Chapter 3

Blood. Thirsty.

.

I threw you out, I didn't outgrow you

just didn't know you

Now you're back, it's so terrifying

How you paralyze me

Now you're showing up inside my home

Breathing deep into the phone

I'm so unprepared, I'm fucking scared

Teddy Bear / / Melanie Martinez

/ / / / /

"I'm not gonna hurt you, baby, just come out." He said in a soft voice, softer than he had spoken to her in years. Harley's lip quivered as she stayed hidden.

"Harley, baby, come on, I'm not even mad, I just want to talk, this hiding is getting ridiculous."

Maybe he's right? She thought to herself, honestly, it does seem kinda silly for him to be all worked up over something so trivial.

"HARLEY." His voice was suddenly razor-sharp, and cold, and without being able to help herself, she startled in reaction, making something fall off the shelf to her right.

Oh no, oh god, oh no, She desperately fought to keep the closet door closed as he jerked on the handle, but with the disadvantage she was at, he had jerked the door open, and pried Harley out in seconds, and she was picking herself up off the floor before she realized she had been thrown. "YOU FUCKING WHORE"

The head trauma disoriented Harley so badly, that for a moment she didn't notice the knife in her abdomen, but it didn't take long for the screaming to start.

BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT BZZT

My phone rattled with missed calls on the coffee table ahead of me, and as I jolted awake from that, I reached to check the time. Oh, shit. I thought to myself, I had forgotten to set an alarm. Oh, fuck.

I was nude before I had the shower turned on and mentally resigned myself to the first outfit my fingers touched.

/ / / / / /

Forty-Five minutes later, I made my way through security, and to my office, Luckily, I had cleared my morning Schedule to work on files, so I had made it just in time to prepare my office for my first patient of the day, Garfield Lynns, a Pyromaniac, showing signs of Paranoid Schizophrenia, who's intense manic episodes have caused not only hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage, but also the lives of his wife, two of his children, and his parents. Our last session had not been advantageous, as the voice he called "Firefly" was incredibly loud that day, and Mr. Lynn's believed that the Firefly was asking him to start fires in my office, or else Firefly would kill his last remaining Daughter. After talking with him, and reassuring him countless times that his daughter would be okay, I adjusted his medication, yet again, since nothing had even begun to help, other than straight-up sedation.

Looking over his patient notes for days since our last session, a couple of things stood out to me. Number one is how little he has been eating, which was very concerning until I checked his meal history, which showed that he had been given multiple meals with large meat portions. I made a note in the files to speak with the dieticians and Cafeteria staff, as for some reason they have been giving my strictly vegetarian patient meat.

"I- I can't eat that stuff- It smells like dead things, I don't like it," I remembered him whispering to me months ago when I finally made him trust me enough to tell me why he had been eating so little he had lost over 50 pounds, and he was a thin man when he got here.

God, the relief I felt when I realized there was an easy solution to the problem I had been ripping my hair out over for months was palpable.

Number two was that he had barely slept since we began him on the new medicine. I weighed in my mind whether to take him off of new medicine- but given how frequent temporary side effects happen, I decided to give him another few weeks, before I make any permanent decisions. I also added into his notes that he will need a mild sedative in the evenings, to help him sleep.

Clearing my desk, and standing, I made my way to the "therapy room", where the Patient would be handcuffed to the table and floor, as well as a panic button, and two guards right outside the door.

Walking down the left side of the wide hallway, following the arrows to the therapy room, I glanced up at the sound of shuffling feet. And there he was. Walking down the hallway between two guards, with one behind him, wrists and ankles cuffed, shuffling to his first therapy meeting, The Joker, though he didn't look much like the Joker in Arkham Standard issue blue uniform, his scars spoke for him.

He was much more tan than I had assumed, under the thick, white grease paint he caked on, his scars not as prominent, not as dramatic, in their only slightly pink and shiny, natural color. His hair was a light brown, almost dirty blonde, And quite nice given the haircare routine the criminal must be following.

I looked into his eyes without meaning to, and nearly startled at how intensely dark green they were, I had heard that his eyes were brown or black, but there was no mistaking the caustic violent shade in his eyes.

More than that, there was something else in his eyes, something mean and intelligent, something darkly curious, as if I was a particularly interesting mouse and he was the tom cat, batting me around for nothing but the fun of it. He was reading me as thoroughly as I was reading him, I realized and narrowed my eyes, continuing my stride unbroken, the encounter taking only moments as we made our way past each other.

Upon making my way to the Therapy Room, I looked up once more, only to see him making his way into a room followed by Dr. Leland. Hmm, I guess Jeremiah is hoping a firm but fair approach is a good starting point.

And with that, I put the clown out of my mind, and sat at the desk by the door, as guards made their way into the room, and Chained Mr. Lynns to his seat.

/ / / / / /

"Come on, Thorne, don't you ever sleep?" Gabe said, in an exhausted tone, he was the youngest man here, not really even a man by most definitions, but this line of work doesn't exactly have an age requirement.

"Son. You can do as you are told or you can go home and stay there. You know I don't like kids on my jobs anyway." The large grey-haired man did not so much as falter as he spun on his heel and walked away while speaking.

The boy was a child. 15, maybe 16, but eager to prove himself, scrappy, and quicker than he looks. Reminds me of myself at his age.

"Fine, I'll stay, but geez I am running on fumes." The boy sighed and flopped back on the recliner in the long abandoned safe house. The thing smelled like cat piss and semen, but since I had incidentally caused a bit of tension between our little organization and the Italians, we didn't want to risk one of our regular spots. Don't know why I got the flack for it, Thorne ordered the job, how was I to know that Falcone had recently promised the little Jewelry store protection? Honestly, Falcone has got to start sending out weekly reminders or something, because how am I supposed to keep track?

I snorted quietly and turned to Frostie, "he and your ex-wife have that in common huh?" his ex-wife had died from huffing too much paint and running her car through a sandwich shop, which I had gotten many many laughs out of.

"You're an asshole J, you know that?"

I laughed, "You know it."

Frostie is... What is Frostie anyway? Friend sounded most apt, but that implied a level of vulnerability that made me squirm in my seat. There was trust there, to be sure, but a friend? Accomplice? That's certainly closer.

I stood up, stretching and popping my knuckles. "Alright-y boys let's get out of here, you heard the boss."

Gabe sighed. "J, what the hell are we even going to steal? Do you know?"

I rolled my eyes, "Why yes I do, and you'll find out when we get there."

"Ace Inventory, right?" Chucky walked out of our makeshift kitchen, beer and Pringles in one hand. "I thought that was it, but all these warehouse names keep getting jumbled in my head"

Frostie nodded. "And I'm driving." he smiled, eying the beer, in Chuckies hand, not his first tonight.

I didn't show my amusement at his distaste for drinking and driving, I didn't like it either, but being a card-carrying career criminal made things like drunk driving no big deal for most of these guys.

GET UP INMATE. BREAKFAST TIME.

J did not jump, but froze, then sat up in bed. An orderly stood in front of that glass wall and slid a covered tray through a nearly invisible slot in the wall, And continued with his cart.

J stood, and stretched, a near mirror image of his dream self only moments ago. Licking and sucking his scars subconsciously, he lifted the tray, and sat back down on the bed, lifting the cover to get a peak at what his meals would look like for the foreseeable future.

A small cup of skim milk, a bowl of plain oatmeal, two pieces of whole wheat toast, a single-serve container of peanut butter, and most tantalizingly, a small covered bowl of fruit. I haven't had fresh fruit in years! J thought without letting his excitement show on his face, as he dug into his meal.

His aim was to be as neutral as possible, until he got his bearings, to ensure that he played his hand to the best of his abilities.

/ / / / / / /

J had been showered and changed, put back into those terrible chains, and now he was being brought into a special room for therapy. He internally groaned. This was the part he was not looking forward to. Doctors fighting for the chance to get rich using his name.

Then he saw her. Tall, blonde, and beautiful. But that wasn't what fascinated him. The way she moved was smoother than silk, slinky and sexy, fiery. The way she was dressed was sleek and professional, but not at all sexy, black slacks that covered all but the bottoms of her very sensible pumps, leading up to an antique-looking blue belt, and a high-necked slate grey blouse with a pussy-bow. She looked like a model in a clothing catalogue for old women, despite looking to be about twenty-two years old. Entirely too icy for a woman with that kind of passion in her blood.

Finally, Joker met the woman's eyes and nearly stopped in his tracks at what he saw.

There was a hunger there, a ferocity, a violence in the curiosity in her eyes, she is looking at me the way child psychotics look at stray cats. J thought to himself wryly. Like she wants to take me apart and see how many ways she can put me back together. She looked bloodthirsty in the sickly yellow-green hallway, and J nearly found himself nervous. Her eyes narrowed at him, and she looked away suddenly, but he continued watching her, until she passed him, surprising him. She's not my Doctor?

He continued a few more steps before the guards stopped him, and led him into a room. He was chained by his hands and feet and found himself looking into a mirror two-way mirror if I've ever seen one.

A woman did come into the room and sat at the desk a few feet in front of him. A stern looking woman, with a lovely white headband, and a kind voice.

How do I get them to let blondie in here?