Sunlight brought me slowly out of unconsciousness. I thought I was dead, or at least dying, and that if I gave into the light it would all be over. I would be safe. But as I opened my eyes and felt the pain, I realised I would never escape.
The first thing that I felt was the dull ache at the back of my head. I fell. Then the irritating feeling in my shoulder. I was drugged. And then the rising fear within me.
The Joker found me.
I struggled to my feet and forced myself to make coffee.
The world was already buzzing below. A thick fog hung around the buildings like a swirling sea of grey. But at my level, the sun shone brilliantly in the sky.
It was only 6am. After coffee, some soggy cornflakes and a good few painkillers, I showered and put on fresh work clothes.
I found my briefcase on the sofa, but the documents were gone. Every single one. Along with the tape recorder and photographs. He must have come back for them. I bit my lip with worry and slid the case back into its dust-ridden home. Something skimmed my knuckles. I dropped to the floor and reached out to find a stray photograph. It was him, the first I had taken of him, wrapped up in his straight jacket, face-paint smeared. I remembered the way he had spoken to me when we first met. The silkiness of his voice, snaking around me and reeling me in...
No! I would not think about him. I refused. I shook myself off all thoughts and left my apartment.
As I drove into Arkam grounds, I was met with dozens of police and forensic vehicles. I parked my little red car and checked myself in the mirror. Makeup covered the dark circles and green tinge of my skin, but nothing could conceal dead look in my eyes.
I took a deep breath and braced myself for the many stares I was bound to be met with all day.
The cops noticed me, but no one asked to see my ID badge. I focused on walking in a straight line to the doors, the clip-clopping of my black heels echoing around me. I scanned my badge and upon the green light, dragged myself into the building.
Only a few officers were inside, the more important ones - including Commissioner Gordon himself. He was mumbling quietly to Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, the head of the asylum. Both looked up as I entered.
"Good morning, Miss Quinzel," Arkham grinned, "nice to see your face."
I forced a smile and greeted them.
"We uhm...we have a few questions for you Miss, if you don't mind," Gordon spoke up.
"Please, enough of the formalities, call me Harleen," I insisted, "I'm happy to talk to you."
Yeah, drop the formalities.
"Right. Well, Harleen, could we use your office?"
"Sure thing."
I headed down the corridors with Gordon on my tail. The building was oddly quiet, only a few scattered doctors with dazed looks in their eyes.
We reached my room and I quickly gave the desk a clear up, putting any Joker files in drawers - out of sight, out of mind.
I'm not a big believer in the ways of society.
"You don't need to tell me twice."
"Hmm? What was that?"
Gordon was looking at me questionably.
"I...didn't you...um, nothing," I stammered, slowly sliding into my seat and perching on the edge. I began fiddling with a pen. Gordon frowned but shook his head and brought out a notepad.
