AMOUR FOU IX
Disclaimer: "Batman" and its characters are property of DC Comics and Warner Bros.
Therapy n°7:
"The crux of the matter "
Is it true what they say,
Are we too blind to find a way?
Fear of the unknown cloud our hearts today.
Come into my world,
See through my eyes.
Try to understand,
Don't want to lose what we have
We've been dreaming
But who can deny,
It's the best way of living
Between the truth and the lies
(Within Temptation, See who I am)
"Hands full of rotten flesh".
Harleen Quinzel can't avoid thinking about it every time her fingers touch the keyboard. Sure. Sure, it's obvious. She knows her job enough to understand it. Even if she should find his weak spot it would do her no good: it would just make him more dangerous. The Joker doesn't like to sow his weak side. He's too dang self-centered to tolerate that. But there are other words that keep haunting her.
"You are mine. Remember it, cupcake".
What's the point of lying still to herself? Nothing's under control.
Do what you must, Harleen, and stop offering laughable justifications. Keep him close. You already decided that, come what may, it will be worth it.
Four days more, then no one will ever come to take him away. Four days to persuade an ill-disposed judge, just like those others who would pick up torches and pitchforks to strike at the monster.
Infantilism… A distorted psychological development… Childhood traumas?
Scrap that. The boy in the photo looked happy.
Some kind of traumatic event representing the point of no return? Latent pre-existing psychic disorders.
Shush, it seems so obvious. No one could deny his unsoundness of mind, as it is commonly defined.
The DA office called her, exactly as Wayland had told her they would. It will be difficult not to laugh in their faces now that she knows the dirt about Harvey Dent. His spotless image makes them feel invincible. She'll have to ask Jonathan what his trick to keep a cool appearance was. He could barely contain himself when she asked him out Tuesday.
"Could you bring another guy along? A friend of mine is having a hard time with… with the putrid slime ball she's seeing now. She needs to branch out".
Pamela will have her head for this. As of late, in fact, it looks like everyone wants her head.
"You're neglecting me, Harley" her moody patient says, forcing her to raise her gaze from her laptop. He's lying on the couch looking bored, head hanging back to look at her crossed. "I've been here for an hour and you didn't ask a thing. Didn't attempt an hypothesis. Didn't make me smile a single time. You just kept on hammering on that keyboard there. What am I to do to grab a bit of your attention, cupcake? Do I have to come there and slit your throat?"
Harleen adjusts her glasses. "Do it, Mr. J. But isn't that a somewhat too quick method for your standards? You're not helping me. You don't talk. I might as well use my time in a more constructive way".
She knows such a provocation entails risks, but she knows him enough already. She knows that he does something only if it's not imposed on him. Only if he wants it. She has to make him want her.
"I told you I would answer any question. What's up? Don't you trust me, Harley? That's not nice. You know I'm true to my word. Why don't you come here close to me, instead of staying there chewing?".
Such a mawkish intonation, like a spoiled child. Sitting close to him? Later, maybe.
"I'm trying to quit smoking. Gums help me. What are you planning to do with the suits you had me order? Planning to go somewhere?" she asks abruptly.
The real question, which stays between her lips is: "Will you tell me the story of a young knife thrower?" But she won't ask it, ever.
Mr. J. laughs, almost ominously it seems to her. "Of course. We can't go on seeing each other like this. Time for me to take you to dinner someplace nice".
"I have to go back to work now" Harleen Quinzel states, squeezing the vice-DA's hand. Dent's replacement. Twenty minutes of haranguing in a half -empty office, while everyone else in town is enjoying the Saturday.
When the appeal to her 'civic conscience' came, Harleen realized her counterpart was running short of reasons.
"I'll do the right thing" she replied. She's getting nauseous repeating that time and again. They're scared shitless of bringing home a thunderous defeat, that's it. That's why they didn't request Mr. J. to be present at the hearing. They'd have a hard time demonstrating some supposed sanity faced with one of his shows.
That Puddin' is out of the ordinary is simply impossible to ignore.
He's waiting for her. She won't waste any more time there.
"You seem to be happy, dr. Quinzel. Do you always wear that grin?" the legal mummy asks.
Is that sarcasm? He'll laugh even harder Wednesday morning. What the devil is this guy's name? She can't remember it for her life.
"Don't worry" she reassures him. "I'll do nothing that in my profession wouldn't regard as ethical. I'm sure that if Harvey Dent were here he'd advise me to be strictly correct".
She's tempted to laugh in his face. Perhaps he's one in the know.
"See you in court. And no hard feelings, however things turn out".
"I swear, he really looked like an anisette lolly" Harleen Quinzel chuckles handing him another sandwich. She made them herself. They both won't be forced to leave the study for lunch. They have too little time to waste it.
Mr. J. looks interested and amused by her visit to the DA office, where she met ice lolly man in his light blue jacket. Nobody can wear such a thing in winter and expect to be taken seriously.
"You sure look merry, Harley Quinn. Tell me, are you really sure about what you're going to write in your account? Do you really think I'm mad?"
She looks at him, quietly leaning against the armrest on the couch. It's a trick question, one she's been reflecting on intensively. And she keeps changing her mind. Right now she thinks he just likes people to think he's crazier than he is.
"You're crazy enough to tell your lawyer that you could escape from here at your whim. How do you think you could?"
"With patience. Lots of it" he answers closing his eyes. "It isn't harder than having a rose be laid on your desk. Kill the cameras. Create a short-circuit. Get rid of the twelve guards and the cops stationing on the island. Five groups, one for each bridge, each one made of four men. It's more than just simple, it's elementary really".
The rose. They never discussed it. As the days go by Harleen isn't so sure anymore that it was someone else doing the errand. Her romantic fantasy of secret passages in the basement leading her bold sweetheart to her is indescribably pleasant.
But also implausible, sadly.
"How can you know the security system in detail? So it's true you have informers in here. Are you aware that I should tell it to my superiors so that they might take appropriate countermeasures?"
He looks around tiredly. "Yes, you should. You really should".
He's having a ball making fun of her, testing her limits. He knows very well that she won't tell anyone. She realizes she's very angry now. Picking up her notebook she goes to sit on the opposite side of the couch from him. Mr. J. regales her with a long perplexed glare.
"Closer" he finally says, and the word is a dull growl.
The most merciless, crazy and cruel being ever to grace Gotham City. Remember that, Harleen…
"Not now. It's time to start working on your case and put jokes and silly amenities aside".
The frowns on his face become even more grotesque than usual. He's clearly irritated, but she doesn't care.
"I need another, little favor".
Here we go again.
This time she's going to be irremovable. Her world and horizon have to stop being all over the place.
"No way" she replies assertively.
"A tiny, tiny one…"
She can't resist to him when he speaks like that. Why does she have to be so weak? "And it would be…?"
The most merciless, crazy and cruel being…
"Hair tonic. Green dye. White greasepaint. And…" Mr. J. stops when she throws him a bewildered look.
Maybe there's been a breakthrough. Something's hiding behind this grotesque request.
"What is driving you to reject yourself? Your appearance, your face… The clown protects you, right? His purpose isn't to strike terror into people like the police thinks. The clown prevents strangers from seeing you for real".
"Damn, they teach some crap in college…" his grin reappears, as malevolent as ever. But something clicked inside her: the loving Harlequin has taken the back seat, leaving room for the medic captivated by the clinical case only. The key was always there in her soul, although she couldn't see it. Now she only has to grab it. The clown. Proceeding backwards is the only option.
"Harley…"
Mr. J. moves to her side. She forces herself to remain still.
Don't you lose your concentration now. It is not the time.
"Harley… Everton took my scarf away… It had your perfume on. I liked having it on me, Harley…"
Concentration. Harleen gets goosebumps as he skims her ear with his lips and whispers her name again. "Harley Quinn… your scent…"
Harley gulps and involuntarily closes her eyes. "I'll tell him to give it back to you… to…"
His guttural laughter, so close, strikes her like an electric shock. "Oh no, it's not necessary. I just wanted you to know that I'm going to get it back".
She quickly turns her head to look at him directly. This promises to result into a mess of galactic proportions.
"Don't do anything foolish Mr. J., please. They would just get rough. They'd take you away. I don't want them to take you away…"
"…take me away from you, Harley. They won't. And I want the scarf my Harley gave me back".
She doesn't know what's going on, she only knows that she has to get away from him. Like, yesterday.
The most merciless, crazy and…
She abruptly stands up. "You told me you'd answer any question" she says, his back to him. She knows he's still grinning. It seems the right moment to imitate him. That last thing still pending… she looks at him from over her shoulder.
We're accomplices, lovers and partners in crime, Mr. J.
"I'd like you to tell me how did you blow Gotham General up".
Yes, that's it. Finally we are there.
Harleen Quinzel smirks privately.
"I thought you had quit" Joan Leland remarks, watching her inhale beatifically a puff of smoke.
"Last one".
She has to celebrate. Such moments deserve reveling in triumph. Mr. J. spoke unbridled. He looked enthusiastic about telling her how he threw Gotham into chaos threatening to blow a hospital up. Wonder what became of that pettifogger, Coleman Reese, the deep throat, the real culprit. Strange that the police didn't force him to reveal Batman's identity. Once the guy under those preposterous pointy ears is known, they'd only have to knock at his door to arrest him.
But Jim Gordon just doesn't want to take him in, isn't that so? The show must go on.
"How's your special case doin'?" Joan asks. "Arkham seems to be satisfied with your progress".
"Is that a problem to you?" Harleen looks at he askance. Little people of no utility. She wishes she could rid the Asylum of their presence.
"Don't be so jumpy, Harley. Why should it be?"
Yeah. Why?
"Instead" Joan goes on, "I'm telling you this confidentially because I'm your friend: there are rumors about you and that guy…"
"Hold it, hold it…" Harleen interrupts her.
Because you're my friend…
"Let me guess. The above-mentioned rumors have me sleeping with my patient, right? Next time you would all be well-advised to be a smidgen more imaginative. This one is as trite as a noir story opening with a night scene".
Probably Joan is still trying to decipher the concept expressed by her last sentence It is not surprising to her that the other woman can't keep her pace. Her ilk can't really conceive of anything like a big picture, much less postulate a relationship like the one Mr. J. and she share.
"So you're keeping on the hook. Who would have guessed that…" Joan's expression becomes spiteful. "It's a matter of time. Afterwards let me know how being banged by a homicidal maniac is. I'm curios, but thankfully have better tastes".
Harleen inhales again, offering her a suave smile. "Will do".
The plausibly last afternoon they're to spend together Harleen frees his hands.
Mr. J. says nothing as he rotates his wrists to stimulate circulation in his numb arms. He asks nothing, not even why. And she realizes he was expecting that. Tomorrow they could take him away, to be imprisoned forever at Blackgate. She doesn't want to think about it, but the danger is there and pretending to ignore it won't make it go away.
"Where were we?" she asks sitting by his side. "You told me how you got rid of Mike Engel. Then what? I don't want to talk of how you were captured. Let's go back. Tell me of the hunt for Harvey Dent, how you shook the police forces, including helicopters, off. Of what happened at the police station".
Logic. Control. To hell with them. His shoulders are broad, the arm encircling her waist strong. She can hear his heart beat, proof that he also has one, if only to pump blood into his veins.
And he starts recounting again, in vivid detail. Fables made of explosives and torn flesh, of firearms and chases into the night. Fables that lull her pleasantly even when he, sometimes, almost casually says her name.
Don't take him away from me. Don't. I could die. Don't you.
It's thrilling. She's starting to get it. She's starting to feel an adrenaline rush at the explosion. What's the next step?
Bare handed… What do you feel when your hands choke someone to the bitter end? When you sink a blade? If you'll stay here I'm sure I'll make you tell me, Mr. J. You'll tell me of the first time a knife you were wielding held the power of life and death…
"You're shaking, Harley Quinn. Finally you're afraid…"
Maybe.
Not completely, not with his fingers running through her hair. It's not fear. It's a wave of excitement as she's faced with the unexpected. Her textbooks never said it, but now Harleen knows that the only way of getting to know a mind like his is to lose one's sanity.
"What in your opinion is the latent potential for insanity within a person commonly considered normal?" she asks. "When does the braking point come, and why?"
"Why are you asking me? You're the psychiatrist here. You're the one who one day decided that all minds should conform to the others, right? That there has to be order. And chose to became what you are…"
She wants to tell him "You're wrong". But she understands that he doesn't believe it himself. He knows very well that she didn't specialize in psychiatry for that.
Rules, common sense, control… There was a time I thought it possible.
She snuggles up to her murderous patient, berating herself for the final time. "Order. There's no such thing, never was. Here's your proof. I'm going against every rule in the book. Falling in love with you smashes them all in one single blow. I'm a doctor, you're my patient. A dangerous criminal. You're the antithesis of everything I should strive for, but I can't help wanting you. Is it really so weird, Mr. J.?"
She said it, but doesn't feel relieved. His silence weights like a rock. How long before he laughs again, laugh about her, of her pitiful confession? She wishes she had the strength to raise her head and look at him directly.
"Harley, Harley, Harley… why do you call it weird?" he asks her after what looks like a century. "Just because the other people don't expect it? You looked so serious the day we met. A girl like you always has to prove something, isn't it? She buns her hair, dresses severely so that the people looking at her might consider her a doctor, a professional, a person, a human being. A girl such as you must lock herself in a cage to be heard. And yet, despite it all, whenever you enter a room and approach a man, part of his mind can only think that you're good-looking, that he'd love to peep while you're undressing, that he'd be so eager to drag you to the bedroom. This is where your being a part of a mechanism ends, Harley. And you're wondering why you let yourself be intrigued by someone like me? You know that vey well, Harley. You don't have to pretend with me, and I don't do that with you. When you're with me you're free, you're yourself. And I make you laugh, which is no negligible thing. Were you looking for me, Harley? And for how long have you been?"
How long…
What he's saying is true, every single word. She has to wear a mask to carry on, a mask that proves useless most of the time. With him it's different. If only she had the strength to break free for real…
"Answer me, Harley. I know something is holding you back. Tell me what it is. You know you want to. That's why you came to me".
No.
She slips out of his embrace and sits down again . "There's nothing of that sort" she says. But he grabs her again, forcing her to stay there .
"No, no, Harley, be still. What's with this surge of cowardice? Don't make me hurt you. Tell me everything, Harley. Spit out the secret you never told anyone: I want it. I want it so badly I could cut through your heart to reach it".
"Let me go…" she begs, knowing it's in vain.
What has she done? He could break her neck. How could she be so dense as to free him?
"Speak, speak, speak…" he insists while pulling her hair. Her eyes fill with tears. "Speak, Harley. Honesty is the basis of every relationship, honey bunny. Tell me, tell me, tell me. Who put that glint in your eyes? Why did you come to me? Why did you choose me? What do you expect from me?"
"Because you have the answers" she finally says as two distinct sorts of pain wet her face. "You understood. You know why it happened. There are no rules, nothing can be controlled. I was an idiot, Mr. J. I thought I was following a pattern, that everything would go as expected, instead…"
The gun to his forehead. "I can't do it myself, Quinz…" He shook so badly that she was almost certain he'd drop the weapon within seconds.
"Instead?" Mr. J urges her on, letting go of her hair.
"Instead he chose to die. It wasn't expected, it shouldn't have happened, it wasn't part of the plan".
"I can't do it myself, Quinz... I'm not strong enough. Help me. You will, will you? You love me… Help me".
"Oh, I see. We're dealing with tragic love. Who was the lucky man?" His grip is still firm but she doesn't want to struggle anymore. She feels out of energy.
"His name was Guy…" she whispers, and his laughter sickens her.
"Guy. Small wonder he decided to call it quits. Hush now, stop crying. I don't like seeing you like that. Not over someone else, anyway. Tell me about Guy. What was the matter? Was it you who found him, cupcake?"
"I was there". She'll feel better later. Later she'll be free to imagine her splendid, happy life again. Because her life is splendid and happy. "Guy… you know how these things go, surely? You know, Mr. J. Social experiment, dr. Markus and I called it. But it went off the rails. Guy killed a man and took his own life. It's true, he did it… I just took his hands… He said, 'I can't do it myself, Quinz, help me'. While holding the gun to his face…"
"And what did you do? Did you pull the trigger for him? Did you?"
How can he look so enthusiastic? Why does he seem to find it fun? Oh right, she knows that very well: because he's a sadistic madman.
"I don't know!" she replies. "I don't know. I don't remember. I grabbed his hands and told him everything would be fine. But I don't know. I remember the bang, the blood on the wall and doctor Markus telling me to relax, that no one would ever know. But I don't know J, I don't know".
"Look at me, Harley". He makes turn around. "So your boyfriend made you realize that nothing can really be planned. How silly of you. And you spent years musing over this? You know who your Guy was? A pathetic wimp. You can't play with life and death when you're not ready to put even your own at stake. He wasn't. He asked his loved one's help because he doesn't have the guts to go the whole way. And what about you, Harley? Did you go the whole way? Did you realize the way things really work? That their crystal clear categories only work when they're shown in the negative? So stop this at once, Harley. Think about it, it was only because of your Guy and his kicking the bucket that your chancellor was forced to send you here, right? Because here is where you belong, and you know it. The heart of unpredictability. And I am here. And I tell you, you should stop letting a laughable remorse tie you down. People die all the time. People is fated to die. So are you. So am I. The moment it sinks in, everything becomes clear. And funny. Portentously funny".
He's right. Once again he's right. What has she been doing for so long a time? She was looking for an answer in madness, a madness like the one she saw in Guy's eyes back then. But there's no answer. Everything is chaos. He is chaos, the very essence of it. That's why she wants him.
"Are you never afraid, Mr. J?"
His smile could almost seem sweet as he lets her go, if only his eyes weren't still shining with ferocity.
"And just what is there to be afraid of, Harley? What? Fear is what keeps them down, all of them. And you know that. If you're still alive is because you weren't afraid when I was strangling you. And that look is still there, Harley. I can see it now".
I know.
He fears nothing. He's free. He's really portentous. She made no mistake. She's in the right place. Everything is perfect. This was the goal she was striving for. Throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, she knows she's plunging into a hell whence is no return. All bridges are burned. The mark is overstepped. Now she can feel him, understand him, be like him, while he clutches her, ravenous and possessive. Her thoughts spin as her blood runs violently, losing all sense, tangling wildly.
Let… me… breathe… don't let me go… God, I'm kissing the Joker… no… run away… now… I love you… mine... I love you… yours… I…
"Open your eyes, Harley".
No, I don't want to. Shall we go over this again, Mr. J?
Her eyelids are leaden, like limbs struck by paralysis. She feels as if suffering hangover, a massive one.
I'm done for. Completely.
"Harley, your cell ring is laughable".
What's wrong with her phone? Is there something not right about Marilyn chirping 'I wanna be loved by you'? And why is the stupid bimbo singing it right now?
"I don't want to answer" she whines running her fingers on his face. All his face, wound by wound. The deeper scars. The lighter ones. The clay he was sculpted from. She thinks he's gorgeous.
"Give it to me. I'll hand it back to you with a couple of extra new functions".
Yes, the dossier confirmed that. The bomb changed into a surplus internal organ. Monstrous and brilliant.
"And as a ring tone, a merry circus melody…" she tells him when the phone stops ringing. Why not try to ferret him out?
It's terrifying to see his expression turn so gloomy. He doesn't like the topic, exactly as she imagined.
"Don't push it Harley, I'm not famous for my patience".
Are you mad at me, Mr. J? I want your smile to return.
"When you'll be out of here will you teach me how to use knives?" She has no doubt that sooner or later he'll be free again. And she will be at his side. She'll look after him forever.
Her clown prince is happy again. Everything is fine.
"We're going to start with firearms, since you already have some familiarity with them" he says, and she is surprised to find the dig hilarious.
Maybe she pulled the damn trigger. Maybe not. It really does not matter.
I don't want to leave…
"There's a masked ball tonight. I'm going there dressed as Harlequin, as you like it. I wish you could be with me. Why can't you come with me, Mr. J? Why can't I tell you what needs to be said in such occasions? Why can't you drive me home? Why can't I invite you in? It will never work out… My best friend doesn't like you…"
What in the world am I blurting out? What time is it? I must go to Pam's place to get dressed…
"Because we don't resemble any case, Harley. Remember. From now on you'll be strange, and there's nothing you can do about it. About your best friend, it can be solved".
"And how? Pamela hates you. She'll hate me too once I tell her what happened here".
"Just get rid of the best friend. Simple as that. Who's coming with you at this masked ball? Who's going to see my Harlequin before I do?"
Discovering how possessive he can be, hearing the hiss coming out of his lips is exhilarating.
"A friend… Friends. Why do you want to know? What does it change?"
She knows, but wants to hear it from him. Poor Jonathan. If only he could know…
"Because… you see, Harley… I may well be used to proceed on a random course, but I still want to know who do I have to kill first, once I'm out of here".
He's still grinning, but she knows he's not joking at all. Poor, poor Jonathan. What Joy. He's really hers then. This is more than she ever dreamed of. And maybe she can make it even funnier.
"Try and guess it on your own. Puddin'".
She sees his homicidal fury, so powerful it can't be controlled, come alive again, as the crazy murderer nobody but her understands grabs her by the face and pours hatred into her eyes.
"Perhaps I'll kill you both. Then you will know that I prompt the joke to come and you're just my straight man. And that…"
"And that I'm yours and yours only. I know" she ends in his stead while pulling him close for another kiss.
Fear is withering the soul
At the point of no return.
We must be the change
We wish to see.
I'll come into your world,
See through your eyes.
I'll try to understand,
Before we lose what we have.
We just can't stop believing
'cause we have to try.
We can rise above
Their truth and their lies.
See who I am,
Break through the surface.
Reach for my hand,
Let's show them that we can
Free our minds and find a way.
The world is in our hands,
This is not the end.
(Within Temptation, See who I am)
