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39. Shattered Glass
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Disclaimer: I can't say it enough—how much I absolutely am in love with all of you for reading this story! I absolutely love writing it and it makes me SO happy to see you are just as happy to read it! Thank you all so much!!!! As for the story, I know that Arkham is for the criminally insane, but I am making this Arkham an asylum for all kinds of crazy, not just the criminally!
The sun rose over Gotham just as it had the day before over Boston. The world hadn't ended the way I felt it had. I guess I was a bit relieved when my eyes fluttered open at the sound of my alarm to see the half-clouded sun flowing into my room. My first morning in my apartment—I felt much of the same anxiety rolling out of bed this morning has I had felt on my first day working for Bruce nearly two years ago.
In the shower, I thought about the possibilities of the different patients I would perhaps be working with while at Arkham Asylum. It made me slightly anxious knowing that I would be working with patients who were in there not only because they were deemed mentally unstable, but some of them, Gotham's criminals. My heart jumped at the thought of working with the criminal population in Gotham—it brought me just one step closer to the Joker. I hadn't realized through all my pain in what had happened with him just how much I actually did miss him. I never thought I would miss a man like him from my life, but obviously, I hadn't ever entertained the idea of falling in love with a man like him either.
Not thinking about anything in particular—actually, I was thinking hard about what awaited me behind those closed doors—I walked through the doors of Arkham Asylum with a brisk step. I was both eager and anxious to see my case load.
"Hi, I'm Giada DiMarco—I've been hired to work here from Boston and well, I'm here for my first day," I spoke to the secretary in the main lobby.
"Oh yes, Dr. Gerard told me to expect you this morning. So good to have you on our team!" the secretary chimed, her voice rather melodic for such a dreary setting.
"Thank you," I nearly stuttered, still stunned from the cheeriness of her expression.
"Dr. Gerard will be right down," she continued, her voice still as beautiful as ever, "you can take a seat right over there," the pointed to a couple of chairs and a sofa wedged into a small corner. I nodded my head and wandered over to the sofa. Just as I was about to sit down, a man's voice greeted me.
"Giada DiMarco?" the man asked me. I looked up to see an older man with white hair and glasses clad in a suite covered by a lab coat greeting me. I smiled at his gentle face. I stood up and held out my hand.
"Yes. Dr. Gerard?" I asked as I shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, doctor,"
"The pleasure is all mine. We are so excited here at Arkham to have you as a part of the team," he explained, "Follow me—I'll take you to your office and then we can get started on orientation,"
I followed him to the elevator, and then out onto the fourth floor. He led me down a serious of hallways until he stopped in front of a door. Next to the closed wooden door was my named beautifully scratched into a name plaque: Giada DiMarco, BS, MS, NP. Chills of excitement traveled fiercely up and down my spine at the sight. Dr. Gerard unlocked the door and turned on the lights.
"Welcome home," he chuckled as he presented to me my office. It was a mere ghost of the office I had at Wayne Enterprises, but that didn't bother me. The couch that sprawled against the wall to my left was a dark forest green. I liked it. It reminded me of the Joker's vest. At the sudden thought that escaped into my conscious memory, I shuddered. Quickly, I placed my bags onto the desk, hoping the doctor didn't notice the temporary threat of my memory.
"Here is the key," Dr. Gerard handed me the key to my office.
"Thank you," I smiled as I took it and placed it onto my key ring.
"Follow me—we've got a lot planned today—most of it orientation, getting your ID badge and…" he paused for mock anticipation, "giving you your first case load!"
I laughed at his expression. I liked him. He was nice, easy going—and could make a joke out of working in such an environment. I liked that I would be working solely as a practitioner but also that I would be working with him as my boss—my medical superior, my go-to. It made me very comfortable, assessing the situation.
First, Dr. Gerard gave me the grand tour of the entire asylum. It took forever—the asylum was huge—or so it felt. He recognized my overwhelmed expression and told me that it really wasn't as large and confusing as it seemed—that I would get used to it. I nodded in assurance. I trusted Dr. Gerard.
By the time I was at orientation, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. The asylum was good enough, I supposed. The only place that bothered me was the actual ward itself—where the patients were kept to live. Each room was like a jail cell, complete with a bed, a toilet and a desk. It saddened me that patients who remained here had to live in such conditions—I knew I would go crazier living here if I were a mental patient.
The orientation dragged on as each department head spoke and gave their powerpoint presentation. To my dismay, at the end of each presentation, I had to take a minor quiz about what I had just learned about the department and the facility and the codes. I chuckled to myself as I learned the hospital codes—for each hospital the codes are different. I learned that a code red was a fire (which is true for most hospitals), code blue was a medical emergency (also true for most hospitals), code black was a civil or societal disturbance of the peace (like a bombing or something…AKA the Joker was on the loose) and code purple, (this was my favorite) a mental patient was loose/had escaped from their room. Of course the code had to be purple. It reminded me of the Joker and his purple suit. I could just picture it now: I would be working here and they would call a code purple and I would just start laughing thinking about the Joker escaping—not that the Joker was even here at Arkahm. Maybe all of the patients wore purple suits. I'd know that the Joker was here the day they called a simultaneous code black and code purple. I chuckled darkly to myself as I took the test on the codes.
At the end of the day, Dr. Gerard presented me with my name badge and a closed folder.
"Giada, here you are—congratulations," he chuckled, "I hope it's not too much for you to handle—there are a couple of criminals in that case load, but I am sure you will be able to handle it. If you have any questions at all, please do not hesitate to page me," Dr. Gerard explained.
"Thank you so much, doctor," I said with a gratuitous smile, "I'll look them over for the rest of today and tonight so I'm ready for tomorrow,"
"Fantastic—don't overwhelm yourself too much—if you find it harder and harder to leave your work at the asylum and that you are mentally bringing it home with you as well, feel free to talk to me—this job isn't easy and I know that I've certainly brought home with me my share of issues from working here, but I assure you, it gets easier. You just have to learn to leave the patients and their statuses here at the end of the day," Dr. Gerard spoke to me, the most serious he had been all day. I nodded my head in acceptance. I knew this to be very true—one of the many things they even taught us in school.
Dr. Gerard left my office. I put the folder down onto my desk and decided it was time to hang up my diplomas. I carefully pulled them from my brief case, along with some frame hangers. I hung them on wall above the sofa—they seemed to fit the best there. Three diplomas—they looked wonderful to me as I took a step back to admire them. My hard work on display. I smiled at myself and took a seat at my desk. I took in a deep breath and opened the folder. There were five different packets—each a different patient, their medical and personal histories, and of course, their alleged reason for being in the hospital.
I read briefly each name of each patient: Case #1, Edward Nygma, Case #2, Billy Fargo, Case #3 Walter Louise, Case #4 Alberto Falcone and Case #5 Dr. Jonathan Crane.
Jonathan Crane. Dr. Jonathan Crane? I thought that name sounded familiar—one of the many names rambled off by Bruce probably. Curious, I looked into his history.
I spent most of my night reading all 5 of the packets. It wasn't until it was well past midnight that I decided to finally put things way and get to sleep. I had to be in the asylum at 8:00. That night, my mind was plagued by dreams that involved all five of my new caseloads. Jonathan Crane showed up in the therapy room with a mask on that resembled a Scarecrow, which was well known within his case history. In the dream, he had the drugs he used on his victims. In the middle of the session, he sprayed me with the drugs. It was then that the other four of my patients broke into the session. Each of them looked nothing like their file photographs—they all faded and twisted and turned and morphed into something other than themselves. I rubbed my eyes to try and free myself from the drug induced vision but Edward Nygma ran behind me and tied my hands to the chair. It was at that moment when I looked up and saw Jonathan Crane, he sat across from me with a smug grin on his face—the mask was gone. I blinked my eyes repeatedly but the image of him kept morphing. Slowly, his hair grew longer, turning a light brown, almost dirty blonde and a greenish hue; simultaneously, his face melted into that of the Joker's and his clothing wasted away into the Joker's purple suit. He sat there, grinning back at me. I screamed in horror, trying to free myself from the hold Edward Nygma held onto me. The other four patients then joined Jonathan Crane and each and every one of them had transformed into the Joker as well. I continued screaming in horror for them to go back to being themselves—for them to let me go. At that point, Alberto Falcone, as the Joker, whipped out a knife and approached me, ready to cut my face.
"No! Please stop it!" I screamed aloud, waking myself before my alarm alerted me it was time to begin my day. Sitting up in bed, I wiped the sweat from my forehead and closed my eyes tightly. What a horrible nightmare. I stumbled into the bathroom and showered.
I found myself on the train to Arkham what felt like minutes later. I had been lost in my thoughts of the dream—the face of the Joker haunting me. I was back in Gotham and hadn't even the mere chance of seeing him. There was no way I would run into him—he was a creature of the night and spent his nights in dark alleys and in private meetings or in his apartment. I would not be running into him. I needed to keep telling myself that or else I would keep having dreams about my patients turning into him.
I arrived at Arkham. I swiped my badge at the door and then punched in. I made my way up to the fourth floor and into my office. I unpacked my patient files and checked my schedule.
It looked as though, to my horror, my first session would be with Dr. Jonathan Crane. I made my way up to the fifth floor and into therapy session room 2. Moments later, Dr. Crane was shuffled into the room by a staff member and the door was locked behind him. He sat down in the chair across the table from me. This was clearly not his first session. I read from his profile that he had been admitted nearly four years ago and he was documented as having made little progress since then—this was why he was put onto my caseload. Great.
"Good morning Dr. Crane," I greeted him as friendly as possible. I couldn't help but jump at his striking appearance. He had a very attractive face and expression as he sat there staring back at me. He smirked back at me.
"Good morning Dr. DiMarco," he mistakenly greeted me in return. I blushed slightly and then averted my eyes.
"I'm not a doctor," I corrected him quickly, looking back at him.
"Oh, my mistake," he replied, still grinning.
"No problem, you can call me Dr. DiMarco if you feel more comfortable doing so—otherwise I have no qualms with you calling me Giada,"
"Alright then, Dr. DiMarco," he responded. I sighed at his response, hoping he would have taken to the less formal route for our first session, but I supposed it was the better of the two routes he could have opted for. As he sat across from me in the orange patient jumpsuit, I could still imagine him wearing a suit and tie—back when he actually held the title of Doctor.
"You don't need to call me Dr. Crane either," he said finally, almost as though he could read my thoughts, "call me Jonathan,"
"Right, will do, Jonathan," I responded with a slight smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere. I shuffled through some of my papers and read though the notes I had taken on him last night in the confines of my apartment. I then glanced back up at him.
"So I understand here from your papers you've been admitted here approximately four years ago and that prior to this, you were a doctor of psychology…a psychiatrist?" I asked.
"That is all correct," he responded. I was nervous to be working with a psychiatrist. It was going to be like doing therapy on Dr. Gerard. He held a much more disciplined educational background in the field than I did—I felt intimidated. I think he sensed my intimidation.
"Dr. DiMarco, I was more of a research specialist—I developed new drugs…as you might have read. I didn't do work with patients," he said suddenly. I nodded my head.
"Right," I said finally, licking my lips. I sighed, looking through his papers. Finally, I looked up and caught his gaze. I was in control. I could do this.
"So tell me, Jonathan," I spoke purposefully, "why a scarecrow?"
My session with Dr. Crane was more successful than I had anticipated it being—he was far less intimidating after speaking with him for our session. And what was even better, he understood the routine and answered each of my questions. I wasn't sure on his diagnosis, but I figured it would take me a bit longer for me to get to that bit. The best part of the session—he had no hallucinating drugs that turned him into the Joker.
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The days and nights passed as they always had. I spent my days in the asylum seeing my five patients and I spent my nights taking notes and analyzing the sessions. Luckily they were tape recorded. This made my life a whole lot easier. On the weekends, Bruce would come over to my apartment to keep my company. I would make us dinner and we would watch movies, play board games or do other platonic activities. He was truly my best friend. I knew that I could never take the place of Rachel, but I think our friendship was doing good for the both of us. I had no agenda of ever being a replacement for Rachel and I know he knew he could never be a replacement for the Joker. We had a mutual understanding of these things and I think that was what kept us both from falling in love with one another. I was glad because there was no way I could ever love anyone else the way I loved the Joker. My heart was damaged and what was left of it only beat for him. It was such a sad situation!
In any case, Bruce was able to keep tabs on the Joker at nights. He would inform me when I asked about the Joker, but always reluctantly.
"Bruce, have you seen the Joker at all lately?" I asked on night, several months since our return to Gotham.
Bruce stiffened in his seat before answering, "Yes, I have—but he doesn't really know I've been back to Gotham," Bruce explained.
"How can he not? He's the Joker! He knows everything!" I exclaimed, my mind slipping back briefly into my criminal mindset he had so easily taught me.
"Giada, no one in Gotham knows where Batman is—I've been keeping very stealthy—I don't want the Joker knowing I'm back,"
"Why not?! Don't you want to capture him? I am sure he's lost without you in his life!" I stated, certain that the Joker has been going through Batman withdrawal. His life must be miserable without Batman in it!
"Well that's his problem," Bruce responded coldly. I was silent, almost forgetting that they were arch-nemeses.
"You know, he haunts me in my sleep still," I spoke finally.
"Is that so? I would think Pixie Dust would do that more than the Joker," Bruce chuckled.
"Well that's why I asked you if you'd seen him around at all—because up until last night, I dreamt the same dream—where my five original patients turned into the Joker while in therapy and they try to cut my face—but last night, I dreamt I was with Dr. Crane and he sprayed me like he does every night, and he turned into the Joker, but then rather than Alberto cutting my face, Dr. Crane approached me, ready to cut my face. He leaned close in as though he was going to kiss me, then he pulled away and he melted into Pixie Dust—he was holding her dust in one hand and a knife in the other. Edward Nygma was the Joker standing behind her and he told her to cut my face—I screamed and woke up,"
Bruce said nothing. He nodded his head as thought trying to analyze what it meant, but I think he knew exactly what it meant. I slammed my head against the table. I just realized I violated HIPPA in telling my story—breeched patient confidentiality. Luckily Bruce thought I was just distressed from the dream.
"Funny you should have that dream then—yes Pixie is still with the Joker. I saw them last night in an alley heading towards downtown. I decided to follow them only because I hadn't seen them about recently, which is highly unlike either of them—then again, the Joker is completely unpredictable. I'm surprised he hasn't killed her off yet—must be her dust or something. I'm going to look into that for you, Giada. Anyway, I followed them but I lost track of them. It wasn't until I heard cop cars and sirens that I found their track. I followed the sirens and came across the museum of natural science—there was shattered glass everywhere—" Bruce paused, his face turning white.
"What is it Bruce?" I asked, feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of Pixie and the Joker robbing museums together.
"I couldn't find them after that—I don't know what happened to them—if they were caught or not—they probably weren't, but I am not too sure," Bruce stated.
"I bet they escaped," I said finally, assuredly. The Joker never got caught unless he planned to.
"This was the first time I'd really seen them in action since we've been back—I'd heard through the grapevine about other crimes they've committed both while we were away and when we'd gotten back, but last night was really the first night I've seen them," Bruce restated.
"Shattered glass you say," I responded.
"Yes—they broke into the museum," Bruce said.
"That's not very Joker-like—what could he possibly want inside of a museum?" I asked.
"I think it was a Pixie idea, to be honest," Bruce explained.
I chuckled at the thought of her. She made me so angry. "Shattered glass. What a stupid bitch,"