"So what do we know about this Joker?" asked Crane, as he sat in his cell with Harley holding an open folder opposite him.
"What do you know about him?" retorted Harley. "You were in Gotham when he first appeared, and I'm sure you noticed such a unique figure on the scene."
"Very good," said Crane with a smile. "Primary sources are always a valuable resource. I don't remember when the papers explicitly started calling him the Joker, but I do remember a spate of bizarre killings starting about three years ago where the corpses all had these exaggerated smiles."
"Yes, first reported in The Gotham Gazette," agreed Harley, pulling out an issue of the newspaper from three years ago. "Mysterious Smiling Killer Baffles Police. Like most serial killers, it started out small with only a few localized murders, but by the next year he was leaving notes at the scene."
She held up another newspaper where they had printed the note left by the killer. "Isn't he much happier now? Consider me your local humanitarian, always willing to spread smiles – The Joker."
"Erratic handwriting, which I assumed you noticed," said Crane. "Indicative of an erratic mind. Anything else in that note?"
"Well, it's a dark sense of humor, isn't it?" asked Harley. "Murdering people and calling himself a humanitarian."
"Calling himself the Joker," agreed Crane. "What does that tell you about his motivations?"
"Well, that he sees it as a joke," replied Harley. "The murder and killing, it all seems like a game to him."
"Yes, he's a self-styled trickster," said Crane. "He certainly wants to be seen as a comic figure, a darkly comic figure, as you've pointed out."
"What's weird is that nobody has seen him," said Harley, flipping through all the papers she had found reporting the Joker's crimes. "There's no description of him at all, just his crime scenes. At least people have seen Batman, and can describe him."
"Why do you compare the Joker to Batman?" asked Crane. "Why does your mind connect the two of them?"
"Well, they both seem to be social outcasts with invented personas," replied Harley. "And they both hurt criminals. You think this Joker was inspired by Batman, like a copycat kinda thing?"
"I'm not the one who connected them," replied Crane. "What do you think?"
"I think once the city tolerates the existence of one deranged vigilante, more are going to keep sprouting up," replied Harley. "If you don't act quickly to stop crime in its tracks, it inevitably spreads to others. Batman may be a good guy, but his behavior outside the law is going to encourage others to take the law into their own hands, and probably for less noble reasons."
"Is killing criminals not noble?" asked Crane. "One could argue that the Joker is far more effective at stopping crime than Batman, as the latter leaves them alive to reoffend. But once the Joker's smiles are on them, there's no coming back from that. It's a more efficient solution to crime, although as you say, it is outside the law. But I agree with you – I think the law turning a blind eye to this Batman character has inspired this new, even more extreme character of the Joker. And I think each new incarnation will be even more extreme than that – the boundaries will keep being pushed until someone in Gotham puts their foot down. I don't think you can condemn the Joker without condemning Batman as well, for one led to the other."
"But do you think it's a conscious thing?" asked Harley. "Or do you think the Joker is unconscious of Batman's role in his existence?"
"He seems like an intelligent man," replied Crane. "I mean, he's evaded the police for this long, although of course one doesn't need to be highly intelligent for that."
"No, but it seems like even highly intelligent people do get caught eventually," retorted Harley, pointedly.
Crane glared at her. "We're not talking about me – we're talking about the Joker," he snapped. "And how intelligent can he really be dedicating his life to taking down petty criminals in an eccentric manner?"
"Yes, he should be a professor testing fear drugs on students instead," retorted Harley.
"I've told you, I am making a valuable scientific contribution to mankind!" snapped Crane.
"Yes, despite your insights, I shouldn't forget that you are locked up in here," sighed Harley. She examined the papers again. "Why do you think nobody has seen this Joker? Do you think he actually exists? I mean, as a real person. He could be entirely an invention of the media – the murders are real, of course, but the Joker moniker could be made up by them to sell papers, like Jack the Ripper was. Or maybe it's a character the killer has invented for one reason or another, to shield their true identity."
"Ah, now that's an interesting theory," said Crane with a smile. "Perhaps the Joker and Batman are one and the same – perhaps the man has multiple personalities, one good and one evil. Or perhaps it's someone who does good work most of the time, a genuine humanitarian, but unleashes this dark humored persona as a way of releasing their dark side, in a kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scenario. Because no one has seen him, he could be anyone, even someone eminently respectable. Perhaps that is the intention behind the Joker – to spread paranoia and suspicion of everyone."
"Maybe," agreed Harley. She checked her watch, and stood up. "I have another patient to meet with, so we'll have to resume this discussion another time. I'll leave this with you – see if you can see anything I couldn't," she added, handing him the folder. Then she left his cell, heading back to her office and asking the guard to bring in the patient.
"Good afternoon, Pamela," she said, as an attractive red-headed woman was brought into her office. "How are you feeling today?"
"You don't need to talk to me like I'm a child," snapped the woman. "I'm feeling as fine as anyone can be locked up against their will."
"The courts thought some time in this facility would help put some things in perspective for you," said Harley, glancing at the notes in front of her. "And they don't want you to be released until you've learned to control your violent tendencies, and your doctor has determined you not to be a danger to…certain people."
"Yes, Jason got a damn good lawyer," snarled Pamela, her pretty face contorting in a frown. "With his kinda charm, Harvey Dent will be District Attorney someday, mark my words. He swayed the jury completely against me, painted me as some kind of bunny boiler…"
"Why don't you tell me what happened between you and Jason in your own words?" asked Harley, reaching for her pen and paper.
"He tried to kill me," retorted Pamela. "After he coerced and pressured me into being his guinea pig, and tested these weird, experimental drugs on me, suddenly he decides I'm too much of a liability to keep around. I'm the victim here if anyone is."
"You claimed at the trial that he hired a hitman to dispose of you?" asked Harley. "But no evidence could be provided of that claim…"
"Of course not – you don't keep receipts for that kinda thing!" snapped Pamela. "And the hitman isn't going to come forward to testify, is he? What proof could I have except that someone tried to kill me, and it was coincidentally a few days after Jason and I had this huge bust-up, and I said I'd go to the cops and tell them what he'd been doing!"
"Did you and Jason always have a volatile relationship?" asked Harley.
Pamela shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. That's what made it interesting."
"You had plenty of opportunities to leave him, but you never did, despite his ill-treatment of you," continued Harley. "Why is that?"
Pamela shrugged again. "I loved him. Don't you know what that's like? Don't you know what it's like to be crazy for a guy?"
"Yes, I know…something about that," agreed Harley. "And I'm sure you have every reason to be angry for the way Jason treated you. But we can't change other people, only ourselves, and that's what therapy hopes to do. But the only way you can change and grow is to accept responsibility for some of the faults in your relationship, and move on…"
"Move on?" repeated Pamela, incredulous. "The guy might have damaged me for life, permanently poisoned my body, and you think I can just move on from that?"
"I think you have to, if you want to be let out of here," replied Harley. "We all make mistakes when we're young and in love, but we have to learn from them. We have to grow up and get over them…"
She trailed off, the phrase stirring a memory inside of her, a memory of a gangster saying those words to her the day her heart had been destroyed…
"Are you ok?" asked Pamela, studying her.
"Yes, I just…need a moment," said Harley, buzzing for the guards as she felt tears shoot into her eyes. "Let's take a break and resume in half an hour."
She stood up and quickly left the room, hurrying outside. She took a gulp of fresh air, trying to prevent herself from breaking down at remembering the pain of that day, the raw, inconsolable pain that was only ever repressed, but never healed…never…
She reached for a cigarette with shaking hands, and lit it through tearful eyes. She inhaled, shutting her eyes and letting the tears fall. She heard Chuckie's voice ringing in her ears: We all make mistakes when we're young, but we grow up and get over them.
"Why can't I?" she whispered. "What the hell is the matter with me?"
It was like some horrible joke, she thought, a psychiatrist unable to cure a patient because she wasn't cured herself. It would be funny if it weren't so pathetic. Some horrible joke…
She finished the cigarette and returned to Crane's cell. "Are you all right?" he asked, noticing her red eyes. "Have you been crying?"
"No," she retorted. "It's allergies."
"Good. I don't like to see you cry. I remember the last time I saw it…" he trailed off. "Whatever did become of your…unusual paramour?"
"He died," retorted Harley, her face expressionless.
"Yes, well, I did warn you of the risks," sighed Crane. "Still I am sorry, for your sake. I hope it didn't affect you too badly."
"No, it didn't," lied Harley. "I keep coming back to this name, the Joker," she said, quickly changing the subject. "It's such an odd thing to call yourself."
"Well, his actions are a kind of demented prank on society," replied Crane. "And indicate a certain obsession and identification with a darkly clownish figure. If someone wanted to laugh at the cruel absurdity of the world, it would certainly be an appropriate moniker."
"Yes," agreed Harley. "Laugh at the cruel absurdity of the world," she repeated, thoughtfully. "I think we're on the right track."
