In Another Life XIV
Dr. Harleen Quinzel drew in a deep breath, adjusting her glasses as she stood in front of the office door and raised her hand to knock. Although she worked at Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane as a psychiatrist, she was beginning to question her own sanity at what she was about to do. But her conscience couldn't stay silent any longer – it was a pesky little personal angel on her shoulder who wouldn't stop nagging her until she did what was right, no matter who else told her it was wrong. Her whole body shook knowing that this action could cost her her job, but nevertheless, some crazy part of her, angel or devil, wouldn't allow her to back down now. "Come on, Harley," she whispered to herself. "Just do it."
She knocked firmly on the door. "Come in," said a male voice.
She opened the door and smiled at the head doctor of Arkham Asylum, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Dr. Arkham, but if you're not busy, could I have a word?" she asked.
"Oh…yes, of course," said Dr. Arkham, looking surprised. He closed the folder in front of him and gestured to the seat opposite his desk. "How may I help you, Dr…"
"Quinzel," supplied Harley, sitting down. "Harleen Quinzel, but call me Harley – everyone does. I'm sorta a new hire – only been here a month so I don't expect you to know me yet!" she said, laughing nervously.
Dr. Arkham did not laugh – he just looked at her expectantly over the rim of his glasses. Harley cleared her throat, trying to maintain her cheerful demeanor. "Anyway, I heard you had scheduled a press conference for later today, where you intend to declare Carmine Falcone insane, and recommend his immediate transfer to Arkham."
"Yes. A very unfortunate case," agreed Dr. Arkham. "The poor man. It's amazing he was able to operate a criminal empire as long as he did, with the litany of mental problems plaguing him. But I'm hopeful that we'll be able to provide him with the help he so desperately needs in here. Better than having him thrown in prison where he'll never be able to make any improvement. I know the District Attorney's office will be disappointed – Mr. Dent has been trying to imprison Mr. Falcone for a long time. But he's better off in here, and I'm sure Mr. Dent understands that."
"You interviewed Falcone yourself?" asked Harley.
"I did," agreed Dr. Arkham, nodding. "And I am convinced that he is insane."
"Well…I'm not," said Harley, slowly.
Dr. Arkham stared at her as if he hadn't heard correctly. "You're not what?" he asked at last.
"I'm not convinced he's insane," said Harley. "I think it's all an act to avoid facing the full extent of the law. I studied his file, all your case notes, and the stories he told you – they're contradictory in multiple places," she said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a file, which she opened to reveal papers covered in red pen and post-it notes. "See, here he describes his boyhood in Sicily, but then the week after he claims he's from Naples…"
"A mentally ill man is easily confused," replied Dr. Arkham.
"Yes, but these stories about his past are all obviously taken from gangster films," said Harley. "See here, where he says his family was murdered by a local mafia don which forced him to flee to America as a boy, and then he set up a business as an olive oil importer, which he used as an excuse to meet the don back in Italy and stab him? That's Vito Corleone's backstory from The Godfather Part II. And here he says a guy was murdered by local gangsters in a nightclub that he owned, and he helps them cover up the murder by burying the body, but then the burial site is slated for development, so they have to exhume the body and bury the corpse elsewhere. That's Goodfellas. And here…"
"Again, a mentally ill man easily confuses fiction and reality," interrupted Dr. Arkham. "Perhaps he doesn't remember his true past, and is merely filling in the gaps from movies he's seen."
"Or perhaps he's just lying to avoid prison," said Harley. "That's the vibe I got from him when I spoke to him anyway…"
"You spoke to him?" demanded Dr. Arkham, standing up suddenly.
"Yes, only briefly," said Harley. "I visited him in jail. He was pretty disrespectful toward me, but the impression I got was that he was completely in his right mind. I've always had an interest in extreme personalities, and I just think you're making a mistake with Falcone. I would hate for him to get out of facing justice for his crimes, which are too many to count, by telling you a bunch of lies. So I thought I'd share my findings with you, in the hopes of changing your mind. Or at least ask you to reconsider your verdict. I think there's enough evidence…"
"Dr. Quinzel, I must say, I am absolutely astonished," interrupted Dr. Arkham, glaring at her. "You are clearly a young, inexperienced psychiatrist, and you have the audacity to question my judgment about one of my patients?!"
"No, I just thought you might reconsider in light of this new evidence, some things you might have missed before…" began Harley.
"Missed?!" repeated Dr. Arkham, furious. "How dare you?! How dare you question my authority?!"
"I wasn't, I just…" began Harley.
"You just want to make a nuisance of yourself," he snapped, seizing the folder from her and tossing it into the trash can. "Or make a name for yourself, is that it? You think inserting yourself into this high profile case will give you some good publicity – you want to take your so-called evidence to the papers and ride that wave of fame to glory, do you?"
"If I wanted that, I could have gone to the papers instead of you," retorted Harley, glaring at him. "I'm not interested in fame or glory. I'm just interested in the truth. And justice, for those who deserve it. Carmine Falcone deserves to be prosecuted to the full extent of the law for his crimes. You must see that…"
"I see nothing but some upstart little amateur trying to upstage her betters," interrupted Dr. Arkham. "Now get out of here before I fire you for your insolence!"
Harley stood up slowly, making her way to the door, her whole body shaking. She left the office, slamming the door behind her, but not before she heard Dr. Arkham's sneering remark: "Stupid little girl!"
Tears shot into Harley's eyes, tears which she tried to repress so she wouldn't confirm his words of being a stupid little girl. But it had been stupid, her brain chastised her. What did she expect would happen, confronting her boss like that? It had been stupid, to think that anybody would listen to her, to think she had anything of value to contribute, to think that she could influence the world at all…
She wiped her eyes, heading back to her office, her pain replaced by sudden rage. She would show him, she vowed, reaching for the telephone and dialing a number.
"Hi, could I speak to Harvey Dent, please?" she asked. If Dr. Arkham wouldn't listen to her, there had to be somebody who would.