Mad Love Series, Part I: Burning On

Chapter 1: Incinerate

Burning on, just like the match you slide to incinerate

The lives of everyone you knew

And what's the worst to take from every heart you break?

And like a blade you stain

Well I've been holding on tonight

"Helena", My Chemical Romance

"You have to understand, Miss Quinzel, this man is nothing like you've ever seen before. It's going to take a lot of stamina and hard work, but I think you are capable of helping him." My boss, the head of Arkham Asylum, for once in his life, appeared anxious, "Do you think you can handle it? You are the best we have now, and I would hate to see you leave because of these circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"Well," his eyes looked distant; he couldn't look at me straight, "We've sent three of your colleagues to him already. One had to be committed afterward; the other two quit immediately, and had to be sent to some intense therapy before they recovered."

"Who? Who did you send?" I inquired.

"John Connors, Michael Ostrom…even your former professor, Mr. Forde."

"Professor Forde couldn't fix him?" I was surprised. He had been my primary professor in grad school when I attended New York University; he was extremely gifted in psychology. I had never seen anyone so intuitive. It shocked and scared me that even he couldn't understand this criminal.

"Are you sure that you still want to do this?" my boss bit his lip.

I exhaled deeply, "I will be fine, sir."

"Just in case, we have two bodyguards outside the door." He gestured to two of the surliest, most muscle-bound men I had ever laid my eyes upon.

"I see," I said simply, "Thank you. I will keep you updated on my progress."

"Good luck." He shook my hand vehemently.

I stared at the cell in front of me. It was one of maximum security; the most solid we had. I opened the door, and stepped inside.

It was darker than it usually was in the cells. I vaguely wondered why my boss did not have me exercise my psychotherapy in the open rooms, as we normally did. Perhaps he was afraid that this one could escape. I had heard he was a rather Houdini-like character.

I didn't notice anyone in the cell right away. I grew nervous, wondering if he had broken out of his straight jacket. Then in the darkness, I saw the distinct outline of a man sitting in the corner.

I stepped forward, "Excuse me, Mr. …" I squinted at my paperwork in the dim light, "Joker?"

His head slowly turned to face me, "Yes?"

"May I turn the lights on? It is very difficult for me to conduct my business in the dark."

"If it would please you," He said. His voice was calm, collected. I wasn't quite accustomed to that. My patients were always on-edge, very jittery and couldn't think clearly.

I crossed the room, feeling the soft, rubbery walls for the switch. When my fingers finally felt the hard plastic, I flipped it on, blinking fervently to adjust my eyes to the bright, fluorescent overhead light.

I sat on the floor by the door, smoothing my black pencil skirt, "Hello, Mr. Joker, I am Dr. Harleen Quinzel, a therapist here at Arkham. It seems you have driven away a few of my co-workers in the short few weeks you have been here."

"They haven't sent me anyone as beautiful as you." He said, smiling crookedly.

It was then that I got a good glimpse of his face. He could have been a handsome man; but his face was covered in white paint, clearly smeared on with his own fingers, his eyes were circled in black kohl, and it appeared as if he had lipstick on his thin, chapped lips. The red was smudged onto the scars that crossed his cheeks. It looked like he had a perpetual smile etched onto his face.

I had to admit; this so-called 'war paint' made me squirm a little. I was only 27 years old; new to the Asylum, new to my profession. And this was my first real challenge.

I exhaled again, "Thank you, but flattery isn't necessary."

"It is for you." His voice was perhaps the most frightening part of his persona; he sounded almost like a cartoon character mixed with a serial killer.

"Well, that's all fine, Mr. Joker, but I must really focus on you." I tucked a strand of my blonde curls behind my ear, scratching down notes.

"Can you take me out of these restraints?" he asked.

I looked up at him, and saw the genuine pleading in his eyes. I shook my head, "I apologize; I know they are exceedingly uncomfortable, but it would be unethical and very illogical to disobey my boss's orders."

"You use an awful lot of big words for a small woman." He observed.

"Please, Mr. Joker, can we talk about you?" I said, voice testy.

"Of course. That is what you are here for…what would you like to know?" His tongue quickly lashed at his lips; something I noticed that he did often.

"I have a quick personal question of my own to ask first…I hope you do not take this the wrong way, but…" I bit my lip.

"What?"

"Do those scars hurt?"

He shrugged, "I've had them for years, Dr. Quinzel. I got used to the pain, I guess."

"Oh," I felt somewhat silly for asking, "Why did you torture my colleagues into madness? Professor Forde was a friend of mine."

"They didn't send me someone who would try to understand me." He said matter-of-factly, "You look like a compassionate person to me. I am a very complicated man. As you may have noticed, I don't like people."

I held back a snarky comment about that statement.

"Well, I'm just here to figure out why, Mr. Joker." I tried to give him a reassuring smile, "First, may I ask why you call yourself that?"

"The Joker?" he closed his eyes, contemplating, "I didn't name myself. The media did. I didn't want a name. That's the point."

"Then…why dress up as a clown if you didn't want attention?"

"Oh, I wanted attention, Doctor. I thought, well, a clown is always happy, and that's how I look, so it made perfect sense. No one would expect the clown. No one would take me seriously, and that's exactly what I wanted. To prove them all wrong."

He shifted slightly, "Damn, these restraints are frustrating."

"I'm sorry." I said, meaning it. In a way, I pitied him. I knew he was a total psychopath, but he presented himself as someone sane.

"Anyway, I prefer to think of myself as an agent of chaos, you see. An anarchist in the truest sense of the word. I like social experiments. I like to prove myself wrong. It's how I learn. I learn how people think, how they react to certain situations." He explained, "You would never believe all I've come to understand about human nature."

"Like what?" I inquired, scribbling down everything he had said to analyze later.

"Ah…" he mused, "People reveal their true nature when they're about to die. When they are desperate, they will do anything. They will turn on their own mother if it saves their skin. People are only in it for themselves is what it really comes down to, Doctor."

"I suppose that is the very basis of who we are." I agreed, "Our first instinct is survival."

"Yes, but we don't particularly like to revert back to our old ways." He said, "We would prefer to be lazy and let other people do the work for us. We look for all possible ways to make things easier."

I didn't know how to respond. It was evident that he had spent a good deal of time observing the world. He was either completely mad or completely brilliant. It was difficult to discern.

I looked down at my watch. It had already been an hour.

I slowly stood up, "I have to go now. I will be back tomorrow to speak with you after I have evaluated my notes."

"You must leave me already?" he appeared disappointed, "You're the first one who has really listened. I sort of enjoy your company."

"You can enjoy for a long time, because I haven't even begun to tap into your brain." I said, opening the door. The two bodyguards' heads jerked toward me, and I held up a hand, "No problems here, guys. Just leaving."

They grunted a response and let me through.

"Goodbye, Doctor." The Joker called as the door slammed shut.

My boss was pacing about the hallway when I found him.

He saw me, and rushed over, "Are you alright? Please don't quit!"

"I won't be quitting any time soon." I chuckled a bit at his concern, "I'm perfectly fine. I think sometimes these patients need a woman's touch. He certainly felt more comfortable speaking to me than the others."

His face eased into relief, "Did he tell you anything important?"

"Nothing mind-blowing, no," I shook my head, "I think I can help him, though."

"It took the others a few sessions before they left…" my boss said, "If it gets too overwhelming, you must inform me immediately."

"Of course, but don't worry about me." I shifted the books in my arms, "Well, I have to head on home. Plenty to work on."

He nodded, "Yes, yes, go home and rest."

"See you tomorrow!" I waved him farewell as I left the asylum.

…

I live in the nicer part of Gotham, in a penthouse apartment on 5th Avenue. This was mostly due to the fact that my parents are quite wealthy. My father just comes from old money, but most of my childhood was spent in New York City. I don't feel that my parents spoiled me all that much after the age of 18, because they wanted me to learn the value of money. I was sheltered until I left for college, but there I learned responsibility and how to be a mature adult.

This apartment was a gift for graduating and getting my doctorate degree in psychology. To achieve that, I worked as a waitress part-time and went to school, which wasn't quite as easy as it sounds. But it all paid off in the end. I pay for everything myself now, considering my job at Arkham rewards me well enough.

I went inside, locking the door behind me, and then dropping my books on an armchair. I could get to those later. I needed some time to relax before attempting to understand the mind of psychologically unsound clown.

I crossed the living room into my bathroom, and started to run the hot water. A bath always helped me think clearly. I undressed, slipping into the water, leaning my head against the cold marble, sending a slight shiver throughout my body.

I tried to focus on the present, but honestly all that was on my mind was his face. I wondered what he looked like under all that face paint. Why did he choose to hide himself from the world, other than the obvious reasons? Of course, he wouldn't want to get caught, but yet he had been. Did he allow himself to be caught? No, that seemed a little too thought-out for him. After all, I had seen statements from him from my colleagues, saying that he never had plans. He always did things spontaneously, hoping for the right results. To me, that was hard to comprehend. I was the person who scheduled events months in advance.

I couldn't help thinking that maybe his way of life wasn't as mind-boggling as they made it out to be. Yes, breaking the law shouldn't be done; I spent my life adhering to society and what it dictated. Being in the upper class made it even more complex. Sometimes I had felt a little out of place with the girls my age, because they wanted to talk about boys and make-up, and I wanted to discuss Jane Austen and sociology.

I guess I had become a psychologist because I had a lot of issues of my own to work out. Once I arrived at college, I began to sort out everything that had held me back. My parents' expectations, my shyness, and feeling comfortable in my skin, in a phrase. I grew more confident and achieved all my goals, and I was proud of myself, as were my parents.

His face flashed again in my mind. And again. And again.

One meeting and this guy had me entangled in his web. I was not going to give up on him, though. My curiosity had been sparked, and I needed to know more. I wanted to get underneath the mask and see the real man behind it.

I got out of the bathtub, drying myself with a towel. I felt more determined now, ready to face him. I stared at my face in the mirror. Sometimes it was hard to believe that I had hated what had stared back at me. I now saw the curling blonde locks, the bright blue eyes, and the skin that hadn't seen enough sun in a while. Presently, I loved the way I was, and I wasn't going to let someone break me down.

My thoughts were interrupted as my cell phone rang on the counter next to me. I stared down at the screen, seeing the name "Maggie". I sighed, and flipped the phone open,

"Hello?"

"Harley, where the fuck have you been?" her voice demanded to know, "I've been trying to call you all day."

"You know I have no reception at the Asylum." I said, wrapping the towel around myself and heading for my bedroom.

"Yeah, well, Mom and Dad are tweaking because they haven't heard from you in like a week." Maggie was my younger sister; she was 22, and insanely headstrong. She was basically everything I wasn't; street-smart, athletic, and popular. She went to Cornell University and was currently trying to get into med school to be a cardiac surgeon. I didn't exactly trust her with my insides.

"Well, tell them I'm fine. It's just been really busy there. We have this new patient who is taking up a great deal of everyone's time, patience, and effort." I explained, balancing the phone against my ear as I put on sweat pants and a T-shirt.

"Oh yeah, yeah, you mean that Joker guy? Were you assigned to him?" she asked.

"Mmhmm, today," I replied, collapsing onto my living room couch.

"Really?" this information perked her interest, "What's he like?"

"I don't know, like any other sociopath out there. I just need to figure out his motivation in the crimes he committed." I yawned, "I can't really discuss any more of it because it's classified."

"You're seriously no fun at all." I could almost see her signature pout on the end of the phone, "Anyway, I got to get back to studying. The ventricles of the heart don't learn themselves."

"Ok, see you at Thanksgiving, sis."

"Bye!" she hung up.

I put my phone on the end table next to my couch, and turned on my television to the news.

"Gotham police are still searching for the unknown man who assassinated District Attorney Harvey Dent two weeks ago. There are no main suspects as of yet, but many authorities and witnesses have said that they saw the caped vigilante Batman at the scene of the crime. Our thoughts and condolences are with District Attorney Dent's family and friends. It was a great loss to the city of Gotham, and we here at Channel 5 will keep you updated on this story…"

I frowned. I couldn't believe that they had no leads yet. Harvey Dent was a kind and courageous man; I would think that they would try to honor his memory by catching this killer. I couldn't help thinking that perhaps this Joker had something to do with it. He did blow up the hospital in which Harvey Dent had been staying. Maybe he knew something about it…perhaps more than anyone else.