In Another Life XIII

Dear Dr. Quinzel,

We regret to inform you that…

Harleen Quinzel stopped reading the letter right there, knowing what the rest of it would be – her application was denied, the position had been filled, please try again, and good luck in your search. She had read it all a million times, she thought, as she crumpled the letter and tossed it toward the wastebasket. It landed just short of it, and Harleen sighed, standing up to pick it up and put it in – there was no excuse for littering, after all.

"Good riddance to you too," she muttered, tossing it into the basket. "That's what the letter should read. Stop bothering us and get lost, stupid."

She sighed, sitting back down, taking off her glasses, and rubbing her eyes. This was the latest rejection in a series, so she should be used to disappointment by now, but somehow each new one hurt as much as the previous one. People never got used to being told they weren't wanted, or more likely in her case, not good enough, she thought glumly. At this point, she really couldn't see any future except being stuck as an intern in some dump of a mental asylum for the rest of her life.

And the worst part was, it was all her fault. It had been one stupid mistake, but one that had ended up impacting her life more than she could have imagined. She had been a good kid, doing well in school and earning a scholarship to Gotham University in order to study psychiatry, her passion. While there, she had attended a party at a friend's house, where alcohol had been passed around, and someone had thought it would be a fun idea to shoplift some stuff from the mall. Dumb, really dumb, but she was a young, teenage kid away from home for the first time, and doing stupid stuff was what you were supposed to do as a teenager, she had reasoned. But she and the others had been caught, and slapped with a count of underage drinking and shoplifting, which would remain on their permanent record. Which is why, Harleen secretly thought, all these jobs seemed not to want her, and all her loan applications were rejected. She had been an irresponsible person at eighteen, which clearly meant to the world that she would always be an irresponsible person – worse than that, she was a criminal. And Harleen couldn't really blame them for not wanting to hire a criminal.

She tried to ignore the self-loathing from the little chastising voice in her head which always seemed to speak up and tell her she wasn't good enough, putting her glasses back on her nose and trying to enjoy the rest of her lunch break. Which was pretty impossible considering she was eating stale bread and cheap ramen noodles, but supporting herself well on an intern's salary was also pretty impossible at the moment. And she still had too much pride to crawl back to her parents and beg them for money, to give up and move back in with them to their dingy apartment back in Brooklyn, and resign herself to some minimum wage job for the rest of her life. She had always wanted to be a psychiatrist, and she wasn't ready to give up on her dream just yet. Although she honestly didn't know how much longer she could take things continuing as they were. She didn't have a real job, or any real friends, or any romantic relationship to speak of. She lived alone in a small, dirty apartment in the bad side of Gotham, in which she froze most of the time because she couldn't afford to spend money on heating. She had spent the last of her savings on some professional work clothes for job interviews, but none of those had materialized. It was becoming more difficult day by day to force a smile for her colleagues and the patients. And Harleen knew one day it would be downright impossible.

Her boss, Dr. Joan Leland, entered the break room at that moment. "Harleen, can I talk to you?" she asked.

"Of course," said Harleen, forcing a smile, although she did genuinely like Dr. Leland. During her interview for the internship, Harleen could tell that most of the other doctors were dead set against her, but Dr. Leland seemed very sympathetic, and she knew it was basically thanks to her that she had got it. "Go right ahead, Joan."

"We're having some staffing issues at the moment – I'm sure you've heard how tight our budget it," sighed Dr. Leland. "The city only has so much money to go around, and right now mental health isn't a priority, apparently. Anyway, all of our doctors have patient overloads, but we still get more sent to us every day, and somehow we're expected to help them too. I've got three doctors out on leave because of stress, which naturally doesn't help the stress of the remaining ones here. To cut a long story short, I was wondering if you'd be interested in taking some patients."

Harleen stared at her. "You mean…on my own?" she asked. "Without supervision?"

"Oh, all the doctors here are supervised," said Dr. Leland. "Sessions are always videotaped for legal reasons, but yes, I mean on your own. Of course we couldn't afford to pay you any more than we are already, but it might be some good experience for you. I know how hollow and empty that sounds, and I know experience doesn't pay the rent, but it's the best I can offer at the moment. And it would really help us out too. Of course you can always refuse if you don't feel you're ready to be seeing patients on your own…"

"No, I do," interrupted Harleen, hastily. "I do – I…really, really want to, in fact, and I'm sure I can handle it."

"Great," said Dr. Leland, smiling at her. "I really appreciate it, Harleen. If you ever need any help, please feel free to contact me day or night. And if I can get more funding for this hospital somehow, I'll do my best to compensate you for your work. I know it's not right what I'm asking you to do, and a woman of your qualifications really does deserve to be paid for the work she does…"

"Don't worry about it, Joan," interrupted Harleen. "I'm just grateful to be here."

And that was true, although money would always have been nice, she thought to herself.

Dr. Leland patted her on the shoulder. "Thanks so much, Harleen," she said. "If you're done with lunch and you want to follow me, I'll get you the files of the patients I'm sending over to you – hopefully nothing too challenging for your first time on your own. But again, please let me know if they are and we can switch them up. I've got Dr. Bartholomew working on the really tough new cases - there was this recent gang bust by the GCPD, and suddenly we've got three new patients, all hardened criminals who hate psychiatrists. It'll be a miracle if we can get anywhere with those. But naturally they aren't for you – I'm starting you out with much easier cases," she said, heading for the door.

Harleen followed her out of the break room and toward her office. On their way there, they heard commotion from the front door, as the police dragged some men inside, clearly against their will.

"You get your filthy hands off me, copper!" shouted one. "Where the hell's my attorney?"

"Your attorney put you in here as part of your plea bargain, genius," snapped the policeman. "Time in the loony bin instead of time in jail. I guess they figure anyone dumb enough to be robbing a bank around the corner from the police station has gotta be crazy."

"Oh, I don't know, officer – sounds like quite the joke to me," chuckled another man also being dragged in by the police. His voice was softer, and yet somehow more dangerous than the man who had been shouting, and Harleen looked up to see a mild-mannered face to go with the voice, thin and strangely handsome, with bright green eyes and a broad smile.

"You shut your trap, Napier," snapped the policeman. "You're the one guy whose insanity plea I buy, actually. I think you belong in the nuthouse for the rest of your life."

"Well, I'm looking forward to being here for a good, long while at least," said the man, with another smile. "Ain't been a shrink alive who can get to the bottom of me."

"I wish 'em luck trying, but personally I was hoping you'd resist arrest so we could've just shot you and been done with it," retorted the police officer. "Still, you're the shrinks' problem now, and good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat at Dr. Leland as the prisoners were handed over to the orderlies.

"Yes, thank you, officer," sighed Dr. Leland. "Dr. Bartholomew will be here shortly to process them."

Harleen kept watching the soft-spoken man, whose bright, green eyes roved around the room, studying it with a detached expression, and that same unconcerned smile. He noticed her staring and turned his green eyes on her, his smile widening slightly as he winked at her.

Harleen drew herself up, glaring back at him. Typical man – even the psychos thought they were quite the catch, and wanted to flirt with any semi-attractive woman. Well, Harleen wasn't that kind of girl – she was a complete professional.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane," said Dr. Leland, addressing them. "You're all here because the courts have ruled this is where you need to be, and far be it for me to contradict them. I'm Dr. Joan Leland, the head of this facility, and any problems or concerns about your treatment can be addressed to me. But otherwise, I'm hoping not to hear from you. We run a very intensive course of therapy here, and I hope you're prepared to work hard in order to get better, because you're going to have to. Please enjoy your stay in our facility – have a good afternoon."

"Who's your friend, Doc?" spoke up the soft-spoken one, Napier.

"This is Dr. Quinzel – she's an intern, but she's having patients assigned to her because she's a highly responsible employee," said Dr. Leland.

"Is she?" said Mr. Napier, studying Harleen with a smile. "Well, good for her. If you're not responsible, you'll end up in the loony bin. And clearly you will if you are responsible too!" he chuckled. "Quite the joke when you think about it!"

"How can you laugh at a time like this, Jack?" demanded his companion. "We're gonna be locked up in here with a bunch of nutcases, forced to talk about our childhoods and take part in basket weaving! Give me a real prison any day over that crap!"

"I think the company's gonna be better in here," replied Jack, still smiling at Harleen. She began to feel uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze, but fortunately Dr. Leland headed off down the hall, and Harleen rushed to follow her, still feeling Jack Napier's eyes staring after her.

"Goddamn circus," muttered Dr. Leland. "Sorry," she added, nodding at Harleen. "Excuse the language, but…those men don't belong in here. There's nothing more psychologically wrong with them than there is a million other criminals – they're cruel and selfish and probably slightly psychopathic, but they're completely in control of their actions and aware of what they're doing. But some hotshot lawyer thinks he's won some kinda victory saving them from prison like this – all he's done is wasted our time and resources, and burdened us with people who aren't actually mentally disturbed. We're not gonna be able to help them – we're just a babysitting service for grown-up, spoiled children. It's just ridiculous."

"It is," agreed Harleen. "But maybe Dr. Bartholomew can certify them as sane so they can go back to an actual prison."

"We can hope," said Dr. Leland. "I have enough problems without a bunch of criminals being added to them. But now I have one less, thanks to you," she added, smiling at Harleen. "You study these files, and let me know if you have any questions. I just know you'll do great, though. You have a real knack with people, and a real insight into disturbed minds. You chose the right career – I only wish we could make it more profitable for you."

"Well, I didn't do this for the money," said Harleen. "Helping people is its own reward, I've always believed that. You do good things, and good things come your way."

Dr. Leland smiled at her. "I sincerely hope that's true," she said, handing her the files.

"Me too," muttered Harleen under her breath as Dr. Leland left her. She sighed, opening one file and examining it carefully, and trying to keep up hope. But despite her belief, good things were not about to come her way. Bad things were, which would turn out to be even better.