7. Exposure
"Alright, time to get up," one of the officers said as he unlocked the prison door. The Joker rose to his feet and met the officer inside. He held out his hands and let the officer snap the cuff about his wrists. He never took his eyes from me. I simply watched as they led him from the prison and down the hall and into the locked interrogation room.
"Miss DiMarco, I hope you don't mind, but your conversation will be monitored by video camera. It's protocol, unfortunately," Gordon explained to me.
"I understand. I record all of my sessions, but unfortunately in the psychology world, psych analyses tend to be confidential. I would really hate to violate my licensure," I explained.
"Well, if you get in trouble with the state, I'll be more than happy to take the fall for you, Miss DiMarco. Understand that you are violating confidentiality for the sake of Gotham's betterment," Gordon insisted.
"I will not condone that it is for the betterment of Gotham city, but I will also not condone that every single person is entitled to a confidential screening, criminal or not, and I'm sorry, Commissioner, but I cannot violate my code of ethics. I will interview the Joker for a psychological analysis, but I insist that the camera microphones be turned off to ensure the confidentiality of the Joker. I have a recorder of my own that will record the entire session and I will release it to you, but only when I am finished with my analysis," I stated firmly.
"Fair enough, but the camera stays on for your own safety. We need to be able to monitor what does on visually inside that interrogation for the safety of the interrogator," Gordon responded.
"Done," I said and shook his hand. Gordon led me down the hall and buzzed into the interrogation room. The room was dark and the Joker sat in the darkness, his hands in his lap. Only the whiteness of his face was visible: the black around his eyes was creased and running and his lips look full and red in the darkness. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him and knew it.
"Try not to torture him too much," Gordon chuckled with me, "and that goes for you too!" he exclaimed to the Joker. The Joker simply licked his lips and shrugged. Gordon took me aside and said to me quietly, "If it gets to be too much for you at ay moment, just signal to that camera and we'll buzz you out of here,"
"Thank you, Commissioner, I appreciate it," I responded and then turned to face the Joker, sitting at the table. I waited to sit down until I heard Gordon buzz himself from the room.
"So we're alone finally," he said, licking his lips and clearing his throat.
"Not quite. That camera is recording us in here but without sound," I responded flatly.
"Without sound, eh?" he asked.
"Yes. I requested it of them because even a lethal criminal such as you deserves a fair and confidential psychological evaluation," I replied as I took out my papers and placed them on table.
"Don't talk like that, Giada. You know yourself you're not one of them," he coaxed and then licked his lips.
"I want you to know I'll be recording this session for my own analytical purposes," I responded, ignoring his comment as I placed my tape recorder on the table.
"Did you know that Commissioner Gordon works with the Batman?" the Joker asked, cocking his head to the side. I glanced up at him and raised my eyebrows.
"Yes, I did," I responded and I pressed the record button. "So, let's see, where should we start,"
"Wherever you'd like, Missssssss DiMarco," the Joker said as he sat back in his chair. I paused for a moment.
"Mr…uh, Joker," I began and then stopped. He just stared at me, waiting for me to continue. I sat there, unsure of what to say and where to begin my interview. I felt like I already knew him well enough to write an analysis—which I was in the process of doing earlier that day.
"What's the matter, beautiful? Cat got your tongue again?" he asked wit ha grin. I bit my lower lip in frustration and shut off the tape recorder. "I knew you couldn't do it,"
"You're right, I can't, but I'm going to have to act like I am because they are watching our every move in that damn camera. I am going to press that record button and I am going to ask you questions and you are going to answer them—not because they are questions to analyze your cognitive behavioral patterns, but because they are questions I want you to answer for my own personal reasons. We're going to make a game out of it, okay? Because you…you, Joker—you fascinate me like no other, so are you ready?" I asked finally. He started laughing at the idea of making this interrogation a game.
"A game! I love the way you think. You have me at your disposal," he responded with a finishing grin. He raised an eyebrow.
"And you must answer truthfully to these questions, because as you said, you cannot trust me until I can trust you. Here's where the trust begins, Joker," I finished. I pressed the record button.
"You have my word, Giada, but tell me, what is it that you value most in people?" the Joker asked.
"I'm the one asking the questions," I said firmly.
"Yes, of course, but I am asking you this one question and I think in order for me to trust you, I need you to answer it," he replied, licking his lips.
"I value trust and honesty in people," I responded.
"Fair enough," he stated. Where do I begin? I have his word that he will answer any question I ask him with honesty. The recorder was going and there was nothing but silence between us.
"How did you really get your scars?" I asked finally, leaning forward, trying to get closer to him.
"I'll tell you, but at a later time," he replied.
"No. You tell me now and I'll tell you how I got these," I said as I revealed my own scars. The Joker was elated at this but still decline.
"I'm flattered, but still, ask me that later in the session. I'll tell you, but just not right now," he responded. I buttoned my shirt and then thought further of what question I could begin with that he would answer.
"What is your real name?" I asked.
"Jack Napier," he replied. Well, he really was J then. "What's yours?"
"Uh, Giada DiMarco?" I responded in question.
"But what was your name when you got those scars, because I can't believe that you've always gone by 'Giada'," he insisted. My heart fluttered. How did he know I used to go by Jade?
"Well, Giada is my real name, but when I got the scars, I went by Jade," I replied truthfully. He nodded.
"Jade," he repeated and then licked his lips.
"Why do you paint your face?" I asked, changing the subject from me to him.
"Why did you?"
"Excuse me?" I asked, incredulous.
"Why did you paint your face?" he asked again.
"I asked you first," I responded, crossing my arms.
"Indeed, but I'm sure my reason isn't nearly as exciting as yours," he retaliated. "Let's face it, Giada, you're not perfect. Sure, you've never killed anyone or robbed a bank, but you're hands aren't clean either," I bit my lip. He was right, but how did he know this? Was it just a good guess because are too much alike? Or did he really know about the things I've done in my past?
"You answer first, then I'll tell you about my reasons," I held firmly, "because it doesn't matter what I did in my past. I'm here right now, interrogating you,"
"Fair enough, Jade. I paint my face because it allows me to be myself—the Joker," he replied. No real reason to it at all. "It's also a way for me to give a face to the scars,"
There is it. It's for the scars. So it's possible he didn't cause the scars himself. I kept that in the back of my mind.
"No it's your turn," he said.
"I used to paint my face when I worked at the Jokers Wild. It was part of my job," I paused for a moment, "My father was in the mafia and he was killed by another mob dealer when I was eight. When I was twelve, my mother married my stepfather in Italy; he too was part of the mafia, but he was not the good guy my father was. He lied to me whenever he told me things were going to be okay. I would go to bed every night terrified the rest of his mafia would be inside of our house. When I was thirteen and fourteen, I found out he was dealing cocaine and unfortunately, I became addicted to the stuff. By the time I was in my high school years I was working at the Jokers Wild as a dancer to finance my cocaine addiction brought on by my stepfather, because he and his mafia guys would never let me have any of it once I was addicted. To them, it was sick joke to see me work for something they had a ready abundance of. They would go the Jokers Wild and watch me dance and snort lines on the tables out back while I danced. To hide who I really was, because I embarrassed at my life, I painted my face and went by the name Jade. It worked because I was a Joker—like you—I too was J," I explained.
"And the scars?" he asked, his grin widening with the truth of my story.
"It was this one night at the Jokers Wild that I was dancing. I had just danced and I was meeting my dealer outside in the back of the club. Well, my stepfather and his mafia gang saw me and how badly I needed a hit, so as a cruel joke, they shot my dealer and took the cocaine from me and disposed of it all over the pavement. I never wanted to be a drug addict but I was, well, addicted and needed it. Not knowing what to do, I kicked in a car window with my high heels and took the broken glass and went after my stepfather—he was the one who shot my dealer. We struggled a bit until he turned the glass on me and cut it right into my chest," I showed him the scars again.
"I had never bled so much. But in no time, people leaving the club were aware of what was going on and called the cops. My stepfather and his gang left me there for dead, but the ambulance came and brought me to the ER where they stitched me up. It was there that they realized I was going through cocaine with drawl. My mother had no idea of anything that was going on because I was a good student in school and always got good grades—she had no idea I was into drugs. I went into rehab and my mother ended up divorcing my stepfather—it was after that I was able to turn my life around into what it is today," I finished.
"A wonderful story, Giada! I always knew you had it in you—you weren't perfect," the Joker responded.
"Well how about you? How did you get your scars? How are you so inner intelligent?" I asked finally, wiping the few tears from my eyes.
"How old are you now, Giada?" he asked, ignoring my question.
"Twenty-five, almost twenty-six. You?" I asked, irritated he had again dodged my questions.
"Twenty-nine," he replied, "Back in 2003, I was in the war in Iraq. I was captured by…whoever…and they interrogated me, much like you are now—except they threatened me with torture. I would say anything—afraid to expose the plan we had. Well, that was no good, because the plan was what they wanted to know, so they decided to make me talk…by doing this. 'Why so serious?' they asked me after they handed me the mirror. 'Now you smile all the time at your plans' they said to me,"
My heart sank for him. I couldn't bring myself to ask him anything else. I wanted to hold him, tell him I felt for you.
"Don't get that look in your eyes, Giada. You felt the pain too—the same pain I felt, but now look at me—I'm always smiling!" he responded with a bright laugh. I leaned in close him. I wanted to kiss him. He had been right the whole time—we were much more alike than I had never anticipated.
"I'm going to get you out of here, Joker," I said finally, realizing I could not kiss him because we were being watched.
"You get yourself out of here," he said finally, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips.
"I…I…" I stuttered.
"You what?" he asked. My heart was torn apart. The pain from my past and his rose up inside me like it had all happened yesterday. I was here for the GPD and Batman—I wanted to help them, but I wanted to help the Joker. I felt for the Joker. He was my companion. He understood me like no one else.
"Miss DiMarco, I'm sorry to interrupt, but it is imperative that I talk to the Joker right away," Gordon said after he buzzed into the room.
"Oh, yes of course," I stopped the recorder and stood up, averting my eyes from the Joker. He did not take his eyes from me once. I felt his eyes on me.
"Harvey Dent never made it home," Gordon whispered to me as he escorted me out of the room. I was then locked out of the room and escorted to the room with the TVs showing the interrogation room.