Author's Note – Thank you to everyone who's shown an interest, and support, in this story. It means a lot to know people are enjoying what I have written so far. This is my first Joker chapter and I gotta say it was a whole lot of fun to write.
I am away on vacation until September 12, though I have the next chapter written (just needing editing), and chapter 5 half written, so hopefully I can continue to update roughly once a week.
Enjoy!
A Darker Shade of Love
Chapter 3
Knowledge was currency in this crazy joint. The doctors liked to keep news of the outside world a secret. Joker had guys on the outside. Business to attend to. These doctors pranced around like they owned the place. Like they owned him. The guards were just as bad, they didn't waltz around drugged up on their own glory, but they didn't hide their contempt for him either.
To the guards and the doctors, Joker, and the others were property of the state, locked away and worthless. Forced to wear off-white, neutral clothing, they could easily blend in with the graying walls. Stripped of all individuality, they were to be rehabilitated, cured of madness. Or if not, they could rot away in the asylum.
The one puzzle that had the doctors, guards, and those higher on the chain of command, flummoxed was how did their defenses get weakened and punctured.
The guards thought they saw everything. With their fancy cameras, and their vast, armored numbers patrolling the halls, they firmly believed they had the inmates contained.
They didn't. What went on between the shadows would shatter their false sense of security. The murmurs of activity, the secrets passed amongst the killers and the crooks, would make the guards run home to their mommas.
The guards weren't safe amongst the madmen. They weren't safe amongst each other. That was the funniest part.
Everyone had a price. A cynical answer to the never-ceasing numbers of riots and escapes. But the fact was proven true time and time again. The security wasn't as tight, or as just, as they'd like to believe. Guards could be bought to look the other way, to leave a gate open, or to turn off a camera or two. In exchanging a fat wad of cash, and promising not to kill them when he got free, Joker could get a message to Frost, and his henchmen, if he so wished. These little carrier pigeons were useful on occasion.
Joker felt Sergeant Riggs' eyes burn into his back, interrupting his musing mind. The idle, wordless threat tickled at his ear.
"Just give me a reason, Mr J. Just give me a reason."
Sometimes, Riggs spoke his promise, and sometimes he just thought it. Joker really hoped the man would keep his promise.
Sergeant Riggs, Big Rigg, as Joker called him, liked to visit. More than any guard, Big Rigg would come and have these little, one-way conversations after lights out. Threaten him, and then walk away like it had never been heard, and wouldn't be remembered.
Think again, Big Rigg! Think again!
With winter on its way, and more people were calling in sick with colds and the flu, it felt like Riggs never left. But Big Rigg never touched him. During his time at Arkham, Joker had never suffered a beating from Big Rigg. Probably because he didn't have the guts to unleash all the pent up anger.
Sure it could be justified that Big Rigg was holding back because he was a senior officer. He had to lead by example. But there was more to it. Joker could feel it. Big Rigg didn't like him one bit. Fire and fury burned beneath the bulky, seemingly-calm exterior of senior officer.
To his credit, Big Rigg hid it well. The doctors thought Big Rigg was a standup guy. They bought into his nice guy façade. It took a person who'd felt that anger, and that fury, to recognize it in another. Joker could almost feel it, could almost taste it, whenever Big Rigg came for one of his unscheduled visits.
He was a ticking clock. Joker really wanted to be around for when Big Rigg went off.
His footsteps echoed down the corridor, leaving Joker alone with his thoughts once more.
Lesson number one, Sergeant Riggs, Joker never forgives and he never forgets. When he busted out of this place, Big Rigg would be the first to die.
Joker lay stretched out on his scratchy, thin mattress, staring up at a gray, stained ceiling. His eyes roamed the mottled plaster, and he rested his hands across his stomach. He listened to the hammering against the bullet-proof windows in the cell next door. His cellmate, the cannibal, was rambling on.
He wished these people had the good sense to keep their thoughts to themselves. Babbling the innermost workings of the mind got you in trouble. Got you locked up and analyzed. The irony.
Joker was bored. Nights were the worst. Long, black, with no one interesting to play with.
Most slept. Joker didn't like to. He preferred to be alert and know where those nosy cameras were.
He went to dark places in his dreams. Dark places that got him all wound up and excited. And then he'd wake up in this hole. Better to stay awake.
The cannibal was crying now. Just like last night. Same routine. Shouting, banging against the glass, and then crying. A high pitched wail. A grown man shouldn't sound like that.
The cannibal used to be good and quiet, falling asleep at lights out, and sleeping until morning. Then a week ago, he'd gotten the bright idea to bite one of the interns, earning himself a beating, and several rounds of ECT. The cannibal had been returned to his cell three days ago, and hadn't let up with the racket since.
Joker knew he'd have to listen to this until morning. If he wasn't locked up, he'd wrap his hands around the cannibal's neck and squeeze until there was nothing but silence.
Time was a fickle bitch. His enemy and his ally.
Now he'd gone and got himself all worked up. Rage, sweet, murderous rage coursed through him. His body grew rigid.
He let his mind drift to Dr. Quinzel. She'd caused quite the stir during her first week. She was on everyone's lips. She, colorful, and memorable compared to the usual drab graduates Leland brought in, was a hot topic for the caged madmen.
The cannibal had said she was good enough to eat. Not helping!
The Joker clenched his fists. Self-control was such a bitch. On the outside, self-control was never an issue, simply because he could do whatever the hell he pleased. If he wanted to kill the cannibal for interrupting his 'me time', he could. Killing and maiming were allowed, and expected of him. But in here, acting on impulse was quickly stopped and punished. A lack of self-control usually resulted in a trip to the ECT rooms. Electro-convulsion therapy seemed to be Leland's favorite weapon against him. He hated it. It destroyed his ruined mind even more. And it made him sleep.
The doctors liked to mess with his medication; to make his head all dumb and fuzzy. They liked to control those chemicals swimming through his bloodstream. They wanted to neuter him, cure him of all his violent impulses. And if they could, they wanted to understand his warped mind.
The Joker howled with laughter. It'd probably bring Big Rigg back. But he couldn't stop himself. He didn't care that the cannibal's wails went up a notch. It was all too funny. Too genius.
The punchline was diabolical. He was playing the doctors and the guards at their own game. By some bizarre stroke of luck, Leland's newly prescribed medication barely touched him. It didn't cloud his mind, didn't make him dumb and drooling, and barely cloaked his violent tendencies. He felt like himself for the first time in months. The pills made him feel nauseous at times, but he'd take the sickness if he could think clearly.
They were just like popping medicinal candy. Cover them in chocolate and he'd buy them.
He didn't understand it but he sure wasn't going to give the game away. The joke was all these professionals were none the wiser.
He was having a blast, acting the part of a numb psychotic. Time may be a bitch, and waiting might suck, but he was a lion waiting to strike. No, scratch that, he was a hyena. A hyena dressed to blend in with the bleached walls, waiting to go for the jugular.
Big Rigg would be the first to die. And the weeping cannibal. Then he'd tear this place apart.
Morning came, the sun rising from the cloudy depths without incident, and Riggs clocked out. He was out of the building in a hot second. This place, and the inmates, got to your head if you weren't careful. The air in Arkham Asylum was heavy, clammy, and it seemed to coat the skin with an invisible, sticky ooze. Riggs always showered once he got home.
Outside in the parking lot, he lit up a cigarette, and pressed his back up against the brick wall. He took a long, much-needed drag, silently promising to quit after Christmas. Tattered, brown leaves scattered past him, the chilling fall wind swirling close behind.
He was looking forward to breakfast at Wendy's. Going to the little diner, one block over, was becoming a morning ritual with the night shifts he was covering. Not good for his waist-line, and another habit he'd correct in January. At Wendy's, he'd order an all-day breakfast and read the paper, before heading home to sleep until noon.
Then he'd collect his daughter, Lily, from school. He was thankful to his mother who took care of Lily when he had to work. He didn't know what he'd do with either of them. His mother had been his rock, and Lily, his reason to live, since Carly had been taken away from him.
The throaty roar of a motorbike sounded in the distance. Riggs inhaled another hit, the sound growing louder. He watched the heavy, iron gates pull back, a bike peeling its way through, and coming towards him. He didn't know any member of staff who owned a motorbike.
The bike rider was a woman. Riggs could tell from the slight frame, and the blonde hair whispering in the wind. A sad pang of regret hit; Carly had ridden a bike. She had done all through college, and up until she got pregnant.
He pushed the thoughts down and approached the rider. He was surprised when he saw it was Harleen Quinzel under the helmet.
"Dr. Quinzel? I didn't know you rode?"
The intern turned to him and smiled. She must have been wearing contacts. She looked all the lovelier without her glasses.
"Nice bike."
"Thanks! You ride?"
"I used to."
"Used to?"
"Long story."
Harleen nodded but didn't pry. It didn't take a head doctor to understand that it was a painful topic. "You headed home?"
"Yeh. So you came back. Most interns quit within a week. I'm impressed!"
Harleen smiled just a little. "I didn't know anyone was keeping track."
"It's a running joke; How long interns survive the battle-axe." He was only half-joking, Leland had a reputation of putting interns through their paces, and making some quit.
"Battle-axe?"
"Leland."
"She's tough. But I can handle her."
Riggs smiled. In one-week, Dr. Quinzel had clocked more hours than any other intern. Working night shifts he'd seen she was the last to leave. She worked hard on the assignments Leland lumped her with. She didn't complain, not from what he'd seen or heard; he didn't believe Leland would crack Quinzel.
"Listen, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure." He stubbed out the cigarette.
"if I wanted to gain access to CCTV footage of the inmates how would I go about it?"
"Is there a problem?"
"No!" She smiled to emphasize everything was fine. "Nothing like that. I'm putting together a proposal for a study I'd like to conduct while I'm here."
"Okay, all proposals would have to be given the go ahead by Leland and Dr. Arkham. But if you catch me on shift this week I'll see what can do getting you in a room to view the tapes."
"Okay. Thanks."
"No problem." Riggs hesitated before continuing. "So, I was thinking maybe we could go for a drink sometime? After work maybe?"
Harleen opened her mouth to reply, her eyes were focused on the wedding band.
He smiled sadly, looking down at the platinum ring. "My wife, Carly, died almost two years ago. Friends is all I can handle." He barely spoke about Carly at work, especially not to someone he barely knew, but something about Harleen Quinzel put him at ease. She kind of reminded him of his kid sister.
"I…," Harleen faltered. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
"That's okay. I just figured you could use a friend."
"That sounds great," Harleen said and meant it; between Leland, the interns, and the inmates, a friend sounded good. Arkham Asylum could be a lonely place.
To be continued….