One Year Earlier
2. I Got Edges That Scratch
She sat with her back against the wall, her legs drawn up to her chest. That way she could not be surprised from behind. The kitchen knife trembled in her grip. She kept it pointed outwards, aimed at the door. Her head hurt more than it used to, a dull, hellish ache that just wouldn't disappear.
The bruises on her knees and arms made it painful to sit in that position, but she would be damned if she ever let her guard down. When her boyfriend returned, and she knew he would, this time she would kill him for sure. Just like she would do to her dad, if she ever found him. That thought kept her focused, that she might run into him eventually – and when she did, she'd make it worthwhile.
She had been sitting like that for hours, her entire body going numb, staring at her own reflection in the mirror above the sink.
You look like shit, Jonny would say and grab her hair harshly. She felt a sick smile creep onto her face at the thought. The dark circles of makeup surrounding her eyes and smudged over her cheeks, together with her torn up hair, really made her look like a Psycho Bitch from hell. Just the look she was going for.
Her split and swollen lips revealed teeth that could bite hard. Her face was the last thing he would ever see, and she would laugh – this bitch killed your pathetic ass. She adjusted her position, impatience creeping up her skin. By waiting in the bathroom, which was in the very far corner of the apartment, opposite side from the front door, she would have time to hear him come.
She heard steps, the front door was opened harshly. Her body tensed up and her knuckles turned white.
There were some muffled sounds, something was turned over, it sounded like a muted fight. Maybe he brought some of his drunk so-called friends. She tightened her fingers around the handle of the knife until it hurt, prepared to see him stalk through the door, ready to slam her to the ground. She would strike faster.
Like a cat, she would pounce. The lingering hang-over would make it harder to keep her balance, but it was all about being quick enough. She was swift when she wanted to be, lithe and flexible, while he was sturdy and heavy. She had decided to go for his stomach, so he would have time to realize what was happening.
The muffled sounds continued, but they were far away from the bathroom.
Somebody was... laughing. Eerily, chilly, it definitely wasn't Jonny. She slammed her head back against the tiled wall, with just enough force to numb the world for a moment. Last time she checked she didn't have auditory hallucinations.
That would have been just another talent to add to the resume of Frances Harleen Quinzel, as they called her in their journals and registers. The teenage addict, courtesy of foster homes and living on the street. Frances. She hated that name. A stupid, old name her mother gave her sometime long ago, a family name. Ironic.
She was not Frances. Frances had died the moment she left the rehabilitation unit. She had required to be called Harleen instead. It still sounded stupid, but it was better than that grandmother name that her various foster parents and social workers had called her.
Her boyfriend used to call her Harley. She liked it, she liked him. For a while.
There were steps and movement outside of the door now. Someone was screaming. Her head perched up slightly. That was definitely Jonny.
The door was flown open, crashing against the opposite wall. Unprepared, she moved further back against the corner next to the bath tub.
The man standing there was definitely not Jonny. He was tall, clad in a green vest, gray shirt underneath and purple pants. Greasy green hair in strong contrast to his white-painted face. He had her boyfriend's back pressed to his chest, one of his arms sneaked underneath his neck and almost choking him.
"You mind, uh, lending me that?" The white-faced man nodded at her knife. A hazy part of her brain recognized his face from somewhere; that Chelsea grin smeared with red paint. She knew what he was called. The Joker.
She didn't move; her mind was so clogged up she couldn't really work out his request. She just tightened her grip on the knife, pointing it at him.
"Harley!" Jonny called panic-stricken, struggling in his grip. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
The Joker smacked his tongue. "I'm in a little, uh, hurry, Harley."
She shakily got to her feet, still keeping her back attached to the wall.
The intruder sighed dramatically and moved forward, dragging the struggling Jonny with him. He reached out a purple gloved hand. Harley handed him the knife and immediately moved backwards again, only to find the wall pressed against her back.
"Thank you," he said and offered her a yellow grin.
There was no use in thinking what this man in clown makeup was doing in her home, choking her boyfriend. So she watched, dull interest stirring in her as Jonny pleaded for his life. The Joker pressed him up against the wall next to the sink as if he was nothing more than a sack of meat, putting the knife to his mouth. The intruder looked so slender compared to Jonny's sturdy frame but he was strong.
"You see… Jimmy?"
"J-Jonny." Jonny was too afraid to look straight at him.
"Oh well, Jonny, you see, I'm the type of guy who sends postcards to my friends." He sneered. "And your friends, ah, they just aren't funny anymore. They forgot something, you see? So I'm gonna leave them a little message…"
Jonny desperately tried to get out of his grip. "Harley! Fuck, do something!" he demanded, panic in his eyes.
"Shhhhhhhhh." The Joker stroked his face with the knife. Then he gave Harley an incredulous look over his shoulder. "Aren't ya gonna scream, doll? Your squeeze is gonna be the, uh, happiest man in Gotham."
She didn't move.
Shrugging, he turned back to Jonny and inserted the knife in the corner of his mouth. He muttered to himself and his brow furrowed.
"This is dull. You ever been mauled by a bear?" A grin crept onto his white face. Jonny trembled, gasping. Joker sighed and leaned forward.
"Want another knife?" Harley said, looking at him expressionlessly.
"Well yes," he turned and gave her a wide grin. "Can never have too many."
He was still expecting her to scream, run or break down. Maybe she would have, but she had a killer headache and her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, which wouldn't take her very far. Besides, watching Jonny beg for his life was oddly satisfying.
Harley eased down to the floor, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye as she bent down and reached an arm underneath the bathtub. She let her hand wander for a moment before it closed around the handle of a smaller knife. She had prepared well for today.
She pulled it out and straightened up into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. She threw it at the clown and he caught it gracefully.
He turned back to Jonny, dropped the other knife and put the new one to his face.
"Smile."
Jonny made a muffled sound, and then the knife split the corners of his mouth.
Harley remained unmoving, secretly grasping another knife she had retrieved, keeping it behind her back. A part of her was quite pleased with the way Jonny spluttered and gasped for air.
Then the Joker simply dropped him, and Jonny fell to the floor with a heavy thud.
The painted man turned to Harley for a moment, giving her a passive stare and raising his eyebrows incredulously, before turning around. He left the room, walking in long and slow strides, not in the least concerned that he had just turned his back against her.
How reckless. Harley had learned something at the various institutions she had spent her life at – if you turn your back against someone who might have a beef with you, they're gonna take that chance.
But maybe, it showed in his posture, he was just so confident of himself that he was sure no one would ever take him on willingly.
Harley got to her feet, her mind slowly working out what had just happened. Jonny was no longer responsive, his body jerking and seizing. The knife must have gone into his throat, and she had no interest in staying to watch him die.
She stepped over his body and stumbled out in the small, dimly lit hallway. Somewhere she was starting to realize it. She recognized that man beyond a name. She couldn't remember the last time she had opened a newspaper or watched the TV, but people talked about him. The Clown.
Gotham's terrorist clown had killed Jonny.
Jonny must have been involved with him somehow – it didn't surprise her, considering all that booze and drugs he had got his hands on and the shady 'friends' he brought home every other night.
The next step was unavoidable. What now?
She saw the Joker heading for the front door, whistling a tune. Still holding her knife in his hand, and she was not about to ask him to give it back.
Harley forced herself to focus, to keep her vision straight as she stood in the other end of the hallway. A part of her knew it was probably suicide to push her luck any further, but she honestly didn't care.
"Hey, wait."
"Hm?" He stopped abruptly, as if he had completely forgotten about her presence. Then he slowly turned around.
Harley straightened up and for the first time she felt her heartbeat react. With the war paint on his mutilated face he was supposed to be terrifying, but it wasn't as repulsive as people said.
"Thanks."
The Joker burst out laughing, almost wheezing. She stood completely still, watching him.
"Oh, aren't you a doll?" He moved over to her, grabbing her face in his free hand. His pitch black eyes bore into hers, taunting her harshly: Why don't you run and scream?
His fingers dug into her cheek bones uncomfortably. He was taller than her and towering over her. She wondered how he had ended up here, in Jonny's small apartment, without his coat. But stranger things had happened.
"You'd look pretty with a face like your, uh, boyfriend," he informed her, showing her the knife he still held.
Harley gave him a wry smile. "I was planning on killing him anyway."
He raised his eyebrows, a look of amusement in his eyes. He let go of her chin and took a step back, looking her abused body up and down as if he was internally debating whether she would be able to ever kill someone. "Doesn't look like there's much fight in you."
Her head cleared up with the pulsing adrenaline. "If you run out of knives, I've got a supply. You can borrow some if you want." Consider it my thanks.
At this, he started cackling in amusement again. "You're a funny one, Harley. Ha. Ha. Ha."
He took a step back, heading towards the door again. His tongue darted out to lick his scars, his eyes moving around the shabby room. "I might just take you up on that offer." His fingers, white and smudged at the tips, placed a torn Joker card on top of a pile of junk.
He gave her a menacing look that almost bore straight through her head, and she realized why he had let her live.
"Make sure the word gets out there, dollface. Jonnyboy's little friends have a big surprise coming."
Then he was gone.
Harley didn't realize that she had essentially worked for him, until she had managed to get Jonny's body out of the apartment. She had covered him in black plastic bags she found in the kitchen and waited until night, before dragging his body to the front door. He was even heavier in rigor mortis and her arms ached from the exertion.
Jonny's apartment was located in the shadiest possible part of Gotham, and the shabby apartment complex mostly consisted of junkies or people who never showed their faces in daylight. She managed to get one of her neighbors, the friendliest junkie, to help her carry Jonny's corpse down the stairs. He didn't ask any questions, but they all had seen worse things.
Harley dragged his body as far as she could by taking a shortcut through a narrow alley. Finally she dumped him in an alleyway where the right people were bound to find him sooner or later. Hopefully his piece of shit friends would be the first to discover him.
She removed the plastic bags so that his body was exposed, then stuck the Joker card in his mouth.
There. All done.
She had stuck even more knives into her pants before she went out, prepared to finally get rid of the built-up pressure in her chest if anyone dared to cross her. But the sight of her, bloody, black and blue, seemed to keep the thugs away for the time being.
When she returned home she was too riled up to sleep, so she assembled her knives, needles, a hammer and various other items she had collected, just in case any of Jonny's friends would show up. She had an enormous supply of weapons hidden in the apartment.
She drew a bath and sank down in the bathtub, grasping the kitchen knife Joker had used.
She would be waiting.
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