I woke up to the antagonizing sound of my alarm, forcing me from my bed. The entire night was spent trying to sleep, but to no prevail. My eyes were heavy and I did my usual routine still almost sleeping.
Sleep had eluded me for the past few days, my mind revolved around the upcoming session, all I allowed myself to do was play out everything that could possibly go wrong.
He could not say a word, and I would have wasted all of this time in preparation all for nothing. Or he could talk, if I was lucky, and say things that made no sense, he was crazy after all. And finally, the possibility that i dreaded most, he could hurt me. He has become physically violent in the past, not only with people he hated, but most who tried to help him. Doctors, nurses, psychiatrists. The list of those he has killed senselessly is never ending.
But here I was, walking up to the doors of Arkham Asylum, first official day here, taking on the most evil patient being held.
I flashed the rough looking guard my security card and made my way to Dr. Arkham's office, in my hands the entire Jokers history, well, the revised version.
I knocked cautiously on his door, and when he said to come in, I quickly did so and slammed the file on his messy desk.
The doctor looked up, a little shocked to hear the sound, but a slight smile apparent on his face.
I stood over his desk, my hands clasped in front of me, a proud and accomplished look washed over me.
"Good morning to you too Ms. Quinzel..." He took a glance at what I put before him.
"Um, the file was for you to keep, I have a back-up already."
"Yes sir, I know, but this version is revised, properly showing the Jokers records. It took a little research," I thought back to the hours I spent on my laptop looking up various things that would make the average person worry.
"And a few phone calls," remembrances of the amount of offices I called, only to be denied information, the anger I felt having to argue to get it, only to find out the information I searched for was kept secret by a doctor who's now dead.
"But its now done."
The burly man leaned forward in his seat and took a good long view of my work, nodding occasionally, and after about five minutes he looks at his watch and declares,
"Good work Harleen, you're ready."
A lump built in my throat as he spoke, I turned nervously to the clock next to me seeing it was only a few minutes till nine.
The session begins at nine.
I watch Dr. Arkham reach under his desk and do, what I guessed, was press a button. Not a minute later two guards are standing in the doorway, like a bunch of mindless drones, staring at us.
"Cell 214," was all he had to say. The guards seemed to understand immediately.
How could these two men memorize every cell and who was held in it?
They probably only remember this one because it houses the most popular patient.
I was led down a part of the Asylum I had yet seen, different patients were lined on both sides, and at the end stood a staircase. We headed down to the bottom floor and one of the guards unlocked the sturdy metal door.
It was much darker on this floor, almost too dark to see where we were going. Individual lights from the cells leaked into the hall, lighting the way. My eyes fluttered from block to block, dreading the growing numbers.
