Samantha entered her office and sat at her desk, trying to get her bearings straight. Opening one of the locked drawers, she pulled out a bottle of Valium and took one; she was going to need it. Glancing at the clock, she only had an hour before the Joker would be dragged into her office. She needed just that much time to try to get some notes written.
The hour flew by and Samantha sighed heavily when she heard a familiar knock coming from outside her door. The same guards from yesterday came in, dragging the Joker who was looking incredibly pleased with himself.
"Doctor, we aren't taking off any cuffs today seein' as how yesterday went," one guard said. Samantha nodded, not feeling like starting an argument. The Joker was almost thrown on the couch and the guards walked out the door. Samantha went to her chair, opposite her patient, and stared hard at him. For a moment, it seemed as though no one was going to break the silence.
"Nice furniture, better than that black leather stuff," the Joker said, touching the brown leather.
"Yeah," was all Samantha could manage without losing her temper.
"Yeah? Cat got your tongue, doc? Still riled up about yesterday I take it?" He raised an eyebrow.
"You just love the idea that I probably thought about you most of the afternoon, don't you?"
"I'm flattered, I didn't know you felt that way. So how are things on the home front?"
"We're not here to talk about me; we've been over this before. Today, you're not leaving this office until you say something somewhat constructive." Samantha wasn't budging on the last part, she was done playing the Joker's games and wanted to get to the bottom of things.
"I don't apologize," he said flatly, as he wetted his lips. The Joker shifted uncomfortably, clearly irritated that his feet were cuffed as well as his hands.
"And I didn't expect you to apologize," Samantha said coldly; she moved to her desk chair and started to shift through papers until she found the one she wanted. She started to write, not speaking or looking in the Joker's direction.
"What? Think you're too good to talk to me; well I've got news for you, you're not good and neither is anyone else. People are only good as society lets them be, take Dent for example. He thought he was good, until I ruined society's plans. Now he's six feet under and was just as horrible a killer as I'm accused of being," he said calmly. Samantha looked up; checking his face for any sort of expression, there was none.
"No, you fight a never ending battle. People are inherently good or evil depending on how you look at life. You can sit there and tell me there is no such thing as a good person, but you are wrong, dead wrong. You fight an inconsistent battle in yourself over what is right or what is wrong." Samantha continued to write, the Joker looked in her direction, eyeing her curiously. "And what do you mean, killer? He died an honorable man, considering how he was tortured."
"Now, now beautiful, don't tell me lies. I don't fight an inner battle between good and evil. I am evil, I am chaos, and no one but a select few will ever understand. It was more fun playing my games than killing people or getting money. This was never about money, never. What would I do with money? Plastic surgery?" He giggled at his own joke. "What are you writing anyways?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Oh, very mature." The Joker shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some position that would provide comfort.
"Comfortable?" Samantha asked snidely, she didn't feel like being nice. She pulled out a small set of keys from her pocket and sat them on her desk; the Joker's eyes widened a little.
A smile spread across the Joker's face, further emphasizing the slashes in his cheeks."Well, it looks like you can make me a bit more comfortable."
"No, not until you offer something more than talk about chaos. And not until you promise me that you will not touch me the way you did yesterday," the last part was almost spit out. The Joker grinned and just sat there for a moment. "Well, if you don't, you can either go back to your cell or just sit there. Either way, I just don't care today."
"I'll go back to my room; I don't compromise with anyone," he folded his hands and just stared Samantha down. She got up slowly and walked over to him, putting her hands on her knees and meeting the Joker at eye-level.
"Good, I was hoping you'd say that. And since you seem to love your bracelets so much, I'm going to let you keep them on until you decide to see me next, ok?" Samantha smirked at the Joker.
He leaned in and was so close, he could touch noses with Samantha. "There's no talking to you, is there?" She asked quietly.
"Not really, unless it's something I find interesting. Just take me back to my cell," he replied, sounding slightly defeated. He knew from the look in Samantha's eyes, she wouldn't budge. He pulled back, looked her in the eyes, and just smiled. Samantha got up and let the guards take the Joker back to his cell. Samantha closed the door behind them and went back to her desk. She shifted through her notes, trying to make sense of the Joker's chaos and was getting nowhere, nothing made sense at all. After a couple of hours, Samantha came up with nothing. The only bit of substantial information was the fact he hated his father, nothing else revealed a single thing.
Weeks went by and Samantha worked hard, each day, getting nowhere further with the Joker. He incessantly tried to ask her questions and flirt around Samantha's questions for him.
The Joker thought he had every inch of Samantha pegged and it scared her how right he could be sometimes. He would sit and cackle incessantly, while Samantha tried to crack his spirit, crack the hard exterior he held onto so dear. Her colleagues would continue to ask if she had put a dent in the mysterious past of the Joker, but were disappointed to find out she hadn't gotten any further.
On the day of the charity event, her morning appointment with the Joker seemed to go a bit differently. He was dragged in as usual, by the usual guards, and placed on the couch. He examined his cuffed hands and eyed Samantha hatefully.
"You know, there are permanent markings on my wrists from the handcuffs," he said. Samantha returned the gaze and said nothing. She moved to her usual chair across from him. "You could make it easier and loosen them a bit."
"I don't offer any comfort to you until you offer information to me. I have told you day after day, I'm done playing your games," Samantha said, making no eye contact and writing on her legal pad. The Joker shifted on the couch.
"Uncomfortable?" she questioned quietly, once again making no effort whatsoever.
"A bit," he replied shortly and more hatefully than ever. "And secondly, shouldn't you sit closer to the patient?"
True, Samantha had chosen to sit at her desk today. "I, unlike you, am quite comfortable." There was silence afterwards. She didn't care how long Joker sat there; she would make him crack like a Faberge egg - into a million pieces. No music was playing and she could hear his agitated breathing from across the room. A soft click echoed throughout the room, the handcuffs made a thud as they hit the floor.
Joker had un-cuffed himself, with what, Samantha did not know. She didn't scream, just sat in awe. "I'm a 'jack-of-all-trades', Sam," he stressed her name with such hatred, she dare not speak, "you think you can cure me, can 'fix me'. You're wrong, dead wrong. You see, it all starts when someone hurts you." He paused, moving closer to her desk.
"There's a panic button," Samantha whispered, afraid the volume of her voice would further set him off, "I've pressed it."
"No, you have not, the guards would've been here by now," a malicious grin stretched across his un-painted face. He moved quickly towards her, placing one arm on each shoulder, pinning her to the chair. "Once they hurt you," he continued his thoughts more quietly, "you start developing a madness. How will you avenge yourself? Murder seems too easy: you want them to suf-fer. You want them to scream every night, wishing the pain would stop. I'm going to make you want this madness, Sam. You'll understand everything then." He put Samantha in the handcuffs and reached over for the phone. He didn't say anything and she could hear a faint voice on the other line. Moments later, there was a knock on the door.
"Oh we have company!" He practically skipped to the door, opened it slightly, and peeked outside. Satisfied with who he saw, he let the guard in. Samantha's eye widened.
"Seriously?" Was all she could muster.
"Yes, dear, sweet Sam. We're gonna play a game. This here is one of my employees, he got the job months before I came here. It's always good to be prepared. I'm going to wire this bomb to your chest, then un-handcuff you. I'll hand this detonator to the guard and if you make so much as a peep about what's going on, oops! You won't live to tell about it. Just do exactly as you're told." He started to unbutton Samantha's shirt and she had every urge to kick him in the groin, but refrained. Once the Joker had practically pulled her blouse off, he whistled and nudged the guard.
"Would ya look at that? She's not a prude after all." He was admiring her choice of bra – a black lacy balconette which she chose specifically for the party.
"Just get on with it," she said through gritted teeth. He sighed, clearly disappointed, and taped the miniature bomb on her abdomen. "If you will," he gestured to her un-buttoned shirt, "I don't like cleaning up." His snicker filled her heart with disgust.
"Now," he said, moving away from her chair, "I'm going to be hand-cuffed again. You're telling the Warden and any other doctor that you've got to take me to a special facility. You can fill in the blanks as you go, you're smart. Drop one hint about what's going on and I'll make sure that you'll never leave Arkham, you'll be so splattered against the wall, and they won't find all the pieces." A wide grin spread across his face. Probably imagining me exploding, she thought.
The guard cuffed the Joker and walked towards the door. Samantha was going to reach for her purse and belongings and was told to leave them behind. She stepped in front of the guard and led them down the corridor. The elevator was playing a jazz number and the alto sax player was clearly improvising, just note after note blared through the speakers. The Joker hummed along, annoying Samantha further. She clicked her tongue.
"Aw, don't hate me just yet," he said, "the fun's gonna start soon. Then you'll really wanna kill me!" The elevator came to a halt, making Samantha's stomach to do a flip. She stepped out as the doors opened and took a gulp of air. The lobby was oddly empty. Everyone's probably taken a half-day to get ready for Bruce's party. They walked out, to Samantha's dismay, with not a sole asking her any questions.
A white, un-marked van waited for them. The guard opened the sliding door and gestured for both the Joker and Samantha to get inside. The guard took the driver's seat and threw the keys to the Joker. Gleefully, he un-cuffed himself, he then ripped Samantha's shirt open, buttons and all, and ripped the bomb off of her. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.
"That's just the beginning, my dear," he whispered, caressing her cheek. Samantha's heart beat at a faster pace. The Joker leaned forward and whispered directions to the driver. In the back, Samantha couldn't tell where they were going; just that the van made various left turns and the occasional right. She was trying not to look at anyone, and kept her head down; silently praying. Then everything went pitch black.