Jokes on You!

The next day dawned bright and sunny; it seemed ironic that on such an ill-fated day that the weather would be perfect.

One of the cops was to pick me up from Wayne Manor – safety precautions, apparently. No wonder I was a little on edge.

I sighed, taking one last look in the mirror. Ringlets of auburn hair hung halfway down my back, streaked with barely noticeable lime green dye – a tribute to the Joker, of course. I had an unusual pair of eyes; At times, they were a shade of stormy-grey. At others, they had strange bluish streaks in them. They dominated my face, accented by my high cheekbones and proud bone structure. Of course, I looked a lot like my uncle, Bruce – I was reasonably pretty, I had slightly tanned skin, and my hair was near untameable.

I clenched my jaw, wincing as I turned and pulled at my stitches.

Not long after my painful descent from the second floor, a man who was to take me down to the police station arrived.

“Are you ready to go now, Miss Wayne?” He asked politely. I nodded, hiding a smirk at his lilted formality.

Leading me outside carefully, he kept glancing at me as though I’d disappear into thin air. I couldn’t bring myself to appreciate the cloudless sky or the pleasant warmth the sun brought to me; I was too busy trying to forget my worries.

“I’m James,” he said when I asked him his name. He’d dropped the formality, much to my relief. I smiled at him – that is, until I caught sight of the police vehicles.

“They’re only a precaution,” James said hurriedly as my mouth opened in shock. Three police cars, a SWAT van and what looked like a Hummer awaited me. After a moment, I recovered, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. They were expecting a Joker attack, too, I realised with a sick feeling.

Two weeks to Christmas. Just two weeks. And I might not even be alive to see it! Either that, or I’d be in Arkham Asylum when Christmas Day rolled around. I didn’t know which was worse.

James led me to the van, helping me into the back before closing the door with a final slam.

xxx
I’m alive… I’m alive! Those were my first thoughts upon being ushered out of the van and into the police station. No incidents, or even clown appearances – amazing! Part of me, however, was slightly disappointed that I wasn’t important enough to the Joker for him to drop in. Not that it was surprising.

So it was with a sinking heart that I was led into the interrogation room. The room itself was sterile, white and bland. Its only features were the chairs and table that sat in the centre of the room. I sat in one of the hard chairs.

There wasn’t even a glass wall – meaning that they were going to take my answers at face value. I sighed in relief.

Barely a minute later, the door opened and in came three police officers. The forefront officer seemed familiar, and I realised that this was Commissioner Gordon, who I’d seen on the news not so long ago. The remaining two officers stood on either side of the door, in case I would try to run.

Gordon sat down opposite me with a weary sigh. He looked exhausted; obviously the Joker had been running him ragged. Part of me smirked inwardly at this; however, what I mostly felt was pity.

“My name is-”

“Commissioner Gordon. Yeah, you’ve been mentioned on the news quite a bit lately.” He smiled faintly at this.

“It seems I’m famous. Oh, don’t worry about them – they’re only there as a precaution,” he said, seeing me eyeing the officers. I nodded, but kept an eye on them just in case.

“How are you holding up?” He continued, settling into his role of a mildly concerned cop.
“Fine – other than being confined to my bed for a week,” I joked weakly. I have to admit, I was nervous as hell.

“All for the best. Now, let’s get this over with, shall we? Would you like to tell me what happened when you were kidnapped by our clown menace?” I hid a small smirk at the pun and nodded.

“Well, uh… obviously, you know about my… condition.” He nodded his head. “well, I was spending the week at Arkham until the drug kicked in. I had two days to go when…” I trailed off, taking a deep breath – meanwhile mentally congratulating myself on my ability to act – before continuing. “They busted me out and bound me up… then I was shoved in a van…”

And so it continued. Gordon seemed to believe my story - Kudos to me!

“So did he say anything to you other than what we saw on the news broadcast?” He asked me once I’d finished. I shook my head mutely.

“And do you know where you were taken?” I thought about it. I was about to tell him a different address when the door opened and in walked a nicely dressed young man.

“Oh, Dr Marshall. I was about to finish, so I’m sure you can take over from here. Miss Wayne, this is our temporary psychologist, David Marshall.” I looked up at him as Gordon disappeared out the door. Marshall’s glasses were wiry and delicate, mirroring his own looks. I supposed he was about twenty-five, although his classy dress code was advanced even for his age. He had the most striking blue eyes I’d ever seen, but his gaze was cold and calculating, and he was all business. With a small sigh he set a small black briefcase on the table.

“Your presence is no longer necessary, gentlemen. Please wait outside,” Marshall addressed the two bodyguards at the door before sitting down opposite me. The door closed behind them with a resounding clang, and then it was just the psychologist and I.

“Now,” he spoke in a slightly nasal – but not unpleasant – voice, “what exactly did you tell Commissioner Gordon?” I took a moment to collect myself, running over what I’d told Gordon.

It took less time to tell Marshall my alibi because I didn’t need to squeeze sympathy out of this man. He didn’t seem to have a drop of it in him anyway.

When I was finished, Marshall sighed again and took off his glasses. He looked up at me with eyes of steel and I felt my stomach drop as our eyes met.

“Would you like to see my mask?” I frowned.

“Your… what?” Instead of answering, he simply opened his briefcase and took out what looked like a ratty brown piece of material. He held it up, and I could see that it was indeed a mask, despite its bad condition. It was sewn rudely, with a rough mouth and two eye holes.
“It doesn’t look like much, I know. However, many of my patients find it… horrifying.” And suddenly, I remembered where I’d seen it.

“You’re not Dr Marshall! You’re that guy… uh… Crane, that’s right, Jonathon Crane! The Scarecrow!” I exclaimed, remembering the news bulletin about the insane psychologist. He had died his hair a blonde colour, and he was a lot thinner than he’d looked in the photo. It was strange what such a small difference could do, but I was certain that I was right.

“Quick. Well done. And you aren’t scared… why is that?” He mused, seemingly talking more to himself, as though I were a strange anomaly.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, not sure if he was expecting an answer. “Did the Joker get you out of Arkham when he took me?” There was a satisfied glint in his eyes, as though he were proud that I’d made the connection so easily, and he nodded slowly.

“Right. So what do you want?” Original, I know.

“Oh, I was simply sent to make sure that you didn’t tell the authorities anything important. But I’ve decided to bring you back with me. Even if the Joker doesn’t want you back, it would be a shame to waste such a brilliant mind on society.” I couldn’t help but feel pleased with the compliment, and so I wasn’t prepared for what happened next – primarily, that Crane pressed something in the briefcase, and I was sprayed in the face with a cloud of icy gas.