Chapter Four
Back in Doctor Adams' office, Harleen sat quietly, waiting as Ruth brewed a pot of instant coffee in the next room. Her mind was racing, processing thoughts at a mile per minute. So far, she had thought of two ways to get herself into the Joker's cell. One involved unnecessary gunplay and violence, and while it seemed like fun it was rather impractical. Harleen figured she would only resort to that plan if option number one failed her. Option number one was the level-headed, boring approach to the situation, but it would allow her to keep her job and keep herself out of jail. Harleen ran through her plan one last time just as Ruth re-entered the room with two steaming mugs of delicious smelling coffee. The older woman took a seat behind her desk and placed the mugs in front of her, sliding one across the wooden surface to Harleen's waiting hands.
"So," Ruth sighed, taking a large gulp from her mug, "What did you think, Doctor Quinzel?" Harleen gripped the mug tightly, drawing courage from any available spot in her body. Plan number one was about to be put into action.
"I think he's an interesting case," Harleen replied, biting her lip.
"That's a bit of an understatement, don't you think?" Ruth smirked. Harleen gave a little chuckle at the Doctor's words, before continuing with her own.
"This may seem like a lot to ask," Harleen began, instantly changing the mood in the room from light-hearted to tense, "But I would really like to sit in with him, one on one."
"Absolutely not," Ruth's back straightened and her expression turned angry, "He's a madman, Doctor Quinzel. He is manipulative, sadistic, and dangerous. I will not allow any of my employees to deal with him."
Harleen felt the anger bubble up in her chest and she tried hard to force it back down. Unfortunately, the good Doctor Adams was refusing her something she had been dreaming about for weeks on end and Harleen had never been all that good at controlling her anger.
"But Doctor Adams," Harleen began to argue, hearing her voice begin to rise. Harleen's case, however, was interrupted by Ruth standing abruptly, her face an irritated mask. Her hands were gripping the edges of her desk, causing her frail looking knuckles to turn pale white.
"Not buts, Harleen," Ruth barked, "What do you think? Do you honestly think you can crack the Joker's mind? I've been in this field a lot longer than you have, and if I can't do it, what makes you think you can?" Harleen said nothing. She simply kept seated, staring at Ruth with furious contempt. One thought was dominating Harleen's mind. Plan one had failed, which meant it was time to try out plan two. Things were about to get very interesting at Arkham.
"Get out of my office, Doctor Quinzel," Ruth's voice housed the same contempt as Harleen's stare. "And be thankful you still have your job." Harleen nodded and without another word, removed herself from Ruth's office. She would be back soon enough.
Walking to her own office, Harleen tried to convince herself that Ruth was simply stressed; that her angry outbursts had only been caused by the strain of her meetings with the Joker; that she didn't deserve what was coming to her. She couldn't quite manage to do so. With renewed purpose, Harleen stormed into her office and straight to her desk, beginning to shuffle through the bottom drawer. She found exactly what she was looking for; a pair of latex gloves and a semi-automatic pistol. Smiling, Harleen slipped on the gloves and placed the gun in her coat pocket. Before leaving her private sanctuary, Harleen changed her expression from devious smile to the well-practised bored frown that usual dominated the faces of Arkham employees. She retraced her steps to Doctor Adams' office, passing dozens of her fellow doctors on the way. Harleen could hardly contain her excitement. She was about to get away with her most malicious of plans yet. Sometimes, she scared herself. Without knocking, Harleen let herself back in Ruth's office. She knew the woman wouldn't appreciate that. Sadly, she wouldn't be alive long enough to really let it get to her.
"Doctor Quinzel," Ruth looked up from the paperwork she had begun only moments earlier, "What are you…?" Ruth's words stopped in her throat as she caught a glimpse of the awful expression on Harleen's normally pretty face. The young doctor stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her.
"I have an answer to your question Ruth," Harleen whispered dangerously, "About why I think I can get inside the Joker's head." Smiling from ear to ear, Harleen walked right up to Ruth's desk and leaned in close to the worried looking doctor. "It's because I understand anarchy." Before Ruth could reply, Harleen swiftly took the gun from her pocket and pulled the trigger, shooting Arkham's head psychiatrist straight through the head. Knowing she didn't have much time, Harleen screamed, a blood curdling, terrified scream. She hurriedly placed the gun in Ruth's hand and ripped the latex gloves from her hands, hiding them in her pockets. She backed up as far away from the desk as possible and put on her best horrified expression as she stared, wide-eyed, at Ruth's dead body, slumped over her desk and spilling blood all over the floor.
Within seconds, the doors to Ruth's office flew open and a herd of doctors and guards rushed in. Harleen knew that plan two had been much more successful than plan one. There was shouting and the sounds of thundering footsteps. It seemed that everyone in Arkham was heading up to this very room. It was perfect.
"Someone call an ambulance," a deep voice called out from right behind Harleen. She felt strong hands grip her shoulders. "Are you alright, Doctor Quinzel?" Harleen look backwards and recognized David Barry, the second in command at Arkham as the one holding her. She managed to nod, still looking shocked.
"I think…I think I need some air," Harleen stuttered, happy with her convincing performance. She wriggled free of his grip and weaved through the throngs of people crowding around Ruth's office. She needed to finish her plan before the police arrived and wanted to question her. Once free of the crowd, Harleen began to rush down the hallway, in the opposite direction of the elevators. She had one final stop to make before visiting the basement.
Harleen rounded a corner, amazed at how empty the corridors of Arkham were. She knew no one was there to see her, so Harleen broke into a run, heading for the door at the end of this hallway. The automatic doors opened as Harleen approached them and, as she stepped inside, her eyes were met with dozens of television screens, each showing a different high security prisoner within their cell. Harleen's heart skipped a beat. She had forgotten about cameras. For a moment, Harleen panicked, before her common sense returned. Arkham was somewhat under funded and security cameras were only installed to keep an eye on the high-risk patients. No one had seen her little stunt in Ruth's office. Still, she would have to be more careful next time; think things through better.
Harleen's eyes scanned the monitor's, looking for the Joker. She saw no signs of his painted face, but she did see the only security monitor with an audio hook-up attached to it. The occupant on the screen had his back turned so that Harleen couldn't see his face, but she could see the mess of tangled hair atop his head. That had to be him. Harleen figured the audio connection below the screen controlled the microphones that were used to listen in on the Joker twenty-four hours a day. Hastily, Harleen pulled the audio cables out from the screen.
Turning her back on the wellsprings of out-of-date looking technology, Harleen rushed back to the elevators, hoping she had successfully incapacitated the microphones. As she stepped into the elevator, Harleen heard approaching sirens and felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest. The doors closed and Harleen pressed the button that would bring her to the basement about ten times, as if that would make the elevator move faster.
Once the doors opened up again, the Joker's titanium cell came into her sightline. And, to her great pleasure, there were no guards standing outside of it. They had probably been called upstairs to help keep the doctors calm; not to mention the patients, who were probably freaking out over the sound of so much commotion. Taking a deep breath, Harleen jogged over to the Joker's cell and entered the numeric key code she had seen Doctor Adams use less than an hour before. She heard the lock click and opened the door, swallowing her fear, knowing that she was too far in to turn back now. Harleen entered the cell and closed the door behind her. This was it. She was about to meet the Joker, face to face. She suddenly wished she had brought her gun with her.
"Back so soon Doc-tor?" The Joker's malicious voice echoed throughout the room. He didn't bother to turn his head to look at his visitor. Instead, he sat perfectly still on his cot, pushed up against the far left wall. Harleen swallowed the lump in her throat.
"I'm not Doctor Adams," she said, her voice clearer and stronger than she had imagined it would be. At the sound of her unfamiliar voice, the Joker whipped his body around, as fast as the straightjacket would allow him to. Harleen's eyes grew wide at the sight of his face. His makeup had obviously been removed upon his admission to Arkham, but Harleen found herself wishing he had been allowed to keep it on. His face was possibly scarier than anything she had ever imagined underneath the mask. He looked all the world like a man, slowly being destroyed from the inside out. His eyes were bloodshot and seemed to sink into his face. Harleen had a sneaking suspicion he was not being properly fed. His permanent grin was the most prominent feature on his face, his Glasgow smile giving him a Cheshire-like appearance. The angry scars extended from his lips, halfway up his cheeks and looked a lot less comical without the red face paint to cover them.
"Then, uh, who are you?" he looked at her through unblinking dark eyes, "And why are you covered in bl…blood?" A small grin played upon his lips at the word 'blood'. Harleen paused for a moment to look down at herself. Her white coat was dotted with red, obviously blood spatter from Ruth. Making a quick decision, Harleen decided to ignore his second question, but figured giving her name could do no harm.
"I'm Doctor Harleen Quinzel," she said calmly. Her façade was nearly destroyed as a disconcerting smile overtook the Joker's features. He threw his head back and began to laugh hysterically. Harleen frowned and watched him as his fit subsided into tiny giggles. "What's so funny?" she asked.
"You're the one who, uh, who Ruthy-dearest brought today, aren't ya?"
"And you're very perceptive," Harleen replied with a slight nod, "But that still doesn't answer my question."
"Can I call you Harley?" he chuckled to himself, his tongue running along his scars. "Har-ley, Har-ley…" he smacked his lips, "Who'd ya, uh, who'd ya kill to get here Har-ley?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harleen muttered, suddenly feeling as though her mind had been invaded, "She killed herself."
Before either occupant of the room could say anything, shouting could be heard coming from just outside the cell door. Harleen knew her time was almost up. Very suddenly, just before the cell door swung open and a dozen police officers rushed in, Harleen began to scream, tears flowing down her cheeks.
"He made her do it," she cried as the officers carried her out, "He killed her! He killed her!" Harleen watched with tear-filled eyes as the titanium door was shut tight, listened over the rush of footsteps towards the elevator to the Joker's mad laughter. As soon as the door was closed, the laughter died and in the back of her mind Harleen knew she had successfully killed the microphones. All she had to do was go back and do it permanently. Harleen was shuffled into the elevator between two large officers, dressed in SWAT tactical gear.
"Are you alright Miss?" asked one. Harleen nodded absentmindedly. She was more than alright. She was content, albeit a tiny bit distracted.
He had called her Harley. Harley Quinzel. What had been so funny about that? Harley Quinzel…Har…Ley…Quin…Zel. Harley…Quinzel. Harley…Quin…Zel. Harley…Quin…
Oh, he was very, very good.
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Again, I want to make it a point of thanking everyone who is reading this. Please, don't forget to review now. It makes me a very happy person. Plus, I want to know what improvement is necessary. You're all fantastic. Cheers!
