Give Me a Smile

I didn’t see the Joker for three weeks, until our trial. The police wanted me to be a witness against him. I laughed in their faces. I was beginning to think that Batman was right. I had gone mad. I was forced to wear a straitjacket to the trial.

It was heavily televised. Reporters by the dozens were mobbed outside the courthouse, pushing microphones in everyone’s face. I was brought through a back entrance, but they still caught me. “Quinn, how did you handle living with the Joker?” “Quinn, explain your relationship with the Joker. Are you his lover?” “What are the Joker’s plans for Gotham?”

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore their constant questions. I didn’t feel so crazy, or so brave, anymore. There were people spitting at me, threatening and throwing things. I wanted to run as far away as I could and hide. But I had to go to trial.

Joker was there. I saw him and my heart beat faster, painful against the ribs he’d broken. The makeup was gone and his green hair hung limply in his face. He was strapped to a board and watched by six guards. I think they drugged him, too.

He was chuckling softly. I zoned out the rest of the room and focused on Joker, only Joker. He never looked my way. I had betrayed him, so he had forgotten me. I came back to myself when the judge’s gavel banged.

“Guilty. Send to Arkham.” Me. The judge was talking about me. I was sentenced to Arkham Asylum, the place that had created Scarecrow. I screamed so loud my teeth shook, struggling against the straitjacket.

“No, no, please, no! Joker, please, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, please take me back, I belong to you, I belong to you! No, no, don’t let them take me there, Joker please, I love you!” I shrieked as I was dragged from the room. He didn’t spare me a glance.