How many times had he stared at that coin today? Harvey's eyes focused on that coin with such a glare of hate that he felt would burn right through the tray it rested on.
Harvey's hand reached out slowly for it, groping, dragging it off of the tray and into his hand.
It was cool to his touch, like all metal should be. How could it be so unchanged? His whole world had shattered with the fire and explosion, and for some reason- for some strange, hysterical reason- this coin had staid the same.
Lady Liberty's head was still perfect as ever, hair waving slightly in the breeze as if a gentle wind had taken place rather than a violent eruption.
Harvey's fingers ran over the coin, slowly, flipping it over.
The charred side. Harvey felt almost sick to see it now. It was a painful reminder of what Rachel had gone through; a sick, twisted calling card of her pain- her last final moments.
She was dead, and he survived. Survived to live in agony without her. His last glimpse of Rachel was tossing her this coin.
Words flowed- poured- out of him. Roaring curses that burned his tongue to say- ripping at the hair that he still had and thrashing, terribly, horribly.
It was too much- guilt- agony- terror-
"FUCK-," Harvey roared, his thrashing in the bed calling for the nurses, roaring in agony and the most horrible sense of grief.
"RACHEL- RACHEL-,"
"Quick-, bring the tranquilizer-,"
"RACHEL-,"
A prick of a needle, and Harvey's one remaining, unharmed eyelid drooped slightly. His thoughts stayed, but his body relaxed.
The Joker would pay.