In the Mind of Madness

It was so quiet in the warehouse The Joker wondered if he could hear a pin drop.

He didn’t think anyone there had a pin. He didn’t have a pin. What were pins really used for anyway? Sewing maybe. No one there sewed. That idea was funny. He didn’t laugh.

Only a few hours before he had discovered that the Irishman’s kid, two members of his staff, and Kenna were all missing. It seemed unlikely he had misplaced them. Usually he was very aware of where his things were. How strange.

The anger was roiling beneath the surface. The point at which it would manifest remained unknown but The Joker was in no rush. No, he was perfectly happy lying spread-eagle on the floor of his work room staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t really a ceiling, just a bunch of metal tubes and pipes. The warehouse was such a piece of shit. Maybe it was time to go house hunting.

The Joker smirked and thought of saying that to Kenna and the eye-roll it would get him…But then he was scowling again because Kenna wasn’t available for him to make snide remarks to. Who was he supposed to snark at? No one said or did anything half as interesting as the sanctimonious, obdurate, always-looking psychiatrist. She was always looking. At him, at something. Never a blank stare. Never a dull moment.

“Boss?”

Oh, Gooood. The Joker moved his right hand from being flung out at his side to rub it over his face, no doubt smearing the makeup but who cares. Who cares?

“Uh, Boss…I got something you probably wanna see.”

The Joker tilted his neck backwards so he was looking at Darla in the doorway. Huh. She was much easier to tolerate upside down. “Do you?”

Darla held a black rectangle and a white cloth in her hands, fidgeting with it. “It’s a DVD, I think. Just found it outside wrapped in…well, I think it’s the…shirt Kenna was wearing.”

On his feet in a movement so quick it startled Darla, The Joker crossed the distance and snatched the two items from Darla’s hands. Indeed it was a black case containing an unmarked DVD and the white tank top Kenna had been wearing. What did that mean? The Joker imagined it meant that wherever she was she was shirtless. Hm.

“Out.”

One thing Darla did not need was to be told twice. The Joker shut the door behind her, locking it and then striding over to the small TV and DVD player he’d stolen a few weeks ago. He couldn’t remember why he’d done that but he was glad he did now. While turning on the television and player with one hand The Joker thumbed the material of the shirt.

He only smelled it for scientific purposes. To see if there were any clues to where she had been. There weren’t. Sweat and cotton. Something faint that was Kenna. The Joker dropped the shirt to the ground and kicked it away hatefully, turning his attention to the screen. It was black. Then it flickered.

Kenna. Nothing but underwear. Hands above her head. Maybe it was just the lighting but her skin looked a bit blue. Torso shining, hair wet, body trembling persistently. The Joker’s eyes slid swiftly up from the curve of her hips and her soft stomach over her average chest up her supple throat to her face. The all-important face that told him everything going on inside her as if she was saying it out loud. She never would. So sometimes she surprised him. That was what made her exciting. The Titillating Doctor Archer.

Wait. He was supposed to be watching.

Her head was down, shadowed, but he could see her lips. Open, shaking, and slick. Fascinating. Magnetic. What was the point of this? Maybe the figure stepping into the frame wearing a scarecrow mask would explain.

“Hello, Joker. We have something that belongs to you.” it spoke in a deep, metallic voice. Disguised. Coward.

A switch flicked. The Joker recalled that Kenna wasn’t in the warehouse lurking around the corner thinking he was unaware of her. He was incredibly aware of her at all times. He was aware that she was on the screen, which was not where she was supposed to be. He listened intently.

“This is merely a lesson in manners, since we have the things that you took from us. We trust this message will operate as an aide memoire that our organization will continue to run as it has in the past, and you will not interfere again.”

The scarecrow raised his hand to Kenna’s face. She rocked back to try and get away but simply swung in the air scowling. The Joker only had a moment to smirk at her petulant face before a cloud of white blew out of the sleeve and into Kenna’s face. Interesting. She spluttered, inhaled, and then her eyes blew wide and she started screaming. Screaming.

Chills skittered up and down The Joker’s spine. Good or bad? Good. Bad.

“Doctor Archer has just inhaled a deadly psychotropic hallucinogen. A concentrated dose, but not particularly strong.” The Scarecrow spoke over Kenna’s repeated noises of distress. One of her flailing legs nearly caught him in the back. “Right now she is experiencing the beginning stages of a very, very bad trip. In six hours irreparable damage will be done to her mind…But you do like the crazies…don’t you, Joker?”

She was gripping like that. Her eyes blown wide in frenzied horror, mouth open with her shrieks and gasps, and her body thrashing so brutally blood started to trickle down her arms from the cuffs around her wrists. Psychotropic hallucinogen, hm? Sounded familiar. Wait…six hours?

Irreparable damage. She wouldn’t be herself anymore then, would she? That just wouldn’t do.

“If you’d like to find the good doctor you can do so in the freezer of The Pantry Petit: a French restaurant on Franklin Avenue. By the time you see this you will have four and a half hours. Thank you for your time.”

Abruptly the piercing sounds coming from Kenna were cut off, the screen going black once more. Four and a half now? That…was less. Maybe enough? Maybe…The Joker spun on his heel and strode away from the TV. Somewhere he had something about a hallucinogenic toxin. Where?

Next to the bench where he fiddled with wires and bolts habitually there were stacks and stacks of newspapers. Old, new, wet, rotting, big piles of them. Some of them had been cut apart or ripped up or strewn all around until they didn’t make any sense. Why did he have them? Why? He could never stay organized. As long as he could remember. Probably he had heaps of unorganized things all over the place in the womb…but he was getting sidetracked.

He did that when he was panicked. Was he panicked? Yes. And he was looking. For a newspaper clipping. Oddly enough he knew the exact date on it. Almost two years ago…

Muttering to himself, The Joker started knocking over piles and rifling through them. Crimes, scandals, deaths, marriages, used cars, collie puppies. Not what he wanted. Two years ago. Would he have them grouped? Ugh, he couldn’t recall. Filing system, that was what he needed…And more gun powder. Always more gunpowder.

“DARLA!” The Joker almost startled himself with the intensity of his shout. She heard him and came running within seconds. “Make yourself useful for once. Two years ago. March eighth…Well, look!”

A few papers came flying at the bewildered woman, who caught as many as she could and started scanning them for dates. She was smarter than asking why. The Joker’s fingers were black from newsprint. Newsprint…Suddenly he made a noise like a bark and kicked the nearest mound.

“I remember now…” The article flashed in his head. Then the sounds of sirens and yelling and people running all over the place. People tearing each other to pieces out of fear. The Joker thought out loud. “Crane. Poisoned the water…Now her. Ooooh, boy!”

Darla realized that the searching was over and dropped the papers in her arms to the floor. “We going to get her?”

The yellow smile that appeared like a crescent moon on the clown’s face was startling. “I’m driving.”

A lot of things always seemed to be happening inside The Joker’s head at once. Sometimes it was hard to get a reign on the jumble of impressions and ideas and notes. Sometimes it was downright stifling and all he could do was smile about it because who would ever know what was going on in there? On occasion The Joker wasn’t sure if he understood it. Not bad, not irrational, just too fast.

Kenna knew, though. She always knew and it was what made him want to slice her to ribbons. Shove her in a wood chipper. Feed her rat poison. Drop her off a tall, tall building. Throw her in a shark tank naked and rolled in blood. Squeeze her and never let go. Ugh.

The Joker laughed to himself as he drove. This one time that Kenna wasn’t with him in the van he drove slowly, cautiously, stopping at all designated lights and signs. Darla looked more frightened than when he swerved through traffic at the rate of sound. Even though she wasn’t there he did it to spite Kenna. She always commented on his driving.

A fleeting thought that she might be nothing but a drooling husk in just a few hours passed by and The Joker pulled off to park along the sidewalk. He hummed as he rapidly hunted through the glove compartment until he found a napkin, then picking up a pen that had somehow ended up on the floor. With one hand he scribbled on the napkin and with the other he leaned across Darla to open the passenger side door.

“What am I doing?” murmured the ever-faithful henchwoman, her eyes already darting up and down the busy street.

The Joker finished whatever he was writing and shoved the napkin at Darla. “Give this to someone outside Gotham P.D. and tell them to take it in and hand it only to Commissioner Gordon or you’ll cut their finger off and make them eat it. Then call Squirrel and tell him to clear the air at exactly five-thirteen p.m., and call Twitch and have him meet me at the top of Wayne Tower with Hector at the same time. Then find the van at the French place.”

“Got it.”

As he watched her go The Joker couldn’t help shaking his head and snorting. “So much trouble over a little old shrink…so many in this town.”

The Pantry Petit was a swanky French joint…oh, wait. The swanky French joint. The one where Kenna somehow hooked up with Batman and got away. Did O’Dwyer know The Joker had been there watching him that night? If so The Joker would have to congratulate his resourcefulness. Maybe the stupid Irishman would be a little less easy to raze than the clown had thought. Maybe he would be…more fun.

Too many things that he could worry about later kept popping up like dead bugs on a windshield in front of him. Time was running low, sand dripping to the bottom. Four hours. Less. The Joker hummed and turned down the alley behind the restaurant, parking the van and hopping out. He grabbed an uzi out of the back and cracked his neck before shooting out the lock on the back door and entering.

“What are you doing in here?! You can’t--”

But The Joker never did found out what he couldn’t do, because he shot the chef who had started to yell at him. Several cries of terror came from the other staff, who ducked down behind the various counters, leaving the delicate dishes being prepared for the lunchtime crowd to burn in light of the maniac wielding an automatic weapon.

“I’m just looking for the freezer!” announced The Joker, high-pitched and full of humor. Oh, they were so scared and it was so uninspired. No one answered so he shot at the ceiling. More gasps. “Freezer?”

A middle-aged woman pointed and The Joker nodded at her in thanks before heading in that direction. Did his heart speed up? No. It was just the thrill of this game. It was a good game, after all. How long would it take him to find the antidote? The clock was tick-tocking, and The Joker entered the freezer.

Blue, was what The Joker thought first. He was careful to use a box to prop open the door before walking towards Kenna with deliberate slowness. But she wasn’t aware of his presence. She was gagged, her hands and feet tied together, lying on the floor. Still just in underwear. Smeared with her own blood. Trembling so hard she looked like she was having a bad seizure. Eyes rolling in their sockets.

“Violet! You’re turning violet, Violet!” The Joker crowed at her before crouching down and staring hard at her. There wasn’t any relief yet because this wasn’t her. No loathing stare or heated comments. Something akin to nervousness rattled in The Joker’s stomach. He wanted to hurry.

Yes, her skin was slightly blue. The Joker stood again to lay his gun on a nearby shelf and remove his coat, dropping it on the floor next to Kenna so he could untie her and maneuver her into it. The moment he pulled the wad of cloth from her mouth she was muttering.

“Deaf…d-deaf and dumb. So dark…Dad!”

The Joker didn’t deny himself the buzz he felt at her voice, even too high and frenzied like it was. “Yes, kitten. Daddy’s here.”

Oh, the flesh of her wrists was shredded. The Joker was distracted for a moment by the inflamed, bloodied skin revealed when he untied her hands. But then she was grabbing onto his shirt and just clutching and he looked at her face. She might have been trying to say something but her teeth were chattering too hard.

“Come now, darling. You’re shivering.”

With one hand The Joker pried Kenna’s right hand from his vest, working that arm into the sleeve of his smooth purple coat before doing the same with her left arm. Now that Kenna was dressed in the jacket The Joker hooked his forearms under her armpits and lifted her like a toddler. She was light. And it was clear her legs weren’t going to support her, the shockingly white limbs going shaky the second The Joker tried to set her on her feet.

Kenna made a low, pathetic sound as The Joker swept her legs out from under her and curled her limp body against his chest in something like the fetal position. The urge to pause and snigger at her compliance was strong, but time was trickling by. As he left the freezer with an armful of tremulous psychiatrist The Joker grabbed the gun he had brought in from where it lay, snorting at the awkward angle he had to hold it at due to his cargo.

“Bonsoir, messieurs et madames. Le saumon était spectaculaire!” called The Joker to the staff as they departed, all of whom were still crouched down and some crying softly.
(Good evening, sirs and madams! The salmon was spectacular!)

The van was just where he’d left it, but Darla was sitting in the driver’s seat looking anxious. She saw the pair of them and was only relieved for a second. Kenna looked like hell. The Joker shook his head as Darla went to get out.

“Drive. Stay in Midtown.”

Darla nodded and settled back in, starting up the van with a roar as The Joker climbed into the back seat with Kenna on his lap. When the vehicle started moving forward her lolling eyelids flew open and she started to writhe with a hoarse shriek.

The Joker grinned and took hold of her wrists to restrain her. Causing her pain like that would have usually been satisfying, but she was too far gone to even notice. But her blood was wet on The Joker’s palms. It wasn’t even warm. Again: not rewarding.

Kenna gasped when The Joker pushed her roughly off of him onto the seat, landing on her back still straining against whatever unseen things were attacking her. He did what he did next for two reasons:
1. To hold Kenna still.
2. To spread some warmth back into Kenna’s hypothermic carcass.
There were no other goals.

“No!” protested Dr. Archer when The Joker’s body flattened atop hers from chest to knees. Her hands attempted pushing him off by the shoulders, but her grip was too weak to accomplish anything. “Ugh, agh, ah!”

Pressing his warm cheek to her icy one, The Joker laughed in a nearly inaudible wheeze. He had to brace one foot on the back of the passenger seat to keep from falling off with the movement of the van. “You’re not making very much sense, dear.”

“What did they do to her?” Darla piped up, apparently unable to help herself any longer. The Joker didn’t really plan on responding to her.

Kenna wiggled persistently beneath The Joker’s immovable form. Suddenly she coughed and seized up, arching her back hard enough to nearly jostle the clown resting over her. “Oh! I’m d-dying!”

That made The Joker hoot. “Not yet!”

Then she did one of those outlandish out of the blue (good) things and tangled her arms and legs around him like her body was threatening to float up and away. Maybe it was in her addled brain. The Joker grinned brightly against her shoulder covered in his jacket.

“You weren’t there.” Her whispered accusation rung like a bell next to The Joker’s ear. He didn’t know if she was talking to him or someone else.

Still-trembling fingers clawed at The Joker’s back hard enough to draw out a low groan, and the painted jester unraveled himself from the doctor hastily, breathing through his flared nostrils as he sat up again. Kenna crumpled in on herself like a dead spider with the absence of something to grab onto, her hands scratching against her arms, jaw gnashing.

“Where am I going, Boss?” Darla made her presence known again, clearly anxious, eyes darting for police lights.

The Joker couldn’t force his eyes away from the straining tendons in Kenna’s throat. Imagined ripping them out like a dog. How she would fight. “Stop us a block away from Wayne Tower. In an alley.”

The woman driving pursed her lips like she wanted to ask another question (something disbelieving about their destination) but she didn’t. She did was she was told. Boring. The Joker watched Kenna clutch at her chest and gag like something was trying to make its way out. Probably a scream caught on too much panic.

“Sh, sh, sh, doll. Daddy’s gonna make it better.”

A ludicrously pleased zing went through The Joker’s limbs when Kenna pressed her cheek into his mocking caress. Having her like putty was nice…but it would get old. Especially when she reverted back to drooling, insipid cries of infantile distress. Not entertaining at all. The sun dial was shifting out of control.

Darla stopped the van a bit away from Wayne Tower, looking back at Kenna nervously. “Can we move her? Should I stay here?”

He knew that he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, and it irked him. “Hmph. You’ll take her back and I’ll do the…negotiating. I won’t be long.”

“What if you don’t…” Darla wasn’t confident enough to say ‘what do I do if you don’t make it back in time?’

Kenna suddenly lurched up and sprung at The Joker. No, over him. She crawled to the back of the van and whimpered like a cornered puppy, tossing her head and curling her toes. The Joker smiled fondly at her before giving Darla a truly demented, twinkling look.

“Kill her! Of course.”

With a clamor and bang The Joker was out of the vehicle to do something (God only knew what) to get the antidote. Darla let out a shuddering breath, peered sadly at the mumbling, shaking version of Kenna in the back, and put her foot back on the accelerator.