"And you have no idea of Mr. Napier's whereabouts at the present time?" asked Commissioner Gordon.
"No," said Harley, quietly. "That night at the hospital was the last time I saw him."
Gordon sighed. "That's too bad. Now that Mr. Wayne's recovered, he's offered a substantial reward for anyone who can bring Napier in. I think he's taking being shot fairly personally, and you can't blame him."
"How's Mr. Dent?" asked Harley.
"He's refusing to see anyone, or get any help," said Gordon. "I don't know what the end result of that will be, but it won't be any good."
He leaned forward. "If Mr. Napier does try to contact you, Dr. Quinzel, you will let us know, won't you? We don't know if he's killed again yet, but he's very likely to at some point. It's for his own protection, and for the protection of every innocent person in this town, that he's put away for good. You know that, don't you?"
"Yes," said Harley. "It's just…hard to think about him being locked away forever…"
"He's not the man you loved anymore, Dr. Quinzel," interrupted Gordon.
"Maybe not," agreed Harley. "But I still love him. And he…loves me. That's why he left."
She stood up suddenly. "If you'll excuse me, Commissioner, I need to be alone," she said.
"Of course, Dr. Quinzel," he said. "Remember to come to me if you receive any word from him."
"Yes, I…I will," stammered Harley. She headed out of the station and back to her apartment. She tried calling Dr. Isley again, but she wasn't answering her phone or her door. Harley hadn't spoken to her since that day in her office, and she really hoped she hadn't done anything rash.
Harley put down the phone with a sigh, and it suddenly rang. She saw the number and frowned in surprise, then answered it. "Johnny?" she said.
"Harley, you'll…need to come to Arkham at once," said Dr. Crane's voice on the other end of the line.
"What? Why?" asked Harley.
"Because I wanna see you, toots," murmured a familiar voice suddenly.
"Jack!" exclaimed Harley, gripping the phone tightly. "What are you doing? Are you ok?"
"Come to Arkham, sweetheart," he murmured. "And you'll see."
The phone went dead. Harley didn't waste a second, racing out of her apartment and hastily traveling the once familiar route to Arkham Asylum.
…
"You can have a seat while we wait, Dr. Crane," said Jack, hanging up the phone and gesturing with his gun at the therapy couch.
"What do you want, Mr. Napier?" asked Crane.
"I wanna try my hand at shrinking," said Jack, taking a seat at Crane's desk. "All those times you analyzed me, now I wanna try analyzing you. See how you like it when the shoe's on the other foot."
"There's just one problem with that – you're crazy and I'm not," retorted Crane.
Jack smiled. "No? Well, maybe you just haven't found the courage to be crazy yet. That's what happened to me – I had this little accident, and suddenly, I'm free. I spent most of my life in prison – not a literal one, I was too good a criminal for that!" he chuckled. "No, I was in a prison of my mind. I took abuse and put up with crap all because something in my mind told me to take it. But now that something in my mind has snapped – that little lock on my prison cell has broken. And I'm free. That's all the chemicals did to me, really – they gave me the courage to be free. And I'm not going back into any prison. Not a real or a metaphorical one."
"You don't think you'll be sent to prison for this?" asked Crane.
"What, for analyzing you?" chuckled Jack. "Not hardly! Do they send you people to prison for analyzing people? They probably should, in your case."
"I was thinking more about for threatening me with a gun," retorted Crane. "How did you even get in here?"
Jack chuckled. "C'mon, you think all the times I came here that I don't know how to sneak in now? Dolores is regular as clockwork – she leaves reception to go get some coffee at around noon. And I may have a fairly striking appearance, but people don't seem to notice your face when you're wearing a guard uniform - all they see is the uniform. I mean, if people knew where the body of the guy I stole this uniform from was hidden, then yeah, I'd probably be going to prison. But I hid him pretty well, and anyway, that's not how today is gonna end."
"How is today going to end?" asked Crane. "Are you intending to kill me?"
"No, that's too good for you, Johnny," said Jack. "I'd prefer to let you keep on living alone. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? See, I can read you like an open book. You once called me a thief and a parasite. Well, what you are is a coward, pure and simple."
Crane snorted. "You think it isn't obvious?" pressed Jack. "How afraid you are? Of everything?"
"Mr. Napier, what could I possibly have to be afraid of?" demanded Crane.
"Oh, where do I start?" chuckled Jack. "You're afraid of being alone, but you're too cowardly to do anything about it, because you're afraid of being rejected. You had plenty of opportunities to tell Harley how you felt about her before I even came into the picture, but did you? No, you were afraid. This cozy life you've built for yourself, it's based entirely on fear. You were the smart kid in school, right? The nerdy one who got bullied a lot? You told yourself that the bullies were just jealous of you, but deep down, you were afraid that there was some other reason. That there was something wrong with you. And that fear and insecurity stayed with you throughout school, and into college. You think anyone who spends a decade at college getting a doctorate is full of self-confidence? No, they're riddled with doubt, and hoping that this academic achievement will somehow prove to the world how smart they are, and how much better they are than everyone else. You think pretty highly of your intelligence, Dr. Crane, but that's only because you think so very little of everything else about you. You're afraid other people see you as you see yourself, which is why you have your haughty air, to keep people at a distance so they don't see you as anything else but an intimidating, intelligent man. But that kinda personality is never gonna make women interested in you, and so ironically, your fear is making your greatest fear of dying alone come true. I think that's pretty funny, Dr. Crane. But then I think most things are funny these days."
"I admire your attempt at armchair psychology," retorted Crane.
"Are you telling me I'm wrong?" asked Jack, chuckling. "I don't think I am. Here's the thing – some people call me crazy now, but I don't feel crazy. I feel like things have never been clearer. The man I used to be, he was derided and insulted and called a loser, and he just took it. And maybe that's why I have this funny urge to kill now. Maybe that urge is perfectly natural after a lifetime of contempt from people. People like you, who think they're better than me just because they got a fancy degree. What a ridiculous way to view the world!" he chuckled. "It's just funny to me now! Because I'm not the joke here – you are. You and everyone else who thinks you're so superior, you're the joke because you can't see how meaningless and insignificant you really are. You're the joke, and I'm…the joker."
He beamed suddenly. "The Joker!" he repeated. "I like it! Oh, I've been going crazy trying to think up a new moniker for me since my rebirth. That's what I'm trying to look at it as – not an unfortunate accident, but a blessing in disguise. Wouldn't wanna be thought of as a victim, after all, and the difference between a victim and a victor is all in the attitude."
"Why do you want Harley to come here?" asked Crane.
Jack shrugged. "I miss her, for one thing. As for the other thing…you'll just have to wait and see, Johnny. But I think it will pique your professional interest if nothing else. Harley wants to be with me, and I want to be with her, but I can't until she understands. So I'm gonna help her understand."
"Understand what?" asked Crane.
"The same thing Sal Valestra helped me understand," said Jack. "That death is one big joke, and that line we think we can't cross is all in our imaginations. Once Harley crosses it, once we share the same form of insanity…we can be together."
"Harley's not as deluded as you think she is," retorted Crane. "She's probably called the police already. She knows you're insane and dangerous, and she's not going to show up here to face you without protection."
Jack grinned. "I guess we'll have to see, won't we? And hey, while we wait, why don't we play a little game? I'm gonna call this game 'Eeny Meeny Miny Moe a Colleague' and it's about as simple as it sounds. Just pick a random colleague of yours to join us in here and call them on the internal line."
Crane stared at him. "Call them," said Jack, gesturing at him with the gun. "Now."
Crane carefully picked up the telephone. "Not Dolores," said Jack suddenly. "Someone else."
Crane sighed, punching in a random number. "Hello, Dr. Bartholomew? I need you to come into my office for a moment, please. Thank you."
He hung up the phone. "Have a seat," said Jack, nodding at the sofa.
Crane sighed again. "I don't know what kind of stupid game this is…" he began, but the door opened at that moment.
"What is it, Dr. Crane…" began Dr. Bartholomew, but he was cut off as Jack shot him suddenly in the head. Jack cackled madly as the body fell to the ground, and Crane leapt back in shock and horror.
"I love it!" giggled Jack. "Let's play again!"
"You're…insane!" gasped Crane.
"Probably," agreed Jack, nodding. "But at least I'm funny."
"Dr. Crane, I heard a shot…" began another doctor, racing into the room. Jack instantly shot him too, giggling.
"We don't even have to call 'em now – this is fun!" he chuckled. "I'm kinda hoping Harley gets here soon, and your colleagues are really hoping so they can stop playing the game! Wait until Harley sees all the fun we've been having – she'll just plotz!"