Pawn
The ancient cobwebs blanketed the cracked concrete. There were flutters and scuffles from high above. The draping of torn and tattered fabric swayed with the cold winds. There were sparks of brilliant, blinding light as cars drove past the derelict hide away.
Harley Quinn glowered at the filthy water dripping from a newly formed crack in the ceiling of her private chamber. The burbling of its source echoed through the walls. She folded her arms firmly and pouted. It was her own gross negligence that had led to the whole disaster – though she was loath to admit it.
Disgustedly, she lifted a stray little 'curtain' of hers. It fell from her grip almost at once. It was sodden. The thing was revolting to touch. She scowled. Her eyes cast about the chamber derisively. She had left it alone too long and now - now the night her precious Puddin' would be coming home - now it was derelict and crumbling!
She stamped her heel decisively and twirled around. There was work to be done.
The wail of sirens exploded outside. Harley jolted upright – her skull crunching against the lid of the chest – and whined laboriously. Her lungs were weak and worn with dust and grime. She stepped back, clutching the back of her skull. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the pain.
She was almost surprised that there was no blood.
"Please evacuate the area!" roared the sirens. "Please evacuate the area!"
Harley's eyes flew open. Her blue orbs almost shooting from her skull. Her jaw hung slack.
"Puddin'!" she cried, twisting and stumbling through the labyrinth of wasted schemes. "I'm coming for you, Puddin'!"
The doors were open – something that she gave no thought – and the back streets were emptying – fast. The car was close by. She threw herself in, yanked on the gear and sped down the road. A few unfortunate passers-by were not to reach safety that night.
Harley drove like the mad woman she was until the brilliant blaze engulfed her view. A piteous whine ripped up her throat. Her eyes veiled with tears. This was not a part of the plan. She bit down on the sobs and sucked in a deep breath. A passing car swerved and was alight in moments.
Her on-coming grief heightened her hysteria. She drove beyond the place that she was meant to park. She broke through a lowering barricade and up to the entrance. The keys were ripped from the ignition as Harley leaped out, tumbling through the open doors and into the crowd of her former colleagues.
Hands clutched at her. They called her name. They held her back. It wasn't enough. It could never have been enough. She broke through and found her first empty hallway. A guard was in the next one. He was alone. The afflicted were being left to die.
Harley's heart constricted. Ivy, Two Face, Penguin… Joker. She burst into a run. The palpitations increased. Her eyes were wide with fury and terror, horror and malignance, vengeance and murderous intent. She ducked down at the door and banged on it as hard as she could.
The guard's footsteps faltered.
Harley banged again, fiercer. Her fury was tainting all else.
"Who's there?" the guard called in a distinctively Eastern European accent. "Show yourself!"
She started banging relentlessly. Her poundings grew more and more desperate. Then, finally, the door pushed against her back. Harley scrambled to the wall and waited. The guard called out again. She didn't reply. The door opened wider. She kicked it, knocking the guard to the ground.
She was in the next hall in seconds. The gun was ripped from the disorientated man's hand. The keys were taken seconds later. Clutching them as tightly as she could, she darted along the familiar halls with a heady sense of glee – like a child who had successfully snatched his favourite cookie without being caught.
She laughed shrilly. Her head was thrown back. Her lips stretched into a hysteric grin. This was fun. This was what life was all about. If only she had her sledge hammer and Mr J! Her little trip would be perfect.
Harley twirled the keys about her finger as she approached another door. This one would lead her to the prison cells. A wistful sigh escaped as she unlocked the door. This was the hall where she first met her Puddin'. She squealed with delight. One hand flew to her face to cover her blush.
The keys went clank. It swung open slowly. Harley skipped in, eyes darting from side to side. She had identified Poison Ivy and the Penguin already. Both were watching her with a predatory suspicion. They knew what was happening. They knew they had been abandoned to die.
Harley kicked the door further open. With a grin – and a wink to Ivy – she flourished the gun. One bullet blasted through Penguin's cell. The second exploded into Ivy's. The echo of Harley's laughter filled the hall. She was gone by the time Penguin and Ivy had exited their cells.
It was a simple game – dangerous, but simple. Harley had only a few bullets. All were infinitely precious. She wasted one more on Two Face. The fourth for a face that she thought she recognised. She was too busy to take much notice. It had become a recent trend – much to her chagrin – for her precious Puddin' to be stashed away in another hall. It was his 'empire' as he had told her once. It was solitary but it was that isolation that stemmed the most beautiful and vengeful of his schemes.
Harley skidded to a halt. The door was off to one side. There had been efforts to escape. She gritted her teeth. He had tried to get out and they had left him! They left him to die! She brought the gun out, pointing it forward with the absolute calm of the eye of a storm. The last two bullets made the door go crunch: bending over on its cracks.
The door collapsed. Harley's grip loosened. The cell was empty. There was a small hole in the wall. She raised one foot to stagger in when the whoosh of a cape pierced her daze. She spun. It was the infernal Bat.
"Go away!" she yelled.
"Harley," he reasoned. "He left you. He put you in danger. He knew you would make a good distraction."
At that, Harley's eyes widened. It was not with the realisation that one had made an utter fool of oneself. It was the cunning, devious determination that belonged to the unreachable. Her lips stretched into a demented grin.
The gun was raised. "Mistah J's not like that,"
The Bat narrowed his eyes.
"He's not!" she burst into a run, making sure to show the keys. "Mistah J's not like that!"
There was one. It was a special key. It was an old key. The guards all had one at some point in the distant past. It was going out of use when she had first arrived. It was the emergency key for the most dire of situations only. If any of the professionals were delayed the guard could reach a patient who was violently ill or dying.
She plugged it into one door. There came a rattling sound soon afterwards. She glanced behind. The Bat had noticed. She did it a second time, a third time, a fourth time, until the numbers were gone and it was a nuisance that kept her from the one place that the Joker would be waiting. There was one place a tunnel like that could lead. It was inside the asylum. He knew she would find him there.
With no more need to unleash inmates the keys were thrown to the ground.
She tore down the halls, breaking down doors and laughing. Her head was stretched as far back as she could have it. Her eyes were veiled with the tears of her hysteria. It was all going to plan – not the plan that she was given, no, but it was a plan and a good one at that.
Then, at that final door, she found the lock knocked to one side. It was jammed shut. She could fix that. So she did. When that door opened, though, what she found was not her precious Puddin'. It was a blaze: an inferno.
"Mistah J!" she screamed. "Puddin', answer me! Mistah J!"
The Bat fluttered up behind her.
"Harley-"
She spun. "You! It was you! Chasing him and chasing him! Where's your heart, Bats? Huh? Tell me!"
Something in that broke with a crunch and a hiss akin to wailing.
Harley twisted, throwing the useless gun at the masked crusader. He caught it, expertly. The deluded girl was gone.
Author's Note: This had been intended as an All Hallows' Eve special. Unfortunately, that was not to be. A lot of things were not to be. Ah, but I hope that you can enjoy it somewhat now. I admit that my knowledge of Batman is slim. I am looking into buying my first comic right now actually. I want it to be something really good that I can look back on in my denture days with a maniacal grin and still hold as dear as the day I first decided on it. I'd quite like these two. I'd also quite like to try Deadpool. He sounds interesting. Maybe Judge Dredd…
Anyway, this is a story of Harley expecting to break her Joker out of prison. She doesn't. He's already out. He just needs a distraction – one that will probably remove his 'competitors' from his life as well. Who needs other people trying to kill Batman too?
I hope that you enjoyed this late special. I apologise for making you wait. Thank you for reading.