The Last Laugh

The hallway was dim as the guard patrolled it. He was twirling a nightstick in his hand nervously. Being in a psych ward really freaked him out. Every door he passed had someone mumbling or yelling something to themselves. It made him weary to know that some of them weren't always that way. The floor was a nasty yellow color that matched the walls, and there was a hint of mold in the air.

'Good to see the, 'great city of Gotham' is doing so much to keep its city clean,' he thought to himself bitterly.

The lights flickered and he stopped. He mumbled something under his breath about how the asylum needed better electricity, and then the power completely went out. He could hear someone walking behind him, and pulled out his flashlight. He turned it on and raised it to his face. At the end of the hall, there was a figure. The officer squinted his eyes better to see if it was someone her recognized, but it was too far away and too dark.

"Hello?" he called out. "Excuse me, but, do you work here?"

The figure didn't move. It continued to stand and stare at him. The officer swallowed and he grew apprehensive.

"Excuse me, but I could really use some help!" he yelled out. When the person didn't move again, he tightened his grip on the flashlight and walked over to it.

Something grabbed him from behind. The officer whipped his head around and stared in horror at the mask of the Scarecrow. He dropped his flashlight and something was sprayed in his face. He coughed and sputtered, and everything was different.

"You're going to get us out of here," the voice said in a deep, scratchy voice.

"U-us?" he coughed out. He felt dizzy.

A small giggle erupted from behind him, and whoever it was picked up the flashlight and revealed her face.

"Quinzel?" the officer said in surprise. Except, what he was saw was different. Her face was distorted and her eyes were glowing. "What happened? What did you do to yourself?"

"More, like what did YOU do to YOURSELF?" she said sinisterly. She took a step towards him, rubbing her tongue onto her front teeth. The office hurriedly stepped back, but bumped into the Scarecrow.

"What do you want?" the officer asked, terrified.

"You to get us out of here," Harley told him, spinning the flashlight in here hand.

"You're al-already out," he informed them. Their faces were terrifying. He couldn't stand to look at either of them.

"Out of our cells, maybe," the Scarecrow pointed out. "But not out of here. We need your authorization."

"Na-never!" he yelled, looking away from their faces.

She giggled again.

"Oh, I hoped you would say that," she said darkly, and disappeared.

The Scarecrow grabbed the officer roughly by his shoulders and held him in place. A moment later, a voice could be heard.

"I never do anything without a little reassurance," Harley giggled.

"Daddy?" a little girl's voice called out fearlessly.

The officer gasped.

"A-angel?" he called back, his voice filled with worry. "No, let her go! Please! Let her go! I'll let you go! Just, put her in my arms!"

"Take us to the security room, first," Scarecrow said, pushing him against the wall.

He nodded his head, and led them to the room, but didn't look at his daughter. He did not want to see what Crane's chemical would make her look like. But he wanted to. He wanted to see if she was ok, if they had done anything to her precious face.

"Hey, Bob?" another officer called out. "We can't turn the power on. There's some sort of mechanism over the-"

The lights turned back on, and Harley, the officer, and the Scarecrow were standing in the doorway.

"Jesus!" he yelled out, reaching for his walkie-talkie.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Harley said, giving him a warning look. She thrusted the little girl in front, and the officer held his arms up.

"Open the front door," Scarecrow commanded.

He nodded his head, and pressed the button. The door unlatched itself.

"Keep it that way," Scarecrow said. He nodded towards Harley, who went over to the officer and took the man's gun, pointing it at the little girl. The girl looked curiously at it, and hid shyly behind her father's back. She and the Scarecrow backed towards the door, where a van was awaiting them. Jub was in the driver's seat.

"Wait!" the first officer screamed, trying to fight how terrified he was. "How were you able to get my daughter here? You were in here the entire time."

"Let's just say, one of your men, ISN'T one of your men," Harley told them coldly. Then she giggled maniacally. She turned around and opened the door, but then stopped when he spoke again.

"Why didn't you just use him to get you out of here?" he inquired. "You didn't need to do all this!"

She turned half of her head and said, "I know."

She got in the van with the Scarecrow in tow. The car took off. Immediately, the second officer pulled out his walkie-talkie and called in the escaped psychopaths. The first one turned to his daughter and asked if she was alright. He took a risk to look at her. She looked alright. He assumed the affects were wearing off. Thank God he didn't get a concentrated dose. He would've been gone.

"Yes, daddy!" she said with a smile on her face. "Look! The nice clown-lady gave me this, and told me not to let go until after I showed you it!"

She held up her hand, and in it was a detonator. Her thumb was pressed firmly over the button. She smiled triumphantly.

"Oh God," he said, his heart picking up its pace. "Honey, don't let go! Joe, call in the bomb patrol! Jamie, don't-"

But he was too late, and she let go.

There was a bright light, and the father grabbed his daughter. When the light disappeared, there was a Polaroid on the floor. The two men looked around quizzically, wondering what had just happened. They were both shaking, and Jamie was clapping her hands. The second officer went over to the picture, with quaking hands, and looked at it. It was a picture of them, covering themselves up. But painted over the picture was a smiley face drawn in blood. Below in the white rectangle, written in small, red letters were the words, 'Keep On Smiling.'