she did so. I couldn't repress the flinch that came with the gesture. Suddenly realizing what I had just done, I glanced over at the Joker, praying he hadn't seen.

The look on his face told me he had. Shit shit shit shit…

That was the worst thing I could've done. That small movement had given away one of my biggest fears, which is something that should be kept a secret at all costs when dealing with people like the Joker. I forced myself to tear my gaze from the clown and focus on what the girl was saying, trying to keep my thought away from the fact she was still touching me…

Her words though immediately blocked out anything that my mind happened to possess. "Dr. Dawn, there has been a threat on your life. The police need to speak with you right away." My throat went dry. Who would be threatening my life? His horrible face appeared in my mind's eye. No it couldn't be…he was locked away, hundreds of miles from here…

Again, I made a second mistake for the session: I let my emotions show. Briefly, for no longer than a few seconds, my face held the terror I felt at the thought of him returning. I had just broken one of my biggest rules.

I noted the Joker licked his lips in interest. I refused to think about him right now. There were far more pressing matters.

So, without a second thought, I gently shrugged off the woman's hand, forcing back a cringe as I did so, and addressed the Joker hurriedly, "Hey, it turns out that we're going to have to continue our game a little later. Get some good lies ready." Without waiting for a response, I followed the woman out of the room, the steel door shutting behind me. She led me to a large meeting room, where about three cops were gathered, along with an older man with a heavy mustache, thick glasses, and small frame. I vaguely recognized him as the new Commissioner, Golden or Gamen or something. The woman that had led me to the room left, closing the door behind her.

The Commissioner's expression was grim as he introduced himself. "Dr. Dawn, I'm Commissioner Gordon from the Gotham Law Enforcement Department. We need to have a word with you."

My fingers had gone strangely numb. I struggled to keep my voice steady. "What is this about, Commissioner?" Oh God, please don't say what I think he's going to say…"

Gordon sighed and lifted a small remote, which was for the projector screen in on the far wall. "This morning there was a small break-out at the Yorkshire Psychiatric Institution. Only one patient made it out." The projector screen flickered to an image that made my blood run cold. The familiar eyes were bearing down at me.

It was him.