She kissed me goodbye, an action that felt like a dream in the state I was in. Then I felt like I was floating along as the nurses wheeled me to the operating room. Above me, the glaring fluorescence flashed, causing me to wince at the intensity of them. Bumps alerted me to doors being passed through, and then one final bump as I was transferred from the gurney to the operating table.

"Good morning, Mr. Wynne. This is Dr. Arikaki. He'll be your anesthesiologist today. I'm Dr. Cole, and I'll be assisting Dr. Elliot with your operation today."

I was beyond caring at this point. I was barely coherent. The anesthesiologist strapped my left arm to an extension on the table, hooking a second IV drip up to the one I already had. Using the port, I watched as he injected a mixture of drugs, explaining what they would do. Most of his explanation was lost as the bright lights of the room dimmed to black.

~ ~ ~

Too quickly I was waking up again. Carefully, I sat up, surprised to find myself in my cell at Arkham. I was overheating and covered in the slimy sweat of a bad nightmare. With the thin sheet on my bed, I wiped the sweat off, and reached for my shirt. As I secured the ties on my pants, I pressed myself to the glass. Down the hall I could hear the screaming rants of Jonathan Crane. The recently returned Joker was cackling in a most perverse way.

Further down the hall in the opposite direction, came the soft whispers and rustles of Pamela Isley talking to her plants. Harleen Quinzel was humming in an attempt to harmonize with the Joker's insane cackling. But Dee... I couldn't remember where she was, or if she was even there. Unlike the others, she was hardly one to make noise when she didn't want to.

I was bothered by the fact that I couldn't remember if she had come in with me or not. What's more, I couldn't remember how long I had been in Arkham this time. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? Months? I just didn't know! Quickly I ran my hand through my hair, searching for any telltale sign that Jervis Tetch might have slipped a little something onto my head. I found nothing. Distressed, I leaned against the cold, stone wall, sliding down until I was sitting in a ball.

Now I was cold. I pulled the blanket from my bed, wrapping it around my shoulders and tucking it under my bare feet. Why couldn't I remember anything? For comfort, I recited the prime numbers, rocking back and forth on my cold feet. A sudden high-pitched sound, similar to a dentist's drill, pierced my skull, crumpling me to the floor as I cried out. My head felt like it was caught in the maw of an animal.

Just as suddenly as the pain had started, it stopped. Shaking and sweating, I uncurled myself and looked around. Crawling to the toilet, I hung my head over the bowl and vomited. Once I had been reduced to dry heaves, and a racking cough, I pressed myself against the cold stone floor. Now the cold was welcome, cooling my feverish body, even if it was knotting my intestines further. There was nothing left to throw up. After swishing my mouth out in the sink, I crawled back into bed and huddled under the covers until the guards came for me.

I had no interest in going to the rec room today. I would have preferred to stay in my bed and try to figure things out. But I let the guard lead me, forgoing my usual riddled jabs at the oaf. The pain had been replaced with an unusual tickling sensation inside my skull. Brain tickle. I had to smile at that.

When I arrived at the rec room, I was not surprised to find Joker there, holding court. Every time he returned, the same thing would inevitably happen. Harley was doing her duty gathering the inmates, comatose or not, to sit around where the Joker was. They sat complacently, none daring to move from their position. One thing every patient knew was not to piss the Joker off, especially at one of his recitals. What new tale of daring-do would he be telling today? How would he make it out that he was the victim of the crime, not the perpetrator?

"What's going on?" I asked as Harley skipped past holding the hand of a comatose male patient as she dragged him along in her wake. The man had a thread of spittle dangling halfway to his knees, the front of his uniform soggy from drool.

"Puddin' is telling us stories about his latest adventure!" she squeaked excitedly. "Grab a seat, Riddleboy, and shut your pie hole!"

If Joker didn't hit you all the time, I would, I thought to myself. Of course I wouldn't actually. But at the moment, the thought was tempting. Instead, I picked up a book, and randomly flipped through it, trying to ignore the buzz in my head, as well as the twitter of Harley and the Joker.

"Then she shot me! And I died! Yes, I, your humble King Joker, died," Joker was saying.

Harley burst into tears on cue, wailing and dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of a nearby patient. "Oh, Mistah J! Say it ain't so!"

"Oh, but it is, Pooh! It is! Eight times she shot me in the chest. The bitch," he said, losing his composure for a moment to snarl. The snarl was quickly interrupted with a burst of giggling. "Next thing I know, I'm floating in some pool of stinking goo with the Batman waiting for me! But I'm alive and kickin'!"

Harley cheered and jumped up and down, her pigtails bouncing along with the rest of her.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. Putting my book down, I turned to the clown. "That has got to be the most cockamamie story you have ever told, Jack. Dying and coming back to life? So what? You're a phoenix now?"

The Joker sneered. "You're just jealous, Eddie."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"That I've solved one of the greatest riddles before you did: Is there life after death?" The ruby red smile twisted into a mockery of pleasantness. "And if you don't watch your tongue, you'll find out the answer to that riddle very quickly."

"So you want us all to believe that this Al Ghul fellow had his daughter kidnap you and take you to some secret hideaway in Antarctica. Upon arriving there, he gave you a lab, and the means to create a biological weapon to kill off five billion people. You created the weapon, tried to use it on Al Ghul and his daughter, got double crossed, and they killed you. But you're saved by this pool of goo and brought back to life." I made an almost noncommittal grunt as I stood. "I'm not buying it. Why would Batman save you if you died?"

Harley delivered a quick punch to my stomach, doubling me over. Had my stomach not been empty already, I would have emptied it onto her shoes. From the corner of my eye, I could see the guards starting to mill around us, holding back until they saw which way the confrontation would go.

"Why wouldn't Bats bring my Puddin' back to life?! If anyone deserves to live, it's him! How would the world ever get along without his brilliant comedic mind?" she raged.

"Now, now, Pooh. Let's remember that ol' question mark drawers thinks that he's the smartest of us all." Joker turned Harley to the chair he had been sitting in and swatted her bottom, shoving her roughly at the chair. "You'd do well to remember, Edward, that you live by my good graces," he said in a low, raspy voice. Once more, it turned to a sudden chuckle as he slapped me on the back. "Besides, you amuse me!"

Without flinching, I set my jaw and looked from Harley to the Joker. "I think someone has been watching a little too much Crossing Over."

The Joker pulled his fist back, preparing to smash it into my face. Before he could throw the punch, the guards swarmed us, pinning us all to the ground in a flash. Though I didn't struggle, the guards were their usual over-rough selves, forcing my arms behind my back. As they did, a fiery, white-hot sting spread through my skull. Involuntarily, I howled in pain. The pain was so intense that I passed out before the guards could lift me off the cold stone floor.
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