* J *

Part Fifteen: Chapter 101: Aftermath

Dr. Quinzel awoke to the sound alarms and screaming. She tries to open her eyes but it seemed as though she lacked the control. Her head was pulsating in pain as she kept trying. Why was everyone screaming? Images were flashing through her mind at an erratic pace. None of it seemed to make any sense. None of it seemed relevant at all, much like the screams she now heard. Were they even real? Was any of it real? Perhaps she was at home in bed and having a strange dream.

Somehow she finds the energy to get her eyelids to open. And it was a dumb idea. There was a bright light shining right down into her face. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing her retinas all at once. She blinks several times, trying to focus on something, anything. She tries to move but notices that she's strapped down. She struggles against the restraints, but it was pointless. She wasn't exactly sure how much time had passed since she lost consciousness, but judging the sirens and screaming, it hadn't been long.

"Hello?!" She shouts, but unfortunately the sound was just a thought, and it never makes it out of her mouth.

She tries to lift her head but she just couldn't. It ached. Everything ached. Surely someone would be along soon, right? She just needed to be patient. But then the flash of a mad cackle danced through her mind. Mistah J. But where was he? Why wasn't he with her now? Had she made up the thought? Or had it really happened? Everything was so fuzzy. It was like trying to look through a cloudy window. Had Mistah J left her here like this?

No. He loved her. He wanted to be with her. This was just a test, right? Mistah J had been hurt a lot. She couldn't remember how, but she had a very strong feeling that he had been. Everything was so fuzzy. It was hard to say what was real and what wasn't. It was like the recollection of something you're not entirely sure about. It seemed as if every thought and every memory were just at the cusp between reality and fantasy. Fact and fiction.

Dr. Quinzel lay there, her mind reeling, trying to put order to the internal chaos. She lay there, hoping and waiting that someone would come. She couldn't go undetected forever. She tried to call out, but she still didn't have the energy to do so. She couldn't remember the sounds of the words themselves. She had to keep trying. Someone would free her and when they did, she could start her search for the Joker. Her Mistah J.

But where did she start? She didn't think that she knew where he lived. Or maybe she did. Had she ever been with him outside of Arkham? His place? Her place? Have they been on a date? She couldn't remember. She wasn't entirely sure if there was even anything to remember. Did they have a past? It was hard to say when she couldn't even trust her own mind.

Dr. Quinzel lay there and wait until the gun blasts no longer echoed in the halls. The screams of the wounded painted a bloody picture in her mind. The fluorescent light in the ceiling flickers on and off with no rhythm. And she heard laughter, the insane laughter of the craziest patients. She could hear the sound from a radio on a dead guard in the room, dozens of guards begging for back up. She knew that the guards were outnumbered, and the crazies were taking control of the asylum.

Through the window she could hear the blades of helicopters. News reporters circled Arkham, trying to zoom their cameras in the windows, desperate for a hint of the gore inside the facility. Little did Dr. Quinzel know, but in the front courtyard a SWAT team took out escaped patients with non-lethal weapons. Then they shackled them and detained them in SWAT vans until the asylum could take back control.

Dr. Quinzel waited and listened to everything going on around her. She slowly feels her strength returning to her body. She struggles against the restraints holding her, but there was no way she was getting out of them by herself. Finally she managed to cry out for help. But help didn't come very fast. Dr. Quinzel can't even be sure if she's yelling as loudly as it seems like in her head. For all she knows her cry may be but a mere whisper.