A Serious House on Serious Earth

The rest of the week went by in a similar fashion. My therapy sessions consisted of nothing but Arkham babbling on about his own speculations on why I refused to talk to him. His excuses ranged from my apparent problems with authority, which was visible by my disconnection with my mother, to the idea that I was so socially backwards that I didn’t know how to talk to anyone. If he would have sat in on my time in the common area, which mandatory since I still refused to participate in the therapy sessions, he would notice that I interacted quite a bit with Pamela Isley.

I kept my comments short and vague as to maintain my fake mental illness. It didn’t matter to Pamela, who did the majority of the talking and was able to continue with little help on my part. The Joker kept his distance the first week. He never spoke or came too close but I knew he continued to watch my every move. After a day or two, I was hoping he would do something; the staring was getting a little annoying and unsettling. I had a feeling the Joker could see though my charade. Though, the Joker did eventually grow out of his gawking stage.

In the center of the Arkham Asylum complex was a small patch of lawn. The plot was closed in by the asylum additions and tall, thick barbed wire fences. The lawn, which consisted of a narrow dirt lane which went around the perimeter and modest landscaping, was also crawling with guards. On my second day at the asylum, I walked the entire trail twice, looking for any weak spots in the fence which may have made escape possible. I didn’t find anything.

Sunday afternoon, after my therapy session, I was once again taken to the common area. As I had heading to my usual area on the sofa, the Joker intercepted me and pulled me outside. “What the hell?” I said, surprised by my body’s sudden change in directions.

“Let’s go for a walk, sweetheart.” I didn’t struggle as I was pulled along the dirt path. After a minute, the Joker threw his around my shoulder and pulled my closer. “I know your dirty little secret.” He whispered in a teasing voice.

I looked up into his painted face, searching for more meaning to his comment. “What are you talking about?”

A small laugh escaped the Joker lips. “Please, Bradley. Just because you are able to fool Jeremiah and the orderlies, doesn’t mean you can fool me. I know you too well.” Together, we took the first turn in the path. “I wouldn’t trust Jerry by the way.”

“Why?” I said, assuming by ‘Jerry’ he meant Dr. Arkham. But more importantly, was the Joker giving me advice?

“The man’s nuttier than Crane, he just hasn’t realized it yet. “ Again the Joker laughed.

My mind then wondered to my given task. It had been almost a week, and all I had learned was Arkham Asylum looked like a legit and secure mental facility. I had nothing to tell Gordon when he visited me tomorrow. I needed to find something. “How are the inmates escaping, Joker?” I asked bluntly.

We stopped walking and the Joker turned me around to face him. For once, his face showed no expression what so ever. I had clearly surprised the Joker with my unusual question. A long minute passed in silence. “Like I said, kid, Arkham’s nuttier than a squirrel.” The Joker then digressed into a fit of laughter.



Telling Gordon the news was a whole other problem. Gordon said he would visit me on Monday, but I couldn’t just start a conversation when I was supposed to be an anti-social paranoid. Gordon would be the one person my insane self would be suspicious of since he was the one who put here. I knew I had to write him a note. So, I smuggled a book and a crayon (inmates weren’t allowed to have access to pens or pencils) back to my cell. I ripped a blank page from the book, and wrote what I had learned from the Joker.

When visitation time came around, I was escorted downstairs to the first floor. I kept my usual cold posture as my hands and feet were chained together once I was placed at the small round table. Gordon took a seat across the table from me and remained silent until the orderlies and guards were far out of hearing range. “How are you going, Marie?” He asked quietly.

I didn’t respond, but I gave him a small smile as an answer. I sat in silence as Gordon weaved through a variety of topics; from the weather to his own children. I allowed my eyes to wonder over the other visitors and their corresponding inmates. Visitors were only allowed twenty minutes and Gordon’s time was almost over. As he was standing up to go, I slide torn page across the table. Gordon swiftly picked it up and stuffed into his jacket pocket. He turned around and walked away without another word.