Wanna Know How I Got These Scars?

~~~~~ 2009 ~~~~~

The door shrieked shut behind me, and still Jack didn’t move. I slid my hand across the table to tentatively touch his hand. He jumped so slightly I may have imagined it, and his eyes rolled around to look at me. I saw no recognition in his eyes, and my heart sank. They must’ve been using electroshock therapy on him again. "Do I, uh, know you?" He asked in a quiet voice. Tears choked me, but I nodded my response.

"It’s been fifteen years... you really don’t remember me?" I gulped. He languidly blinked and then just as slowly licked his scars.

"Sorry to be so rude, Beautiful, but I can’t remember what I had for breakfast." He chuckled. I leaned forward, holding his hands.

"It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me. I remember you, and I will get you out of this hell hole. I promise you that." I vowed.

"Are you a doctor?" He asked, clearly confused but still wary.

"Not a medical doctor. What do they have you on? Can you use a knife if I get you one?" I asked him in an anxious whisper. He gave me a bemused smile.

"I may not remember you, but I like you already, Beautiful." He giggled laconically. I looked at the wall clock. The orderly would be back any minute.

"What’s your cell number?" I asked. He looked down to his chest and pointed to the numbers stamped on the left hand side of the red jumpsuit. Under the letters AACS (Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane) the numbers 000102877 were emblazoned. It was easy to remember, it was my birthday. I laughed at my bit of good luck. In the hallway I could hear the orderly’s heavy footfall. He was more than five minutes early, but I’d expected that. I moved quickly to Jack’s side of the table, and I hugged him tightly. "I will come back for you just as soon as I can. I give you my word, Jack." I said, moving back to my seat just before the door squealed open.

**********

He’d expected more EST when the orderly had come for him. Instead, he was taken to a session room. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to filet the orderly, but he could barely take two steps before confusion set in. He remembered he was in Arkham, but he couldn’t remember why. He only remembered things in flashes. He remembered clowns, bombs, knives, fire, money and bats.

There was a busty redhead sitting across from him, but he didn’t remember her either. She was fun to look at, though something about her appearance seemed wrong. He couldn’t place his finger on it. Still, he was more interested in what she was saying. Something about knives and getting him out of Arkham. She seemed to be moving and speaking too fast, but it could’ve been his brain. It was all fuzzy from the chemicals the doctors had it stewing in. She was suddenly on his side of the table and hugging him. He tensed, not used to people holding him with affection. She was speaking, but he didn’t hear the words. All he could smell was cherries. It was her. She smelled of cherries. She took her seat a second before the door opened, but he didn’t look at her again as she was escorted out. Cherries. He remembered cherries. Cherries came before bats, before bombs and clowns. Cherries were red, he thought, as the guard huddled him back into his cell. No, cherries hated red. Cherries wore red feet. Cherries were scarlet... no... Scarlet was cherries. His brain ached from trying to remember. None of it made any sense. He slumped down onto his bunk, the scent of cherries still hung heavily in his nose. She always smelled like cherries, he thought in the moment before sleep claimed him.

**********

My heart pounded in my chest as I drove out of The Narrows. Jack Napier. Tears prickled my eyes at the thought of him in some god awful cell doped up on who knew what. I wished I could take him out of Arkham right then and there, but I had to be careful. I had to be smart. I needed knowledge, and I was going to need help.

My first instinct was to go to the library. I could gather a lot of knowledge there, and I could form a battle plan. I barely saw the city streets I drove on. My brain was already ticking off the things I’d need to know, the things I’d have to do. I parked in the empty lot behind the library, and, as I went through the familiar back entrance, it felt foreign to me. I made my way to my office, and, when I switched on the lights, it felt different, too. I realized the difference wasn’t in the office or my surroundings. It was me. In the years since I’d seen Jack I’d built a shell around myself. I moved through this world in a bubble of lies. I told myself whatever lie I needed to survive. I told myself that I hadn’t become soft, I’d just grown up. But I had become soft. I’d cut my hair, wore conservative clothes, got a good job, bought a brownstone, hell, I’d even taken to driving a fucking Prius! If Jack had been in his right mind he would’ve been disgusted with me. By becoming the Joker he’d taken things to another level. He’d placed himself ahead of the curve. I’d acted like a traumatized sheep and fell into line with the curve. Still, as much as I detested what I’d become, my conservative existence would be useful. I would keep the facade in place as long as I needed it to rescue Jack from Arkham. My job gave me access to almost everything I’d need, or, at the very least, the people who could provide what I needed. My money would be useful, as well. Besides the trust fund my parents had set up for me, being single and childless had added to my assets. If I needed to hire help, get weapons or set up a safe house I could do it.

My first course of action was to find Jack’s men, or rather, the Joker’s men. I went straight to the court records housed in a separate building. My keycard gave me access into the building, and I got to work.

It took a few hours, but I finally was able to find some useful names. Most of the men who worked for the Joker hadn’t met a happy ending. Many of them were in Arkham with him. Apparently, a few years back, there had been a big to do in The Narrows, and many of the inmates had escaped. These were the men the Joker had recruited. Not all his men were escaped lunatics. Some had ties with the mob. I tracked the names of these individuals and found a few of them were incarcerated at Blackgate Prison. A couple were on parole. I would find these men, but, first, I needed to get the blueprints for Arkham. It had looked the same to me, but if there had been any repairs to it, it might not be as easy to break into as it had been before.