~*~*~

41. Out From Under

~*~*~

That night, I remained in bed, staring at the ceiling. I went through all of the possible scenarios in my head that we perhaps running through the Joker's; why he decided to go along with Pixie's ploy to rob the museum; why he decided to get caught; maybe he didn't decide to get caught; maybe it was all his idea to rob that museum; why he decided to end up in Arkham rather than the GPD prison like last time. I just couldn't wrap my brain around everything that flowed endlessly through my head. The possibilities seemed endless.

I rolled over finally and saw that it was 2:30 in the morning. I had literally spent four hours pondering the Joker's motives. This was the definition of insanity—thinking incessantly about the motives of an alleged crazy person. There had to be around this.

The next morning when I walked into the doors of Arkham, I knew that there was no way I would be able to concentrate on anything with him in the confines of the asylum. I didn't even know where his room was, which was good; but just knowing he was in such close proximity to me drove me, ironically, utterly insane. I somehow managed to make it all the way to my office without even consciously knowing I was walking there. I sat down at my desk and looked up at the fiendish clock. It was not even 8:00. Damn. I hated being early, especially when I had time on my hands to think!

I began tapping my pen as I waited for the computer to load. It took forever. I was beginning to think I could run down the hall, find the Joker's room and be back in my office before it even loaded.

I stopped at the thought. Finding the Joker's room. He was here, after all. I could find his room if I wanted to. I tapped the pen faster as I considered the thought. Why would I want to find his room? It's not as thought I could talk to him—it's not as if he'd remember me anyway. My heart cringed at the memory of our last moment together. I didn't want to feel that pain again—what good would it do me now?

I glared up at the clock again. It was still not even close to being 8:00. I let out a loud sigh and finally typed in my password into the computer. The stupid manila folder sat on my desk, staring hard at me. I glared back at it in return.

"There is nothing you can do to make me find his room," I told the manila folder out loud. I sat there, still glaring at it as though it were going to give me an angry verbal response. I sighed and shook my head. I couldn't believe I was talking aloud to the manila folder—an inanimate object, as it were. There was no doubt in my mind that I had begun to go stark raving mad. I quickly logged into the Arkham database and typed in "Joker" into the engine. A couple of ID numbers appeared on the screen. I wasn't sure which one was him, so I removed the paperwork from the angry manila folder and matched the ID to one on the screen. 4479.

"Bingo," I said as I jotted it down onto a post-it. I placed the packet back into the manila folder.

"There, are you happy now?" I asked the folder as I stood to my feet and dashed quickly out of my office. I briskly made my way down the hallway to the stairwell. I slid my ID badge into the card slot. The door unlocked itself for me and I ran up the two flights of stairs to the sixth floor. I swiped my badge again, the door opened, and I slid out of the stairwell and onto the main floor. My heart raced as I walked down the hallway, quickly eyeing the various rooms and matching the ID numbers to the one scratched haphazardly on my yellow post-it.

Just when I thought I searched the entire floor, 4479 stood out like a beacon. My heart nearly stopped. I forgot how to breath again as I looked at the metal door that separated me from him. I stood far enough away from the glass window that was etched into the metal frame of the door so that I could not see inside. I wondered if he was still asleep. My heart fluttered at one of my memories of him asleep. It was one from a while back—the first time I had ever seen him asleep, defenseless and without make up. He looked so beautiful; he had such a handsome face. I thought that maybe I could live without him and those memories—despite the fact they caused me complete and utter pain, I couldn't help but dream about the things that never were. There was no way I could have him on my caseload—just in that moment, I realized from my reaction, that I would not be able to get through a session without feeling pain for the memories that led to nothing. I went to turn away from the Joker's room, but something else caught my eye: a pair of chestnut down eyes peering back at me behind a mask of black and white face paint. My heart stopped. I quickly averted my gaze and glanced down at the room number again. 4479. Suddenly, I noticed underneath 4479 was another name: property of Dr. Princeton.

Oh this was bad. Dr. Princeton was the most biased psychiatrist on Arkham—he believed any criminal within the confines of Arkham deserved nothing better than a prison cell and the electric chair. I couldn't believe Dr. Gerard would assign the Joker to Dr. Princeton when he was originally assigned to me. Maybe Dr. Princeton had requested the Joker for the mere purpose of proving his sanity in order to send him to back to prison and allegedly, death row.

I looked back up at the window in the door. The eyes were still staring back at me, but this time I could see more of his face. I took in a slow breath. In that moment, I made a life altering decision. I glanced back at the ID next to the door, more specifically, at Dr. Princeton's name. The Joker saw where my eyes had averted to because when I glanced back at him, he was trying to see the ID tag I had been looking at. He then looked back at me. He looked curious, almost questioning. I ran down the hall away from the Joker and the room that contained him. I ran faster than I could possibly run until I made it to the stairwell. It was my major concern that I get to Dr. Gerard's room before anyone else.

To my dismay, Dr. Gerard's door was closed. Anxiously, I stumbled back to my office and sat down at my desk. It was 8:30. I opened up the Arkham system email and plunked out an email to Dr. Gerard. Almost immediately, I got a response; he was out of the office today. Fuck it all! No doubt Dr. Princeton would be meeting with the Joker this morning, or this afternoon. Maybe I could intercept him. Maybe I could let him know I changed my mind and that the Joker was still my patient—that Dr. Gerard gave me until Friday to change my mind. I glanced at my calendar. Friday was tomorrow. I gasped. How could Dr. Gerard be absent today of all days?! How could I ever get Dr. Princeton to give up the Joker? There was no way he would ever give up a patient like that, not unless it was Dr. Gerard's request.

I sat down at my desk and tapped my pen. I had to think of something, even if I knew it would hurt me; even if I knew he wouldn't remember me. I had to get him back onto my caseload. I would not let Dr. Princeton prove his sanity and send him to his death. I would never let that happen. I just had to get out from under all of this mess.

At 10:00, I went to see Dr. Crane. He seemed pleasantly surprised this morning, for whatever reason. I guess word had gotten out that the Joker was no longer on my caseload.

"Dr. DiMarco, you refused the most wanted criminal in Gotham," Dr. Crane mused.

"This is not up for discussion, sorry Jonathan," I replied calmly. I needed to remain professionally. No doubt Dr. Crane would go back to the other patients and inform them of the things he'd talked about in our session, which was SO against HIPPA.

"Why did you do that? You do know that he's doomed now that he's with Dr. Princeton, don't you?" Dr. Crane continued, ignoring my earlier comment.

"Well, unfortunately, that is up to Dr. Princeton to decide," I spoke curtly. "Let's get to work,"

"It's too bad, Giada—you would have truly enjoyed working with the Joker—brilliant man," Jonathan said finally, actually calling me by my first name. I looked up at him, almost in shock.

"I suppose that may have been true," I responded flatly. I fought hard through that session not to bombard Dr. Crane with numerous questions about the Joker. To my surprise, I did make it through the session being the effective clinician I hoped to be. Unfortunately, that afternoon, Edward Nygma was full of riddles and questions and hyperbole regarding the Joker. Without my prodding, Edward very casually and openly discussed with me his relationship with the Joker.

"I knew the Joker—he found me and with just one conversation, I understood all he meant—he turned me into the Riddler—who I am, today," Edward spoke with pride. I wanted to ask him more about this, but I knew it was against the code of ethics—it was also against my therapeutic plan for "the Riddler".

It wasn't until it was 4:00 that I found myself sitting at my desk again, tapping. It seemed all I did in my spare time at work was tap my stupid pen. But I was hard in thought—how I could possibly get the Joker onto my caseload. I had to be crazy and I had to get out from under. I would get the Joker onto my caseload if it was the last thing I did.

I checked my email for the hundredth time. Still nothing back from Dr. Gerard. My heart sank a bit, but I knew it wasn't the end. I would have to tell him tomorrow—provided that he doesn't another day off.