AN: Two chapters in ONE day, holy cannoli, I'm on a roll! Actually, I had been at my mother's house and had written a great deal over the weekend so I was able to type/edit at the same time. I may try and continue doing that. LivinJgrl123, thanks for your reviews, I'm glad you're enjoying this! And thanks to: DarkNScarrie, , HHopeK143, .Razorblades, ItsUpToMeNow, and Gorillazgurl98 for recently following/favoriting this!
Arkham was dark. The doctors, nurses, volunteers, and secretaries had long since fled from their place of work. As the last janitor peeled out of his parking space, a lone security guard remained. He was unaware of the shadow moving behind him. Nor was he aware of the sleeper hold he was put in until it was too late. He was cautiously laid on the ground and would awake later with a horrible headache.
Batman maneuvered the halls of the asylum swiftly, carefully avoiding criminals and madmen he had caught in the past few years. He was careful to remain unseen, so that no one would alert other prisoners of the dark knight's arrival. Within the confines of many rooms, screams, moans, and cries could be heard. He approached room 204 and with amazing skill, he unlocked the door.
Jonathan Crane was breathing softly, the sleeping pills he was given had lulled him into a false sense of security and sleep had finally overtaken him. That is, until Batman was holding him against the wall by the throat.
"Oh, it's you," Crane's condescending tone would have been more effective if he was more awake. "I was wondering when you would be keeping your appointment with me." He placed a hand on each of Batman's arms, struggling to breathe.
The Batman tightened his grip on Crane's throat. "I've never scheduled an appointment, but we do need to talk." He dropped Jonathan, who promptly scurried to the closest wall, vying for its protection. Batman stayed in the same spot. "You are aware that your wife has gone missing," he added. Jonathan mumbled something.
"Excuse me?" Batman considered grabbing Jonathan again, to emphasize the seriousness of the matter.
Jonathan's gaze didn't leave his nightshirt and began buttoning and unbuttoning the first three buttons in rapid succession. "I said 'ex-wife'. She made that quite clear when I received the divorce papers in here. I do not care where she is." Satisfied with his shirt, Jonathan's ice-blue eyes looked up and locked onto the caped crusader's eyes. "Plus, whoever took her is in for one hell of a treat."
Batman crossed his arms. "Meaning?"
"I did have test subjects for my compound." Jonathan closed his eyes, fondly recalling the memory. "Samantha lovingly volunteered; she was young at the time, quite naïve. She was never quite the same after. She hides it pretty well, don't you think? But that's what SSRI's will do, my masked friend. While you were an actual mask to hide your pain, Samantha hides hers with medication." Jonathan folded his hands and placed them behind his head to get comfortable. He didn't care how long Batman stayed. As far as Dr. Crane was concerned, their session was over.
Alfred heard the roar of the tumbler and proceeded to bring Bruce some food. Since the Joker's escape, Bruce Wayne's mind thought of nothing but clowns. He was already sitting at his computer, a map of Gotham pulled up on the screen, when Alfred arrived to the cave below the mansion.
"I've brought you somethin' to eat, Master Wayne," he sat the tray down and scrutinized the computer screen. "Doctor Crane say anything useful?"
Bruce took a large bite of a sandwich and chewed, remaining deep in thought. "He tested his compounds on her." Alfred shook his head in disgust. Samantha O'Reilly had been the first woman since Rachel's death that Bruce had taken somewhat of a liking to, but Alfred also sensed it was so that Bruce could keep a close eye on the Joker. Bruce had gone off on a tangent while Alfred had been in thought.
"…see if I can get a list of her prescribed medications," Bruce mused. He began trying to hack into the Gotham Pharmacy's database and within moments, he was greeted with a patient lookup screen.
Alfred shifted his weight. "Isn't that private information?"
"Alfred," Bruce chastised. He entered Samantha's date of birth and a list of medications appeared on the screen; he had to sift through a prescription drug dictionary to decipher what each medication did. "Let's see, she gets a monthly prescription for escitalopram…that's an anti-depressant, various anti-anxiety meds," Bruce pointed to prescriptions of alprazolam and lorazepam. "And more recently, she's been getting mood stabilizers. See here?" Bruce swiveled the screen to show Alfred. "Abilify, I've seen that being marketed more frequently." Bruce leaned back in his chair, still processing what he had just found. His gaze met Alfred's and both men wondered the same thing: how long does it take to break an already broken woman?
Samantha's eyes fluttered open and her heart began to race as if a thousand birds decided to beat their wings simultaneously. Her first instinct was to reach in the drawer of her nightstand for a pill, swallow it without water, and wait. Her body tried to react, and then she remembered: she wasn't home. The second realization Samantha had was that the lights were on and her eyes locked onto the wall in front of her; a wall covered in pictures.
Personal photos of Samantha's family, old friends, and her life were taped up and someone in every photo was disfigured with the aid of a permanent marker. An audible gasp escaped as she noticed a familiar burlap mask was nailed in the center of the wall, its dead eyes burning into her soul.
"So, I thought this room need a little redecorating." The Joker's voice make Samantha jump, her eyes still transfixed on the mask of the Scarecrow. Hating to be ignored, the Joker walked into Samantha's view and the spell was broken, her gaze was once more attuned to the clown. She glared.
The volume of the Joker's voice dropped and he whispered, "what are your deepest fears?" Not answering, Samantha continued to stare. Being starved and tied up left her feeling weak and frightened. The panic rose from her chest to her throat. "You said that I could thank the good doctor for not giving you anything to fear. I'm sure he'll agree when I say that's not true."
Samantha tried to stretch in her chair, her wrists tightening against the rope. A few days ago, she would have argued, spout out some snide remark, but without her medications, she knew her worse nightmares would find their way home again, inviting her to their warped game.
The Joker's intuition hadn't missed a beat. "You're not as weak as you think. I've gotten very skilled at injecting fluids into your system." His gaze followed Samantha's as her eyes flickered to the crook of her arm. "I've got great beside manners; you're just never awake to see them. I'll ask one more time: what is it you fear?"
"No-nothing," the single response made Samantha breathless.
"Wrong! But we have a lovely parting gift for you!" The Joker withdrew a folded piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. Cleaning his throat, he began to read: "I guess I'm too eager to please him. When we graduate, his tests and research will have secured our place at Arkham and then the real research and treatment can begin. I worry though, after every round of injections, I fear I'm losing grip on reality. I cry all the time now. And sleep eludes me. Jonathan says it'll pass and he's gotten a friend to write me some prescriptions. I love him, but he terrifies me and I don't think he'll ever feel for me as I do him." The Joker chuckled and continued to read to himself.
Samantha's diary had been hidden in the back of her closet. Journal entries from her days at Gotham University had been uncovered and she knew the Joker would cut into old wounds. She was sure he had torn apart her entire house and was using anything and everything that was personal to destroy her.
"Stop it!" She cried out; the panic was causing her body to shake. Or perhaps it was the fear causing her spasms.
The Joker jumped to his feet. "There's my girl! My wittle fighter!" He leaned down and pinched one of her cheeks. "Now, let's see you in action." He withdrew a syringe from a pocket and a pale green liquid sloshed inside it; Samantha's eyes widened.
"I don't know how much to give ya, but I'd be my right arm you've built up a tolerance for this stuff. Hell, I'd bet my left arm, too. I should have asked dear, old Scarecrow how much to give but you see, he's tied up at the moment." He went to insert the needle into Samantha's arm and his gaze met hers. "I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, I plan on enjoying every minute."
Samantha felt the liquid enter her bloodstream; it was cold at first, and then quickly warmed. She knew that the dose she was injected with was a higher concentration; the early days of tests were made of a weaker formula. Her gaze moved from the Joker's menacing eyes to the pictures on the wall, her mind trying to grasp a happier memory, one where fear never existed for her.
The Joker's lips curled into a horrific smile as the first chorus of screams began.