Madness Becomes Her
Chapter One
Daddy Complex
My alarm clock blared into life at eight o'clock on the first Sunday of April. Blearily, I fumbled for the off button and rolled onto my back, eyes still closed as I considered going back to sleep. In the next room my younger brother, Barry, hit the wall with his fist, saying, "Can't you spare us one Sunday, Harley?" but I didn't respond. His words were enough to remind me of my commitment though, so I threw back the covers and got out of bed.
Outside it was cold and wet, a fine drizzle falling from a sky of opaque gray. Inside, it was almost just as cold, making me wonder if Mom had been able to pay the bill that month. After quickly making my bed I kicked at the radiator in my room, sighing in relief as it was sent hissing into life. Moving over to my dresser, I retrieved a pair of jeans and a black sweater from the middle drawer before I left my frigid room for the bathroom.
Everyone continued to sleep as I took a quick, hot shower, dried my hair, and pulled on my warm clothes. And I crept past my brother's and my mom's bedroom doors on my way downstairs, sure I hadn't woken them up. Until I entered the kitchen. Because leaning against the counter in her robe with a mug of coffee was my mother, looking out the window up until the point I set foot on the linoleum floor.
"Mom," I said. "I didn't know you were up."
She managed a flicker of a smile as I walked over and retrieved a thermos from the cabinets and poured some of the already made coffee into it. As I went to add some sugar to it, she said, "Your alarm woke me up."
"Sorry," I said, taking a small sip, gearing myself up for the conversation I knew we were about to have.
When she didn't say anything right away I moved across the kitchen and retrieved a bagel from the bread bin. It wasn't until I was sawing it in half that she finally said, "Why do you do it, Harley?"
"Do what?" I asked, playing dumb.
"Visit him," she replied.
I shrugged, avoiding her gaze and retrieving cream cheese and jelly from the refrigerator. "He's my father," I said in return, without any hint of annoyance or pleading.
"He ruined us," she said, her voice soft and hurt in the dim light of the chilly kitchen. "He ruined himself and took us down with him."
I didn't say anything to this, just spread some cream cheese and jelly on my bagel. We had had this conversation once a month since my freshmen year of college- it wasn't anything special.
"Harley," she barked.
Pausing in my task, I said, "What, Mom? What do you want me to say?" I finished with the jelly and then put the knife in the sink, saying, "Just because you hate him doesn't mean I have to."
"That's not-"
"No? That's not what you've been trying to do since I was fifteen?" I counter.
Her shoulders sagged but the line of her mouth was tight and angry. Turning away from her, I put the two halves of my bagel back together without meeting her eyes.
"Do you have to go alone at least?" she asked as I left the kitchen with my breakfast in hand.
I kept moving as I called back, "It's not like any of you are going to come with me."
And I was out of the house with my jacket and shoes in under two minutes.
The guards at Stonegate knew me well. So well, that when I arrived there that Sunday morning they only glanced in my bag before sending me through the metal detectors- didn't even check inside the box I brought along with me, just like every other Sunday since my first year at Gotham University. A familiar guard, Lionel, took me up to the day room and led me straight to Dad's and my favorite table- next to the big window that overlooked the river.
"How you doing, kid?" Lionel asked me when we were beside the window.
I shrugged. "I'm good. How are you? How's Kylie?"
He rolled his eyes, smiling. "A monster. Really- the most terrible toddler you'd ever meet."
"Sure," I joked. "I'm sure she's awful."
"Awful, but great," he replied. After a beat he patted my shoulder and said, "Your dad'll be down in a minute. You take care of yourself, kid."
I smiled, "Thanks, Lionel," and watched him leave the day room.
When I was alone I placed my bag and the box on the table, took off my jacket and sat down. From the window I could see across the river, to the buildings and streets that looked gray in the steadily falling drizzle. I still felt chilly, and my hair was damp from the rain, but the day room was stifling and quickly warming me up. As I sat and waited for my dad I considered the other people seated around me- men in orange jumpsuits and the street-clothed innocents coming to visit them- and I was suddenly breaking out in a sweat underneath my sweater.
"There's my Harley girl!"
Turning around I saw my dad being escorted through the doorway. I winced at the sight of him in orange- something I have yet to get used to- but smiled and stood up as he came over to me. He was beaming as he wrapped me up in his arms, and I buried my face into the rough material of his jumpsuit, my heart inexplicably thumping against my ribcage- just like every other time I'd seen him since the arrest.
"I missed you," I said, as he smoothed my hair back.
"I know," he replied, his voice deep and rumbling through his chest. "I miss you everyday, sweetie."
When he let me go and moved to sit down at the table across from me I sat down as well. Motioning to the bakery box in front of me, I said, "I brought you cookies from Blumenthal's."
"My hero!" he said, as if I hadn't brought the same cookies the previous Sunday- or every Sunday for the past six years.
We started in on the cookies right away, crunching on the M&Ms and swiping away any leftover crumbs.
After a minute, Dad asked, "How's your mom?"
I rolled my eyes and broke a piece off of my cookie. "A bitch," I said, before popping the cookie piece into my mouth.
"I don't suppose she's going to visit or call-"
"No."
There was another moment of silence where we chewed, before Dad started again. "And Barry?"
"He's good," I replied.
"Has he given up on being a rockstar?"
I shook my head and laughed a little, saying, "No- God help us. He's even stopped going to school to focus on his 'career.'"
"That sonofabitch," Dad cursed. "I'd love to shake some sense into that boy's head."
Barry had been eleven when our dad was arrested- he was just a figment in his mind now, a phantom that had broken our family and our lives, leaving us in near poverty with a stressed-out, angry mother. To Barry, Dad was the bad guy- and not a cool enough one for him to appreciate.
No longer hungry- my heart still rocketing around in my chest- I put my half-eaten cookie back into the box with the rest.
"I start my internship at Arkham tomorrow," I told him.
"Really?" he asked through a mouthful of M&Ms and cookie. "That's great!"
I shrugged. "I don't think they'll have me doing much right away, but I'm certified to counsel and I might be able to sit in on some major case studies."
"That's great, Harl," he replied, taking my hand in his free one, giving it a squeeze. "I'm so proud of you."
Lowering my eyes, I tried to ignore the fact that my heart was now in my throat and blinked away the tears that were suddenly burning my eyes- for no reason I was conscious of. Quickly taking my hand out of his, I balled it up in my lap and refused to meet his eyes. My stomach was crawling with a hollow feeling, threatening to spew bagel and jelly-cream mush at any moment. It wasn't a new feeling- this anxiety and sudden restlessness upon seeing my father- I had known it ever since I had started visiting him. And every week when I went to see him I expected it to be different, but it never was. There was something about sitting across from him in a prison day room, filling him in on a family that he was now detached from, talking about my life and receiving his verbal approval in return- it threw all those bad memories from when I was fifteen back into my face, made me stare right at all I had missed and was missing by not having my father outside of the Stonegate visiting room.
"What is it, Harleen?" he asked, his voice quiet. "What's the matter?"
I shook my head.
I was seeing my mother crying in the living room, with my dad reassuring her that everything would be okay. I saw him going to court and heard all those testimonies against him- people saying he had ruined their lives, had taken everything from them and their families. I remembered the bile rising in my throat as I watched my father- a man, I suddenly realized, that I didn't know at all- being cuffed and taken away. And I recall every single nasty remark all those kids said to me when I returned to school, the way our lives at home fell apart once Dad was gone. And it all made my heart throb in my ears.
"Harley?"
"I'm fine," I said, swiping at my eyes and swallowing hard against the ache in my throat.
Dad looked regretful and sad, glancing at the box full of cookies in front of us.
"How's- uh- Has your parole officer said anything?" I asked, focusing on breathing just as much as changing the subject.
It seemed as if he wanted to find out what was wrong with me, but instead he shook his head, saying, "She said I haven't been being productive enough for the judge to consider."
"What does she mean?" I demanded. "You're productive enough, aren't you?"
He shrugged, rubbing at his stubbly chin. "I guess not."
"Well, do more," I urged. "Go to meetings- offer to do chores- whatever you have to do so you can come home, Dad!"
"Why should I?" he returned. "Why should I have to appease these people any more than I already am?"
Just then I caught a glimpse- not of my father- but of the man who had conned so many people out of money, the man who those people claimed had ruined their lives.
Finding my voice I asked, "What does it matter as long it gets you out?"
"What's going to happen if I get out though?" he asked, his voice nearly begging. "You think I'll be able to get a job? You think anyone wants a conman under their employ? And where am I going to live? My family certainly isn't going to take me back."
This made me feel dizzy- this frank comment on the dissolution of our family, and his clear disregard for everything I had done for him- and I clammed up again.
Seeing my reaction- because my mouth was pressed shut and the shock was stamped all over my face- he seemed to realize himself and he said, "Not you, Harley- I didn't mean you."
I waved away his words. "It's fine," I said. "I get it."
He became quiet and watched my face for some sign that he should speak further, but I didn't give him one.
Instead, I was thinking about all I had ever said in defending him, all I had ever done to persuade my mother that he was decent, all the money I had spent on cookies from Blumenthal's.
"I have to go," I said suddenly, standing. He stood as well and I hugged him quickly. "I'll see you next week, Dad, okay?"
"O-Okay," he replied, just as I was releasing him. "I love you, Harley."
"I love you too," I said, not looking at him as I put on my jacket.
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but didn't know what could possibly make things better between us. I, however, knew that no words would make the racing of my heart slow down or the trembling in my hands lessen.
"Enjoy the cookies," I told him with a smile, before grabbing my bag, kissing him quickly on the cheek, and leaving the day room.
I found my way to the visitors' bathroom in under thirty seconds and, when I was sure I was alone, threw up my bagel and half a cookie, feeling worse and worse as the seconds ticked by.
And when I returned home and my mother tried to neutrally ask how the visit had gone I managed to only glare at her once before going upstairs and disappearing into my room.
