Now that the tone's been set, it's time to get to the good stuff!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Joker, etc.
C H a P T e R 2
"Yes, I'm ready..."
"We'll be right behind you, ma'am," one of the guards reassured her. "We've been instructed not to say anything, but we'll be right there with you."
Wiping her clammy hands on her blouse to dry them one last time, Natalie glanced between the two armed men before taking a deep breath and shakily straightening her glasses. "Thank you, gentlemen."
Mustering the confidence that she knew she would be sure to need, she squared her shoulders and reached for the door. She inwardly scolded herself when she pushed it open and nearly leapt out of her skin when its hinges screeched. She knew that she couldn't afford to be so jumpy...she couldn't let her new patient see her in such a vulnerable state.
She took some comfort in knowing that her two chaperones were right behind her – the sound of their footsteps following in tow relieving some of her anxiety, but not quite enough to put her mind at ease. She realized that feeling entirely at ease while being in the same room as him was highly unlikely for anyone, if not impossible. Unless, of course, they too were just as mad and deranged as he was.
Stepping through the threshold, Natalie froze when she spotted her patient sitting behind a metallic table, inattentively staring down at its bare surface while his long, disheveled hair shrouded his face. Doing her best to remain unflustered, she confidently lifted her chin and approached him. Beneath his fading green locks she could partially make out the scarred visage that every soul in Gotham had come to know and fear over the previous months. She herself knew this fear better than most. A lump formed in her throat as she recalled overseeing his interrogation with the Batman, and soon after found herself lying in agony on the floor of Gotham Central. Numerous officers had been killed in the explosion, but she had been more fortunate than those who had perished. She herself had been lucky enough to survive the blast. Sadly, several others had not been so lucky and had lost their lives in the blink of an eye.
More than the explosion, however, Natalie could remember preparing herself for her own death the moment she saw him step through the billowing smoke. But luck, it seemed, had still been on her side, and her presence had gone unnoticed while he triumphantly slipped away into the night. She could still vividly recall the gratified spring in his step as he appeared like an ominous shadow, and vanished an instant later...she could see it as if it had just happened yesterday.
Pulling out the chair opposite his, she forced the horrifying image out of her mind and took a seat. It was a strange thing, to be so close to such a notorious criminal with only a small table standing between them. Even though he was securely wrapped in a straitjacket with no conceivable way of escape, she couldn't help but feel as if her safety was in jeopardy. She couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of dread that ran through her body.
He still didn't acknowledge her arrival as she peered across the table at his barely visible face. The room remained silent for what seemed like an eternity before she finally cleared her throat...
"I am Dr. Harrison," she began. "I have been appointed to take over your case. If you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll do my best to answer them."
He remained silent and unmoving – his gaze intently fixated on the table in front of him.
"Anything at all..." she persisted, waiting for a response.
"You don't have a coat," he said at last.
Natalie couldn't help but quirk a puzzled brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"I know how you doctors love your white coats," he eventually repeated, lazily leaning back in his chair and looking up for the first time. Natalie knew that her fright must have shown the moment she laid eyes on his mutilated cheeks, but the reaction was beyond her control. "So, tell me, doctor...where's your coat?"
Staring at his exposed scars up close and without the make–up that had once disguised them, if only to a certain extent, she couldn't contain a sympathetic wince. He had undoubtedly endured horrible pain when the lacerations were first inflicted. Even sociopaths felt pain, and the severity of the wounds meant that he must have suffered greatly. Such an extreme injury couldn't have been anything less than excruciating, but then again, he was the Joker...he could have just as easily relished the experience.
Clearing her throat a second time, Natalie managed to gather her bearings and compose herself. "I have read over your file quite extensively over the last few weeks. According to the GPD's findings, you have no name on record. Not to mention no prints, no DNA, and no dental records. Nothing but custom clothing and a total of seventeen knives found on your person – including a retractable blade built into the toe of one of your boots. Shall I continue?"
A hint of amusement flickering in his eyes, the Joker merely shrugged nonchalantly as he slouched in his chair to get more comfortable.
"Very well," Natalie said after a slight hesitation. "You were found suspended by a cable 12 stories above the Prewitt building after a failed attempt to blow up two commuter ferries crossing the river. Lau's remains were found shortly thereafter. Autopsy indicated that cause of death was..."
The Joker smirked when she trailed off, leaning forward and slightly cocking his head to the side in feigned interest. "Cat got your tongue, doctor?"
"He was burned alive," she finished.
"Alive?" the Joker questioned, as if appalled by the news. "How terrible! What a world we live in..."
"Would you like to discuss it?"
Once again, he tilted his head to the side and studied her with a long, scrutinizing stare before replying:
"I hate ta break it to ya, doc, but I, uuh...I already got a shrink. He just seems to have, uuh..." he paused to clear his throat, "...gone missing."
"Dr. Waterson has resigned," Natalie explained.
"Resigned?" the Joker repeated. "Too much one–on–one therapy for the good doctor? And we were just getting to know each other."
Natalie intently studied her patient to gauge his reaction. "He didn't just resign from your case, he resigned from Arkham."
Peering at his new guest for a moment longer, the Joker eventually leaned back in his chair, rudely smacking his lips while he casually fidgeted in his straitjacket and readjusted himself.
"What did you say your name was again?"
"My name is Dr. Harrison," she answered.
"Aah, that must make you the quiet one," he retorted. "You're much too serious, Dr. Harrison. How about a joke to break the ice?"
"If you'd like," Natalie agreed. "Go ahead."
"No–no–no, not me...you," he replied, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his twisted lips. "Let's find out what you're made of, hmm?"
"I'm not here to play games."
"Don't be a spoiled sport, doc," he replied with a condescending smirk. "Tell you what...you tell me a joke, and I'll tell you something you wanna know. I mean, that is why you're here, isn't it? For information?"
Opening her mouth to protest, Natalie stopped herself and hesitated for a moment before reluctantly nodding her head in agreement. The Joker definitely did have a way of getting into a persons' psyche and toying with it, and she knew that it would be pointless to argue or deny him his childish games. He was beyond reason, she knew that much going in. If she just went with it and played along, then perhaps she could at least get some answers out of him. But how surreal it would be to exchange jokes with the Joker himself, she thought.
She had always been considered the more serious, brainiac of her family, not a comedian by any stretch of the word. She had, however, growing up around her older brother and several boy cousins, heard her fair share of jokes in her youth – many of which had been so crude and filthy that she didn't think that, even now, she would be able to repeat them aloud without blushing.
Sitting with an expectant expression on his face, the Joker silently waited.
"All right, we can do it your way," she complied, folding her arms across her chest. "Knock, knock..."
"Ooh, going with the classics, are we? How bold," he replied, hunching forward in delighted anticipation. "Uuh...who's there?"
Natalie waited a few seconds before continuing. "Boo..."
"Why are you crying?" the Joker asked, delivering the punchline and prematurely ending the joke. Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he shot her a patronizing glance before looking away as if he found the stark, white walls of the cramped cell that they sat in to be of more interest than her. "Tisk–tisk, doctor...you're going to have to do better than that if you want your answers."
Surprising herself, Natalie suddenly found herself almost annoyed by the Joker's blatant act of superiority. Clenching her jaw, she glared at him for a brief time, contemplating which course of action to take next.
"Fine," she finally spoke up. "Would you like to hear another joke?"
The Joker merely narrowed his skeptical eyes, as if daring her to meet his challenge.
"I know you got it in ya!" he growled, slightly shuddering to show his enthusiasm and emphasize his words.
For a fleeting instant, Natalie debated if whether or not she had decided to do the right thing. In a way, she was only playing along with his demented games because he had already antagonized her to the point of exasperation – not the best of reasons to engage a pyschotic madman.
"A man walks into a bar and orders two drinks. He continues to come in every night until the bartender gets a bit curious and asks him, 'Sir, why do you always ask for two drinks?' The man replies, 'I used to come here with my best friend, but now he's dead, so I drink the second beer on his behalf.' A few days later, the same man comes in and only orders one beer. Curious, the bartender asks him, 'Why only one beer now, Sir?' The man replies, 'I've given up drinking...'"
His expression unreadable, the Joker remained silent for a long, tense moment.
Natalie nearly jumped out of her seat when he suddenly and unexpectedly began to laugh, stooping over and gasping for breath as he bounced up and down in his chair like an excitable child. Tearing her gaze away from the startling sight, she glanced over her shoulder when she heard the guards supervising the session move forward behind her, and motioned for them to stay back. She had possibly made a breakthrough, and the last thing she wanted or needed was outside interference. Grudgingly, they obliged and once again stepped back to take their places beside the door.
His trio of visitors nervously watching on, the Joker refocused his attention on Natalie once his hysterical fit of laughter subsided. "Now, that's the spirit!"
"I'm glad you're pleased," Natalie replied. "So, are you ready to answer one of my questions now?"
"Let me have it, doc," the Joker said as he plopped back down in his chair.
"What's your name?"
"Is that really the best you can do?" he inquired. "Oh, what's in a name?!"
Natalie firmly pressed on. "That is my question."
"Don't you read the newspapers, doctor?" he taunted with a smug grin. "Or, uuh...maybe you just don't recognize me? After all, I didn't have time to put my face on this morning."
"Okay, I have another question for you," Natalie replied, realizing that she was not liable to receive a straight answer on the subject. Perhaps she had been hoping for too much to expect such a significant detail out of him so early on in the process. "Your trial will be underway soon, and Gotham's new D.A. is pushing very heavily for the death sentence. How do you feel about that?"
"See, death is, uuh...just another part of life," the Joker said, leaning over the surface of the table and impulsively wetting his lips. "And if I'm gonna go out, at least I'll go out with a smile on my face..."
"Do you not value your life at all?".
The Joker once again narrowed his eyes. "How old are you?"
"Excuse me?" Natalie asked, unable to hide the fact that she was clearly taken aback by the peculiar question.
"It's a simple question," he prodded. "Come on, what's the magic number? Twentyyy...six? Seven?"
Against her better judgment, Natalie answered truthfully:
"I'm 28 years old."
"Aah, young enough to still be beautiful, but old enough to know a thing or two about how the world really works," he said as he casually tilted forward in his chair. "See, I'm what you would call an enabler. You know, it wasn't my choice, it just sort of...happened. I see things differently – for what they truly are. I'm just trying to get the word out. And you? You with all your, uuh...so–called 'wisdom'...you're the ones who labeled me the outcast, not me."
"How?" Natalie retorted, genuinely fascinated and eager to hear his logic. "Tell me, I want to know how you think others are to blame for your actions...how it's our fault, and not yours."
"Well, I'll tell you, but only if you'll listen. Really...listen," the Joker replied. He waited until Natalie nodded her head, confirming that she was paying close attention:
"It's all a matter of perception. How do you perceive this, you know...how do you see that? What does it mean? Why is it there? Most people, they just drift through life and do whatever they're told to do, go wherever they're told to go...because that's just what civilized folk do. That's what they find acceptable in their little paradise. Just, uuh...fall in line and life will go on, just like that. But the second you turn around and walk the other way...well, then they want your blood, because that means life won't go on. At least, not the way they want it to."
"And you believe this justifies murder?" Natalie asked. "That it rationalizes everything you've done?"
"Call it, uuh...'freedom of expression'," the Joker retorted simply. "I'm just a visionary, nothing more. These people and their perfect world of fast food, fast cars...they don't see the big picture. Always following the pack, running with the herd. 'Cause if they don't, they know that's it. Look at you and your, uuh...wonderful profession you got here. Hmm? Keeping your schedule, working your 9–5. Scared that if you don't follow orders, if you make the tiniest little mistake, you just might go and upset the wrong person."
"You seem to know me very well for only having met me five minutes ago," Natalie responded.
"And why do you think that is, Miss Harrison?" he inquired as he quizzically raised his eyebrows. "It's because you're all part of the same flock, flying high in your flawless, unadulterated existence. See, that's what I've been trying to change...if I don't, who will?"
"So, you believe that you were actually helping the people of Gotham?"
"Oh, I'm not done yet," he corrected her, keenly gazing across the table. "The people of Gotham still have the wool pulled over their eyes. And, despite what you might believe, this, uuh...padded prison of yours...it won't hold me forever."
Natalie intently studied the Joker. He radiated with an air of arrogance, as if he was in on some big secret that the rest of the world didn't yet know about. It was infuriating and unsettling all at the same time. Slouching back in his chair, he sat with a quiet self–assurance while she attempted to decipher his irrational motivation, his pretentious words, his eccentric mannerisms...but all she could perceive was his cool, impenetrable exterior. She hadn't honestly expected to crack his shell in one session, but she had remained optimistic. Now, observing him as he sat only a few feet away from her, she wondered if cracking it was even possible. She wondered if he had already been too far gone, lost in his own delusional fantasies, for too lengthy a time to return...to regain his sanity, if ever he had possessed any degree of sanity to begin with, and someday rejoin society. But one thing she was sure of: he was certainly in no condition to do so at the present time. It was feasible that he could benefit from therapy and the proper medication, but he first had to accept that he needed help.
"Well, I think we have discussed enough for one day," Natalie finally declared as she rose from her seat. "We will pick up where we left off tomorrow afternoon."
"Done so soon, doctor?" the Joker gibed. "Places to go, people to see?"
"We'll resume our session tomorrow," Natalie repeated.
Without another word, she started for the door while the guards standing in wait held it open and stepped aside. As she made her way back out into the corridor, she could hear a low, cavalier voice singing inside the room just behind her:
"Something in the way she moves..."