The last streams of the sun painted the sky in deep red and purple colors. They gradually disappeared behind the towering buildings, leaving a moonless sky flooded with artificial lights. Various neon-colored signs called to experience the crazy nightlife, or whatever you desire for a bit of money, to fall down the rabbit hole. Dense steam rose from the sewers caressing buildings with ghostly fingers, turning alleys and backstreets into repulsive and dangerous sight. As the evening advanced into the night ordinary people vanished from the streets leaving just a few lone strangers.
The man standing in the alcove of the closed shop relished in the night and that constant buzzing of life in tiny box-size apartments and backstreets. The never-ending play he could observe behind the curtains, like a silent spectator not joining in but enjoying it nevertheless. Even here standing beside a street lamp he could witness the drama unfolding. A man cheating on his wife with a whore, a couple of runaways seeking shelter for a night, a homeless person with a creaky trolley, an addict searching for a fix… Dull, predictable, boring…
There was no particular reason for him to enjoy anonymity while immersed in the night. He could always do it in the opposite sense causing anarchy to the extreme. However, sometimes when manic energy burned in his blood the man abandoned the distinct look, snatched a few knives, and sneaked outside to feel the wicked soul of the city. He impishly grinned hearing the distant wailing of police sirens and a blaring bass soaring through the wide-open window in the apartment above. Somewhere shrill voices rose in a heated argument. Oh, the symphony of the sleepless night. If the desire struck, the man could produce even more pleasant sounds of chaos but not now, not yet. Something in him wanted to wait, and he trusted those animal instincts, they always led to the best situations. He firmly wrapped a big black hoodie around himself as the temperature dropped. Not his usual attire, far from it, but for a practical purpose of blending in it suited his intentions just fine. The hood concealed his face and loose fabric obscured the figure but dark jeans, army boots, and gloves were merely for comfort and warmth.
Swaying on the back of the boot heels, he tried to decide where to go, and what to do. The delightful evening promised so many possibilities. A muted scream interrupted the cacophony of sounds somewhere at the remote end of the alley. The male growled in frustration abandoning the trail of thought and closed his eyes, listening from where the sound emanated. He hated being interrupted. Without a noise, the figure turned around and stalked into the dark. After a few turns down the crooked alleys filled with junk and rotting garbage, the man found what he was looking for. Blending into the shadow of the cracked wall, he quietly observed the situation.
Two thugs had a woman pinned down on the ground. She struggled desperately trying to break free, but one man unsuccessfully tried to hold her silent as another started to rip the clothes off her body. Muffled weeping and choked sounds spilled from her mouth, but the victim never begged, still not giving in to desperation. After much twisting and turning, she temporarily freed her hands and legs to kick, tear, and scratch any accessible surface. In a minute she faced the grim reality of the situation. One of the thugs firmly grabbed her and started to furiously smash her head into the pavement. The woman went limp as the brute took out a knife urgently tearing the remaining clothes off and beginning to grope her body, cutting into the skin, making a way to her underwear.
The man in the shadow narrowed his eyes hearing a painful whimpering and growled ominously when the tempting smell of fresh blood permeated the air. Suddenly a car passed by filling the alley with hazy brightness momentarily spotlighting the battered woman. Long blonde hair spread out on the filthy, wet ground, marred with her fresh blood. Minor bruises were already forming on the white canvas of exposed skin, delicate face with half-closed eyes set in distressing expression.
He wondered what color they would be as in darkness they were barely visible. What a stunning image she made, something so defiled by the indifference of the corrupt city. Sneaking closer to take a better look he slowly stroked cold steel in his pocket. No, he was wrong - the woman was not broken, not yet... In those barely conscious eyes burned a raging fire and something more, a wild untamed animal desperately trying to break free. He knew if it would emerge from its cage someone would die in a very painful way. A small unfamiliar prickle pulsed inside his chest and slowly the urgent desire ignited his veins like scorching lava. He wanted her or maybe he needed it to be him, the one who broke her. Normally the man did not care what or who committed petty crimes, but now he longed for a kill.
Those two filthy men should be disposed of, like the garbage they are. Taking a razor-sharp blade out of the pocket, he seamlessly stepped into the murky light.
'Good evening, gentlemen. What a nice night to have a little fun…' the man gleefully chuckled. The potential rapists instantly froze hearing an unexpected voice emerge from the dark.
'Get lost motherfucker, if you don't want trouble!' one of them vainly tried to look intimidating drawing out a gun and aiming it at him. It was so bland… A couple of average Joe's trying to appear like the big bad boys. Chuckling once again he couldn't hold in the suppressed laughter and a wild cackle pierced the night sky.
The criminals nervously shifted around looking uncomfortable. It seemed even their below-average brains knew that some bigger predator prowled in the streets tonight. Fear, oh how dearly he loved the feeling. The unpredictability and anticipation of it forced his heart to beat like a drum. Looking similar to striking cobra he took a swift step and forcibly twisted the arm wielding a gun. It fell and loudly clattered on the ground. The thug howled, clutching his injured wrist to the chest and after a successful kick in the head, the vile man slumped like a sack of potatoes. The other rapist barely had a chance to reach for a weapon as the knife plunged right into his exposed throat. The wounded fat man gasped for air, trying to form a scream, but instead - only blood was filling his lungs. The knife struck, again and again, splattering blood on the ground. The murderer paid no attention to the disgusting mess and after a second of staring at the mangled body, he flung it near the trash bags - to its rightful place…
The air was saturated with the metallic stench of blood. His lips curled into a sneer looking at the pathetic mess of carcass in the pile of waste and then at the blonde woman lying motionless on the bloody pavement. The man tossed back his hood revealing the colored hair and scars, which would cause horror even to the most notorious criminals of the city... Usually, with murders he eagerly watched every second of the victim's agony, savoring the precise moment they breathed their last breath. Frowning, he crouched down grabbing the barely conscious thug by the hair.
'You are quite lucky tonight. I do not have time for prolonged entertainment' he fumed unconsciously licking his lips. The man panicked and wriggled in his hold trying to beg and plead, but not making much sense with his gibberish.
'Ah, ah, ah... Silence!' The bloody knife tapped the pasty cheek close to the terrified victim's eye leaving the bloody imprint.
'You know, thugs these days are very impolite and I don't like rude people… Pity, I would have liked having fun with you...' the merciless butcher tightened his grip slowly dragging the blade across the victim's face.
'Well, whatever... I have some better things to do now...' with those words a perfectly sharpened blade pierced the thug's eye plunging into the most vital organ of the body. Blood spilled on his gloves in rivulets and when he let go, it ran down on the pavement spreading into the small pool. After professionally cleaning the blade on the corpse's clothes the man stood up, discarding the sullied gloves, threw his head back, and merrily laughed. The eerie cackle echoed in the silent alley. Nothing was more satisfactory than this.
Looking around and only now noticing the glorious mess he scowled, fishing the phone out of the pocket. Two rings later a composed voice, muted by the music in the background, answered with a familiar greeting 'Boss?'
What a well-trained underling…
'Jonny, I need my car at Willow Street's back alley and send a couple of the boys for a cleanup. Be quick.'
Terminating the call, he knelt beside the woman checking the vital signs. So far, so good. Still alive. She was a shivering mess with tangled and bloody hair, covered in scrapes and dark bruises. Looking at her now, it seemed the girl was nothing more than a common bitch, so why did he feel anything? Joker very slowly reached out and stroked her cheek. Prick, prick, prick… What an absurd sensation… But it made him curious. It seemed he was stuck with her, for a moment. Crime Prince of Gotham just saved an innocent damsel in distress. What a joke. Chuckling, he half lifted the girl propping her against the building wall, further away from the bodies. Stripping out of his hoodie he covered her until something better came up. Pacing as there was nothing better to do, he calculated how long it would take for his boys to arrive. After fifteen minutes of nothing, Joker was ready to murder the first body which gets out of the car. As another minute passed few vivid lights split the darkness, momentarily blinding him, as the elongated body of the black car emerged followed by a bulkier jeep. The growling engine echoed through the dingy alley, stopping barely beside him. Jonny Frost killed the engine, stepped out of the car, and looked around.
'Evening, Boss.' he nodded his head in greeting, carefully assessing the situation. Joker glared, raising his eyebrows as if daring to ask what happened. Fortunately, Jonny never asked, just stepped out of the way and went to the jeep's trunk.
'Jonny' Joker called at his back 'give me your jacket'.
'What for?' Frost asked, shrugging out of his suit jacket and throwing it at the waiting hand. Joker did not answer, merely walked around the cars and picked up an unconscious woman enveloping her in the warm material.
'Get rid of the bodies' he ordered putting the limp woman in the passenger seat 'and when you finish come to the base.'
When the car speed of Frost still stood rooted on the spot. After everything he witnessed working under The Crime Prince, this was something unimaginable, the Joker showing almost normal human behavior was unheard of. He wanted to laugh, but just grinned and motioned to the henchmen in the jeep to get to work. They had a crime scene to clean up. Wondering what will happen next Frost took out a cigarette and lit it up observing the team's actions.
Black car zigzagged through the traffic like a quick shadow. Horns and screeches of rubber followed its way as the car ignored all traffic laws, disregarding even basic security requirements. It miraculously avoided the vehicles and obstacles disappearing ahead of everybody. Typically, such driving attracted the attention of the police as soon as the laws were broken, but sometimes Gotham's men in blue avoided such motors like the plague. You could never know who was driving it. If another iconic black car chased the unexpected menace, the police would pursue it with vengeance, trying and probably failing to catch the perpetrators.
The passenger in the racing car painfully groaned trying to open her eyes. The woman's head hurt and the world seemed like a colorful roller coaster. Everything spun and twisted with dazzling colors. It made her sick so she moaned and with an iron will attempting to concentrate on the hazy view trying to stop the spinning. The images did not make any sense in her dizzy head. It flew and passed in streaks of yellow, blue, and red lights. She looked to the other side but everything was blurry… green, what a nice color so vibrant... she wanted to touch it, but the pounding in her head intensified and the world faded back to black.
Joker studied the woman as she let out a groan trying to look at him with an unfocused gaze but soon faded again. He parked the car in the hidden garage located near the abandoned factory in the city port.
Getting out of the car and gathering the unconscious woman in his arms the Joker went into the corner street with bolted up decrepit apartments. The city did number on this district when the fish factory bankrupted, almost everyone abandoned the sinking ship leaving only those who could not move on. Soon the gangs and more seedy people moved in. It showed in the littered streets with the sickening smell of rotten garbage and graffiti-painted buildings with lots of smashed windows. Well, he was not spoiled by the luxury and now this area belonged to him. People knew it was risky business to get here uninvited. Kicking the shabby door open on one of the nicer-looking buildings he was greeted by the acrid smell of stale coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. The guy's playing cards on the sofa were startled by his sudden interruption.
'For heaven's sake, clean this mess up. We are not living in a pigsty!' he barked at the men kicking the empty bottle which rolled under his boot 'and take out the trash! I am not your mother, imbeciles! Do not make me repeat myself!' he spat, slamming the outer door.
'Yes, Boss!' the men sprang to work reluctantly abandoning their game. Now and again some of the bolder ones glanced at the bundle in his arms. Grimacing at the cannon fodder Joker contemplated murder but decided against it as the apartment was messy enough without the bloodstains on the carpet. Shaking his head from the stray thoughts, he climbed the stairs into the more private space, where nobody else dared to venture without his permission. Opening the door to a reasonably clean bedroom, he went to the bathroom and placed the woman in the shallow tub.
'It's just you and me, baby doll… just you and me…' he muttered, flicking away the stray golden hair from her face. Most of her bruises have gained almost purple sheen and the dried blood already started to flake away off the pale skin. The manic energy vibrated in his blood and Joker visibly trembled. Smacking his lips with a 'puck' sound he went back to the bedroom and took a purple jacket out of the tiny closet, changing into a more usual attire. It was a good thing the woman was still unconscious. She would have screamed seeing him in his full glory. Why did he even take her? Does not matter when she's already here, does it?
He scanned the room looking for something. Finding a briefcase full of high-grade medical materials placed under the bed he took it to the bathroom. Ripping open the sterile wet pad Joker gently wiped away the blood from the woman's face revealing pink pasty skin. Repeating the process with a wet towel on her arms and legs, the male bit his lips wondering if it was worth it. Perhaps he could just fill the tub full of water and cleanse her or maybe drown her. Just imagining her surprised face as he squeezed the delicate neck underwater with her golden hair floating around and hands flailing sent a jolt through his spine. Without further ado, he tore away the ruined blouse and the skirt from her body uncovering the pale expanses of the skin. The ample bouncy breasts were covered by the blue lacy fabric. A matching set, just like the sparrow's eggs. The Joker moistened his suddenly dry lips.
The vulnerable woman whined when the cold seeped under her skin and shuddered instantly covered with goosebumps. She was so gorgeous, his eager eyes trailed every hidden crevice of her sleek body wanting to reveal even more. Bad thoughts, Joker closed his eyes willing the unexpected lust away. With all the dirt removed, he could smell a hint of her remaining perfume. It was something sweet with a zing of a citrusy tang. Joker palmed his hardened cock for a more comfortable position. He was not a rapist, there were more conventional means to get the power rush… like the killing. The adrenaline was like a drug to him and even sex could not compare to the feeling of life fizzling out under his palms. Wetting the towel once more he continued to dab away the dried blood from the blonde hair until only the wound remained slowly seeping red. Pulling out the needle and a thread, he disinfected his hands and put on disposable gloves getting ready to suture. With a first stab, the woman whimpered in pain. He examined her furrowed brows and an anguished expression on the face. The woman sustained a concussion, but there was no point in rousing her up until the necessary first aid was delivered. If a little bit of pain did not revive her, she probably would not wake up from the discomfort anyway. Silently humming he continued sewing as it was only five stitch gash. With work completed, he grinned in satisfaction and lifted her out of the bath carrying the woman to the messy bed. His deep intense eyes left the burning trail on her skin as the lust was back at full force. He craved her. It was such a surprisingly electrifying feeling Joker wanted to laugh but settled only for giggling.
The silent knock on the door interrupted his musing.
'Boss, you in there?'
'Jonny… Jonny… Jonny… what have you got for me?' Joker widely opened the door and allowed the man in. Frost looked around the room, his uneasy gaze settled on the woman on the bed. He tossed the black purse on the table shaking the contents out in a messy heap. Joker came closer examining the feminine goods. Red lipstick, a brush, wet wipes, bubble gum, a few hairpins, and other ends and odds. The wallet and cellphone were missing, probably left somewhere on the street or stolen earlier by the thugs.
'Is that all?' he raised his eyebrow finding nothing useful.
'No, not all…' Jonny shook his head and reached his hand into the pants pocket, taking out the laminated card with a blue cord he found on the ground. Delivering it to the Joker, he said 'you captured quite a bird…'
The innocent card sent Joker into the laughing fit. Doubling over he wheezed at the unforeseen turn of events. Jonny Frost remained still while waiting for the manic rush to pass. He knew better than to disturb the Joker while he was being relatively unstable. Lighting up a cigarette he looked at the card hanging between Boss' fingers. Arkham Asylum. What a coincidence. The woman was a doctor at Arkham, a psychiatrist to be exact, Harleen Quinzel.
'Oh, Jonny… This… This is priceless… Best day ever!' Joker wildly danced around 'I will exploit this opportunity when the situation arises! Find out more about her! I will leave this girl to you. If she wakes up, don't forget to mention who rescued the helpless princess. After all, debts should be paid in full! Also, be nice and polite, we don't want to unnecessarily frighten her.' he moved like a whirlwind throwing the stuff around searching for hidden weapons. Suddenly the erratic motions stopped leaving fluid predatory stalk to the bed. Bending over the bed, he hovered just above the woman's face and smirked, fully showing the teeth.
'We are going to have so much fun, my baby doll… Harleen… hmmm…' he purred as if tasting the name on his lips 'no… no… no, it doesn't suit you… Harleen… Harleen Quinzel… Harley… Harley Quinn…' the Joker muttered while gently tracing her lips with his thumb. Giving a fleeting kiss on her forehead, he stood up.
'I'm going out! The night continues!' he cheered and with a resounding thud, the door closed leaving the room silent. Jonny wistfully sighed, sitting on the faded armchair and taking out another cigarette. Poor innocent woman, caught into the steel spider web she could not escape from no matter how much she struggled. He relaxed and waited. This might take a while.
Her head throbbed. It undoubtedly felt like the worst hangover ever or maybe some elephant trampled on her head. She could not recall what drinks were consumed, but the dry mouth and the foul taste were an ample indicator that she slept too long. Her nose twitched as the woman detected the whiff of tobacco smoke. Nobody in her apartment building smoked inside, the overpowering smell was foul and made her nauseous. The sheets felt scratchy on her sensitive skin, unlike the silky smoothness of her own bed. The uncomfortable realization came slowly, she was not at home. Trying to remember where she crashed down, but recalling no memories Harleen reluctantly opened her eyes and suddenly scrambled along the bed. The cracked ceiling was unfamiliar, filled with yellow water stains and faded white paint. The bedroom was small and cluttered with odd stuff. The used furniture was unevenly placed, and everything screamed controlled chaos. The window was covered with a black curtain and the only light in a dark room was a night lamp on the flimsy table. Harleen groaned clutching her head as the insistent pounding and nausea refused to subside.
'Water and painkillers are on the table' a deep masculine voice sounded from the corner of the room. She was startled looking around and noting a shadowy figure silently sitting in the armchair. The cigarette smoke surrounded the person like a cloud and there was already a half-full ashtray next to him. Feeling the apparent coldness of her skin Harleen glanced down at her chest discovering it half-naked. With a squeak, she snatched the nearest blanket and covered herself up.
'Who are you? Where am I? What have you done to me?' the pressing questions spilled through her lips in quick succession.
'Me? I have done nothing' the figure lifted his hands in surrendering fashion, then took a long drag of the cigarette. 'My employer rescued you from street rats trying to rape you or rob you…Or both...' he shrugged 'my name does not matter. Where are we, you are better not knowing' he continued in a leisurely tone 'take the pills, it's not poisoned if you are wondering.'
'Oh…' she did not know what to say as the vague memories of the evening resurfaced. There was pain and laughter and the hands shredding her clothes away.
'What do you want from me?' Harleen cautiously asked, trying to maintain some semblance of bravery in her voice. She was afraid, not terribly so, but a mild panic was around the corner and it was not a good idea to break down in such an unfamiliar place.
'I want nothing from you, but my boss on the other hand has an interest in you…' the man stood up, stepping into the light. He wore a black suit with a white shirt and unfastened collar. His dirty sun-bleached hair was messily slicked back with a few strands falling on the face. The male appeared youthful, but the deep set of pale blue eyes and wrinkles around the corners made him look tired. His teeth and fingers were yellow as the man was a chain smoker. She could identify a bulky form of a gun under the armpit and looking closer there were probably more than a few knives hidden on his person. Gulping down the sudden anxiousness Harleen realized this meant trouble. The man looked like he belonged to the mafia and going by his talking she landed herself in a terrible situation. Mafia in Gotham was merciless and depending on which faction they belonged to some of them were worse than others.
'If it is the money you want I don't have any… I only just completed my studies… so you know student debt…' she trailed in a stuttering voice, wondering if they will sell her to prostitution. From bad to worse, as the saying goes. She was saved from rapists by the mafia, extremely unlucky circumstances. Wanting to think more clearly she took the pills from the night table and after thorough examination swallowed them with a glass full of water.
Somebody knocked on the door and Harleen jumped holding the blanket more tightly around herself. Her eyes darted around the room for some weapon or escape plan but there was nothing she could use. The man stood between the entrance and she tried to overhear the silent conversation outside but the doors interfered, hiding the other person from the view. After returning he offered her a zipped bag of clothes, dropping it on the bed. With a minor chore done, the man again sat in the armchair.
'These clothes are for you… the bathroom is behind the other door. Clean yourself up and don't think about funny business. I have no intention of hurting you.' the anonymous man motioned around the room and grabbed a magazine from the table lazily flipping it. Using the given opportunity Harleen hurriedly went to the bathroom snatching the bag and closing the door. The lock was broken and the female frowned looking at how to barricade herself. The little bathroom had nothing to offer, and the window was too small for her to slip through even with all the gymnastic training she had. Accepting the daunting reality of no escape, she looked at the spotty mirror and groaned at her appearance. The bruise on her cheek looked purple and the eyes had black mascara shadows underneath. She was sweaty, pale, and with dirty loose hair. Examining the gash on her head, she poked it hissing with unexpected pain. Somebody neatly stitched the wound, and the woman wondered if even a scar was going to remain. Seeing the few broken nails on her previously perfectly manicured hands she felt like crying. Harleen knew her reactions were atypical to received trauma, but being hysterical would not bring her any good points. Disconnecting from her emotions or mental discomfort was a defensive mechanism caused by a person having traumatic experiences. She will have to deal with it later, for now, her priority was to survive relatively unscathed.
Washing her face with lukewarm water Harleen tried to remove the sheen of dried sweat, but it did not help the matter. She was still looking ugly, and no makeup could hide the evidence of her assault.
'Are you done?' a muffled voice asked.
'In a minute…' she answered, unconsciously flinching. Quickly removing the blanket, she covered herself with Harleen sighed in relief finding the underwear untouched. The black bag was also a surprise. It had straight dark pants, a white blouse, and a red and black sweater. The clothes fit remarkably well, she could not decide if it was a good sign or a bad one. Scowling at the messed-up colors of the sweater she put it on anyway not wanting to freeze to death. Braiding her hair into a messy plait, Harleen gathered a deep breath and exited the bathroom.
'Finally' the man rolled his eyes in annoyance 'I don't have all night. Get going.' he clutched her by the elbow and steered them through the building. All she saw were closed doors and dirty walls. Silent voices were conversing somewhere in the house, but soon they went outside and she stood awkwardly in an abandoned street. The common-looking black sedan was parked by the cracked sidewalk. He pushed her into the passenger seat, unceremoniously dropping the purse on the knees, and started the car. Harleen checked the remaining personal belonging inside. No phone and no wallet as if the night could get any worse, she was mugged too. Late night music blared inside the car but the man remained silent driving them through the sleeping city. Even if she was burning with questions, she knew better than to try to interrogate the mafia man.
'Where are we going?' she reluctantly asked after some time.
'You are going home…' the man merely glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
'You know where I live?' the fear was back in her voice. If the mafia knew where she lived there was no telling what they would do to her. The blonde woman could no longer hide in her anonymity, they probably already checked all her background information. Her mouth dried as she thought about contacting the police, but even then there could be more trouble than worth. They stopped near her tiny apartment, and the man killed the engine. He got out and opened the sedan doors for her.
'I think you know that calling the police is a futile endeavor. Be a good girl and save us both the trouble, yeah?' He lit up a new cigarette leaning on the side of the car.
'Ok.' Harleen whispered, suddenly feeling too small and vulnerable for her liking. Yet, they let her go, and that was better than all the alternatives she imagined. Harleen waited for the man to finish smoking, hugging herself to escape the chilly night wind. When the burning stud was discarded on the street, the man pulled out a card and placed it in her palm.
'For you, from the Boss.' he politely nodded to her in farewell, sat in the car, and drove away. Stupefied, she looked at the paper in her hand. It was a simple playing card with a sentence scribbled in red ink.
'Wait for me, my Harley Quin… the debt must be paid in full…'
Harleen frowned reading the offending name, everybody called her like that in her childhood. It was an annoying reminder of her foolishly misspent youth. Turning over the card she paled and swayed from the sudden blood rush to the brain, trying to stay upright. It was painted black and white jester... Only one person in all of Gotham used it as his calling card. The Crime Prince, the madman, the clown, the chaos incarnate. The Joker…
'Debts must be repaid…' she thought, 'well, at least I am alive…' covering her mouth to stop the suddenly escaping inappropriate giggles at the absurd situation, Harleen tossed the card into the purse and disappeared inside the building…
When she encounters him again, her ordinary life will be irrevocably changed…