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His throat was dry, his vision blurred, and there was a dull ringing echoing in his ears. He ran his parched tongue over his cracked lips, but it yielded no moisture. On the inside he felt himself shaking violently, yet on the outside he remained completely still, gazing into nothingness with dead, emotionless eyes. 

“Sir? 

A thin layer of water obscured each eye, making everything turn blurred and glassy. He felt like he was an abstract being, watching someone else’s life unfold in front of him. He drifted aimlessly, caught up in his disembodied state, his grasp on the world broken and fragmented. 
“Sir…?” 

He slowly came around, blinking away salty tears, and looking the man who was addressing him straight in the eye. When he was younger they’d told him he was bad at making eye contact, something to do with his asperses, but right now he fixed the man with a cold, unwavering stare, his own eyes never once wandering astray, or seeking solace by burying themselves in some quiet, isolated corner of the room. 
“Sir?!” 

The sudden increase in volume tore him from his ethereal non-sleep, forcing him at last to re-join the realm of the living. Reality hit him like a fire truck, and he suddenly felt the whole of existence screaming around him. 

“Sir…I’m so very sorry” There was a genuine sounds to the man’s tone, but neither his words nor the sympathy in his eyes did much to comfort him. 
“If it’s any consolation it would’ve been fairly quick and…and painless. She…she wouldn’t have felt a thing.” 

He still remembered the first time he’d laid his eyes upon her, the first time she’d graced by with her soft, sensual movements, the first time he had been blessed with the sweet, soothing sound of her voice. It had taken his everything to muster the courage to speak to her. He was so she’d be just another pretty face; that she’d turn out to be as hollow and lifeless as all the beautiful girls. 

But she’d been everything he could have ever wished for. She had been so…perfect. They had been so happy together. And now she was gone. 
“She wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry or scream. 

He felt sick. 

'If you hurt inside get certified, and if life should treat you bad…Don’t get even, get mad!'

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Doctor Sulivan sat across from her patient, her auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. Unnerving didn’t even begin to describe the maniacal look in his venomous eyes. His face was thin and angular, his flesh far paler than anything that wasn’t devoid of all life had any right to be. His hair was a mess of toxic green strands, his cheek bones chiselled in an almost feminine fashion. His nose was long and crooked, and there were deep laugh lines visible on the corners of his mouth. His lips were red like fresh blood seeping from a gaping wound, his teeth vicious and yellow. His body was lean and gaunt, making him seem almost skeletal in appearance. He wasn’t particularly well-built, but there was definitely some muscle on his frame. 

The maniacal looking figure was bound in metal shackles, and clad in a strait-jacket, clearly meant to restrict his movements. Despite all of his constraints an aura of intimidation still radiated from him, making Sulivan shift uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Doctor Sulivan, so lovely to see you! I do so enjoy our little chats” The Joker exclaimed, a vicious grin spreading across his porcelain features. A moment of elongated silence lingered between them, the Joker only speaking once more when it became evident that the Doctor was making no move to speak herself. “Did you by chance manage to read my little journal?” He queered in a sign-song voice, raising one toxic green eyebrow into an arch. 

Sulivan gazed through her spectacles at the battered book that was laid out in front of her, resting comfortably on the room’s loan table. “I’m afraid I had some trouble actually managing to make it out, Mr…Joker.” She admitted with a slight laugh. 

“Unfortunately, between my enthusiasm and my choice of ink, well…I may have sacrificed something’s, legibility being one of them.” Throughout the entirety of his sentence the same unsettling grin remained on his face, and it persisted even after he had finished speaking. “But that book is filled with every observation I have made in my special time on this earth. EVERYTHING. And I have observed soooo much, Doctor.”

“Would you like to walk through it with me?” 

“That would be very much appreciated, Mister Joker.” 

Sulivan opened the book, bound in what she assumed to be leather, turning to the first tarnished page. The Joker nodded to the page in question “This page is about something I did to a young man with a dog, and no sense of humour. And his dog.” He leered at her as he spoke, that smile of his ever-present, his noxious eyes catching the light and glistening venomously. 

Sulivan could tell that he was trying to unnerve her; she’d had the same thing from several other patients in the past, so she didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting in any discernable manner. She simply nodded at him, before turning to the next page. 

“This page is about my little incident at the circus…” Sulivan had spoken to him about this particular topic matter in the past, so she simply turned to the next page, not wanting to discuss it further. 

“Now THIS page really is special…” He begun, pausing for dramatic emphasis. “It’s what I’d do if I ever met an eight year old boy named Brian.” 
Suddenly, Sulivan felt her blood run cold, an icy chill creeping up her spine. 

“M-my son is eight…and his name is Brian.” 

“My, my! Isn’t that a pleasant little coincidence?” His vicious grin spread further and further across his face, now spanning each corner of his likeness. 
He leaned in towards her, coming as close to the doctor as his bonds would allow. 

“Now, Doctor Sulivan, I want you to listen VERY closely…”