Nightmare in Arkham

Chapter 4: "I've Dealt With Nightmares Before"

SIDE NOTE: I'm not using the character designs based off of 1 particular series. I'm using which-ever design for a character I liked the most. For example, I'm using Batman's design from the Animated series as well as the Joker but Harley's design is based on her appearance in Harley Quinn comic #2.

-Harley Quinn woke up screaming like a banshee. She looked around the room in a cold sweat, panting. It was another nightmare. She sat against the wall with her hands on her forehead as if she were nursing a headache.

-"Honey Pooh?" called a wheezy, clown voice from the shadows. Harley gasped and shot her head up. Standing before her was her "Lovin Puddin" the Joker. He stood towering over her with his yellow eyes fixed intently on Harley.

-"Oh! M-M-Mista J! H-How long have you been here?" Harley asked backing away.

-"Well, I don't know. How long ago did you scream like a dying a school girl?" The Joker asked casually.

-Harley tried to answer the question; her voice meek and deprived of any confidence: "Oh…um? I think-"

-"Oh no, no, no Harley girl. You weren't thinking," the Joker interrupted in a calm, neutral voice, "You weren't thinking because you screamed at around the same time I was scheming. And what have I've told you time and time again, Harley-kins?"

-"Um…that 'scheming and screaming don't mix'".

-"Very good, Harley! Now, since you already had that rule implanted in that precious, adorable little head of yours'," the Joker placed a hand on Harley's head and began lifting and dropping his fingers on top of Harley's half black, half red dyed hair, "why don't you tell ole Mista J what was so important you had interrupt him for the hundredth-time with that little voice box of yours even after I told you 'women's mouths are for sucking not talking?" The Joker's voice still remained calm.

-Fear started to bubble inside of Harley's gut. She knew that if she said the wrong thing her "Sweat-heart" would beat her to the point where she could barely walk. But if she lied he'd beat her to the point where she could barely stand. Her body was littered with scars, bruises, and cuts that had either healed, half-healed, or not healed at all. All of these were punishment that Mista J would frequently use on her for angering him. And nothing set him off more than when he was interrupted while cooking up a plan to break the Bat.

-"Well, Puddin…it was that dream again".

-"No!" the Joker exclaimed feinting shock.

-"I try my hardest to please you but no matter what I do I always mess up in ways I didn't even think I was capable of"

-"E-Gad!"

-"And then you take out a crowbar"

-"You mean like this one?" the Joker asked holding up a crowbar; his voice still sounding concerned. The crowbar was covered in blood from people that Harley had witnessed the Joker savagely beat to death for their failure. He had not used it on her but would always make her watch the beatings telling her that this would be her fate if she did not straighten up.

-Harley's eyes widened in fear at the sight of it. "Yes, exactly like that," she continued as she started to whimper like a frightened puppy, "and then,...and then…" Harley began to cry softly.

-"And then what? Spit it out, Harley."

-Harley let out a sobbing gasp and cried out "And then you tell me that you never loved me and that you just used me because you knew I would be easy to manipulate!"

-"OHHH! The idea!" the Joker exclaimed covering his mouth as if in shock.

-"And then you beat me to death while I lie on the ground pleading for you to stop! But you just laugh at my tears and keep beating me until everything goes black!" Harley could not go on. It was as if she had just relived the dream all over again. She covered her face and began to sob into her hands.

-"Tsk, tsk, tsk. My, my…you poor baby. That awful dream just puts a frown on my face every time you tell me…..just like the 1428 times you told me before. But believe me I feel your pain: I have similar nightmares."

-Harley stopped crying and wiped her eyes. She looked at the Joker confused. The Joker never slept. He didn't even have a bed for himself. His obsession with Batman never gave him time to sleep. "But Puddin…you never sleep".

-"Precisely, so if I have a nightmare then it's a living nightmare." The Joker's voice finally reverted to anger and his hand, which was lightly placed on Harley's head, suddenly grabbed a handful of her hair. Harley's mouth slackened in pain.

"And there is no greater nightmare than one where I'm interrupted while I'm trying to bring a smile to the world in the form of its ironic, comedic destruction! And yet night after friggin night I have constantly had to relive that very nightmare because you can't control you wild, hair-brained, exaggerated thoughts! THE NIGHTMARE JUST NEVER ENDS!"

-Harley was terrified. Tremors shot through her entire body and for a moment she thought she may have felt a tiny stream of urine run down her leg. He was going to kill her this time.

-"NO! Please don't kill me, please!"

-"Why not?!" The Joker shouted raising the crowbar.

-"Because you love me!" Harley screamed hysterically. The Joker froze. He stood starring at Harley stunned. Harley opened her eyes and turned to the Joker; eyes pleading.

-"D-Don't you Puddin?" Harley remembered her dream and the thought frightened her. She dreaded hearing the answer.

-The Joker started to chuckle and the chuckle eventually turned to laughter and the laughter into a cackle. Harley did not know how to feel. The Joker didn't say he loved her but he didn't kill her either.

-"Oh, of course I love you Baby Cake. How many times do I have to tell you that?" The Joker asked, suddenly calm again.

-"Well, it's just that…you hurt me a lot. And, um, I've been told by some of our Arkham friends that's not what love is," Harley replied nervously.

-"Oh, what do they know? They've never been in love. If they had, they'd know that love hurts. For example…"

-The Joker slapped Harley across the face causing her to bang her head against the wall.

-"Did that hurt?" he asked. Harley weakly, nodded.

-The Joker then slammed his fist down on Harley's thigh right over a bruise that he had inflicted on her earlier that had not healed yet causing Harley to whimper in pain.

-"You see: love hurts. So I must love you at lot." Harley smiled weakly.

-"But ya know how you can show your love for me?"

-Harley looked at the Joker nervously, "H-How Puddin?"

-Harley was thrown out the door of the old abandoned "Laff City" theatre and she landed face first on the hard concrete pavement. A giant, red scrape mark formed on her right cheek.

-"You can stay away from here until you get your nightmare under control, that's how!" the Joker shouted at her before slamming the doors shut. Harley had been thrown out again. After promising to do better she had failed her Puddin again. Why was she such a worthless piece of garbage? Why couldn't she do anything right? She felt weak, helpless, and useless.

-It was times like these she would turn to her best friend, Poison Ivy, for help. Poison Ivy was like a mother to Harley. She showed Harley affection that she never thought she would ever know. She would always clean Harley up when the Joker beat her, give her a place to stay, a hot meal, a cozy bed, she didn't even mind when Harley made skin on skin contact with her (something she frequently did to people when she took a liking to them). In fact, she showed her every bit of love and care that she wanted from the Joker but never received. But, unfortunately, Harley could not rely on Ivy to save her this time. For she was currently locked up in Arkham; another poor, lost soul labeled a "freak of society". Harley covered her eyes as she began so cry and slowly walked away.

MEANWHILE…

-The redheaded woman walked down the hallway of Arkham Asylum accompanied by a tall, skinny African American woman with short hair. As they pasted the glass cased cells hundreds of perverted, mentally ill lunatics ran up to the glass licking it. Some of them made threatening gestures while others just looked at them with menacing eyes. The redhead woman looked around at the various psychopaths as they passed them but the African American woman looked straight.

-"Don't worry, dear," the African woman said calmly, "these inmates can't do a thing behind those walls and as long as you keep your head on straight they won't be any trouble to you."

-The redhead nodded. She wasn't afraid though.

-At the end of the hallway was an office with a glass window with "Dr. Leland" written on it in big, white letters. They stepped into the office and the redhead took a seat in a chair in front of a large wooden desk. Dr. Leland took a seat at her desk and began browsing through a stack of papers while the redhead sat patiently. After a minute or two Dr. Leland turned to the redhead.

-"So, Dr. Johnson, it says here you've had quite an experience dealing with the mentally ill," Dr. Leland said.

-"Well, I prefer to think of them as 'mentally troubled'. I specialize in helping people come to terms with traumatic events from their past. It's my belief that most people who wind up in places like this are having trouble coping with the world around them because of a traumatic experience or because they're struggling with inner demons or fears that they are either denying, running away from, or don't know how to control. From what I've heard, this city has seen quite a collection of troubled souls" Dr. Johnson replied.

-"Well, I suppose that would be the light way to put it. Yes, Gotham has dealt with a large concentration of oddities over the years. But let me tell you right now: don't think these inmates will make it easy for you to reach them. Most of them have actually come to relish what they have become. Believe me, I once knew one who started out just like you. Her name was Harleen Quinzel. She came here as an intern completely sure of herself, had no doubts that she could break through to the maniacs littering this hell-hole, now she's one of those maniacs. She was such a strong, ambitious woman but she gave herself over to this city's worst nightmare".

-"Trust me Dr. Leland-"

-"Oh, please, call me Joan".

-"Okay then, Joan, you can call me Alice. And trust me: I've dealt with nightmares before".