6. Analyses

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or anything related to it. I do use some direct movie quotes from Dark Knight in this. I obviously do not own them. I do own my storyline however. Enjoy!

I went to work that Monday with a super hang over. Did I try to seduce the Joker? It seems that whenever the Joker comes to visit me, I feel strange the next day. Now, I know I felt strange the next day because of my hangover, but I still felt that strange feeling in my stomach—like I knew deep down inside the Joker was right about me. Were we more like than I thought? I remembered wanting him to have sex with me, but I also remembered that not happening. I remembered him telling me that he did not want to kill me, but what I wanted to know was why he didn't want to kill me. That Monday was tough for me because I also had the pleasure of interviewing more employees.

The entire week, I heard nothing from the Joker. I assumed he was committing more crimes. I didn't let myself be sad about it. He's a criminal—a mass murdering criminal. I didn't get it get to me because by the end of the week, Bruce showed me Friday's daily news and I was right. The Joker was blatantly searching for Batman and had put out a hit for the commissioner, Harvey Dent and the judge. I wondered if Batman would stop it from happening. Bruce hadn't been in the office all week, but was having an enormous party that evening in which I felt like the entire city was invited to. I was planning on going, but that weekend I was flying back to Boston for my cousin's wedding.

When I arrived back to Gotham from Boston on Sunday evening, the commissioner and judge had both been killed by the Joker, as well as Lieutenant Gordon, who had been shot during the funeral assembly for the late commissioner. I was in the middle of reading the paper as I lugged my suitcase into my apartment from the hallway.

"Giada, we're close to getting the Joker," the voice said inside my apartment. I dropped my things, startled by the Batman.

"Batman! You just scared the hell out of me! How did you get in?" I asked, picking up the things I had dropped.

"Your window was unlocked. While you were gone, the Joker's killed three more and has put out a hit for Harvey Dent. The Joker wants me to take off my mask for Gotham and until I do, more people are going to die,"

"That's lethal. What are you going to do, Batman? Are you going to tell Gotham who you really are?" I asked.

"Harvey Dent is holding a press meeting tomorrow. Your boss, Bruce Wayne will be there as well. It's only a matter of time before the Joker is caught," Batman continued.

"Okay, so I take it, I can have the day off tomorrow and possibly attend this meeting?" I asked, "Do you know if Bruce would mind?"

"Stay home—the Joker's been worse than ever. We can't risk him getting to you. But once we catch him, you need to be ready," Batman explained.

"Will do," I agreed. And with that, Batman was out my window once again. I sighed and sat down on my couch. I highly doubted they would catch the Joker, but in the event that they did catch him, what would I do? If they have him in County and in an interrogation room, there would be no way I could privately talk to him. I would be exposed for knowing him prior to the interrogation. Maybe I just won't show up to County if they catch him. They can't make me interrogate the Joker. This isn't part of my job description!

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Monday came again. Harvey Dent held his press conference. I decided not to attend and stay at home and watch it on TV.

"Well let them take the Batman way away into protective custody," he said, "I am the Batman,"

My jaw dropped. Harvey Dent was the Batman! No freaking way! I was shocked, sitting there eating my bowl of grapes. Well, the Joker would have his work cut out for him, that's for sure. I hadn't heard from him in two weeks—not since the night he got me drunk. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think of him everyday. I'd be lying if I said I didn't think about the things he's told me everyday. Most of me agreed with what he's told me, but how could I ever bring myself to join forces with a mass murdering criminal? I'm not the murdering type! I didn't want to join forces with the Joker because it means casting myself out of the life I've known my entire life—the life I've worked so hard to get. But I didn't want to join forces with Batman either. It felt wrong selling out the Joker, even though he is a terrible criminal mastermind. Something about it just didn't sit well with me. And Bruce Wayne—what of him! He hired me out of nowhere and now is never around at Wayne Enterprises. He wanted me to do these analyses for his employees, which I am still working on, but I just don't see the use in it. Something about that situation made me feel used and in the dark.

"You never read my card!" a voice came suddenly from the other room. I sat up straight and realized I was still in my pajamas.

"Oh there you are! It's been a while," I said, eating another grape. The Joker walked casually into the living room from my bedroom and looked at the TV.

"So it's Harvey. I feel I've known it all along," he said. He was silent for a moment then glanced back at me.

"Where's the card?" I asked, putting the grapes on the coffee table.

"In your room," he responded, "but read it later. I just came by to ask you to wish me luck,"

"Oh, okay. Well, good luck," I replied and took the bowl of grapes back onto my lap and went back to watching the TV.

"You'll be seeing me sooner than you think," he said finally.

"And how's that?" I asked, not taking my eyes from the TV screen.

"I know they've asked you to question me. But I also know that you won't go through with it,"

"You don't know that, Joker," I replied with a small laugh.

"I do know that. You won't turn against one of your own. You're not one of them, even if you wanted to be—you're not one of them," he responded.

"As you said before—we'll see what happens, won't we? I mean, what's the fun in knowing what I'll do? Right? I mean, we don't plan, do we," I retaliated. A grin crossed his face.

"We'll see," he restated, then left my apartment.

I put the grapes down on the table and retrieved my analysis papers and my laptop. Anxiously bounding my leg up and down while the computer loaded, my mind whirled through every psychological concept I'd ever learned. I reviewed psychological models of behavior development and how cognition and behavior are connected to the biological wiring in our brains.

"What do I have, what do I have, what do I have?" I repeated aloud as I searched the internet for psychological ailments. There must be something very wrong with me. I hadn't been a psychological hypochondriac since my first year of graduate school, but I was beginning to think that something was very wrong with me. How could someone like me feel compassion for someone as lethal as the Joker?

I searched the internet first: Stockholm syndrome. Nope, not that. I'm not his captive. Or am I? I continued my search. Antisocial disorder. Definitely not that. Maybe it is Stockholm Syndrome? I searched further. I am not his captive though. This is ridiculous. I slammed my computer shut. I'm not crazy and I do not have some kind of disorder. Sometimes you just can't help how you feel about someone, no matter how lethal or crazy they may seem.

Maybe that's just it—maybe the Joker's not crazy at all. And besides—who's to say that Batman's not as crazy as the Joker? I'm sure they're more alike than Batman would like to admit. Batman has no problem killing people, just like the Joker—and reason's got nothing to do with the simple morality of taking someone else's life. Taking a life is taking a life, be it righteous or not. Maybe I'm the only sane person in this whole city.

I re-opened my laptop and opened up a Word document. I began typing up a formal analysis of Batman. Of course it was completely hypothetical, since I hadn't had the opportunity to speak with him in an interview style in which I could analyze and record the conversation, but I did the best I could.

When I finished my analysis of Batman, I began the Joker's. It wasn't until my phone rang and I was still writing about the Joker that I realized it had turned to night. I had literally spent the entire day writing about Batman's and the Joker's behavioral patterns. I jumped up and retrieved the phone.

"Hello?"

"Miss DiMarco, this is Lieutenant Gordon from the GPD. We've caught the Joker and would love for you to come on down to interview him in the interrogation room," My heart sank. They did catch him. They caught the Joker. What would I do? Would I go? I had to. I gave Batman my word that I would go if they caught the Joker. Wait—I thought Lieutenant Gordon died at the commissioner's funeral!

"Miss DiMarco? Are you there?" he asked again.

"I…I'm sorry. I thought you were dead, Lieutenant," I said finally.

"It was for the protection of my family," he said finally.

"Oh right, of course," I responded, "Yes, I'll be there,"

"We'll send a police car over to you right away," Gordon stated.

"Thank you. I'll see you soon then," I replied.

"We appreciate this a lot, Miss DiMarco," Gordon said.

"It's nothing, really," I responded, and then hung up the phone. Well, you have to do what you have to do, right? The Joker was caught and I gave Batman my word. It's only fair that I follow up on my word.

The GPD came to my apartment and picked me up. I was relieved for that, since it was later than I had imagined by time they arrived.

"Miss DiMarco, thank you for coming on such short notice," Gordon said as he led me into the facility. "The Joker's over there," he pointed to the jail cell in the middle of the room. GPD officers surrounded the cell and were putting more men into the cell with the Joker. He was just sitting there in his tight green vest, blue shirt and tie. His sleeves were rolled up and he had a slight grin on his lips as he saw me. I glanced over at him and then back to Gordon.

"What do we got, Gordon?"

"Nothing. No matches on prints, DNA, dental. Clothing is custom, no labels. Nothing in his pockets but knives and lint. No name, no other alias," Gordon explained.

I looked over at the Joker, sitting in the cell. No name, huh. He's clearly very skilled and intelligent to rid himself of any other previous alias he may have had.

"Do you mind if I got over there and talk to him?" I asked Gordon quickly.

"Well, we'll be putting him in the interrogation room shortly, if you can wait, but if you'd really like, go right ahead," he explained. I nodded my head and wandered over to the jail cell.

The Joker simply sat there with his hands placed atop his thighs. "So, Miss DiMarco—you came," he said with a sly grin. I wasn't facing him, but I wanted to.

"Joker, I'll be in to interrogate you shortly," I said, still not looking at him.

"Don't look so sad, Giada. I don't disappoint," he replied.