‹ Prequel: The Joker and the Thief
Status: Don't worry. There's another one...
A Serious House on Serious Earth
***
The first thing that caught my attention was the wind. It was constant at this height and more of an annoyance than a relief in the still going heat wave. I had all but forgotten about the obnoxious heat in the midst of the asylum’s air conditioning. I could still hear sirens and the sound of a helicopter was barely audible above the sound of the wind. I could see the flashing red and blue lights of numerous police cruisers in the dark. But I had more important things to think about. The first being the knife Arkham still held against my throat.
I probably should have been used to having a piece of sharpened metal directed at my exposed neck but it was Arkham’s demeanor that had me uncomfortable. When the Joker threatened me with a knife, or at all, he was always in control of himself. He may have been insane but there was always some thought behind his actions; however the length of the thought process varied. Every act of violence was meant, everyone act was committed on purpose. There were no ‘accidents’ with the Joker.
But Arkham? The doctor was obviously anxious. Pulling me up the stairs had been harder on him than I first thought. I could feel his chest fall and rise quickly as he tried to catch his breath. The hand which wielded the knife wasn’t steady and the tip had pierced the skin under my chin numerous times before Arkham readjusted his grip on it. He wasn’t in control of his actions. He didn’t appear to be in control of anything.
The doctor dragged me away from the exit and into the middle of the wide roof. Another wave of tears began streaming done my face. These were due to fear and the sharp wind cutting into my vision. I had no clue as to why he would take me up to the roof just to kill me. I made a small movement to pull away from the doctor, but that only caused him to tighten hold around my neck and shoulders. We were face against the wind. After a good five minutes of standing in silence, a voice, along with a gust of wind, reached my ear.
I could exactly make out what the voice said but I did recognize it. It belonged to the masked man who had appeared out of the darkness ten feet in front of my captor and me. Silhouetted by the barely visible flashing police lights, Batman took two quick yet cautious steps forward, narrowing the gap. Arkham, seeing the apparent danger to his safety, tightened his hold on his knife and placed his horizontally against my throat.
“What do you want, Arkham?” Batman’s voice reflected the confusion that had been running through my mind for a while now.
“I want you dead.” The doctor yelled over the wind in a dark tone.
The Batman took another couple of steps forward, closing the gap to about six feet. “Why did you release the prisoners, Arkham?” He asked, ignoring the doctor’s previous answer.
“I had to get you here somehow.” Arkham then let out a short and hallow laugh. “Releasing one at a time didn’t appear to concern you all that much. Instead of you, Gordon sends her.” The doctor gestured towards me before taking a quick step back. He also increased the pressure on the knife and I forced myself not to look, encase blood started flow.
Instead, I stared at Batman. His black cape, which flapped in the wind, wasn’t really that comforting so I raised my eyes. I settled on his face. He was close enough that I could make out the brown of his eyes. The eyes seemed so familiar but my brain wasn’t allowing me to make a connection, if was one. My mind was too busy shouting at the Batman to save me. Another part was screaming obscenities at him for getting me into this mess. And a much smaller part of my mind was dedicated to finding a way to save myself.
“Why do you want to kill me?” Batman asked in an attempt to keep the doctor’s attention on him and not me.
Arkham scoffed. He apparently thought the answer was obvious. “Because you’re ruining my hospital. My family’s hospital! I use to be able to help people. As my uncle did. But not anymore. Not with you and your cops carrying in such scum off the streets. The people you bring in don’t need my help. You just send them here because the prison won’t take them.”
Arkham was so consumed by his rant that he didn’t notice the Batman take two more steps towards us. “So maybe I released the inmates and allowed them to run amuck in the asylum but all of this is your fault, Batman. You’ve been poisoning this place for years now. But no longer.”
Numerous things happened at once. Foreseeing Arkham’s murderous impulse, I threw my hands up to his which pressed the knife to my throat. Taking the doctor by surprise, I was able to position a hand before the blade my already bleeding neck. At the same time, Batman leaped forward. What happened next was a complete blur to me. I had somehow managed to pull the knife from the doctor’s hand. With Arkham’s main concern being the attacking Batman, I easily jerked myself from his grasp but doing so caused me to lose my balance.
I stumbled but didn’t fall. When I turned around to see what had become of the Batman and the doctor, I was once again greeted with Jeremiah Arkham coming towards me. In an impulsive movement, I swung the knife out in front of me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t know how close he was or even where I was aiming. But the blade connected with Arkham’s throat. I had used just enough forced to actually slit his throat. But the cut was too low and too shallow to kill him instantly. Instead, I got a face full of blood before the coughing doctor collapsed to the ground. Blood began to pour out onto the concrete from the wound as Arkham made horrible gasping noises as he slowly began to bleed to death.
Even after the Batman turned me away from the writhing body, I could still see the blood spilling out and collecting in perfectly shaped pools in my head. I don’t remember how I got into the back of ambulance. Or who placed a heavy red blanket over my shoulders. My mind had the death and suffering of Jeremiah Arkham on repeat and I couldn’t find the off switch. I wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing; the way the doctor died or the fact that I had killed him. I had killed people before but that wasn’t really me. It was the Joker. But Arkham was all me. And I wasn’t buying the self-defense notion I heard being muttered around me. Batman was there. He was five feet away. Arkham was weaponless. But for some reason, my body felt the need to swing the knife out in front of me. I had no excuse.
I probably should have been used to having a piece of sharpened metal directed at my exposed neck but it was Arkham’s demeanor that had me uncomfortable. When the Joker threatened me with a knife, or at all, he was always in control of himself. He may have been insane but there was always some thought behind his actions; however the length of the thought process varied. Every act of violence was meant, everyone act was committed on purpose. There were no ‘accidents’ with the Joker.
But Arkham? The doctor was obviously anxious. Pulling me up the stairs had been harder on him than I first thought. I could feel his chest fall and rise quickly as he tried to catch his breath. The hand which wielded the knife wasn’t steady and the tip had pierced the skin under my chin numerous times before Arkham readjusted his grip on it. He wasn’t in control of his actions. He didn’t appear to be in control of anything.
The doctor dragged me away from the exit and into the middle of the wide roof. Another wave of tears began streaming done my face. These were due to fear and the sharp wind cutting into my vision. I had no clue as to why he would take me up to the roof just to kill me. I made a small movement to pull away from the doctor, but that only caused him to tighten hold around my neck and shoulders. We were face against the wind. After a good five minutes of standing in silence, a voice, along with a gust of wind, reached my ear.
I could exactly make out what the voice said but I did recognize it. It belonged to the masked man who had appeared out of the darkness ten feet in front of my captor and me. Silhouetted by the barely visible flashing police lights, Batman took two quick yet cautious steps forward, narrowing the gap. Arkham, seeing the apparent danger to his safety, tightened his hold on his knife and placed his horizontally against my throat.
“What do you want, Arkham?” Batman’s voice reflected the confusion that had been running through my mind for a while now.
“I want you dead.” The doctor yelled over the wind in a dark tone.
The Batman took another couple of steps forward, closing the gap to about six feet. “Why did you release the prisoners, Arkham?” He asked, ignoring the doctor’s previous answer.
“I had to get you here somehow.” Arkham then let out a short and hallow laugh. “Releasing one at a time didn’t appear to concern you all that much. Instead of you, Gordon sends her.” The doctor gestured towards me before taking a quick step back. He also increased the pressure on the knife and I forced myself not to look, encase blood started flow.
Instead, I stared at Batman. His black cape, which flapped in the wind, wasn’t really that comforting so I raised my eyes. I settled on his face. He was close enough that I could make out the brown of his eyes. The eyes seemed so familiar but my brain wasn’t allowing me to make a connection, if was one. My mind was too busy shouting at the Batman to save me. Another part was screaming obscenities at him for getting me into this mess. And a much smaller part of my mind was dedicated to finding a way to save myself.
“Why do you want to kill me?” Batman asked in an attempt to keep the doctor’s attention on him and not me.
Arkham scoffed. He apparently thought the answer was obvious. “Because you’re ruining my hospital. My family’s hospital! I use to be able to help people. As my uncle did. But not anymore. Not with you and your cops carrying in such scum off the streets. The people you bring in don’t need my help. You just send them here because the prison won’t take them.”
Arkham was so consumed by his rant that he didn’t notice the Batman take two more steps towards us. “So maybe I released the inmates and allowed them to run amuck in the asylum but all of this is your fault, Batman. You’ve been poisoning this place for years now. But no longer.”
Numerous things happened at once. Foreseeing Arkham’s murderous impulse, I threw my hands up to his which pressed the knife to my throat. Taking the doctor by surprise, I was able to position a hand before the blade my already bleeding neck. At the same time, Batman leaped forward. What happened next was a complete blur to me. I had somehow managed to pull the knife from the doctor’s hand. With Arkham’s main concern being the attacking Batman, I easily jerked myself from his grasp but doing so caused me to lose my balance.
I stumbled but didn’t fall. When I turned around to see what had become of the Batman and the doctor, I was once again greeted with Jeremiah Arkham coming towards me. In an impulsive movement, I swung the knife out in front of me. I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t know how close he was or even where I was aiming. But the blade connected with Arkham’s throat. I had used just enough forced to actually slit his throat. But the cut was too low and too shallow to kill him instantly. Instead, I got a face full of blood before the coughing doctor collapsed to the ground. Blood began to pour out onto the concrete from the wound as Arkham made horrible gasping noises as he slowly began to bleed to death.
Even after the Batman turned me away from the writhing body, I could still see the blood spilling out and collecting in perfectly shaped pools in my head. I don’t remember how I got into the back of ambulance. Or who placed a heavy red blanket over my shoulders. My mind had the death and suffering of Jeremiah Arkham on repeat and I couldn’t find the off switch. I wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing; the way the doctor died or the fact that I had killed him. I had killed people before but that wasn’t really me. It was the Joker. But Arkham was all me. And I wasn’t buying the self-defense notion I heard being muttered around me. Batman was there. He was five feet away. Arkham was weaponless. But for some reason, my body felt the need to swing the knife out in front of me. I had no excuse.