Me….Need…Him? Harleen thought That's a well deserved laugh if that's what he's seeking. Her gazed turned to stone and disbelief.
"I guess then that your forced participation in these sessions is just the misdirected attempts by those in power to bring down someone with such a," she paused searching for the right word, "blossoming personality as yours." Immediately she knew that her emotions had trumped her professional coolness and she hoped that she would not regret it.
Jack arched one of his eyebrows and stared deeply into Harleen. His lips smacked as he warmed up to vocalize his opinions. A quick flicker of a smile emerged before he began to talk.
"They are just the uneducated…the average populace. They fail to see what surrounds them. They do not ack-now-ledge what is right before their eyes." Jack walked over to the chair he normally sat in and slid off his jacket, slumped it over the back of the chair, and then took his seat. The unconscious man serves him as a very distasteful footrest. "They are all like our Mr. Morte here. All of them are too pathetic to take care of their own problems. It makes me want to laugh." A loud chuckle warded off the thought of silence.
A moment of hesitation and then the she allowed the question to be asked. "And just what is it that the fail to see, Mr. Napier?"
"How funny the joke is. The average layman fails to acknowledge the humor associated with all of life." Laughter erupted from the small man and interrupted his speech. "If you take it too seriously, it will just bring you down. Sometimes you just have to take…the…uh…the in-it-ia-tive and bring a smile back to your face." He stretched his lips tight forming a sadistic grin. Yellow teeth dully reflected the light from the room. A jagged smile took over his face as creases and dimples bore a slight resemblance to a set of stitches.
His smile loosed its grip on his visage and he returned to looking somewhat normal. Sirens screamed in the distance announcing that help for Mr. Morte was on its way. Morte was still under Jack's feet serving to function as a foot prop. Harleen was lost to the world still trying to sort out the sordid affair in her mind. Jack arched his fingers and they met to form a bony triangle. He peered over his fingers anticipating Dr. Quinzel's next move. She failed to give one and just sat in a stupor.
Red lights flashed and reflected on the glass of the window. An ambulance had arrived but the paramedics had yet to reach her office.
"Get out! And take your skeleton with you!" The Psychologist said standing up and pointing to the door. "If you're still here when they come for him, that is going to bring about the need to explain so much…Just get out." She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled from deep within. Her mind was still racing, wrapping around the past few minutes.
Jack Napier calmly stood. His feet slid over the unconscious lump and as he climbed to his feet. He turned, grasped the white jacket and then dropped it over one of his arms where it hung loosely and began to walk out. He draped his arm over the skeleton's shoulders and walked out. They looked as if they were the dearest of friends casually walking out of a movie. As they reached the door to exit her office, he craned his neck looking back over his extended arms and issued a temporary farewell.
"You really need to loosen up, doc."
Harleen slumped into her chair, exhausted and watched as two medics pushed into the room rolling a stretcher along. She watched as the two swarmed around Mr. Morte, loaded him, and exited the room. And then she followed then she followed them out into the lobby and then into the world.
"Cancel the rest of my appointments for today, Fran. I need some 'me' time," Harleen uttered absent-mindedly as she walked past her receptionist.