tinhuvielartanis | The Asylum Attendant's Date (Reply)

Sorry to disappoint, but it's not what you think!

The Asylum Attendant’s Date

The Joker: that cognomen was on the lips of most everyone in Gotham City since the incidences of a few months ago. He seemed to be as popular, even more popular than that prancing vigilante The Batman. People were curious as to who he was, what he was, and where he came from. If you lived in Gotham, or anywhere near this godforsaken city, you knew about the Joker and the Caped Crusader.

You also knew that the Caped Crusader was on the lam from authorities and had lost his popularity for all the chaos he’d instigated during his initial chase after the Joker a couple of months back. People were always so eager to point a finger in order to keep themselves spotless and pious in a world that was comprised of nothing but guilt and the grief that often followed. The Joker clicked his tongue in amusement as he thought about it all, peeking out at the city below him from his tiny room in Arkham. His release date was soon, regardless of anyone knowing it. It was time he got back to doing what he did best: combining gunpowder, dynamite, and gasoline in new and ingenious ways. There was a fourth thing he’d missed during his return to Arkham, and that was sex. He didn’t care how he got it, where he got it, or with whom he got it, sex was at the top of his list. It had been a quarter year and the Joker was chomping at the bit for a little bit of nookie.

And nookie he would have.

The Joker surveyed his city below his tiny meshed and barred window. Oh yes, the city would be his again in every way he could imagine. He would christen his sexy urban beauty with a combination of explosions, fire, blood, and cum and it would beg him for more before he was finished. Not even the Bat would know what to think. In fact, the Joker would begin with the Bat himself, then go from there. Gotham would never be the same.

He had heard from his sources on the outside that the Bat was lying low, and was wise to do so. It tickled the Joker to think of Wayne sitting in his great fortress on the hill, almost exactly opposite to Arkham Hill, peering out of his window down at the city full of idiots who now hated his wacky alter-ego. When you peel away all the thin veils of so-called civilization, what you had left was a thundering herd of pitch fork-wielding, torch-bearing knuckle-draggers hell-bent on spilling blood. Sooooo let ‘em, t-he Joker mused. Just let me have a date and blow something up first before they start with the stabbities.

Lifting his large brown eyes from Gotham, the Joker focused on the Wayne Manor in the distance. Freak, he thought to himself. Are you looking at me looking at you? Maybe you need a reminder of one of our first conversations when I warned you about the angry mob turning on freaks who no longer serve their purpose. Maybe you need to come to the realization that birds of a feather flock together, and that bats and clowns have much more in common with each other than they do with any of those fools who inhabit this city.

The Joker dipped his head and squinted his eyes, Willing Wayne to sense his presence on a psychic level. This was the last night the Joker would be in this hell pit of a psychiatric hospital. He’d grown weary of the endless psychoanalysis, group therapy sessions, and off-brand grape gelatin. Could they at least not spare a few extra pennies and buy Jell-O Brand gelatin? The Joker rolled his eyes in frustration and disgust. Arkham Asylum was a joke, and he should know. The Joker knew all about jokes, especially the bad ones. Arkham was planted firmly in that lofty category, shit hole that it was.

There came a tapping, a rapping at the Joker’s chamber door. He hoped it would be Mr. Barney coming with the Joker’s beddie-bye brain scramblers, as if he needed them. “Mister J, I want you on your bed, your back against the wall, and your hands in your lap please,” the voice said.

“Oh yes sir, anything you say sirrrr.” The Joker knew the drill all too well. He shuffled languidly from his perch at the window to his cot in the corner of his cell. The Joker unwound his limbs and placed his hands in his lap, in full view of the nice attendant who subsequently entered the Clown Prince’s cell.

“How you doin’ tonight, Mister J?”

“Oh, I’m doing swimmingleeee, Barney. It’s good to see you back on the night shift. I thought you’d left meee for good-d. That other bozo they had coming in here was borrrredom incarnat-te.”

“’s’at why you killed him, J?” Barney asked matter-of-factly, double-checking the cup of pills designated for the Clown Prince of Crime.

Raising his eyebrows to what seemed far beyond his hairline, the Joker said, “Me? I heard he committed suicide after trying to kill me from sheer borrrredom. No, Barney, no. I didn’t touch the man. I was here the entire time, helpless to even my own cause. Nope, you got the wrong man, my good man.”

With that, the Joker smiled sweetly and twiddled his thumbs.

“Whatever you say, J,” Barney said. “But I’ve never heard of a man killing himself by repeatedly slamming his head into a tile wall. You’d knock yourself out first, and you can’t very well run into a wall once you’ve brained yourself unconscious. Besides, I used to work at an asylum that boasted one of the greatest criminal masterminds in the world. He was so good, he killed a man by actually talking him into swallowing his own tongue. I wouldn’t put such shenanigans like that past you, J. Some may underestimate you, but I ain’t one of ‘em.”

“But am I misunderestimated, Barney? At all? Tell me true, ole buddy ole pal.” His smile never reached his eyes and the Joker clicked his tongue as an almost friendly gesture.

“You’re only misunderestimated by our former prez, Mister J.”

And, with that, the Joker cackled like a granny who’d just found her long lost dentures. “You’re funny, Barney. I like you. You’re like a refreshing sip of lemonade on a hellish Summer day in Alabama.”

The Joker stopped and pondered what he’d just said, his eyebrows lowered in thought, giving him that signature scowl authorities and criminals alike dreaded to see. “Not that I’ve ever been to Alabama…..” That was all he said before turning his attention back to Barney. “That still doesn’t change the fact that yerrr a fine fella.”

“Well, thank you, Mister J. I’m glad to know you’re fond of me. Now, would you kindly take your meds for me tonight?” Barney offered the cup that carried eleven pills of various shapes and sizes, as well as a cup of water to wash the pills down.

The Joker studied Barney. He had a kindly face, that kindness accented by the warm dark chocolate skin pigment. His sleepy eyes met the Joker’s manic ones with a fearless respect. Barney wasn’t there to belittle the Joker or any Arkham inmate. He was there simply to do his job and to do it with the least amount of stress on his wards or himself. The Joker felt bad for Barney in a way, having to deal with crazy people on a daily basis. He was probably the only sane person Barney talked to throughout his work day, poor guy. The Joker didn’t want to add to Barney’s grief, at least not yet, so he reached out and took the pill cup from Barney’s large hand.

“Now, if I swallow these, Barney, will I wake up tomorrow morning with a chemical lobot-tomy?”

“Would I do that to you, Mister J?”

“No, but your bosses would, Mister B!” The Joker clicked his tongue again, opened his mouth and poured the pills in. He spoke but, this time, his words were muffled and mangled by the pharmacy in his mouth. “Buh I drurf you, so down deh shooh dey go!”

The Joker took the cup of water and washed the pills down. Barney didn’t have to know that he’d vomit them all back up the minute the attendant left the room. Barney smiled broadly at the Joker and made a couple of notes in the Clown Prince’s chart before closing it. “I’ll be right back,” Barney said. “I need to add this folder to my ‘done’ stack.”

Making a sweeping gesture to his cell door, the Joker said, “By all means!”

The minute Barney left his cell, the Joker shoved two fingers as far back into his throat as he could. A couple of strong heaves and up came the poisons the Arkham authorities were keen on pumping into the Joker’s body. He absolutely flat refused to become society’s zombie. Fuck those pills and fuck society. The Joker hid the evidence in a wad of toilet paper and threw the paper in his small metal toilet, flushing it away into Gotham’s sewers, never to be seen again. About that time, Barney came back into the Joker’s cell.

“So, Mister J. Before I say goodnight, is there anything you need? Anything I can do for you or get you?”

“Barney, do you think I’m c-razeee?” The Joker cut his eyes to Barney, the kohl smeared around them making them look even larger than they actually were.

Barney scratched his chin in contemplation. “I’ve encountered some real fruit loops during my time at various institutions and, honestly, you’re not one of them. In my experience, we’re all a little crazy. It’s just to what degree a person is willing to carry it. And then there’s society and its definition of insanity. For instance, the Gotham media machine has pegged you as the craziest person in town, but the truth of the matter is that there are some men and women in this building who make you look like the host of Masterpiece Theatre.”

The Joker wobbled his head to and fro in a lazy motion as he licked his lips and eyed Barney through partially-closed eyelids. “Well, as you and I both know all too well, Barney, sanity has got to be the most subjective aspect of humaniteee in the world. And the saner you are, the more boring you’re apt to be. I’d rather have an ice pick shoved clear through my eyeball than ever be boring. This world we live in encourages sanity and derides the creative of our species.” The Joker stopped and raised his eyes to the ceiling as though he were seriously pondering the alternatives to being a bore. “No. No no. No…. I’d much rather be crazy and in-terrr-rest-ting and creative than ever terminally boring.”

“Like Hopkins?”

“Who-kins?”

“The attendant who died of boredom last night,” Barney said wryly.

“Wellll one can only stand so much mediocrity in one’s life before one,” and the Joker cracked his neck with a swift movement of his head. “Cracks. Salieri, for instance, at the ennnd of Amadeus. He was driven crazy by the fact-t he knew he was nothing but mediocre, especially compared to Mozart. He ended up in the loooony bin at the end of the movie, proclaiming to be the king of mediocrity. He cracked. Like an egg. A mirror. Like a spine.”

A malleable silence developed between Barney and the Joker as they stared at one another, wondering where this conversation may be taking them. The Joker studied Barney’s “super official” hospital uniform ~ white pants, white socks, and a white shirt that sported a high preacher-style collar. It had a day-glo effect in contrast to Barney’s dark skin. The Joker thought to himself that Barney could be his own Rave if only he’d play a little bit of Techno and ingest copious amounts of Ecstasy. Before he realized it, the Joker was laughing out loud, a slow, measured “ha ha ha,” usually reserved as a self-introduction to a gathering or party to which he had been uninvited. The sound was half-mirth, half-growl, and all the malice the Joker could muster.

Barney didn’t move from his spot and he studied the Joker while he laughed that eerie “ha ha ha.” The Joker peered up at Barney’s wide, worried face and said, “Barney, why so serious? It’s not like I’m going to murrrderrr you. You’re one of the few people I can margi-nal-lee tolerate. The world is more interesting with you in it.”

“Hm,” Barney contemplated in the half-light. “I remember another client of mine saying much the same thing about an FBI agent he’d taken a shine to. Last I heard, they were eating the “free range rude” somewhere in South America. Funny how things work out.”

“Well, that’s why I laugh so much. Everything is so fucking funny, wouldn’t you agreeee?”

“I would. So, Mister J, I need to move on to my other duties. Can I do anything for you before I go?”

“As a mat-ter of fact-t, you can, Barney my man.”

“And what would that be.”

“You can keep my cell door unlocked when you leave.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Oh, sure you can! You’re only working here because you missed the strange interactions you can have. I know you’re incredibly wealthy from selling all that Lecterrr paraphernalia to people with more money than good sense, and that you’re just taking a break from travel before hitting the road again. Let tonight be our last night in this hellhole called Arrrkham. We could stroll out together if you wanted-d.”

“That would ruin my chances of ever working anywhere else again.”

“But failing to lock a door behind you is a forgivable sin, Barney. You could work anywhere you pleased when the notion struck. And you know how notions can strike. The notion has struck me that I can’t go on like this, taking those ridiculous pills, talking to one psychotherapist after another. The only one that’s even remotely interesting is that pretty Harleen. I need to pay her a visit sometime. Yeah. Someday soon. Harleen Harleen Harleeeen,” the Joker sang. He stopped as suddenly as he’d started, and he looked at Barney. “So how about it?”

“If I say no, what’s gonna happen? Am I going die of boredom?”

“Obviously nothing, Barney. I’m not the monsterrr they say I am. Even you have admitted to knowing that-t. If you think I belong here, then lock the door behind you. If you think the world is a much less in-ter-esting place without me stirring the pot a tad, forget-t the door and give me that early discharge I’ve been jonesin’ for, for the past week or so.”

Barney smiled at the Joker and the Joker smiled back as sweetly as he could, batting his eyelashes at him seductively. “You are a piece of work, Mister J, I’ll hand you that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Barney.”

“You should!”

“While you mull over my proposition, would you like to know how I got these scars? Hm? Wouldja?” The Joker nodded convincingly. “C’mon over and sit a spell. Take a load off. Lemme tell you the story that brought me here, the event that set me on the road to meeting you.”

Barney seemed reluctant at first, but he slowly moved over to the Joker’s cot, sitting down beside the Joker, who bounced and giggled with glee at Barney’s receptivity. Barney took a gander at the Joker, studying him up close for the first time ever. Underneath the ghost white grease paint, the kohl-stained eyes, and the bright red lip-stick and face paint there hid a very handsome, almost sweet-looking young man who had suffered at the hands of someone as crazy or crazier than he himself was. Barney knew it was a mistake to get this close to one of the patients at Arkham, especially one who was considered criminally insane, but there was just something about the Joker that put you at ease in an odd way. He possessed a likable nature and just dripped with charisma. So did Jim Jones, Barney thought. And now here you are waiting in line for your cup of Kool-Aid. Barney, what are you doing?

“This is a lot like bedtime story time, isn’t it, Barney?” The Joker asked, placing his arm around Barney’s wide shoulders and squeezing a little.

“Whatever you say, J, whatever you say.”

“Well, here’s a bedtime story for ya. You see, my grandfather was a well-known criminal in Gotham. He ruled a lot of Gotham’s underworld with an iron fist and the help of a lot of guns and scared underlings. I grew up in his shadow, really idolizing Gramps’ people-winning personality. I was nothing but a slip of a boy who took nothing after my grandfather’s side of the family, being more like my father and his family. My grandfather always resented that, despite my wanting to be a big mean gangsterrrr. In fact, he resented me so much that he refused to even recognize me as his grandson. It put a real damper on family holidays or, as I like to call them, horribledays. My seventh birthday came along and I was given some modest, but really great gifts for the blessed event by my dad’s side of the family. Mother gave me a couple of fantastic gifts, including a knife she said had belonged to Gramps. She said that it was the first knife he’d ever owned and it was instrumental in Gramps’ eventual takeover of the entire Gotham crime syndicate. I was duly impressed until Gramps burst in on us, wanting to know what had happened to his most prized possession. He saw me sitting on the living room floor, twirling his knife from one happy finger to the other.

“’Give me that knife, you little bastard!’ He shouted at me, grabbing the blade from my hands, cutting my fingers in the process. ‘You got no god-damned-d businessss touching any knife of mine!’

“Before I knew it, I was crying, and so was Mother. About that time, Father came in from work, worrrking on third shift at some textile hellhole for a pittance that barely kept the family afloat. If only he’d been more like Gramps…… But, I digressss…. When he saw his wife and son crying, and his father-in-law standing with a knife, he went ballistic, grabbing the nearest thing he could use as a weapon, an umbrella, and swinging at Gramps with all the might he had.

“He managed to get a couple of swats in before Gramps gutted him right before mine and Mother’s eyes.

“’Oh, shut up the both o’ya!’ Gramps hollered. ‘The man was a clown, not worthy of our family. Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say!’ Mother was smart enough to pipe down. I was not. I’d just seen my dad murdered and I was watching his innards cool on the floor beside his body. I wailed with loss and horror. It was the last time I ever cried. Gramps grabbed me up and shook me.

“’You little wussie-boy! Wanna be a gangster, huh? But here you are, boo-hoo-ing over a waste of skin. Your father was nothing but a clown and that’s what you’re gonna be too! You ain’t no grandson of mine, you little clown, you little freak! I’ll teach you to cry when you’re told to shut up.’ And he held me by my scrawny little neck and, taking my prized birthday present, he sliced my mouth wide open.”

The Joker pointed at the scars with his free hand while he patted Barney’s shoulder with the other. “Being rather poor, my mother wasn’t able to get the proper care I needed for my wounds so, needless to say, they healed a little poorly. But Gramps was right, I grew up to be a clown! And this clown took his grandfather’s syndicate down, one little operation after another, laughing as he did it.

“Pretty good story isn’t it?”

Barney nodded, his face mournful. “But is that the true story? I’ve heard you tell a different one each time.”

“Who cares? All that matters is that I gained your trust and your sympathy, Barney. I gained it just long enough to get you close enough…..” And the Joker took Barney’s head and banged it hard against the wall. The man slumped on the Joker’s cot, out cold. “Well well well, I guess Barney was right after all. An unconscious man can’t continue to slam his head into a wall. I guess ole Hopkins was murdered after all. Serves him right for being so damned borrrrring.”

The Joker reached into Barney’s pockets and found his work keys. Holding them up to where he knew the hidden camera was, he jangled them joyfully, then sauntered out of his cell twirling them on one finger. Before he walked out of Arkham’s high wrought iron gates, the Joker took some time to free up some of the people that made him look like the host of Masterpiece Theatre. No need in having those keys and not taking advantage of them. He was certain they’d add a lot of interesting news stories to that lackluster GCN everyone in Gotham seemed so addicted to.

“Let the anarchy commence!” The Joker shouted into the shiny Gotham night as he watched a dozen or so of his fellow inmates skitter to and fro like inebriated goats. He refused to skitter, despite his freedom and the joy it brought him. No. He marched straight for home, his shoulders slightly hunched and his green hair blowing in the wind. He couldn’t wait to get home, put on some decent duds, and have himself a proper Date Night with some nice lucky girl. Barney was a good guy but, for a date, he left a lot to be desired.

In memory of Heath Ledger, Prince Conor and the one and only Joker.

Also, many thanks to Thomas Harris for not suing me for my usage of his characters, Barney and Hannibal Lecter. I included them in my story because I love them so much, not out of any hope of making any sort of money. It’s fanfiction, pure and simple.