I Can't Help You Fix Yourself

I sat and watched the Joker take an oral IQ test. It really wasn't that fascinating.

Just Matthew holding cards with questions, and Jordan writing the answers down. The only exciting thing was when Matthew and Jordan had calculated the results.

The criminal was a genius. Literally, with a score of 156. "He's a genius?" I repeated, looking at the answers myself. "That can't be possible," I said.

"No," Jordan said, "I'm surprised, too, but it's true."

"He should be winning Nobel Peace Prizes. Not rotting in a cell in Arkham," I said, still shocked by the score. I walked in the room, looking at the patient, who was staring back at me. "You're test was good."

He nodded.

"Did you know that you were a genius?" I asked, honestly wondering if he had any idea about what he was.

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why not go work for NASA… or the Government, or something other than killing people?" I asked.

"When I kill someone," he said, for the first time talking about his crimes, "I know more about the people than their best friends."

Even though his claim scared me to death, I admitted, "I don't understand."

"I see every emotion when I kill someone. You can't see that, can you?" he asked, smiling like a devil.

"I understand now," I said, avoiding his question. "Have a good night," before turning and walking out the door.

I nearly jumped in surprise when I only saw Dr. Damsen. His dark eyes surveyed me quietly.

"What were you doing?" he asked.

"Asking him a few questions."

"I don't want you in there without someone watching you," he instructed.

"I can handle a loony wearing a jacket," I said, rolling my eyes.

"I don't care if you think you can, I don't want you with him unsupervised," he said sternly.

"Yes, sir," I muttered, paging the guards again. "Where are the guards?" I asked, glancing at the Joker. He was staring at the table, a sad, sort of somber look on his face.

"There was a fight in the cafeteria, they must be there. He can stay there tonight," Damsen said, walking away.

"I'm just going to take him back to his room," I said to the back of his head. "I need more time with him anyway."

He turned and glared at me. "I tell you to not to be alone with that thing," he spat, "and you say you'll take him back?"

I nodded, going into the room. "Hey Joker," I smiled, earning a raised eyebrow. "I'm taking you back to your room now, so if, at all possible, could you restrain from trying to kill me?" I asked sarcastically, pulling him up and almost dragging him out.

I looked at Damsen and said, "I know this may come as a shock, but I'm not concerned about a loony in a jacket. And since he's my patient, I will be telling you when I can and cannot talk to him."

Dr Damsen glared from the Joker's childish smirk to my stone cold eyes.

"Understood?"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Gilbert," he said, turning and stalking out the door.

I felt the Joker un-tense in my grip when my boss left. "No funny business, alright, clown?" I asked, taking him down the hallway.

I hadn't been down the residential hallway in at least a few years. The tile walls were falling off and dangling, and in some spots, the wallpaper was peeling off like potato skins. On the floor, dirt grime and water mixed and ran to the plugged up drainage spouts, leaving standing water and God knows what else. The dim lights flickered occasionally. It was nothing like the front lobby. I felt bad, not really for the Joker, but for the other people who had to stay in the dingy cells. We arrived in the high security area, and I put him in the first cell. It didn't matter much, he was the top priority. But yet, the guards couldn't escort him to his cell for the night.

I unlocked the door and motioned him in, letting go of his jacket. I followed behind him, watching him sit on the bed.

"You kill people because you like it?" I said, half as a question, the other as a statement.

He nodded.

I looked around the room, turning my nose up. The bed was a mere inch thick, with a sickly colored green blanket. The floor was cement and had various stains from previous inmates. The walls, except the wall with the door, were padded. The wall with the door was bulletproof and soundproof glass.

"When did you get into that stuff?" I asked, turning my back against the wall.

"Killing?" he asked.

I looked at him, as if to say 'Well, duh.'

"In high school."

"I'm getting tired of asking you a question every two milliseconds," I said, crossing my arms. "Care to elaborate?"

"My girl was in trouble, I fixed it," he said, glaring at me.

"Then you killed her."

"I didn't." His face hardened, and his eyes could have burned a hole in my head. "I didn't," he said softer, more to himself. He looked down and leaned back on the bed, facing the wall. "You can keep asking about her, Harper—"

I cringed when he called me my name.

"But that's all I'm telling you. You know the rest."

"What did you say?"

"You know the rest of the story, Harper," he repeated, not looking at me.

I must have stayed in there for a few minutes, because I heard him snoring slightly. I sighed and went out of the room, trying to figure out what he meant. I couldn't help but think about the dreams that had only increased since he had been captured.