A/N: Sorry that this is late! I've been attached to my PS3 and started my final year at high school. The end of this chapter might be confusing but that is how I intended it to be. I slipped a book title in to this chapter; it's a book by Stephan King (Since there are so many, here's the year it was released in:1990). It's the only one that I have ever read and I hated it when I had to return it back to the library - unfinished. I really should read more of his books. Anyways, find it if you can! Love, love to my reviewers, you make my world go round. Read and review. Jazz
The Jackel: Ah the statue, you hidden the beast away? Sorry about this bloody delay – how are you?
P.S. This chapter had been re-written a lot, I really hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: DC characters and such are owned by DC, original plot and OCs are mine.
"You cannot be serious. You know, you don't have to go." Yes, she did. What did Lewis think he could do? He was in more danger then she was. She had slipped into a pair of her comfiest jeans and a dark purple, long sleeved top with her black jacket and sneakers. Quickly she tied up her messy hair into a loose bun. Grabbing her bag she checked she had everything. Food, that was all she was being able to process in her head right now. Simple, easy words. Running to the kitchen she grabbed some bars and an apple, with a bottle of water. Peeking in her bag again, she saw some cheap perfume and deodorant. The beginning of a headache started to make itself known; perfect timing. Right now she wasn't sure how long she was going to be there, so she was at least going to take a few things to make sure her stay was easier.
Painkillers, she grabbed those too.
Right before she ran out the door, she skidded to a stop. Making her way back to the bedroom, she saw Lewis there, looking at the roses.
"You put them in your room?" He said, not looking at her. She went up to him and softly turned his head to her. His gaze still diverted from her face. Carefully she leaned down and kissed him on the lips. He grabbed her roughly and pulled her in to his lap. Shirley had not planned the kiss to go like this, but for a moment she went along with it. Then she pushed him away, breathing heavily.
"I'll see you later," she said as she got up from his lap. He grabbed on to her hand though, not pulling her back but just stopping her, making her look down at him.
"Be careful, okay?" He pleaded softly, grasping her hand tightly.
"It would illogical to do otherwise." The trip to Arkham was quick, quicker than it was in the morning. There were still cars out and about, it was Gotham after all. When she got to the familiar road though, it was full of flashing lights, sirens and people, heaps of people. The media was already there, setting up their room, slowly and amazingly, she made her way up to the staff gate. She was stopped though, not only by Arkham guards but also by some policemen.
"Miss, no one is allo-" Before the policeman could finish, she had her card whipped out the window for him to see. He nodded his head and called out for the gate to be opened. She drove in to the car park and parked her car. Now, where to go? There was staff dashing around everywhere. Westler. Start there. Holding on firmly to her handbag she dashed, like the other staff, through the hallways and corridors. Getting to Dr. Westler's office was hard and upon seeing all the people outside, she wondered how the woman had managed to make time to call her.
Pushing past the staff and policemen she forced her way in to Westler's office. It was just as bad outside her office as it was on the inside. Westler was talking quickly to a policeman who appeared to be extremely angry but couldn't slip a word in. A nodded his head and shoved Shirley out of the way. People were sitting around some of Westler's desks, frantically talking to each other and some had laptops out.
"Dr. Gibbs, come here quickly," she heard Dr. Westler call out to her, over the noise and mayhem. It was funny how this woman, Dr. Westler, could calm her. Her voice was cold and detached but Shirley found it slightly amusing how even in a situation like this, she still kept herself levelheaded. "I had expected you to be here earlier. I called you at four past midnight. But never mind."
"What can I do?" Shirley asked. She wished she had taken those painkillers before she had left now, her headache was getting worse. Dr. Westler looked down at her computer for a moment then looked back up.
"Find Dr. Quinzel," Westler ordered and sat down in her seat, looking at her monitor.
"Shouldn't a police officer do that?" Shirley asked. Harley was the Joker's psychologist. Wouldn't she be the first person the police would go to? That's what Shirley thought, anyways.
"Yes, they have demanded to but I want you to go and get her for me.
"Why?"
"Because she will listen to you." After that, Dr. Westler was occupied by a new influx of guards and policemen. Why weren't they with the Warden? Shirley stopped herself, she didn't want to imagine what that place was like now. If Dr. Westler's office was chaotic, the Warden's had to be like hell. Not to mention the media that was just dying to get in. He'd have to confront them soon and assure Gotham that everything was okay.
Well, what better way to start off with then her office? Surprisingly, as she made her way to Harley's office, it was pretty much deserted. You could still hear the alarms going off, but compared to where she had been previously it was relatively calm. There was a light on in her office, she could see the light shooting out from underneath the door, but she couldn't hear anything. She knocked on the door and waited. She knocked again, louder this time. And again. And again. Then she tried calling out her name, her nickname. But there was no response. Shirley sighed, she really needed those painkillers, but it would have to wait.
She checked all the staffrooms, but they were all jam-packed. Not one of them even had someone that looked like Harley inside. What good could she do? It's not like they were even friends. There was this tendency though, for Harley to get somewhat attached to her. Out of pure desperation, she started to look outside. Then she found her, sitting in her favourite spot, right near Arkham Mansion. There were still people running around but Harley had found a seat and looked glum.
"Hey," Shirley said in the nicest tone she could muster. Harley just continued to look down though, playing with her glasses, in her lap. "Harley?"
"What!" She hissed, flashing her head up at Shirley. Tears were all over face; her cheeks, eyes and nose were all red. And her nose was running as well. It wasn't a pretty picture. Lucky for Harley, her mascara hadn't run too much. Sighing, Shirley took a seat next to the sobbing blonde. Reaching in to her handbag she managed to find a tissue. Harley mumbled a 'thanks' and cleaned her face up before giving her nose a good, old blow.
"Harley, what happened?" Shirley for once kind of felt something for Harley, aside from annoyance and dislike. Harley was obsessed with the man and worked all around the clock. Her obsession was wrong, but it couldn't be ignored. And to what kind of work she did, Shirley wasn't sure. She could understand, to some degree what Harley was feeling. Failure. Shirley could only imagine how bad it actually felt though.
"He's gone! Gone!" She cried and fell in to Shirley's chest. Awkwardly, she patted her back. Her top was sure to have some dark stains when Harley lifted her head next.
"Harley, come on, let me take –" She started, moving to get up.
"No! I don't want to talk to any of them, they won't understand," she wailed, latching on to Shirley even tighter, pulling her back down. Shirley tried to move herself out of the woman's grip but soon found it was like iron.
"Understand what?" She sighed, giving up on moving away. Letting her hands drop to her lap. Harley sighed, followed by a wet sniffle and leaned her head against Shirley's shoulder. Her arms wound tightly around Shirley's middle, with her arms trapped within the grip.
"He's amazing you know that? He's really somethin'. I know he acts a lil' strange but he can be so sweet." Shirley felt a sharp pang in her chest and looked down at the blonde, who was staring dreamily up at her.
"Harley, he's an insane mass-murder," she responded slowly, hoping that it might miraculously get through to Harley. She knew better though. There was a gleam in her eyes that frightened her. It made Harley appear manic, and not just for being the annoying blonde she was. It was unsettling, particularly after what she had just said. Harley seemed unfazed by what Shirley had said.
"I know that! Like Sharky, Shirls, he's not just a patient," she reasoned, her fingers digging in to Shirley's arms. It didn't hurt at first but when she didn't say anything, Harley's fingers dug in deeper. Calmly, Shirley tried to pull away but Harley wouldn't have it. Shirley was surprised: this woman had strength and now she was beginning to become afraid. What was wrong with Harley?
"I don't know what you mean," she said calmly, continuing to attempt to pull away. In an unexpected move, Harley let go of her and threw her arms up, wailing again. With not a minute to waste, Shirley got off the seat and stood in front of Harley and with some space. Then Harley's head slowly turned back to her, cheeks again wet.
"Shirls, I don't care, I understand, that's," she spoke then sniffled, a new wave of tears cascading down her cheeks, "why you can understand how I feel."
"Harley what are you feeling?" It was an earnest question, she had no idea. She had this feeling though, that she didn't want to know. This side of Harley that she was seeing was disturbing. But why would she understand? What did she and Harley have in common? Aside from working at Arkham and being psychologists, there was nothing! Well, they were both blondes, but that meant nothing. How in the world would she understand?
"Everything and nothin'! It's so confusing," She groaned, fiddling with her glasses in her hands. In the pit of her stomach, she felt something. It grew and she could literally feel something grabbing her, on the inside. The blood slowly dropped from her face and a little slimmer of realization made itself known. It couldn't be verbalized though, no. It couldn't. She had to get away, away from Harley.
"I know Harley, working here can get-" She tried to say something, but the new feeling within her made her mind foggy. Harley sharply cut her off.
"No! You understand! I know you do!" She cried again, peering desperately at her.
"I don't, Harley, just let me take you to Dr. Westler."
"Dr. Westler?" Her tone changed and Shirley went for it.
"Yes, come on I'll take you there," Shirley confirmed, pleased in Harley's change of tone.
"Dr. Westler?" She repeated, and then she giggled. It was soft at first, but then it grew and erupted in to loud laughs. Harley fell to the ground, landing on her bum, and then rolled to her side. She was laughing so loudly that it was beginning to draw the attention of guards and policemen walking by. Racing her head around she smiled at some of the guards and policemen to ward them off. They frowned but kept on walking to wherever they had to go. Shirley dropped her gaze back to laughing mess on the stone ground.
"Harley!" She hissed, not wanting to touch the woman. How could she understand this mess?
"Oh, oh Shirls, you are such a good laugh! Whatchi' say? Go fetch Dr. Quinzel? Ha ha ha!" The laughs rose in volume and in combination with her headache, she was stuttering mentally in what to do next.
"Come on, -"
"How longs you gonna play this?" Harley said suddenly, her laughs dying down. In its place, she had a sinister tone.
"Play what?"
"I know your little secret." Harley smiled darkly, looking up at her from the ground. Though she was on the ground, covered in dirt and completely disheveled, she felt intimidated. The only little secret Shirley had was more like a dirty indulgence. When she would be at the local supermarket, which thankfully was small, she would flick through the celebrity and gossip magazines. With the turn of each page, she would mentally say 'how could anyone read this'. And as quickly as she had picked them up, she would put them back down. But she could tell Harley didn't mean that. No, what she meant was something Shirley couldn't even think about.
"Oh, you know it, too," she continued to say slowly and darkly. Rising from the ground, she circled Shirley. Shirley dropped her head, how could this be happening? Like a child, she wanted to run away from this situation but she couldn't. And even the hope of running away was slashed away when she felt a tight grip on her arms, where the bruises were forming from before. A small whimper came from her mouth and she couldn't move away.
"Was it like this?" Harley breathed in her ear and her tight grip moved down her arms. This time, a cry came from her mouth as Harley's grip ran over the bruises. Then her arms went to her waist and she felt Harley lay her chin on her shoulder.
"See Shirls, I might not know exactly what has been happening," she said clearly this time, right next to her ear. Shirley was glued to the spot and her lips were stuck together. Her mind was racing though, what was Harley doing? "But when I see you work late, when I see you sit by yourself, when you avoid all human contact and when I look in your eyes," she continued to say, her words becoming breaths against her ear.
"What?" Shirley said softly, barely above a whisper. Then she felt Harley's lips, against the shell of her ear. She could feel her smile, and then whisper something right in her ear.
"I know, about you and him."
With a sudden burst of energy, Shirley hauled herself violently out of Harley's arms. Heart racing and chest panting heavily, she turned back to Harley.
"Don't cry!" Harley smiled, handed her a tissue from her pocket. It was an insult, the final little cherry to what she had just done. Raising a shaky hand to her left cheek she felt that it was indeed, wet with tears. Now she couldn't say anything, not even a collected response. No, Harley had defiantly won. And she had lost poorly. With a sinister little smile, that matched her tone, Harley said one more thing.
"Look, since it bothers ya' so much, I'll go to the hag, okay?" She smiled and nodded, not waiting for any kind of response from Shirley. With a little sway of her hips, Harley walked away, in the direction Shirley had just come. Stumbling over to the chair Harley had just been on, she let out deep breath. Bringing her legs up to her chest, she hugged them. For a moment, she shock silently with tears following freely in to her black jacket. And just like Harley had said herself, Shirley was feeling everything and nothing at all. It was an onslaught on her, inside. Her head was now aching even worse than before and her chest had a dull pain. She felt weak, a sobbing mess that couldn't even move.
Thoughts of her mum, her dad, Lewis and lastly, Warren flashed through her mind. The last time she had seen her mum, she could see the rims of her eyes were wet but she refused to cry, not now. When she did, she'd quickly dab a tissue to her eyes whilst her father wasn't looking and grip his hand. At hospital, her dad was still watching his baseball games but sometimes he would just black out and fall asleep. It was getting worse and she felt something ominous approaching. Lewis scared her, right to the bone. Someone had beaten him up and threatened him, all about her! She felt no better than the people who had beaten him up for keeping him in her home.
But Warren.
Out of everything she was feeling, he was the most confusing. What Harley had said had caught her out and she couldn't collect herself up this time. Harley had the upper hand. This time she couldn't discount the woman. No, she had taken Harley for a fool. Yes, she might be dumb at times but she was nowhere near as dumb as Shirley had first believed. She couldn't understand what Harley was feeling. She wouldn't. Warren was, was, her patient – he wasn't. To say that he was would be like calling herself a fool, a clown. Not once in her life had she felt so small, like a tiny fish in the deepest reaches of the sea.
Rubbing her face and then giving it a good slap, she began to assemble herself. Rising from the seat, she looked over at Gotham, lights shining bright. There was Batman's signal, right up in the sky. She hoped, like she had never before, that he would catch the Joker. At least then she wouldn't feel like she was at work all the time. Getting a fresh tissue, she dabbed her face. There had to be at least a million other productive things she could be doing right now, instead of wallowing in her own self-pity. What to do, though? She could go back to Dr. Westler's office but she knew that if she saw Harley again, well, she didn't want to think about it that much. Wait, had anyone else got out? It would be expected that the police would keep their attention laid on the Joker. Aaron Cash, he'd be busy but she knew that she had to do something right now.
Checking herself over one last time, she walked with great haste over to Intensive Treatment. This probably wasn't the best place to be, actually, now that she thought of it. It would be selfish to try and talk to Cash. Where she was heading to could possibly be the heart of all the chaos. As she approached his office in the Cell Block transfer, she could see that a temporary camp of sorts had been made up outside Cash's office. He was there though; somewhere inside that tiny mass of his office, she could hear his loud, distinct voice. There was no way she was going to get near that mess. Then there was a loud yell, Cash's. The mass of people then parted, letting an angry Cash out, followed by none other than Commissioner Gordon. Funny, she thought to herself, that he would go here instead of Warden Sharpe. Leaning against a wall, away from the crowd, she tried to think of something, anything to distract herself.
"Dr. Gibbs!" Her head snapped up to see Cash walking over to her quickly and the Commissioner not far behind.
"Yes?" She responded, continuing to lean against the wall. By the looks of it, the Commissioner didn't look at all too happy with Cash. The Commissioner was a tall, large framed man, considerably fit for his apparent older age. He had a large grey moustache, almost covering his top lip, a mass of neat grey hair to match and glasses resting on his nose.
"You busy?" He asked quickly.
"No."
"Good, take the Commissioner here over to the Warden," he said flatly, nodding his head in the direction of the Commissioner.
"Um what?" She stepped off the wall and looked between the two.
"Cash, I need to my men to be here, I need to be here!" The Commissioner yelled at Cash, ignoring Shirley.
"Your men can continue to stay here, but I can't do my job when you are dictating my men," Cash snapped back, just as fiercely as the Commissioner. The Commissioner didn't say anything in response and Cash nodded.
"Thanks, Dr. Gibbs." Shirley looked up at the tall man, not sure exactly what to say. What do you say to the head of the police of Gotham? Heading back over to Arkham Mansion, the Commissioner took it upon himself to fill the silence.
"So what kind of doctor are you?"
"A psychologist."
"Ah, I see," he said, his tone meaning something different altogether. She glared at him and he caught her. Quickly she looked ahead, trying to smooth the situation. "My apologizes. You wouldn't happen to be a psychologist to Joker would you now?"
"No," she replied. She wasn't going to offer any more information, not unless she was asked. The Commissioner looked down at her and shook his head.
"Well, Cash wouldn't know who you were unless you were a doctor to someone he really doesn't like?"
"And who would those people be?" She quirked, not looking at him
"The worst patients here."
"Warren White," her response was short and sharp, making the Commissioner cringe.
"White? Well, you must have your hands full," he retorted, stirring her interest.
"How so?"
"That man has to be one of the most manipulative criminals I have ever met. I'm glad I only met him once," he replied, looking ahead, Arkham Mansion coming in to view. Ah! She wanted to scream! Why was everything coming back to Warren?
"It is what it is." She didn't even know what that meant; it just came out. With another throb in her head, she decided that she didn't want to think about it.
"Say Dr. Gibbs, do you think he would have attempted to escape with Joker?" It was obvious then, that the Commissioner had really only met Warren once, before his coming to Arkham. Warren would not escape with the Joker, only in the direst of situations and this wasn't one. Besides, it had never seemed that he wanted to escape. But then again, how was she to know?
"No, he wouldn't."
"Can you be sure?" Could she?
"I'm his psychologist," she finally said, catching his gaze sternly.
"He's also a patient at Arkham." He was a policeman, how in the world could he understand what it was to be a psychologist? She sped up her pace; he had already matched it. As they got closer to Arkham Mansion, some police officers ran up to him.
"Sir!" A few of them yelled together, to get his attention. They caught up to the two as they continued their path over to the Warden's office. Stopping at the large front doors, he started to ask and answer a few of their questions. Shirley tuned out, not wanting to take much more in today. Rubbing her forehead, she reminded herself that she really needed to take those painkillers soon.
"Dr. Gibbs?" The Commissioner asked her suddenly.
"Oh, yes?" She replied flatly, her headache throbbing strongly.
"You know Mr. Gallo?" She paused before responding but slowly replied with a 'yes'.
"Well he needs to see you apparently, over at Penitentiary," he said, followed by a nod and thanks, and then he was off. Running a hand through her hair, she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Grasping her head with one hand, she made her way over to Penitentiary.
What was going to happen now? Hadn't Arkham been secure enough? Weren't the guards doing their jobs? And this was Joker. This wasn't someone who robbed banks or blew up things to get something. He did these things 'cause he found them funny. Funny! What could normal people offer? What could people give him so he would just go away? And Shirley had interviewed him. Once, but it was enough. This man wasn't an idiot – far from it. He was a calculating, insane genius that was free and out on the run. And White? She wished she had some kind of thought or idea, just anything but there was nothing. She knew everything about him but in the end, she didn't know jack shit. Having the degree and textbook knowledge was one thing, but analyzing these people required something more. Resilience? Bravery? If she knew she wouldn't be sulking.
Her head throbbed.
Now she was standing there outside of Penitentiary, having second thoughts, of sorts. She didn't have to be here. Yes, she did. Lewis was right, this was crossing the line. Bit late. Late? She was late. Guards, again, were scattered around the place. In the Cell Access there were a few people sitting around the desks. Only coming here the few selected times, she asked one of the less occupied employees where she might find Mr. White. Shirley appreciated the direction, even if the man had seemed annoyed. Given the circumstances, she would be too.
He was in the Main Cell Block. Lucky though, he was in the west section of the block.
Passing through the Main Cell Block, the screams and cries from the inmates made her head spiral. Finally though, she was in the western section. Leaning against the wall for a moment, she caught her breath. Painkillers! Before she talked to Warren, she gobbled down some codeine pills. When she stumbled in even more, Rocco was already at her side.
"Shirley, where the hell have you been?" he said accusingly, looking her up and down. It was oddly quiet in here. She was thankful but nonetheless unnerved. Unlike the main part of the cell block, this block had cells with solid doors, no see-through glass or plastic cells that she had just walked past. The pills didn't seem to have taken any effect what so ever.
"What – what do you mean?" She replied, eyes having trouble focusing on the figure in front of her.
"Warren needs you," he said firmly, as he took hold of her.
"But why?" she asked, as Rocco led her, clutching her shoulders.
"Does it matter?"
"No." The headache was taking such control over her, she wasn't even thinking. What she wanted to say just came out. Painkillers, she needed more. But she didn't think she could even manage breaking them out of the packet. Slipping, because her feet were doing their own thing, she would have fallen. Rocco luckily caught her and placed her on the floor. He crouched next to her, with a worried expression on his face.
"You okay?"
"Ah," she cried, having trouble putting a brave face on, the headache surged. What was this? She had never, never ever, had a headache like this.
"Wait, let me take you over to his cell, I'll grab some painkillers," he said as he felt her head.
"No," she thought she had said that a lot firmer, but it came out strangled and breathlessly. Without another word, Rocco lifted her under her legs and put her arms around his neck. Rocco did admit to himself that the woman was a little heavy but he had carried other people that made her feel like a feather. Outside White's cell was indeed a chair and that was where Rocco placed her. Head lolling around, she couldn't think of any way to stop the pain. How could she complain though? She kept asking herself. Her dad was in more pain than this, no doubt that Lewis was too. But she was complaining. It didn't stop tears rolling down her cheeks though.
"Shirley?" She heard a familiar voice, breaking through the pain in her head. Raising her head, she looked up at the door in front of her and gasped. There was Warren, in the doorway of what she assumed was his cell. The door was ajar and he was just standing there. Were there cuffs? Any form of restraint. "Shirley? Darling, look at me," he called again, stepping forward. There was a rattle though. Looking behind him she saw that he was attached to the doorway. There was a chain that was about two foot long, pulled straight out as Warren attempted to go over to her.
"Go away," she said as fiercely as she could manage but again it came out breathless. A chuckle came from Warren. Stretching one of his legs out, he hooked his foot on to one of the legs of her steel chair and dragged it across the metal floor. He continued to drag her until she was in his cell. Her head dropped again and it hung there. Feeling a familiar few-fingered hand, Warren held her chin up. The world spun around her and Warren was her only support. The chair was a cold reminder of where she was though, but she couldn't muster any energy. She only hoped Rocco would return soon.
Slowly, she was pulled off the cold chair then in to something much warmer and softer. There was a calming finger running up and down her arm as she was steadied against, against – Warren's chest? What should have been a jump was more like a clumsy movement that didn't result in her slipping out of his grip. Moving her head up, she saw the smirking face of Warren looking down at her, very pleased.
"Shirley, you need to take better care of yourself," he said pleasantly, his pointed teeth making his calm tone slightly disturbing. She wasn't a fighter, not right now, so she let her head fall against his chest. The rhythmic breathing in his chest managed to soothe Shirley enough to let her shut her eyes. Anything that soothed the headache, she would take. If it was Warren, then, well, she would take him. Sooner, rather than later, Rocco returned. Though quite out of it, Shirley was embarrassed and tried to slip away from Warren. His arm tightened around her waist and hoisted up his figure slightly.
"You think she'll mind?" She heard Rocco say lowly to Warren. It hurt so much, she didn't care.
"Rocco?" Shirley gasped from Warren's lap.
"Hey I got you a painkiller," Rocco said softly. Reaching out shakily, a large tablet was dropped in to her hand. She was moving about, trying to find her water when she felt the cold bottle pressed against her searching hand. Gulping it down, she sighed at the cooling effect the water had. It wasn't long before the headache slowly ebbed away. But with the headache dissipating, she felt strange. Her head still felt cloudy and jumbled up, actually worse. The stroking continued to attempt to soothe her. But she was confused as hell. The arm draped around her waist was now scaring her, hadn't she realized its presence? Making a move to get up, the arm tightened. It pulled her back, making her see double.
"Where are you going?"'
"Wa-rre-en," she tried to say, but her mouth was only half responding. The stroking hand moved to her chin and held it up. Eyes peered down at her, catching her in her airy trance.
"Yes?" He replied with a smile. In her hazy state, she began to realize where she was. Why – why was she here though? She didn't remember. It was all rushing by her, like a blur of dull colours. His face though, gave her some gravity. She needed to go home. But that was the extent of her thought process. Struggling, she pushed away Warren's controlling arms.
"Shirley!" Rocco said loudly. She could only think: home. Now. She began to run, past all the inmates and guards. Some yelled at her but stopped soon after, they didn't want to get involved. Even in her sneakers, she tripped a few times. Pulling herself up, she managed to stumble in to her car. In her car, she drove back home, miraculously. Away from Arkham. Away from Warren.