Harley Quinn: A Life
Chapter 1
Where am I? I look around only to discover that I can't see anything. It's dark and the only thing I'm sure of is that this is a place that I do not want to be. A terrible sense of wrong pervades me and I know that I need to find a way out of here fast. I try to take a step but I can't move. What is this place? A breeze ruffles my hair and carries with it a stench of decay and the din of despairing cries. Another sound begins to reach me and at first I can't make out what it is. I don't notice that I've stopped breathing until with a sharp intake of breath I realize what it is that I'm hearing. Footsteps. A trembling begins to overtake me and I can only listen in horror as whatever is approaching me stops. The room is getting hotter and my heartbeat is trying to strangle me by climbing into my throat. I'm not breathing again. Pain, hot and searing burns into my chest. My eyes fill with tears and they burn too. Whatever is behind me begins to inch forward and I swear I hear its laughter. Why can't I move? I'm choking now because my screams are trapped behind my heart. There they gather and there they rot. Paralyzed, burning, and choking I can only wait for the laughing monster behind me to strike. Heat, unnatural heat, begins to bear down upon me. I am going to die. Suddenly, with a horror that forces me to my knees I understand just how wrong I've been. The monster is still behind me but now I can feel its breath, oddly sweet, brush against my feverish skin. As it bends down I know my fate is to die alone and at the feet of whatever fiend stands above. I can no longer think. Where thought once lived there are only pain and fear. They were never laughs. They were screams.
I awake to see my apartment dimly lit by the rising sun. I'm shaking and the A/C does nothing to assuage. I want to believe I'm safe but the dream is fresh enough to make that seem like a lie. I know it was a dream but that doesn't stop me from staying in bed even as my alarm goes off. I hit the snooze button but going back to sleep is the last thing I want to do. I realize it's childish but I put my head under the covers and lie there waiting for the shaking to stop. If I stay in bed much longer I'll be late for work. I whisper to myself, "I am alive. I am safe. I am not in danger." Without giving myself a chance to think I'm up and out of bed heading toward the bathroom. Just to prove that I'm not afraid I make my trip in the dark refusing to turn on any lights. Even after hitting the dresser, I know it's worth it because by the time I get there I'm no longer shaking let alone scared. I stare at myself in the mirror or more accurately at the bags under my eyes. That dream took more out of me than I thought. I take stock of all the things on my counter. Toothbrush, comb, and other toiletries litter the space. It's these little normalcies that bring the dream to the waking world. Everything is back to normal and I can finally step back and look at the dream from a purely clinical standpoint. As I undress and hop into the shower my mind is in overdrive trying to dissect and decipher exactly how that dream came to be. I know that it's only my mind reworking certain memories and fitting them together. There is something at its core that will make it all logical. I'm trying to decide what elements would make up the manifest and latent dream content when I'm struck by a question that I can't answer. Why was it screaming and why couldn't I?
Traffic was light and I drive through Arkham's main gate in record time. That's a minor miracle considering I left 15 minutes late. As I step out of my car I can't help but gaze at the sheer size of the asylum. It's a formidable structure with massive gates and spires that seemed to stretch all the way to heaven's floor. I've been at Arkham for five months and I still haven't gotten over how dark it looks on the outside, or how bleak it is from within. I walk up the winding path to the front door and flash my I.D. to the camera. As I'm waiting I notice that my blouse is just a little too open. I remedy it immediately. I'm not here to send signals to anybody. With barely another minutes wait I'm walking through the door. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like. Walking into Arkham every morning is like heading into a war zone armed with only your mind and a pen for weapons. Hearing the jeers and cat calls from the inmates is bad enough but it's even worse when your only armor is the clothes on your back. I can feel their lustful eyes probing me, trying to find whatever lies underneath my fitted blouse but they never will. I swear I can feel their heat, feel them straining to get closer trying to touch me. Even though we're separated by glass and guards I walk faster annoyed at the irritating and somehow vulnerable click-clack of my heels on tile. I feel the familiar tightness in my chest that usually signals a panic attack but I'm less concerned about calming down than I am about getting somewhere where I can't feel them trying to feel me. I'm honestly thinking about making a run for it and almost do before I see the drab gray of my office. For once I'm glad to see the lack of color. I'm beginning to shake as I finally enter the undisturbed calm of my office. Knees shaking, hands trembling I slowly sink into a chair near the door and breathe out my distress. The day hasn't even started and I'm already rattled. "Get it together Harley," I tell myself. That dream must have affected me more than I thought. Slowly, I walk over to my desk. Forcing my hands to stop, I take a deep breath and begin to work.
The deeper I delve into someone's psyche the farther away I am from mine; and today that is exactly what I want. Black and white flash by gladly giving me the information that they hold. Glasses held in place by only the small curve of my nose I'm utterly absorbed and anyone walking in would know that this is one hard-working psychologist. I'm lulled into the calming cycle of repetition when suddenly there's a knock on my door. Getting up, albeit with reluctance, I go over and open the door only to find a smiling Joan Leland jingling her keys. I look over to the clock and realize it's time for lunch. "How'd you know I'd forget?" I ask Joan with a smirk. "Well," she replies, "you forgot yesterday and when I didn't see you come out of your office for three hours straight I figured you might do it again today. So as part of my campaign to get Harley out of her office I'm taking you to lunch". Thank God for great friends like Joan. Joan is more than a mentor to me, she's a friend and I know that lunch with her will be just the thing I need to forget work (and that dream) completely. We walk arm in arm out the door headed for a definite good time.
Walking into Arkham with Joan I feel better than I have in weeks. A day with Joan is always a good thing. I feel so good that I even let my hair down from its usual bun of professionalism. I don't notice the stares I'm getting from the guards but Joan does. I also don't see the look of concern in her eyes as the guards continue to stare. I'm just happy that I can finally put all that nonsense in the morning behind me. As we reach the corridor that holds my office I smile looking over at Joan to tell her thanks for lunch when I hear a gasp. Perplexed, I look turn to look at Joan because I know it was her. The look in her eyes wipes the rest of the smile off my face. I'm about to ask her what's wrong when I see it. Joan reaches out to hug me but I run past her and go inside my office. On the door for the whole world to see:
Dr. Harleen Quinzel
WHORE
