In the Mind of Madness

Kenna Archer threw her hands in the air in frustration, amusing the clown sitting across from her.

“Good God, Joker! I don’t know my favorite color!”

“Everybody has a favorite color.”

Kenna hated showing him so much weakness, but she groaned and laid her head down on the table. After almost three days of non-stop questioning from the clown she was ready to throw in the towel.

“If I must pick one,” Kenna lifted her head a tiny bit to answer. “…blue.”

“That is a boring favorite color.” declared The Joker. “Couldn’t you pick something interesting?” Kenna’s head dropped back down. “Come on, blue is just so --”

“Mauve!” shouted Kenna, her voice muffled by the table.

The Joker giggled at her scalp. “You’re really much funnier when you’re annoyed or tired. I would love to see you drunk.”

“I hate you.” grumbled Kenna. “Are you almost finished? At some point my boss is going to start wondering what the hell we talk about, and I shouldn’t have to tell him my favorite color and who my first boyfriend was.”

“You never answered that one, Kenna.” The Joker said, he liked to throw her name around now that he knew it, and it always sent chills down her back. Something about her name in that sometimes eerily high pitched and sometimes deadly low voice…“You just went on some tangent that made no sense about privacy and inconsiderate clowns. I assume that last part was about me.”

Kenna sat up and glared into the brown eyes that were growing too familiar to be healthy. “I’m getting sick of this. I can quit at any time, you know.”

“But you won’t.” The Joker sneered. “I’m just too damn interesting.”

“Sorry to burst your clowny little bubble, but you are no different from half the other whackjobs in here. If all of them were out on the streets they’d be doing the same things you do.”

The Joker rolled his eyes. “You can keep trying to convince yourself that I don’t fascinate the psychologist in you, but deep down you know it’s true.” he paused to smirk at her, his voice dipping into that base that was absolutely bone-chilling. “And I arouse the vixen in you. I know it‘s in there somewhere…very deep.”

“You are delusional.” scoffed Kenna, deciding not to respond to such insanity with more than that.

“We both know you’re not as virtuous as you make it seem. There’s my next question: How many men have you slept with?”

Kenna flushed, hating herself for it, but hating him more for asking. He expected her to blush and pass, so she responded harshly. “Two. Both in college, both very unpleasant experiences.” Then Kenna shot a question back at him. “How many women have you been with?”

“I am currently not obliged to answer any of your questions, dear Kenna.” The Joker replied coolly, smirking at her furious expression. “Why were the experiences so unpleasant?”

“The first took about two minutes, and the second…” Kenna blushed again, realizing that in her anger she had started talking too freely.

“The second…?” he goaded her, licking his lips.

Kenna looked away in defeat. “The second was into some kind of sadomasochism. I have a scar on my ass. Is that enough information for you on that particular subject?”

The Joker laughed until tears streaked through the white makeup smeared on his face. Kenna wished he wasn’t wearing the paint again, since he seemed more human when he didn’t have it on. She glared at him until he was just giggling.

“That made my day, kitten. Truly.”

Kenna scowled in disgust. “Ugh. You’re a pig.”

Shrugging, The Joker twiddled his thumbs on the table. “I have one more question.”

“Then I can finally do my job?” Kenna’s voice rose hopefully.

“Nope.” The Joker replied, popping the ‘p’. “One more question today.”

Of course. “Dear lord.” Kenna sighed. “Just make it quick.”

“Why do you honestly think you’re still doing this? Talking to me.” The Joker held her eyes after he spoke, using that penetrating stare that made Kenna wake up at night covered in cold sweat.

That one caught Kenna off guard. She had expected another question about all her sexual promiscuities. The answer to his question was something she’d agonized over, and she realized that to answer it properly she had to reveal the answers to two questions she had at first refused to answer. But he would know if she was lying.

“My father was killed by a schizophrenic, who met him on the street and was convinced my dad was a hired assassin from the government to come and get him. So the man stabbed him and threw him in a gutter. We found out later that he had never been treated for his illness because he didn’t have the money. I decided that I would try to help people like him, and after a few years open my own practice with free service to the poor and mentally disabled.”

The Joker listened to her with an unreadable expression. “That doesn’t quite answer my question, doll.”

“Don’t call me a doll. I‘m not yours to play with, despite what you think.” snapped Kenna, then continued before The Joker could mock her.

“I know what it is to hate someone and feel sorry for them at the same time.”

That shut the smiling mouth of the madman in front of her, and Kenna stood to leave. She had just told him one of her deepest beliefs, and her stomach felt oddly hollow. It was like she had given away a piece of herself.