Okay, so wow. I never meant for my writer's block to get so out of control. To do this chapter the way it should be done, I had to do a shit ton of research. By research I mean watching every single Harley/Joker episode I could get my hands on. Weird part, that only made the block get worse! But as you can see, my genius mind came through at last. This is my longest chapter so far so I hope you enjoy it.

This is one of the last few chapters in this story. Just so you know.

Warning: Stronger language ahead. And by that I mean the fuck word.

I picked up my sharp little knife. So small and light.

I held it to where the handle fit in my palm perfectly and jabbed it through the door to where you could see the blade clear through the other side.

"Quit trying to disembowel the door!" My mother screeched.

"Sorry Mom!" I called back.

Who am I kidding? No way I could use a knife to kill him. His death has to be quick and as remotely painless as possible.

I pulled the blade out of the wooden frame and put it back in its drawer.

I opened another drawer and pulled out a purple and blue pistol with a number eight carved in the handle in which symbolized what birthday I got it from.

My favorite gun.

I tossed it in the air a few times then caught it and shot a bullet clean through the door that moments ago I had stabbed.

I heard my mom scream and her footsteps get closer. The half dead door swung open to reveal my mom. Out of costume and into normal clothes and her blond locks tied up in pigtails.

"I don't know what that door said to you that made you want to kill it so bad, but I want you to stop." She said, her face getting red. "Mista J and I paid absolutely nothing on that door and we want you to take care of it!" She left; slamming the poor, abused door in a huff.

It was true that we hadn't paid for the house. (What else would you expect?) The place was actually just and old funhouse we fixed up here and there (Read: Bathroom). Creepy, but when you've spent your whole life in abandoned joke shops, warehouses, and circus tents; it's a bit homey.

I sat the gun on my dresser and looked for my diary.

It was missing.

Strange, I could've sworn I stashed it underneath my pillow.

I blew it off as a simple misplacement.

There was a scratching sound on the other side of the door-on-life-support. I apologized to it and opened it to my sleek tabby cat.

"Aww," I cooed. "Hey Pillow."

"Leopard!" My mom called from the other side of the house.

How the fuck did she hear that?

"Mom! He is a lover, not a fighter. His name is Pillow and no, I am not open to negotiations!" I screeched back.

We had been having the same argument since the day I got him when I was five. He was a very old cat, but a very awesome one.

He was trying his hardest to jump up on my bed and I picked him up and placed him on my card symbol comforter. He never could jump well after one of our hyenas tried to kill him. I shot the hyena. Needless to say that Mom wasn't happy.

I laid on the soft down and Pillow curled up on my chest.

Hard to believe that I could be so relaxed when in just a few hours I'll kill the only person I've ever loved for reasons other than family.

The thought made me break into a cold sweat.

I can't do this.

I have to.

No.

Yes.

I won't.

It's my responsibility.

Fuck that.

As I having this internal battle with myself I hadn't noticed my sad door had swung open to reveal the Clown Prince of Crime himself, my dad.

"Sooo Zackie, hows about we have ourselves a little chat? One psychopath to another."

Something was up. I just knew it. "Uh, okay?" I said nervously as I pushed Pillow off of my chest and sat up.

He shut the door. "I read an interesting book last night."

Shit Shit Shit. I understood. "Uh, what book was that?"

He pulled my diary from within his suit and threw it to me. "Oh I'm sure you recognize the author."

Humor him. It was a simple plan. Only two words. But those two words have saved me from him countless times. He likes the sound of his own voice.

"Nope. Never seen it in my life." I said smoothly.

"Fine," He grabbed my arm and forced me to stand up. "You wanna play games? I love games." He took a card out of his sleeve. "Let's play Memory."

He threw the card. I heard the whooshing sound it made as it flew just past my ear and saw some of my neon hair float gently to the ground. I turned to see it jammed into my wall.

I shuddered.

Just for emphasis. Next time I won't be so lucky. I can't jack around this time. He's serious.

"Do you know what that book says?" He continued. "You have some kind of feeling for that rat in the captive room other than kill. But that's not right, is it?"

"Completely wrong." I insisted.

He took a step towards me. "Do you know that it also says that you know his identity? Maybe you know Batsie's too. Remember anything?"

I shook my head.

"Do you know what I would do if my kid fell in love with some caped crusader and kept information from me?" He let loose one of his famous backhand bitch-slaps.

I felt a blood vessel pop in my right temple as my left slammed into the wall. I sunk to the floor, head swaying back and forth and seeing pretty colors everywhere.

He picked me up by my hair. "I'd throw her into the streets! You'd starve before Arkham found your ass!"

He let my hair go and I fell back on the floor. "But you know how generous Daddy Joker is. I won't let you starve."

Through the colors I saw him open my knife drawer and pull out my Bowie Knife, the biggest one I owned.

I heard a soft hiss coming from my right.

Then a loud "Reeeer!" and my dad cry out.

I shook my head back and forth to rid myself of the colors that danced in my head and eyes.

Pillow had launched himself onto my dad, The Joker's, head and was rapidly scratching up his face for all he was worth.

Good kitty.

The Joker pulled my kitty off his already scarred face and threw him. Hard.

My poor, handicapped, elderly, faithful, loyal, lethal, awesome cat hit the wall with bone-shattering force and slid to the ground with a thud.

He wasn't breathing.

I stood up. Adrenalin coursed through my veins. "NOT MY FUCKING CAT!" I screamed as I kicked him in the face.

His shock was clearly written on his face.

I tried another kick but this time he was ready. My dad grabbed me by the ankle mid-kick. I was picked up and dropped on the floor.

He giggled. "You really are like a ragdoll. Not very fun but durable as hell."

He picked me up by my hair again and held my back to his chest. He put the Bowie Knife to my throat.

"It's about time that I do what I should've done when you were two. Then hows about I go and put a permanent smile on bird boy's face. Sounds like a barrel of laughs!" He began to cackle so loudly that it was almost a scream. It chilled my bones.

He pressed the knife into my neck and I felt droplets of blood leak out.

I am gonna die.

BLAM!

Neither of us expected the gunshot.

There stood Harley Quinn in full costume and glory, holding a smoking pistol.

"Let. Her. Go." She said with a voice that said that she would kill him without hesitation. Impressive.

I could practically hear his thoughts as he figured who was more dangerous at the moment.

He let me go. "Harley, Baby, I wasn't hurting her. We were, um, training. Right Z?"

Bent on only self-preservation I vigorously nodded. "Uh, yeah training. That's right."

Mom didn't lower the gun. "Her neck's bleedin'."

"Little mistake on my part. Got carried away."

I grabbed a t-shirt and pressed it to my throat. The cut was frightening but Mom had stepped in before he could do some real damage.

She lowered the gun. "You sure you're okay Z?"

"Fine." I muttered. No need to put Mom in danger too.

"Well," Dad said. "Hate to leave a Ragdoll in stitches but Harley and I have some business to take care of with good ol' Boxy."

"Weee!" Mom shrieked with delight as she did three cartwheels then set off in search of her purse.

He turned on me, knife held out dangerously. "You have 'till this time tomorrow to fix things or I will; and if Harley steps in, I'll fix her too." He walked out.

I just stood there with the t-shirt to my throat until they left.

The second I heard the front door shut and I was alone my knees buckled.

I began to cry. "N-now I h-h-have to d-do it!" I wailed.

I fell on my side and hugged my knees to my chest and sobbed until I noticed that my tears had turned red. All my stress and desperation had caused me to cry blood.

I wiped my eyes and took deep breaths until I was fairly sure that I wasn't going to go into cardiac arrest.

I crawled over to where my childhood friend lay dead.

"Oh, Pillow..." I whispered.

I picked him up and put him in a shoebox lined with rags. I planned to bury him the next night.

I put on my Ragdoll getup and grabbed my pistol.

It's now or never.

I took the world's deepest breath and went to pay Brandon a visit for the last time.

Brandon's POV

The door opened and Zachary stepped in.

"Hey, Z girl. How's it hangin'?"

Her face was sad, but there was something else in there as well. I couldn't make it out.

She took a step toward me and lifted her gun.

"Whoa," I said. "What are you doing?"

She pursed her lips. "We both knew it had to happen Brandon. I let you live too long as it is." Her voice was monotone.

I backed up, heart pounding, hands shaking. "You don't have to do this." I insisted.

She cocked the gun back. "I do." She pulled the trigger.

I side-stepped quickly and avoided the bullet by one quarter of an inch.

She frowned. "Please don't make this difficult." She said in monotone.

I clenched my fists. "Zachary! You don't want to do this."

"I have to."

"Why?"

She cocked it again. "Because I'm not a heartless fool like he is."

Funny way of showing it.

She shot the gun and I did a back flip, yet again avoiding the bullet.

She was now trembling. "Stop fighting this, please!"

She's afraid. He did something to her.

"Don't do this to yourself Z! You're not the Joker. You're not Harley Quinn. You have a choice. You have a chance."

"No I don't." She said, emotion coming back into her voice with every word. "He'll kill us both if I don't. I have no choice. I'm the daughter of the Joker and Harley Quinn! The second people know about me there will be a cell in Arkham with my name on it! I have no chance!" She was shouting now. "You think I want to do this? You're my only friend!"

She cocked the gun and shot without hesitation. Her aim was off.

Cocked the gun. "It kills me to do this to you!" Shoot.

I ducked.

I ran over to her. Sort of a dumb thing to do, but it was the only way.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "Zachary, why don't you want to kill me? You have a clear shot right now and there's no way I could move out of the way in time."

Tears were welling up in her pretty brown eyes.

"Zachary," I continued. "Don't do something that you'll regret."

She dropped the gun and fell to her knees. "I can't do it." she whispered.

I knelt beside her. "Why not?" I whispered back.

Her voice was louder. "Because I love you."

"Really?"

"Do me a favor, please."

"What do you need?" I said as I put a hand on her shoulder.

"Pick up that gun and kill me."

I tore my hand away. "No."

"Please." she whispered. "Like I said before, I have no chance. Just shoot me please."

I picked up the gun and cocked it back. "You know what's sad about that? I love you too."

I pulled the trigger and shot.

Btw, sorry about the brutal cliffhanger. I just had to do it. \m/^_^\m/