Title: Diamonds
Genre: Crime, drama, tragedy
Characters: Joker and Harley Quinn
Era: DCU
Edited: May 24, 2010. Thank you for the concerns, dear readers!
Recommended reading: Mad Love, Batman adventures comics, B:TAS episodes Harlequinnade, Trial, Harley and Ivy, Joker's Favor, JLU: Wild Cards
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. They are property of DC Comics. No copyright infringement intended. This was written for pure entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: This idea came to me when I was on the phone one day and the other party said "If Harley Quinn died, Joker wouldn't even care, much less notice!" I decided to rise up to the challenge.
Her back hit a surface which created a loud crack. It was like a burst of thunder. She was then suspended as she fell towards the Earth in quicksilver speed. There was no time to think, no time to react, no time to analyze. This moment just was. Her brain was frozen as she succumbed to gravity's unmerciful hug. She tried to formulate a thought in her mind but she could not bring herself to do it for it felt like she was stuck in mental quicksand. The wind whistled in her ears. It was a Hellish sound for it meant that she lacked anything to sustain her in the air. It was a loss of control. There was nothing to hold onto. There was nothing to grab onto. There was nothing to sustain her kiss with the gravitational pull that would surely seal her fate. Adrenaline and fear collided with her analytical senses, the same ones she tossed out the moment she kissed his lips and slipped off her undergarments just so that she could feel his touch.
It was a dusty memory now. This was the new, uglier reality and this was something you could not conceal with make-up and concealer.
That was a long time ago. That was a memory, past. Ancient history forever encapsulated in the inner recesses of her mind, forever immortalized in a tiny compartment of her brain, the part that would come out whenever she felt anxiety overcome her. It was a defense mechanism, and a faulty one at that.
She wanted to pretend that she was flying, it made the reality of the situation for more easy to digest.
It reminded her of the summers at the community swimming pool when she was a little girl when she would do cannonballs and feel the water cool her parched body. The adrenaline raced through her just after the initial rush of cold water splashed around her, embracing her and soothed that parched feeling. It was a far more simple time back then. The pleasures of youth were now a distant memory and she was not dangling underneath fresh water this time. She was swaying in mid-air. The open crack with lines that streaked around it like vines before her eyes became a far away chapter from her old life as she fell further and further away from the window, just like those summers that slowly withered away like flowers at the end of September. Metal railings and tree trunks did little to sustain her fall and instead hit her body, like Moby Dick's tail did to Ahab's boat. Her insides and nerves were screaming with each blow.
Finally, her back hit a hard surface that snapped at her bones and muscles fibers, affecting her nervous system which made her go into shock.
They felt like fists. She waited for the inevitable with bated breath and at the same time wished it would never come. Her mind was in lock and her muscles and tendons were locked from the force of the blow.
Around her, fractures formed around her like spider webs and she was the fly caught in a trap. She looked like a red and black colored mosquito ensnared in the Devil's game. The pressure from the wind, trees and metal railings did a toll on her body. Broken bones and perforated organs screamed but her mouth, which was agape, did not. It was like a useless port and it was completely cut off of vital communication. Her make-up, which was usually immaculate, was now smeared. Her costume, which once bespoke a pristine dichotomous flair that was full of life and would be perfectly at home at a Renaissance faire, was now tattered and rotted. It was useless, dirty and old.
She was not even thirty.
Her corpus was paralyzed but her mind was working itself like a hamster wheel. The motor part of her brain demanded mobility but her muscles were frozen. Her fingers tried to curl but to no avail. Her core was like a broken car with a dead battery and her soul desperately tried to make activity but failed. The engine would not start.
Her breathing was becoming more and more shallow. Sea blue eyes that were a signature of hers were becoming more faded and grey, like a candle down to its last few inches of wax. Shock affected her nervous system, putting her out of her misery sooner than she thought. It was like a shot, yeah, just a shot, natural euthanasia.
And finally, there was cardiac arrest.
She lay there on a pile of trash like a rejected rag doll, eyes wide open and suspended in a silent scream. Vermin noted the site and began to scatter out of the cracks and dark deposits where they gathered like ants to a fallen marshmallow. There was to be a feast, they thought to themselves as they gathered around this free meal.
Rats and other vermin began to gather at this smorgasbord not long after she landed. It was still fresh but their acute and sensitive noses could sense the rancidness come to fruition. With curiosity, a few of them gathered around the dead girl and began to sniff her. One crawled between her fingers, looking like a sullen kitten.
Immediately, several of them backed away when they noted a large shadow creeping up from the fog behind them and the sound of footsteps echoed louder and louder into their terrain. This new stranger was not a casual visitor. They were here for something and it was obvious even to the rats that they had to back off from their newly acquired prize.
There is a reason why the killer whale was the apex predator of the ocean. This newcomer was coming to reclaim what had rightfully belonged to him. Quickly, the rodents scattered back to their hiding places and let this alpha stranger have his pick of the body.
The shadow was purple and eventually became demarcated. He was thin, almost emaciated looking. The nose was aquiline, giving the figure a devilish look. He was not only pale but ghostly white. His wispy hair was not an off color blonde but green. He was an unusual specimen. The rats themselves were used to a more portly man named Homer to dwell around these parts. Homer was warm and even gave them pieces of biscuit. They were the only friends he had. This was not Homer.
The mysterious man donned a trench coat over his thin figure which made him look slightly more imposing. He topped it off with a fedora. Doeskin lavender gloves rested their hands on a silver handle which was carved with a smiling man's face. It was not the sort of smirk one would associate with a warm friend or a welcome. This was the grimace of something far more sinister.
The angular figure was male and about six feet tall. His presence was like that of a Komodo dragon that had just discovered the newly deceased body of a water buffalo and only he was about to savor it. He stopped just before a rat which was chewing on a bit of a cracker. It looked up at him with wide black eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mickey, but she is mine!" On that note, black and white Cuban heels kicked the rodent which sent it screaming behind a garbage dump a few yards away. "Filthy creatures!" The chalk skinned man said to himself as he brushed and dusted imaginary debris from his expensive suit. "Disease carrying bubonic plague festering little brutes." The Joker hissed. Although he was used to using abandoned warehouses and sleazy motels as hideouts, he loathed rats for their unsanitary conditions. It was ironic for a man who embodied death, infestation and anything rancid. He sighed before he turned his attention back to the original host at hand. He looked down at the specimen down at his feet.
"Why, what do we have here?" The clown said in a low voice which hinted at a falsetto when spoken in a regular timbre. It was sharp and pungent. Smoke appeared through his mouth as he whispered the name in an almost caring fashion and although. He looked like a large Shire horse that had just snorted.
"Why bless my soul! What happened here?" He said as he took off his hat. His sarcasm was acidic. A regular gesture meant that he was doing this out of respect but for him, it was to get a better look at the site at his feet. He leaned over the body on the ground. He snorted and then tried to make the body move by using his feet to get a better look at the deceased Hench girl. She was originally at her left side, her face was hidden from full view. A pool of blood formed at her cranium. He pushed her on her stomach with his heels to make her lay on her back for he did not want to touch her.
"I would do this with my hands but these are expensive gloves you know. I remember doing this to the commissioner's daughter." The clown said in a snide and arrogant fashion as he pointed with one hand at the other to show off his taste. He applied the same treatment to the commissioner's daughter when he made the special trip to their apartment all those years ago. Joker chuckled at the thought. This was an encore presentation.
At last, she was turned over and her face rolled slowly from one side to the other.
By now, Harley looked like a butterfly with her limbs spread in all directions but they were contorted in a crooked fashion. Her knees were locked. Her upper limbs were at opposite directions with her left arm aiming downwards whereas her right arm was curled up. It gave her the semblance that she was calling forth someone with her slightly cupped hand. Her dead eyes were like one of those paintings that beamed religious ecstasy and at the same time projected glassiness. Death. Her cobalt colored eyes were aiming at his direction. The clown stood there glaring down at the site.
"Oh my goodness, what happened here, Harl?" The clown said in a slightly surprised manner. He had been used to death much like a construction worker was to asbestos but this was a whole different kettle of fish. This was his apprentice, not a throwaway henchman he would dispose of like a used Kleenex. This was someone who wholly devoted herself to him with passion and gusto while the others saw the dirty job for him as nothing more than a pay check. The Joker turned her on her back and began to unzip her. He didn't care about his fear of germs at the moment for he wanted confirmation now. Like a jackal finding carrion on the savanna, he sniffed for clues.
Livor mortis was present. The purplish discoloration on her back was evident. He then turned her back so that she was facing up towards him. Although her soul was no longer within the confines of her mortal coil, her body was still at his mercy. Joker spat to the side, narrowly missing her face. Wisps of blonde hair made her look like an angel begging for his mercy. The agent of death let out a small chuckle.
"You just could not take it, couldn't you?" The harlequin retorted in a sour fashion. "Poor thing, I guess the carrot juice that lesbian gave you failed this time, didn't it?" The clown said in a dark and bitter tone. His demeanor was no match to those judges on those talent shows who would make contestants cry. He did this for pure raw pleasure. While they put others down for ratings, this was no different than cutting his toe nails.
"This was not the Olympics, girl. This is the real world and you just could not take it." The Joker rested his purple skinned glove on his long and jowly face as if he was examining a patient and he was Dr. Death. "You thought this was all pom poms, ice cream and puppy dog tails, right? Well, I have news for you, sweetheart. That was a fantasy and this…." He leaned down and stopped until he was a few inches away from her face, "….is reality. It is cold, dark and rotten, much like your gizzards right about now!" Joker let out a hoot of cackles as he walked around her body, circling it to get a better look at his latest casualty. On one hand, he knew that she was ultimately disposable. He was never emotionally connected to her and at the same time, this was kind of like a Phyrric victory. She was the crown jewel in this collection, breathing or in mortis.
"Baby, I appreciate the nights you kept me warm, laughed at my jokes and entertained me with your sock puppets but seriously, it is not enough for a man like me. I need someone who could keep up with my creative endeavors. You know this ain't The Bachelor, right?" Joker cooed as he looked down at the dead Hench girl at his feet. He blew some air into her face in a gentle manner. "This is about as real as it gets, Harl. This ain't party, this ain't no disco." The clown said in a sardonic manner. A homeless man collecting cans was walking by the alley, muttering to himself until he caught sight of the man in the purple trench coat and fedora hat. Homer thought he looked like a detective and not another hobo. He could be generous, just maybe. He stopped when he noted the Joker had his back turned against him.
"Hey man, you got any cans you can trade?" Homer Jenkins asked with a solemn and tired face until he caught sight of the pale skinned man glaring back at him. It looked like a mythical figure like Dracula or Jack the Ripper was claiming his next victim. The gaze sent up a reaction that was primal. It said 'there is a predator on the loose!'
"Woah man, what the Hell? What is this?" Homer screamed.
"Not this, who and this certainly isn't Zsa Zsa Gabor! No begone!" Joker hissed.
The former Vietnam vet ran the other way.
"Now, what was I saying before we were interrupted, pet? Oh yes. I really thought you had it in you, doll. I really did. You had passion; you had all those wonderful toys. Oh, how they tickled me pink! But if there was anything you lacked it was subtlety and….originality." The clown said in a dark fashion. The compliments were empty words. Mere vessels used to cushion the truth. "Remember when we first dated? You were giddy like a school girl and eager to please but eventually, you became too…..I don't know, clingy and needy I guess would be the perfect words, yes?" Joker said as he looked at Harley's face which was tilted to the side showing a clean slate of skin with tender eyes. "Oh, don't get me wrong, you had your good traits. You had the vigor of the Energizer Bunny. You just kept going and going and going, didn't you? My little rabbit. You were my little rabbit, yes you were!" Joker said in a babyish voice and pinched her cheeks which had the elasticity of rubber. "But sadly," the clown said in a mock way as he placed his hand on his forehead, "all good things must come to an end, it seems. Even the best of sitcoms must come to a finale, I'm afraid. You remember when Raymond was cancelled?" The jester said as he continued to walk around Harley.
He was over her face again and he leaned down on one knee, like a Prince in one of those fairy tales or like a man when he was about to propose. It would have been a dream had she had oxygen going to her brain. "You were just dead weight, Harl." Joker proceeded with another procession of cackles.
"You think I was a black widow spider in the previous life, girl? According to Gordon, my first wife died from warming a baby bottle heater and here you are! Well, I have always been a lady killer, after all." Joker hooted, his sides were splitting and his laughter would have made a hyena squirm. "Oh, come on, you have to admit that one was funny! Oh, wait. I forgot that you have lockjaw." Joker slapped his knee cap and pointed at the deceased woman on the floor. His cheeks hurt and his eyes shut tightly trying to contain his euphoria. "What's funnier than a dead girl? A dead girl in a clown costume!" Joker tittered and wiped his face. He was on a roll. He had more up his sleeve but it was best to end the joke on a high note instead of pimping it to death.
"But in all seriousness, baby. I will miss you." Joker pressed a couple of fingers to his face and kissed them before applying them to Harley's cold and dead skin.
"I always did miss you, but I seem to have finally caught the butterfly!" He tittered and stepped over her before he touched her face, completely forgetting his declaration of not wanting to have any contact with her any part of her unpure body. He tended to her with the emotional attachment of a coroner.
"You should have tried out for Top Model." Joker walked around her slowly. "But then again, finesse and grace were never really your style. If anything, those are my traits. You, I don't know, you were just you." The clown said in an arrogant way with a prissy movement of his hands. "Like the Donald said, 'you're fired' but I see you already did the job. You couldn't take it, I see. You simply did not make the…." Joker stopped as he noted a deep gash on the other side of her face which had been obscured until now when he touched her, "…cut, and a big one at that." Joker said with a smile. It was if a hunter had caught a stag and was marveling at the size of its antlers. He curled his lips in an "o" fashion. "What happened here? Oh, yes, that was me." Joker laughed lowly when he noted the cracked ribs underneath Harley's costume. Personal experience from Batman's blows made the gash and canyons stand out. "Hmmm, I really should have checked those windows. Damn this insurance policy!" He gazed up at the ten story building, looking at the opening from which Harley broke out of. "That is going to be expensive." Joker observed.
"What a shame, really. You had the spark and you had potential but you had to ruin it with your little goodie two shoes habits. If I was a pageant mother I would have shown you far less mercy. Imagine that! You entertained me like an animal but ultimately, you proved to me you were a one trick pony." Joker smiled. "This town ain't big enough for two clowns and Darwin's theory of natural selection has demonstrated once again, I'm top dog, toots." Joker leaned down and made a blowing kiss. "Remember, I'm Lana Turner, you are Roseanne." He pressed his fingertips down onto her cheek. "Fare thee well, precious. You were the crown jewel but you also ultimately you proved to me that you were also nothing more than a pretty rock...and a disposable one at that." Joker waved his fingers at her. "Ta."
Not long after the clown left, another shadow was present. It was much larger and far more imposing. He made the other man look like a twig. A giveaway cape and pointed ears. He looked down shaking his head at Harley Quinn's lifeless body. Et tu? He thought. The detective picked her up and carried her in his arms. No weight, no struggle, no acknowledgement. He carried an empty barrel. For someone who he associated with struggle and an overactive imagination, there was something about holding an empty vessel in his hand. She was a petite thing but she felt lighter than usual.
"You think he did it?" Bullock asked his superior. "They haven't been together in awhile, then again, those two were always off and on."
"It doesn't matter if he was directly involved or not. He made her this way, even if it was a suicide. A person can only take so much verbal abuse before they start to believe it and blame themselves. She was never as bad as he was." Gordon replied coolly.
"Jim's right. Even if he was not directly involved, he was a large part of it. He made her this way." Batman said sharply. "It's also possible that he had a personal hand to it, judging by what I caught from the last parts of his little speech." The Dark Knight grunted. "Quinn may have been mad, but she still had some semblance of sanity, however oddly she expressed it. She was never on his level and it is possible that he saw an opportunity to trim the fat when he saw that she lost competence in his eyes."
Gordon responded as he gazed over Joker's latest victim. He remembered when she gave them a hot tip about Scarface and Sugar. For that he would be in her debt. The three men who were against her boyfriend and his ideas demonstrated more care and tenderness in one moment than the clown had in years.
"You can sleep now." Gordon said calmly. Batman ran his gloved hand over her eyes making them close forever.
EDITED: May 24, 2010.
What the Hell was that? My muse was working overtime. I fixed the typos and got as much as I could.
I wrote this after a friend and I had a phone conversation about Joker and Harley's relationship sometime in early 2009. This story was born after he made the comment, "If she died, he would not give two craps about her." I agree too but for me, that's a little too predictable and too black and white. I wanted to see how Joker would react towards Harley's death in a more realistic and fun way. Diamonds was inspired by my online and real life friend Bitemetechie's story, Broken Smile which you can find in my community, Psycho Circus: The Greatest Joker Stories Ever Told. I intentionally left Harley's demise as ambiguous. To me, those kinds of endings are more powerful. I wanted to create a grey ending for Harley, like, was is it self inflicted or did Joker take part?
I am darn proud of this one shot and I will contribute more into the future when time, motivation and Ophelia my muse allow it. Hugs and kisses, W. As always, all reviews and thoughts welcome. Death threats, bombs and hate mail can be sent to my address.