My head throbbed the next morning. The wine had majorly dehydrated me, I could practically hear my cells screaming for water. A glance in the bathroom mirror revealed I had fallen asleep in my makeup. Yikes. Whatta train wreck, I thought, taking a quick drink of water from the sink (judge me). The Joker was still securely stowed away. Today I got to talk with Emily.
The girl had made real progress and I was hopeful to declare her stable and sane in no more than a year. Maybe 10 months at the rate she was progressing. I didn't dress as flashy today, but not totally boring either. A happy medium. My muscles still ached but not as badly as yesterday. They felt tighter. Stronger. But not strong enough yet. I needed to be able to hold my own.
After a fast breakfast of eggs (scrambled), toast (nearly burned and slathered with butter) and coffee (black. Minimal sugar) I grabbed my things and opened the door to leave. A small, curious, aggressively taped cardboard box with a crude 'Harley' written on top occupied my welcome mat. I bent down to retrieve it furrowing my brows in confusion. Trying not to make any assumptions (I wasn't expecting anything to be delivered) I brought it inside and dug up a knife. I cut slowly, unnecessarily meticulous to waste time (even if only milliseconds), unsure of what I might find.
I noticed I held my breath before opening it from focusing so hard and laughed at myself. "Calm down, Harls. It's just a stupid box." The sentiment worked and I opened the flaps. Inside was a nice, heavy mahogany box with a lock. I pulled it out in disdain, rubbing the smooth surface beneath my thumb. Why give me a box I can't even open? Before I finished the thought a dull glint of a small silver key (weirdly similar to the keys to the cuffs used at Arkham) at the bottom of the box caught my eye.
I unlocked the box. It was a stack of photos on top of something wrapped in black silk and a rich red rose. The first photo made my jaw drop and my breakfast nearly come up. It was (a much older looking than I remember) Daniel beat to absolute shit. His nose snapped to the left and his right eye was so swollen it couldn't be opened and was colored a deep purple that was basically black. A few random cuts on his face and neck bloodied up the picture. Somehow he was standing, holding a sign shakily written in blood. 'I'm sorry Harley from the bottom of my wormy little maggot heart.'
The picture shook me. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. The next picture showed Daniel on a couch in a casual position. The problem was in his face. Just as fucked up as before, this time his mouth curved up into a highly unnatural, painful looking grin with foam seeping out the sides. My cheeks started to hurt just looking at it and I had to circle my jaw to relax my face again. His eyes practically bugged out of his skull and were bright deep red around his chocolate irises due to multiple busted veins. The effects of the infamous Joker Toxin. It wouldn't be visible from the outside, but his insides would've also been churned to useless mush. I was wrong, this was very real. There were a few other pictures but honestly I don't think I could've kept looking at them. They were too gruesome.
Then there was the thing wrapped in silk. I put the pictures on the counter and picked it up. I couldn't quite tell what it was, but it felt sort of soft. Unwrapping it actually did make me lose my breakfast. It was a fucking finger. Daniel's fucking finger. I dropped it next to the pictures. Now there was vomit all over my floor and my tongue tasted strongly of stomach acid. The rose was thorny and had a note attached. 'The joke was on Danny. Now no one has to look at him ever again. Burn this box. -J'. My mind couldn't put an answer to my one question together. How? How?!
I wanted the things out of my possession immediately. I put everything except the rose (sans note, which I also put in the box. Potential evidence) back how I found it, but debated keeping one or two pictures. Ultimately I decided against it and set it all ablaze in my fireplace. As I watched it burn what this meant sunk into my head. The Joker had effectively gotten rid of one of the men I had wished dead for years. He did it for me, because of what Daniel did to me. The most twisted, warped sense of justice only the Joker could deliver. A slow, huge grin spread across my face. How romantic! Who knew? The Joker of all people, a romantic. Too bad I didn't get to thank him in person today.
I didn't leave the apartment until the box had burned completely and I cleaned up, which made me late for work. Really late. Dr. Arkham wasn't too happy. I brought the rose with me and a little vase for my desk.
My appointments were backed up and my whole schedule was upside down. I was also horribly distracted. I kept smelling my rose and picturing the Joker ending Daniel's miserable little life. I hope (I knew) he made him suffer. At first the idea utterly repelled me, but the more I thought about it I couldn't understand why. Daniel and his friends had taken something vital from me that night. Pushed me into a dark corner of the world I didn't know existed. Humiliated and violated me. It fucked me up for years. I didn't trust anyone. I guess that's why I was still single. But this man was willing to get rid of him for me and make it look easy without me even having to ask. Made him write me an apology in his own blood. It made me swoon. The infatuation with him struck like a match, hot and fast. I was done fighting it. I sighed dreamily. The Joker. My lil puddin' pop.
"Doctor Quinzel are you even listening? That's really rude you know." Emily huffed, crossing her arms. I blushed furiously and straightened my already straight glasses. I forgot they were even on.
"I'm so sorry, Emily, please repeat that." I was embarrassed and needed to straighten my mind out. Focus on Emily. Focus on anything other than him.
"Are you dating someone?" The young girl asked.
"No. What makes you ask that?" I wondered.
"You've got that look like you're sweet on someone. Who is it? A staff member?" Emily giggled, like she was gossiping with a friend. "Did he give you that rose?" Her head tilted toward my desk.
I sighed. "No. And it's no one. Someone I can't have. I'm not in a relationship. So I'm going to start you on 50 mg of Kanstor today at dinner. It's going to work with your sleep med to hopefully shut him up a little more. I also added a session with Dr. Marx once a week and extended your outdoor privileges."
"Thank you." She grinned. "I get the medicine, but why the others?"
"It's been proven that higher levels of serotonin promote healing. Enjoy. See you next time." I smiled.
At last the day was finally over. I brought my rose home with me, though it was showing the beginning signs of wilting. My apartment smelled atrocious and I opened all of my windows to circulate the smell of ashes, stomach acid and eggs away. I got to see Mister J tomorrow. The thought relaxed me. Though it was already 8 pm I got ready and went to workout again. I missed this. My body was still pretty weak but Rome wasn't built in a day. I passed out without cooking dinner, clothes still on.
"Doc-tor Quinzel, I live for these moments with you." There he sat, clad in a straight jacket. His words were slow, the effect of another sedative. He stayed tied, too tired to release himself.
"Thank you for the rose." I sat up and leaned my torso closer to him.
"I'm glad you liked my little gift." He grinned, leaning forward to meet me. I hated that his arms were bound, but this also kept me in control. Or gave me the illusion of it. I could untie him, sure, but it was so much more fun this way. His face was close. His eyes drove me crazy, the color and intensity of them was unprecedented by anyone else.
"How did you do it?" I asked curiously. "My place still smells like burned finger." My nose wrinkled.
"I told you. Eyes and ears everywhere. You don't get infamous like myself without a connection or two. A threat goes a long way coming from a guy like me. Just look at me." He laughed crazily. I loved his laugh.
"How did that happen, exactly?" I wondered. My hands moved to stroke the side of his jacket. The poor man had the worst skin condition.
"A few years ago I was trying to do a deal with some guys who aren't from Gotham. Make some big cash, fast. We wore red hoods to protect ourselves, our identities. I didn't notice until too late that out of the 7 of us 2 were left. He was picking us off one by one. He's a clever one, that bat." His eyes shone with admiration. "I booked it with what I had. I couldn't care less about the other guy. Batman could have him. I just wanted the money. I hid in Ace Chemicals and he found me. I ran up the railings, over the vats but he caught up with me. It was a fist fight, and I was doing pretty well, but Batsy doesn't play fair. His suit is built in with all kinds of gadgets. He got me with a batarang then punched me and I fell over into one of the boiling chambers. I think." He mumbled, drifting off. He didn't sound completely sure, yet cackled anyway. "Think of it as a running gag."
"You think?" I asked, my brows denting in anger. Another waste of time?
"I remember flashes, that's how I see it if I ever dream." He explained looking like he might laugh. I felt bad for him. My poor baby, tormented by Batman's very existence. "It's the same every time. I know I fell into the chemicals for sure. That's a feeling-" he shivered and rolled his neck. "That's a feeling you don't forget. The dream always ends with me in the rain, looking at my new reflection. It shocks me awake."
"This city has a rodent problem. Disgusting." I sneered. I tried not to show how excited I was that he had shared a big piece of himself with me. "Hey, so what's your name?" I inquired bluntly, cocking my head to the side. There was none on file except what he gave out: Joker.
"I don't remember." He dismissed, much to my chagrin. How depressing, to not even remember your own name.
"Wanna see my new toy?" I asked, pulling a small tranquilizer gun from my waistband. We sat on the couch him against one end, me against the other. So far we kept a polite distance and there was no mention of our last meeting. Gripping it with both hands I dramatically and slowly raised it so I would have a clear headshot. "Want some night night juice, Mistah J?" I smirked.
He leaned his face in to take a look at the gun before pressing his forehead against the barrel. Right under his 'Damaged' tattoo. "Looks cheap, but what do I know?" I had grown accustomed to the fluctuations in his voice and found it rather endearing. "Let's test it out, shall we?" He licked his lips. My fingers flirted with the trigger. I had all of the power. He was defenseless giving me an ace in the hole. Only to knock him out, but still. The choice was mine. His eyes closed.
But if I knocked him out I'd lose time with him. Duh. "Pow!" I imitated the sound of a gunshot and jolted like I fired it. I put it back in my pocket and kissed him once rather quickly. I couldn't help it. He excited me. Made me laugh. Understood me. I was happy when I was with him. Being honest with myself lifted a huge weight from my being and only added to my mood.
"Mmm." He sort of growled eyes still closed. They popped open. "I'm rather fond of you, Doctor. But they say I'm sick. Can you cure me?"
"I don't think you're sick. You make more sense than anyone else I know, actually." Which really made me think about a lot of things in a new light. Like certain Gotham City officials, for example. He told me things about them that made me lose what little faith in the city I had. "I'm rather fond of you too, Puddin'. Does that make me sick?" I asked, resting my head against the side of the couch. He nodded his head yes and we stared each other down. "Can you cure me, Doctah J?" I grinned.
"Well sure I can." He grinned back. He stood up and took place in my usual chair. I laid flat on the couch.
"Good morning, Miss Quinzel. What would you care to talk about today?" He asked faux professionally. I sighed and took off the stupid glasses that were still on and tossed them onto the table.
"Well, Doctor, to put it simply over the past few weeks It's soon become clear to me that the Joker, so often described as a raving homicidal madman was actually a tortured soul crying out for love and acceptance." I began, not really filtering what I was thinking before I said it. How good did it feel to talk rather than listen? Especially to someone who actually cared about what I was saying. This had been plaguing me. I had ignored it but now it reared its ugly head with force, like a nuclear bomb. "A lost, injured child trying to make the world laugh with his antics. And there, as always, was the self righteous Batman." My tone had turned a bit bitter and my frown deepened. "Determined to make life miserable for my angel." I sighed heavily at what I was about to say. But fuck it, I was going to say it. "Yes, I admit it. As unprofessional as it sounds I have fallen in love with my patient. Pretty crazy huh?" I asked, giving him an embarrassed smile. Saying the word 'love' felt very weird. But... I had never felt this strongly about someone before. Not even close. I didn't have a word for it. So sure, love was as good a word as any.
He had the strangest look of victory and smug superiority on his face, yet I saw doubt as well. Is that how us doctors looked when someone spilled the beans? "Not at all. As a dedicated, career-oriented young woman you felt the need to abstain from all amusement and fun, especially after Daniel. It's only natural you'd be attracted to a man that can make you laugh again." He was pretty good at sounding professional.
"I knew you'd understand!" I sighed in relief. I didn't feel so crazy all of a sudden.
"There is something you can do for me, Doctor." He purred.
"Anything." Spoken to quickly. "I mean, yeah. Anything in my power."
"I need a machine gun."
"A... Machine gun?" I asked, confused. He laughed in response. How could I get him one of those? Should I? But... He did tell me the closest thing to his 'Birth story' and he dealt with Daniel. I couldn't forget that. He had already done so much for me.
"Harley, Harley, Harleeeeeyyyy. Baby. Sweetie. Pumpkin Pie." His words were silk. He had me. "Just do this one itsy bitsy favor for Daddy."
"How would you get it in?" I asked.
"You worry too much. Just drop it at the corner of 2nd and Gotham Boulevard tonight. It'll get to me." He assured me.
"Tonight?" I squeaked. So soon?
"Can you do it or not?" He asked shortly.
"I'll do it." I nodded. "But why?" I asked.
"You'll see soon enough." He laughed. It sort of scared me. But not enough to stop me. It should have.
Getting a gun... Wasn't too hard but the paperwork made the thought of jumping off a bridge pretty appealing. Dropping it off was a piece of cake. Chocolate, probably. Yum. Work the next day was stagnant. I kept waiting to hear about a madman with green hair shooting everyone, cackling all the while. But it was a blissfully quiet day. I guess I was glad (but not really).
That night is when it happened. I was watching the news as I ate dinner and my eyes widened in interest when a helicopter view of Arkham was being shown. THE JOKER HAS ESCAPED ARKHAM ASYLUM. STAY INDOORS AND PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION. So far he had been missing for an hour. What if he was coming here? I had to clean, the place was far too messy for guests. Well, it was fine for guests. Too messy for him. Now it was spotless. An hour passed. Two. Three. It was now so late my eyes barely stayed open. He had my address memorized, wouldn't he come here after a breakout?
I woke up the next morning without realizing I had fallen asleep. "Damn it," I cursed. Where was he? Work was hectic. News crews wanted statements and interviews and it pissed me off. I was trying to give adequate attention to my other patients and they were majorly getting in the way. Right now I hated being his psychiatrist. Everyone thought I had the answers when really I was just as clueless. I didn't see him again for 4 long days. Each day I was hopeful. Each day I was let down. To distract myself I continued letting my frustration out through building up my strength. My mood had been quite piss poor lately and I knew exactly why. I missed him and not knowing where he was drove me bonkers. The thought was suffocating and parasitic.
I was at work later than usual (thanks again to the damn news crews. Vicki Vale of the Gotham Gazette was the most infuriating and persistent) finishing some of my reports when I heard it. There were gunshots. A lot of them. Men started yelling. Patients were screaming. My heart rate started to speed and I hid under my desk for protection. Not only did the noise get closer, but it also sounded like it was coming from multiple places. My office door burst open and glass shattered making me jump so hard my head hit the top of the low surface. My hand moved to clamp over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. "Doctor Quinzel, come out, come out, wherever you areeee..." An unrecognizable voice sang. His boot-clad feet were next to the desk and he was bending over to look under, I had to strike now. With both hands I grabbed his ankle and yanked with all of my strength.
He fell, landing with a grunt and a thud. I saw his head hit the floor. Asshole. Darting out from under the desk I seized his gun. My hair fell out of its hold and hung in loose ringlets around my face. For a moment I pictured myself. I felt like a badass. Two rounds was all it took for him to stop moving. It wasn't my first time shooting a gun, my dad had been very insistent on my mother and I learning, especially living in Gotham. It was, however, my first time shooting a person. I raised the gun protectively in front of me as two more guys ran in. Them or me. I shot the first in the neck and the other in the chest spraying blood onto my floor and walls. "That stain is never going to come out of the carpet." I griped. It felt like a petty thing to complain about, all things considered. The bullets flew quicker than I could see, all I had to do was aim. Easy. Now to get out of here. I cautiously stepped into the hallway, gun first. Faster than I could stop it, my borrowed gun was knocked to the floor and someone grabbed my hair tightly at the base of my neck, throwing me to the ground. Another stupid guy I didn't know. Exiting gun first was a mistake. I hissed in pain as my elbow connected solidly with the concrete.
"We can't have you leave, you're the guest of honor." He said snidely.
"Watch me," I quipped, standing to run. It was futile and honestly, even if I did get away I wasn't sure how far I'd get. But I had to try. If I didn't, could I really bitch about the things to come? Before I even took one step something hard and solid hit the back of my head at the base where neck meets skull and my vision blurred. Again I fell and tumbled onto the floor. Stars exploded behind my lids and two guys escorted me deeper into the asylum. "Get... Offa me." I tried to no avail. We entered an electroshock therapy room and they strapped me on the table. Hell no. I struggled with everything I had and felt helpless against their brute strength. When I was securely locked in I challenged the buckles. No luck. The table was hard and uncomfortable.
Everything was sorta dark. Too dark to really see, which reminded me of one of the first dreams I had of him. I couldn't let my mouth get sewn shut, I just couldn't. Hysteric yells bubbled in my throat. I pleaded for anyone, even the stupid bat to help me. No one came. Surprise. Then I heard him laugh. "Puddin'?" I asked, straining to see.
"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" I heard him walk closer and saw his outline. A bright light shown in my face and temporarily blinded me. "You look good enough to eat. Too bad I'm vegan. Today, anyway." He laughed.
"Let me go, why am I tied up like this?" I demanded, looking into his crystal blues.
"Do you know what this is, dear?" He asked, gesturing to a machine. He clicked buttons and turned knobs, setting the voltage how he wanted it.
"Of course I do. What are you doing?"
"Do you know what happens before people go to Solitary?" He asked conversationally, picking up two electric prongs. He held them as if they were dear to him and stood behind me. I didn't answer his question. Over to the side one of his men nudged another.
"Damn, just look at her man. I hope the boss gives us a turn." His brows raised and he grinned.
Joker grinned and momentarily let go of the prongs, letting them buzz mutely by my ears. "That's not why she's here you filthy pervert." He laughed. An escaped looney sat giggling, looking around nervously in the corner. "Are you talking to me?" He growled to the man. "Shut up!" He boomed, making me jump in fright. Tapping the side of my cheek quickly he bent over me. "Excuse me a moment." He smiled politely. My head turned to watch him drag the man by the hair to the doctors room, grabbing a bat along the way. "Keep her company!" He yelled to his henchman.
"So. Having a nice day?" The man asked with a humored chuckle as the sounds of Joker beating the man to death carried over to us. I struggled uselessly against the holds with desperation, growing more and more frantic. "Hey, I asked you a question!" He said angrily. I spat in his eye, struggling more. "You little bitch!" He slapped me hard, making my head snap to the other side of the table. I panted and closed my eyes to let the pain ebb.
A gunshot sounded and I screamed, begging the tears not to fall. J was trying to talk to me, but my ears rang from the close contact shot. His henchman was dead. "I'll ask again." His voice came into focus, and my eyes opened to stare him down. "No? You don't know? Or yes, you do?" He asked pleasantly. Again I didn't answer. "Well, let me educate you. Lubricate your mind, because I'm about to fuck it with knowledge." He smirked. My eyes narrowed and my heart rate sped faster the closer those prongs got to me. "They give you a pleasantly refreshing electroshock therapy session. I thought you might like a taste or two."
"So what, you're gonna kill me Mistah J?" I demanded. I was trapped, doomed to be killed by the man I loved via voltage. How rough. How... Anticlimactic.
"What?" He asked, looking down at me long and hard. Like I was one of those stupid frogs you dissect in high school. "Oh, I'm not gonna kill ya." He denied. "I'm just gonna hurt you. Really, really bad." He smiled. I studied his face. The light made his grill illuminate. I noticed this was my first time seeing him in person without an Arkham jumpsuit. He wore black sweatpants and his tone chest was bare. He had so many tattoos. A large skull jester, his name big across his torso, a series of HAs. What if this was some sort of test? Knowing him, it probably was. And if I was going to die anyway... What a creative way to go. Thinking of it that way made it feel like a video game. Might as well see what happens.
"You think so? I can take it." He wouldn't be the death of me. The thought stuck in my mind. He was perfectly capable of more things than I could think of, killing me would be a leisurely stroll on the beach to him. The Joker grabbed a leather belt and snapped it. It made me jump. "I didn't realize you were so kinky, J." He put it in my mouth to shut me up. If I didn't laugh I would cry.
"Wouldn't want you to break those porcelain capped teeth when the juice hits your brain." He smoothed my hair back and set the charge, wasting no time pressing the prongs to my temples. The feeling... Was hard to put into words. My eyes clenched shut and my spine arched away from the table. A strong surge of hot energy jolted through my body, but my brain... Felt the most intense. In places it felt like it was turning to goo. Melting. I was actually surprised it didn't drip out of my ears. Then it all disappeared. My body tingled, I felt it in my nipples all the way to the tips of my toes. Nothing was happening but my body still lie stiff as a board, like I couldn't relax.
When I opened my eyes they lolled around, looking for something solid to stare at. Right now everything lagged behind and created a trail, sort of like an acid trip but less distinguished. "They say," he began. "This treatment can remove some of your memories." I didn't even see it happen but he shocked me again. And again. I think I screamed. Maybe I cried. I'm pretty sure I wet myself at some point. "I already didn't have very many of those. Now it's even less. But why fret? Memories can be made, too, Pumpkin. I'll never forget this."
"Again," I panted, curling my toes. After getting used to it the voltage wasn't so bad. "My sinuses are almost clear." I laughed. The belt fell out of my mouth. "This is a pretty good joke." The headstrong, too confident psychiatrist. The homicidal, maniac clown. An electroshock machine. I laughed then laughed again. The next volt was set higher. My brain felt like absolute mush. And hot, like lava. Play Doh. I wanted to play with it, maybe mold it into a giraffe. Or a car. Or a Batman. I laughed harder. So hard I cried. It felt good to laugh, really laugh. Black spots started clouding my vision and foam started to spill from my mouth. The scent of burning flesh only added to the humor. My heart felt ready to jump from my chest. I needed water. Bad. It wasn't long until I passed out. The last thing I saw was him. Why was he so beautiful? Why did I still think he was beautiful? Why wasn't I angry? I didn't have an answer, but I didn't need one.