A strait-jacket and shackles on his feet. The Joker had been in this predicament before. But the cover over his head was new. Burlap. Wherever they were taking him, they didn't want anyone to see him. They pushed him along and finally made him sit. He could tell he was finally indoors, in a small room. He could tell by the sound of the voices around him, the echo or lack thereof, and the stillness of the air.
The cover was removed from his head quickly and he saw a tall but slightly timid looking man in front of him.
"Hello, I'm Doctor Andrews.." the man began to talk.
The Joker did not hear him, he simply observed how uncomfortable the man looked. His micro-expressions gave everything away. He was terrified but concealed it well.
"Do you have any questions?" he concluded after a lengthy introduction.
"Sure," the Joker responded. "Why do you look so nervous?"
"I assure you I'm not," the Doctor responded quickly. He didn't wait for the Joker to respond. The Joker could tell the man had already had enough and wanted him out of his presence. "You can take him to the designated room."
The police officer behind him threw the sack over his head again and they led him away to a very small, cold room. No window, just a bed, sink, and toilet. Just like prison.
He heard the police talking with the doctor and witnessed a few guards peering into his room where they had temporarily cuffed his left wrist to the bed he was sitting on. He had many of these guards and police officers in his pocket. He was paying them much more than their annual salary from their bosses. Maybe this psychiatric hospital could be a fun place, until he was ready to escape. Psych patients could be useful. They were expendable, easy to mold, and typically quite trusting.
.
.
.
"So..." Adriana said to Doctor Andrews, who had said barely two words to her during their session. He was immensely distracted about his new patient.
"Sorry," he said. "I apologize."
"It's okay," she said back. He was thinking deeply about how to get through to this man that made him so uncomfortable. Being a good doctor meant that he could handle any situation. He was putting an incredible amount of pressure on himself. She knew that she could help him, since if she was in the presence of the new patient she should know everything about him. But she knew that Doctor Andrews was very different from Damien. He would never in a million years ask her to do such a thing.
"I want to help," she finally said. It wasn't even about the money. She hated to see such a good man so stressed. The police had sprung the Joker on him without warning, and the truth of it was that it was her fault. The Joker was here because Damien was sure that ten million dollars would guarantee her helping them. And she was sure he had convinced Commissioner Gordon of the same thing.
"Oh, Adriana," he said with a small laugh. " You really don't need to worry about this. I'm sure we can handle it-"
"You're afraid of your patient," she said. Seeing his memories from earlier that afternoon when he encountered the Joker.
"Yes.." he replied, sounding very vulnerable.
"And truthfully, most of those officers out there think you are supposed to be treating him," Adriana explained. "But really...he's here because of me. If I refuse to help they'll send him back to Arkham."
"Yes...but I am here to treat any patient that I am sent...to the best of my ability-" the doctor said.
"I want to help you," she said back. "Please..before I change my mind. I can do this, they want to pay me." She felt like she was trying to convince the both of them.
"I am not sure that is wise given your condition," he said.
"You know I have always wanted to move somewhere remote," she said. "Far away from other people and society and...voices in my head. It's...what I have wanted all my life, but I could never afford it. I want this. Let me help...please."
"Okay," he said after some consideration and stood. Dr. Andrews knew that Adriana's situation was unique and there was not much he could do for her but help her with medications for sleep. She did need to relocate. It would help her more than pills ever could.
He looked at her.
He looked nervous. "He is.."
"Scary?" Adriana said.
He nodded. "But I am sure the police will have officers present at all times."
"Then let's get this over with. Call Damien," she said.
After dinner, Adriana was called back to the Doctor's office. Damien was there smiling brightly.
"I'm so glad you made the right decision," he said and kissed her.
She didn't say anything.
"All we need is for you to get as much out of his head as you can," Damien said. "His next move, his weaknesses, information about who he actually is as far as his identity. Anything."
Adriana nodded once.
"Let's go," Damien said.
.
.
.
"Are you sure about this?" Dr. Andrews asked Adriana before they left his office. She was happy that at least one person was concerned for her.
"No, but," she said. "Yes."
She started to feel the medications she took with her few bites of dinner churning in her stomach. A mild burning sensation. Or maybe it was nerves.
"Let's go," Damien said again. His grey eyes very intent on getting this done.
"Okay," Adriana said and followed him. The three of them walked for several minutes until they reached a room in a wing of the facility she had never been in before. It was reserved for patients who were wealthy and wanted privacy. There was only one patient being held there now. The Joker.
"He's in here," Damien pointed to a door a few feet away.
"Right," Adriana said anxiously.
"Adriana," Damien said, sounding annoyed. "You're changing your mind."
"Just give us a minute," Dr. Andrews, who had come along with them, said noticing Damien's impatience. "We'll be right in."
"Fine," Damien replied and entered the room quickly. Adriana didn't see anything other than the end of a table and a large window showing the setting sun and the few clouds in the sky.
"You don't have to do this," the doctor said. "I will deal with him."
"No, I can do this," she said quietly. "I can, I just.." she took a deep breath.
She actually wasn't nervous at all. She had seen unspeakable horrors since she was child. No crime was ever hidden from her mind. No evil thoughts bypassed her. She was never spared any thoughts of ill intention. She realized she was full of hatred for Damien. Maybe after she was paid she could leave him. Completely disappear. She then began to think of how she had nothing in writing guaranteeing that she would be paid. All she had was Damien's word and he was a habitual liar. There was no contract. She thought of calling the Commissioner but didn't want to sound paranoid.
She could feel the man's thought's on the other side of the door already.
"Let's go back to the west wing," the doctor finally said, seeming to realize it. "This isn't good for you-"
"No, it's done," she said. Her stomach began to feel tight and if her body was rejecting the few bites of food she ate. "Let's just go in."
She and the doctor entered the room together. Her mind was pulled by the guard on her left. He was thinking about money, and how he would spend the 40 grand the Joker had wired him.
She turned to the right and saw the Joker sitting at the table with his hands folded.
His thoughts were simple. He was wondering why they brought him to an isolated room after feeding him. Another meeting with the useless doctor? He was also wondering why police officer who had been in charge of leading his transportation here looked excited. Like he had cracked a code. He saw the doctor and a young woman wearing the same white clothes they had given him come into the room. Another patient? The whole situation was odd. He began to assess her appearance in an effort to figure out what her purpose here was.
Her hair was what could be considered the darkest shade of blonde. Her eyes were very pale blue and her skin was a tan color. She looked tan but pale at the same time, somehow, he thought. Someone with a deep skin tone but ridden with anemia and lack of sun. She looked sickly, he thought, and this thought did not offend her. She agreed with it.
His assessment went on and she heard it all within a split second. Thoughts came through much quicker than spoken words. He thought that she was not an ugly woman, though she looked unwell. In fact, he was certain that most people would consider her to be beautiful. But her beauty didn't look like it had given her much privilege. This woman looked like she had witnessed war and famine.
He made eye contact with her and she did not look away. She began to make her own assessment. He planned to escape, this she could see clearly. His appearance was not as intimidating as she had expected. Perhaps it was the psych uniform. He didn't have paint on his face but the tips of his hair were green. He had thick scars on both sides of his face and a thinner scar near the center of his bottom lip. There were dark circles around his eyes that rivaled her own. She also thought that he also looked sickly in the face. His body appeared robust but he his face looked pallid. For a moment she searched his thoughts and memories as she looked at him.
There was so much the Joker did not know about himself. He did not seem to remember most of his life.
She looked at him for a few seconds and then he watched her place on her hands very slowly over her abdomen. She looked like she was about to be sick. No surprise. He had made people vomit on sight before. It was usually fear or disgust or some combination of the two. She didn't look afraid. She looked nauseated. Likely nauseated at the sight of him, he thought. She placed the side of one her hands by her mouth and heaved before she left the room.