12. Disturbia
He's just a crazy, sociopath, clown, I thought as I walked around the corner and into the GPD. Maybe I should have written that as my entire analysis.
"I have your analysis on the Joker," I said flatly as I dropped the folder onto Gordon's desk. He just glanced up at me, not knowing what to say.
"Thank you, but we're currently searching for Harvey Dent," Gordon replied.
"Well, I'm sure once you read my analysis, you'll be able to figure out where he is and what he's up to," I responded, narrowing my eyes.
"Thank you Miss DiMarco—it'll be taken into consideration. But for now, would you mind answering a few more questions regarding the Joker? If you fail to comply, we're going to have to put you into protected custody until you meet with an attorney," Gordon explained further.
"What? I told that other detective everything I know about the Joker. Here's the analysis! My work with the Joker is done—and my work for you people. I'm giving Mr. Wayne my resignation tomorrow—I'm going back to Boston as soon as possible," I explained, hurt by the Commissioner's statements.
"I understand you're hurt by all of this, but it's for the safety of Gotham's people that you attend to further questioning on the matter. The Joker is out there blowing up our city and so far you're the only other person in Gotham who has been reported being seen with him in the past 48 hours," Gordon explained.
"Really? So what about Harvey Dent? Don't you people think that the Joker was with Harvey Dent? I mean, that only makes the most sense," I attacked back, my anger beginning to flare.
"No need to get hostile, Miss DiMarco. The Batman will take care of it," he replied.
"The Batman, huh? Tell me, Commissioner, can the Batman give you a full 17 page analysis on the Joker's behavioral and cognitive capabilities? Let me tell you something, Commissioner, I have never been so insulted in my as to have been accused of being a cohort to a sociopathic clown. I've been accused of many things in my life, but never this—especially when I was asked by you people to assist you on this project by providing you with a specialists perspective—to give you all insight into how his mind works—and this is how you re-pay me? By accusing me of joining sides with the Joker? I have the right mind to take the analysis and burn it where Rachel Dawes burned last night!" I shouted.
"Takes her into protective custody," Gordon said to the officer behind him.
"No! Don't you touch me! I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who gave you that recorder, Commissioner," I said, as the officer handcuffed my hands.
Gordon remained silent.
"I'll get the Batman in on this—he'll talk some sense into you people! He'll tell me the truth!" I shouted as the officer shoved me down the hall.
"Batman was the one who turned in your recorder tape," Gordon finally said, lowering his eyes. My heart sank.
"What? Let go of me, you fool!" I screamed at the officer and ran back out to Gordon's desk.
"Batman turned you in," Gordon repeated himself.
"Batman did? But why? How?" I asked, feeling my hands begin to go numb from shock.
"He had reason to believe you were in cahoots with the Joker," Gordon replied.
"After he had asked me to write up this fucking analysis?! What does he take me for?! Some sociopathic buffoon like the Joker?!" I shrieked, my Sicilian blood at full boiling point. "I can't believe the likes of your people!"
"Detective, take her in for questioning," Gordon solemnly said.
"I said don't touch me! You lay a hand on me and I'll…I'll…"
"You'll what? Get the Joker to blow up the GPD?" the detective asked, shoving me down the hall and into another interrogation room.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Outside of the GPD, the Joker heard the whole commotion inside. Giggling to himself, he placed the wig on his head from earlier that day and covered up his face with the surgical mask. He removed his large purple jacket and hid it behind a dumpster and walked around the corner and right into the GPD.
"Good evening, Commissioner Gordon," he said in a high voice.
"Good evening, miss. What can I do for you?" Gordon asked, squinting his eyes a bit at the nurse before him.
"I believe you have a patient from Gotham General here by mistake," he explained, taking a seat and crossing his legs.
"Impossible—everyone from Gotham General has been bused to the sister hospital in the next town over," Gordon replied.
"Even Harvey Dent? I was his nurse—I have reason to believe my patient is missing. Commissioner, can you assure me that Harvey Dent made it to the other hospital?" the Joker asked with concern.
"Well, of that I am not sure, miss. In fact, it has been reported that he is missing at the moment—"
"Oh this is dreadful! That poor mans needs medicine! He is in pain!" the Joker exclaimed in agony.
"Right, I understand that, but we are doing everything possible to find Harvey Dent that is possible right now," Gordon assured him.
Do you have every detective in the city looking for that poor man?" he continued, knowing that I was being interrogated by a detective.
"Just about—"
"I think every detective needs to be out searching for that poor man. He was such a good man!" the Joker exclaimed.
"I'll see what we can do—"
"That's not good enough, Commissioner! Harvey Dent is Gotham's White Knight, and he deserves the best from his GPD," the Joker instigated further.
"You're absolutely right, ma'am. Let me go get Detective Stephens," Gordon got up from his chair and walked into the interrogation room and retrieved the detective. I was then led into a jail cell and locked up. Gordon brought the detective out to the nurse.
"Good evening, ma'am. We're doing everything in our power to find Harvey Dent's whereabouts. As soon as we find him, we'll let you know," Detective Stephens said.
"Well the Commissioner said he would send out every single detective in town to find him. It's only fair that Harvey Dent receives the best search warrant this city can offer," the Joker replied.
"Indeed. And I agree, Commissioner. Shall we rally a car of who's left?" Detective Stephens asked.
"I'll send Ramirez, and I'll head out with you, detective. Officer Brooks will remain here with Lieutenant Grove to oversee the cells," Gordon stated finally.
"Oh thank you gentlemen so much! I just know that with more people searching, you'll find Harvey in no time! He really needs medical attention as soon as possible," the Joker explained.
"Thank you for your concern, miss. Have a nice evening," Gordon said as he grabbed his jacket and left the station with Stephens. The Joker turned to leave behind Gordon and Stephens, but as he saw them get into the cars, he turned back around and went back into the station.
"Miss, you really must leave the station—" the Joker took out his gun and shot the officer and Lieutenant with two quick shots. He then took the officer's keys and ran to the jail cell that I was sitting in.
"What a performance! You deserve an academy award for that one!" I laughed nervously as he unlocked the jail cell.
"So…are you going to join me…or what?" he asked, holding out his hand to me through the cell before he unlocked the cell. I paused a moment, "come on, hurry! We haven't got much time," I looked at his hand and with that, I decided to take it. He hoisted me up to my feet, unlocked the door of the cell and let me out.
"Now where do we go?" I asked.
"This way," he said as we shuffled out of the GPD. On my way out, I grabbed the analysis from Gordon's desk. There was no way he was going to get the privilege to read such a statement.
"Where are we going?" I asked as I followed him behind the GPD. He grabbed his purple jacket and kept walking down the ally.
"This way—follow me, but be quick," he said as he grabbed me by the wrist. I felt the folder cut into his arm and smirked underneath his surgical mask. "I see you didn't want them to read it after all,"
"Why should they? They think they can use me for my education and then throw me in jail? I don't think so," I replied as I followed him down the long, darkening ally. As we ventured further and further down the ally, deeper into the heart of downtown Gotham, I could feel myself entering disturbia. We stopped for a moment and the Joker pulled off his mask and wig, and we kept on journeying down the ally. It was official—I had joined the Joker.
We finally made it to a building. The Joker jumped up to the fire escape, bent over and gave me his hand again to help hoist me up. I grabbed his hand and hoisted up to his level. Up and up and up we went until we reached the roof of the building. Much like I lived on the top floor of my building, I guess so did the Joker. When we could go no higher, he kicked in the window with his boot and swung into the apartment. Holding out his hand once more to help me, I grabbed it and jumped into the apartment.
All was dark inside. He slammed the window shut and turned on a few lights, but only long enough to find his candles. He lit them and then immediately turned off the lights. I felt like I was Christine inside the Phantom's labyrinth.
"We have food here—" he said as he gestured to the cabinets in the room we started in, and he led me through a small hallway and into the main room of the apartment, "to your left is a bathroom, over there is a bedroom, and this—well this is my humble abode," he giggled, "welcome!"
"Thanks, I take it you are expecting me to spend my time here instead of my place?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"No, of course not. This is disturbia—I wouldn't expect you to want to be here all the time," he replied, kick off his shoes. Well, he was right—it certainly was disturbia. The apartment building itself was very old—built in probably the late 1800s. The wallpaper on the walls was faded and peeling at the edges. Some spots of wallpaper were missing all together. The floors were old hardwood floors, but the Joker haphazardly threw some 'permanently borrowed' oriental rugs down on them. The rugs looked just as old as the wallpaper on the walls.
"Make yourself at home…Giiiiiiiada! Mi casa es su casa!" he said as he went into the bedroom to change out of the nurses' scrubs.
"That's Spanish, not Italian!" I shouted after him "dumbass," I muttered as I walked around the main living room area at some of the strange artifacts he had. He had an enormous bookcase with more books on it than I would have guessed for a man of his…psychological capabilities. But then again, I would have pegged him a genius anyway. I picked up one of the books and held it in my hands. It was a very old book. I opened it and two faded pictures fell from it. I knelt down and picked them up. One was a family—a mother, a father, and three children—two boys and a girl. I looked at the back, it read: Napiers, 1986, Melinda 4, Jack 7, Edward 10. The ink was faded considerably. I then looked at the other photo. It was a military photo of Jack Napier. So he was telling the truth about his scars. My heart fluttered at the image of the Joker in his uniform. No scars—just smooth, tanned skin—and dark eyes.
"Oh so you found them! You are good!" he exclaimed as he emerged from the bedroom fully clothed in his blue shirt, green vest, tie and purple pants. There he was—in his Joker attire, face paint and all. But there he was, in the photo in my hand, dressed in soldier garb.
"You were a soldier?" I asked, handing him the picture.
"You danced at the Jokers Wild?" he asked in response, handing me a tube of white face paint.
"Touché. I guess our pasts don't really matter, do they?" I responded, taking the picture back from him and looking at it.
"Does it make you sad to know that's how I used to look, Giada?" he asked.
"No—it doesn't. Does it make you sad to know that I used to dance at a strip club?" I asked, "and painted my face the way you do," as I held up the tube of face paint.
"No, because I know you don't forget those kinds of skills," he responded with a smirk and a wink. I let out a laugh as I put the pictures back into the book.
"Likewise for you, I'm sure," I responded, taking one last glance at the military photo before I shut the book and put it away back on his shelf.
"We can re-live the past if we want, Giada," he said suddenly, glancing down at the face paint in my hand, "I mean, I'm perfectly content with the present I've created for myself—the past is well in the past—but, if you want, feel free to re-live your past,"
"Why would I want to do that?" I asked, handing him back the tube of white face paint.
"Because I want you to," he replied, "it's the only way you can truly enter disturbia,"