(Alas, one of my crappier chapters, which is why I put it off for so long. Good news, though, is that it is a long piece of crap, if that helps at all. Thank you for the reviews and enjoy.)

"Nice ride!" the Joker called to me against the roar of the wind. I gripped the door handle tightly, watching as we whizzed past a line of cars, weaving in and out of traffic. As it turns out, the Joker is uh…you know those reckless drivers that you learned about in Driver's Ed? The one you always see in those gory movies who drives sixty over and never uses turning signals? The one you always think to yourself while watching the video, 'Like anyone would be stupid enough to give that idiot a car anyways…' Well, the Joker, it appears, is one of those drivers. Also, it appears I am one of those stupid people.

But I really couldn't drive. As a part of my plan, I had to look like I was a hostage. If, after my little deal follows through, I ever wanted to get back to any semblance of a normal life, being a mass murderer's accomplice was not the way to go about it. So after I sufficiently distracted the guards long enough for the Joker to head bash one of them in the nose and get his hands on one of their guns, I had appeared to be nothing more than a hostage. I am a wonderful actor, apparently, as the Joker had commented this when we busted out the glass in my office (after both men were effectively gagged and subdued), which was just down the hall. Because it was after hours, there was far less security than if it had been daylight. Because of my position as the Joker's psychiatrist, I also had the code for the tracker on his ankle. We tore out of the Arkham parking lot less than twenty minutes later. I probably deserved some villain's award or something.

"You know, there really is no need to draw attention to yourself. The last thing we need is a high-speed chase," I pointed out, keeping my white-knuckled grasp on the door. Maybe there was some way to make it look like I was a hostage and still be able to drive…

The Joker gave me a pitiful expression, taking his eyes off the road, where they should have been. "Sin," he complained, like a pleading puppy, "let me have a little fun. I've been locked up for like what, two weeks? Cut a guy some slack."

Had I not been so afraid for my life, I probably would have rolled my eyes. However, the blaring of car horns around us made it hard to concentrate on sarcastic gestures. I had always considered myself a bit of a reckless driver, but this…this was madness.

But what else should I expect? The Joker lived for madness.

I yelped when we grazed the bumper of the car in front of us. Normally I wouldn't be so easy to rile. Usually it takes a lot more than some bad driving to scare me. Daniel could attest to that. Unfortunately, all of those worries and doubts I should have been having back in the interrogation room were starting to creep up on me. How could I have ever led myself to believe, even for a second, that I could have control over this? Did I really think I could keep this crazy clown from killing more innocent people? What exactly did I have to threaten him with?

I blamed Daniel. This was, after all, his entire fault. He was the one who drove me to such desperateness. Looking over at the maniac smile plastered on the Joker's face, I wondered, how desperate had I been to resort to this?

I closed my eyes, attempting to find a shred of reasonable consciousness amidst all the insanity I had created. Yes, I had broken the Joker out of the asylum. Yes, he was a murderer, who was quite possibly insane (although I hadn't diagnosed him yet). But he hasn't shown me anything thus far to prove it wasn't his intention to kill Daniel. I could only assume for now that he was going to keep to his word.

My breath caught in my throat when I opened my eyes and caught a glimpse of flashing red and blue lights. "Shit!" I swore harshly, looking over my shoulder and seeing about six approaching cop cars, all trailing us.

Our new companions seemed to finally catch the Joker's attention for he started giggling insanely. "Grab the wheel, Barbie," he ordered, and before I could prepare myself, he let go and turned around, pulling the stolen gun out of his jumpsuit pocket (he was still in that blinding white asylum outfit). Frantically, I launched myself across the middle console and at the steering wheel, holding it steady, all the while ending up half in the Joker's lap, flinching at the contact. A smug expression peered down at me as I attempted to straighten the car out. My poor BMW… "A little eager, Sin, aren't we?" the Joker taunted.

I ignored him and instead focused on the gun in his hands. "Hey," I hissed. "No killing anyone but Daniel. That was part of the deal."

I started wriggling out of my seatbelt so that I could sit straight and control the car. This position was making me a little nervous.

The Joker twirled the gun expertly on his finger, as if he was pondering something. "You know, I don't think it counts as a deal, as I was whacked out on medications…That is taking advantage of me, Sin…"

Grumbling profanities under my breath, I took one hand off the steering wheel and after a moment's struggle, unbuckled my seatbelt, sighing in relief when I sat up from the Joker's lap and into the middle consol. I then attempted to concentrate on the road, not on what the Joker had just told me. Which was basically, he didn't give a shit about whatever deal I made with him. Which meant that my last thread of reasonable consciousness had been plucked.

I struggled for something to say, to make him hold his word for at least the time being. I worked my face into a disappointed expression. "Mnh, I thought it would be interesting to see the infamous Joker manage out of a police chase without use of a weapon, but I suppose if he simply cannot…"

Immediately, the Joker stopped twirling the gun and narrowed his eyes at me. "What are you trying to say Sin?" he shot at me. Careful to keep my eyes on the road, I forced my voice to remain detached.

"All I'm saying is that I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to give yourself a bit of a challenge, Joker. It would be too easy to shoot their tires out, cause a bit of a pile-up and get off scott-free. But to actually outrun them would be a bit more difficult. I was just wondering if it was too difficult for you…" I trailed off and let him absorb my words.

After a moment's thought and suspicious glaring in my direction, he slowly returned his gun to his coat pocket. Then he shoved my hands off the wheel and took over. I resisted sighing in relief. No one was getting hurt. Yet.

Suddenly, he burst into laughter and yanked the wheel to the side. Sitting in the middle and no longer having a door handle to hold on to, I was helplessly tossed about. "Let's see what you got, boys in blue!" he cackled, turning the wheel again, and thus the car, and thus me, to the other side. The tires squealed, and I cursed myself for suggesting the Joker outrun them. This, most definitely, could not be in my best interests.

I bit my lip nervously, though instantly regretted it a few seconds later because we hit a small pothole and it made the car bounce, my teeth cutting into my lower lip. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth and the Joker's insane laughter roared in my ears, the sirens not far behind.

Dear God, what have I done?

"Ah! Home, sweet home!"

The Joker clapped his hands together and the lights flickered on, revealing a dimly lit large room, with several hallways leading off into unknown places. There wasn't even carpet, and the walls were still in the plaster stage. Trash littered the ground and the sparse furniture was horribly moth-eaten. I wrinkled my nose at the stench, which was a mix of explosives and dirty socks. I caught sight of a rat scuttling along in one of the corners. Nervously, I fingered my bracelet.

But what caught my attention was that one of the walls was covered in newspaper clippings and articles. All the faces had clearly been given exaggerated smiles with red pen. I moved to examine them, my natural curiosity getting the better of me, but jumped slightly when the Joker whistled loudly.

There were the immediate thuds of pounding footsteps to answer him back. In less than a minute, eight men were assembled, most looked as if they had been asleep. Each of them blended in with the scruffy walls, like they belonged. Their eyes widened at the Joker. "Hey boss! I thought you weren't getting out of joint for a month!" one short, bulky man exclaimed, wiping his filthy hand on his greasy shirt. I noticed a few bloodstains faded into his clothing as well.

"Shut up Sampson," the Joker snapped, and then the smile grew wicked on his face as he licked his lips. "You know boys, I was getting awful lonely in there, wondering where my hounds were…"

Sampson spoke up again. "But boss! You said we wasn't supposed to break you out until after the mayor did that speech in a month!"

Quick as a flash, the Joker had the stolen gun out and had pulled the trigger. Sampson dropped dead to the ground. The sound of the gunshot rang in my ears; I stared in horror at the body on the ground, which was now a massacre of red, eyes open and unstaring. It reminded me so much of a certain other body that I froze and stared at the corpse, a rush of unwanted emotions and memories flooding though me. Frantically, I fought against them, pushing them back into the corners of my mind, where they belonged.

Luckily, the Joker didn't seem to notice my little internal combat. Instead, he rounded on the rest of his henchmen, who had suddenly gone rigid and lost that sleepy posture they had been carrying. When the Joker whips out a gun, I suppose they knew that it was time to act professional. Occasionally, one of them would glance over in my direction, obviously bewildered by my presence, but they had enough sense not to ask.

"Now," the Joker continued on, in a cheerful voice. "I was sitting there, wondering why in the world I wasn't seeing fireworks and sunshine. I mean, my dogs must've seen the news. They must've known that they needed to do their jobs…"

The Joker trailed off, twirling his gun before his dark eyes landed on what looked like the oldest man there, a tall willowy sort of person most likely in his early sixties. His face among the others was the only one that remained unchanged when the Joker shot Sampson. His rheumy eyes were tired. It was his weary expression that forced my gaze away from the dead body on the ground.

"Old Yeller!" the Joker cried out happily, as if greeting an old friend. "My most loyal mutt! I thought that I left you in charge when I was gone…"

The elderly man, Old Yeller, pursed his lips. "Boss, I followed your instructions," he said simply, his voice raspy and cracked from cigarettes.

The Joker tisked, that sinister smile ever present. "Now now, Old Yeller. You must've seen the news. You must've known that my little plan wasn't going to follow through when she," he jerked his thumb at me and all the men's eyes followed its direction, "got involved. I said break me out in a five weeks, but in four weeks I might've been in the electric chair…tisk tisk tisk…Old Yeller, I thought you would've had common sense…"

The old man seemed too disheartened to either bother replying. The Joker started twirling his gun again, boring his gaze into his wrinkled features. "Did you ever see Old Yeller? See, Old Yeller was this faithful, loyal dog that always obeyed his master. But then one day he turns on him and the master has no choice but to…well, shoot him." There was a slight pause, and I knew what was coming, but I had no way to brace myself against it. I had to bite my tongue to keep from screaming; the Joker barely aimed and hot lead hit the man square in the chest. For an instant, the tired eyes flickered in fear before they became glass. I winced when the body hit the ground. The Joker giggled. "That part of the movie always got to me," he joked aloud, laughing even harder.

The men barely reacted this time. None of them wanted to make a wrong move. After he calmed down, the Joker started shooting off orders. "Sparky and Otis! Clean this mess up! Spike and Rex, go make sure we weren't followed by the police. Fluffy, go shake up our man down at the station and find out what they are planning to do about my little escape. Lassie! Go make up a room for our guest here. We want her to be comfortable, don't we?" They all nodded obediently and went about doing as the Joker said. Two of them grabbed the two bodies by the elbows and dragged them out of the room, leaving a thick blood of trail behind.

The Joker approached me, and I forced myself into a detached state. The Joker couldn't know how much his murderous actions were affecting me or else he would use them against me. But I could still feel their dead eyes watching me… My skin crawled. "Aww Sin," he said piteously, "I hope you aren't regretting letting me out of the nut house, because I think we are going to have a lot of fun together…and well, there really isn't anything you can do about it now is there?" He cackled, high and cold, and my fists clenched.

I fixed him with a hard glare. "When are you going after Daniel?" I asked finally.

At my lack of response towards his taunting, he grew furious. Without warning, he had shoved me against the wall, with a pocketknife, though I haven't a clue where it could have come from, to my throat. I felt the cool blade against my skin, making me flinch. My mind started to spin out of control, my thoughts screaming against the contact…

"Sin, Sin, Sin," he chastised, much like he had chastised Old Yeller before murdering him. "I don't think you understand. There aren't any big bad doctors with needles and straightjackets to keep you safe here. There isn't a glass wall between you and me. And there aren't any handcuffs to keep me from wrapping my hands around that pretty little neck of yours. This is my world now and my rules. So you don't tell me what to do and when to do it. Understand?" For emphasis, he let the blade of the knife bite into my skin.

Everything he told me hit me like a rock wall, momentarily making me forget about my fear of being touched. It was true, all of it. I had nothing to protect me, nothing that could keep him in line, nothing to control him with…

Well, except my mind of course.

If there was one thing I had learned in all my years of criminal psychology, it was that, when used correctly, a little manipulation could be as effective as a gun at the head, or in this case, a knife to the throat. But I would have to be very careful. One slipup and it could be fatal…

The Joker's breath was hot against my cheek, and I forced back an uncomfortable squirm at the proximity of his face. The knife dug deeper into my skin, stinging, as the Joker impatiently waited for me to agree. I let the corners of my lips curve into a smile, even though smiling was the last thing I felt like doing. "Ah Joker, this is so typical of you. Assert your authority by killing a few people and threatening everyone else." Although he terrified me, I felt a small surge of satisfaction to see the surprise flash though his eyes. I leaned forward a little, though my instincts fought against it, just to show him he didn't scare me and went on, "You forget Joker, this isn't the first time I've had to face a patient without the handcuffs and straightjacket."

The Joker's grip on my shoulder tightened until it was almost painful. "Yeah, but I just might be the first one with the guts to end your miserable life," he hissed, the creases in his face deepened with anger.

I raised a lazy eyebrow, simulating boredom, even though my nerves were electrified with the anxiety. "Really now? Go ahead, nothing's stopping you," I challenged. I was unsure if I was pushing him too far. My heart started thudding in my throat. My fingers shook.

But I never got to find out what the Joker would've done because one of the men, Sparky, I think, stumbled back into the room. "Boss!" he announced, the tremor of panic in his voice. "There is something on TV I think you should see."

After a second's hesitation, the Joker let go of me, and I rubbed the blood on my neck with my sweater sleeve, relief at being away from his touch overwhelming. The Joker reluctantly returned his knife to his pocket and wordlessly told me to follow him. I trailed along after him, more out of curiosity than compliance. What was on the TV that was so important?

Sparky led us down a hall and into a larger, just as filthy room, which appeared to be something similar to a living room. Against the wall was a good-sized TV, with trash piled high on top. A few of the men were sitting around it, watching intently. Once turned up the volume. But I barely noticed any of that, because on the TV was the one face I dreaded above everything else.

"So uh…Joker, is it?" Daniel said lazily, a gun to the head of a talk show host. "I think you have something that belongs to me."