AN: Holy crap!! I leave for half a day and come back to find not only a new pair of readers but a dozen new reviews – wow!! Greetings from the MCRF, redmisery – and thanks a million, Devryn, for the plentiful kind words! My only regret here is that you two have come in so near to the end. But don't worry – I do have two more stories, the sequels to this one, coming up. Ringbearer: I didn't mean to give the impression that she's going to an execution, but...well, I guess you'll see, heh. Sorry it's so short - I guess it's more of an epilogue or a segueway to the next story than anything else, but I'm fairly happy with it. Read on!

11: In which doubts are laid to rest. . .

Asylum. The word meant safety, refuge, protection. Lies. Two armored guards led me, cuffed and shackled, through the padlocked gate. A tapestry of multi-layered madness rushed out to greet me, and my legs buckled. I swallowed, and breathed, and put one foot in front of the other. The tortured minds of the patients crashed over me in waves, like fever, like vertigo. The guards pulled me along, ignoring my resistance. An impossibly short while later, I was alone. The cell was padded, and the door was barred. There was no window. Only a small cot, a card table and folding chair, and a chrome toilet.

Everything had fallen into place exactly as he'd predicted. I had confessed everything, my hand in the deaths of our comrades, and his preferential treatment of me. All I'd had to do then was wait for them to reach the inevitable conclusion that I was mentally unwell, at which point I would be removed to Arkham indefinitely. My assignment was to listen. To study the hearts and minds of my fellow inmates and decide which of them showed the most potential, as new recruits. He would find a way to bring them, and me, out, once he had secured new headquarters.

It crossed my mind that this might be his final deception against me. It could very well break me, being shut up alongside so many mad souls. I could hear the hollow ringing as Harvey flipped his coin; the creaking of rusty wheels as the Doctor rolled back and forth in his wheelchair; the inane, psychosomatic babble of the Scarecrow, still clinging to his irrelevant medical jargon. Yes, I was in much greater danger here. I could shatter. Perhaps that was what he'd wanted all along. Perhaps he would not come for me at all.

An orderly passed through in the hallway, offering distractions. Dirty magazines, dog-eared books, old newspapers. I took a deck of cards. I sat down at the little card table. My hands trembled as I pulled the cards out of the ragged box. I divided the deck and shuffled once, twice, three times. Something fell out. A scrap of paper, folded tight into an inch-wide square, hidden between the Joker and the Queen of Hearts. My mouth went dry. I opened it. The words were written in a jagged, violent scrawl, with red ink:

"I believe in YOU. –J"

Tears blurred my vision until I could no longer read it. I clutched his note in my fist and pressed it against my lips. He did love me. I felt it in my bones. How could I ever have doubted him? I knew then that I would love him, not just to the end of this life, but forever. And he would come for me. One day, maybe, I could convince him to pursue his divine madness without creating so much damage. I could show him my way, chaos through beauty and unfettered passion. I had destroyed as many lives as I cared to. I would do anything he asked of me, of course. But maybe. . . But not today. Today, I did as I had promised I would. I watched. And listened. And waited.