III. Madhouse

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The analog clock hung crooked on the wall ticked ominously as I awaited my next client. Which each click of the hand I grew more and more anxious.

Not only was I still coming down from my

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Not only was I still coming down from my...moment...with Crane and almost being caught by security, but I was about to face one of Gotham's most notorious criminals.

Alone.

This was the first time I would be asking the questions and doing the notations, and now that I thought about it, I didn't even know what to say. With my other clients it was easy.

Usually a simple, "How are you feeling today?" Or a "What's been on your mind the last couple of days?" Could get us—Jonathan and I—the answers and notations we needed.

But what the fuck was I supposed to ask a guy who dressed like a clown and went around murdering people? And how was I going to manage making notes of his answers and behaviors, all while staying aware of his movements just in case he tried to lunge across the table and strangle me?

Viscous, violent thoughts crashed on the shore of my conscious just as Gotham's bay threw its waves against the rocky steppes of Arkham Island.

A knock on the door made my spine straighten.

"Come in," I barely managed to hoarse

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"Come in," I barely managed to hoarse.

The door opened and before was the Joker.

He was strapped in a straight jacket—much more constricting than the cuffs than Jonathan had been put in.

I hoped that they never put one of those terrible things on him.

The security guards sat the inmate down on the chair across from me and gave me a nod. I returned the gesture. After a moment of silence, the metal door slammed shut, sealing me inside with the monster that terrorized my city.

I opened my mouth to speak, but instead The Joker's raspy voice filled the space.

"You are quite pretty." His snakelike voice coiled around me, constricting and choking my every thought and movement.

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