I Can't Help You Fix Yourself

I stood staring into the glass window, not believing I was mere feet away from the most villainous characters in Gotham City. His face was stripped of the paint, and he was wearing the gray uniform of a button up shirt and pants. The killer's curved, pink scars popped out against his pale skin. He was in a straight jacket, sitting at a long table. The Joker kept glancing around the dingy room. It was rather dark, with no windows and only a flickering fluorescent light bulb overhead.

Jordan and Matthew glanced from me to the window.

"Why me?" I asked, meaning why I was the one to talk to him.

"You're probably more appealing to the Joker," Matthew answered. "I mean, you're female, and you are somewhat of a mental patient as well."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, looking at the nerd beside me.

"You have no memory of the time before you were nineteen, he might find it interesting. You could use it as leverage."

"That makes a lot of sense, Matthew," I said sarcastically. "Oh well, I might as well get it over with, right?"

I walked into the room, startling the Joker. "I'm Dr. Harper Gilbert," I said, sitting down in the chair opposite him. "I'm your psychiatrist."

He said nothing, but looked at me.

"I need to ask you some questions. If you feel uncomfortable, then you don't have answer. But, it'll be easier to trust you if you answer the questions. Then that jacket can come off." He looked at me more, examining my face. "Okay, name?"

"Nope."

"Age?"

"Nope."

"Birthplace?"

"Fort Stevenson, New York."

I had almost put a dash, but looked up at him. "I was from Fort Stevenson." It was on the card that was with me when I was at the hospital.

"Did you like it?" he asked, a devilish smirk on his face.

I coughed nervously. "I don't remember."

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised. "Why?"

"Have you been taking any medications habitually?"

"Why don't you remember?" he repeated, smirking again.

I ground my teeth and dashed out that question. "Do you have any relationships with anyone in Gotham?"

"I want to know why you can't remember."

I let out an aggravated sigh. "That's it for today," I said, standing up and shoving my chair into the table, storming out the door.

Matthew and Jordan looked over at me sympathetically.

"He's so annoying," I muttered. "Can you page the guards?"

"We're not doing an IQ test?" Jordan put down the papers on the table.

"You can, but I'm not." I sat down and handed the file to Matthew. "He told me he was from Fort Stevenson."

"Yeah," Jordan said, looking at the file. "Do you believe him?"

"We've got no reason not to, and besides, picking a hick town that I was born in? I think that's not just coincidence, its truth." I shook my head and looked at Jordan. "I don't think we'll get anything else about him today," I told the guard that came in.

He nodded and opened the door, roughly grabbing him. When the guard brought out the Joker, he laughed as he walked past me. "Have a good evening, Harp," he laughed.

I glared at the back of his head. "Rot in hell."