Chapter 1 - Failed Psychiatrist

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Leaning forward over the sidewalk, my nails clawing at the rotted underside of the bench, I aimlessly watched the mass of yellow cabs and black suits rush past me. The man beside me rustled his newspaper and I broke out of my trance. My gaze lingered over the front cover: JOKER AT LARGE.

A simple picture of the man in the purple coat and green vest grinned back at me with scars wide. The clown of terror, a psychotic serial killer, now on the loose in Gotham. Something was running through my veins. It felt much like fear...but more. Adrenaline. Pulsing through me, willing me to get up and run.

So I did.

I pushed myself off the bench and sprinted away, fast. Direction became lost to me, I was just running. My heart drummed an irregular beat in my chest. There was no pain, just a sense of freedom. People tutted and sighed at me as I whizzed passed, but I felt no need to apologise. In a city of millions, a flash of brown hair means nothing to anyone, not really.

When I finally stopped, I was stood outside the police station. I sat myself down on the cold stone steps to catch my breath. Several officers hurried past me, some gave me looks, the rest let me remain unnoticed. Only one man, slightly older, with a thick moustache and rectangular glasses, actually stopped when he saw me.

"Woah, you alright there?"

The look of concern on his face was so genuine, I had to smile.

"Oh, I'm fine, officer..."

"Commissioner, I'm, uh, Commissioner Gordon," he smiled bashfully. Of course he was, I knew his face was familiar, "you're, eh, the Doctor, right? The one who was treating...um..."

"The Joker? Yes, I am. Doctor Harleen Quinzel, failed psychiatrist," I sighed.

"Don't let him to ya, Doctor. He's just...crazy."

Gordon ran his hands through his greying hair. Fatigue was plastered upon his kind face. I stood up and brushed myself off.

"He's a master criminal, and I am sure the police department are doing their very best to find him. I don't doubt you for a second," I smiled. Gordon sighed heavily.

"He's difficult. He literally has nothing to lose. We're running outta options..." he trailed off and looked at me suddenly as if he had revealed too much.

"I...um...best be off then and let you get on," my voice wavered. He nodded once and forced a smile, before shuffling up the steps his hands in his pockets and his head low. I knew I should have felt pity or sympathy or something of remorse for him. But I didn't.

Of course the Joker was dangerous. I had spent so much time with him, getting to know him.

Watching.

Listening.

Learning

Waiting...

But he had escaped Arkham somehow and was running free in Gotham. There was a lingering feeling inside of me, twisting and turning, faced with the anticipation that he was coming for me.

I plucked myself from the steps and gazed upon the darkening sky. A raindrop hit my cheek, then another on my lips. I huffed and pulled my hood up, reluctantly returning to my apartment.

My single key silently unlocked the heavy door. I slid inside and pushed it closed again, returning the key to the dish. I ran to the sofa and collapsed, staring out the huge windows of my high-rise home. A sudden flash of lightening streaked the starless sky, highlighting the city with a bright light. It was certainly beautiful.

I pulled my case from under the sofa and let my hands skim the hard, black surface. So much information in such a little thing. I input the code and it clicked open, revealing a pile of papers and photographs all neatly sorted. I took out the recorder and let it play through an old interview while I read through notes.

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