"Ugh, shoot…" I hiss. Why am I always running late for something? If I don't leave now I won't make it home in time for takeout night. I think this week the Mr. and Mrs. J were planning on Chinese. Great, now I'm referring to myself in the third person. Is that the stress of a job transfer does to you? Don't get me wrong, I don't regret taking the job. I'm actually starting to like what I do, figuring out what makes the thieves and murderers tick. There must be something wrong with me to like this work so much.
I snatch my purse from my desk and my new office and flick off the light switch. Time to go home, Harley. You have somebody waiting for you.
"Dr. Jacobs," Jonathon Crane is already poised and waiting for the elevator by the time I arrive, almost like he was expecting, "how are you this evening?" he smiles pleasantly.
"Fine," I grumble, hoping he'll take the hint and stop talking to me. He's the part of the new job I like least. My antsy finger reaches out and pokes the down button.
"I already did that," Crane says. I nod, forcing a half-hearted grin. I turn my face away from and pretend to inspect a flashing bulb at the end of the hall. Someone really should fix that.
DING
The sound of the arriving elevator draws my attention back. I whirl my head around to find Crane standing several centimeters too close, his eyes closed and nose tipped towards my hair. I gasp, leaping a giant step backwards. Crane says nothing, he just stares. He really is starting to give me the creeps. I dash into the elevator before either of us can say anything. My finger punches at the button in charge of closing the heavy doors.
"You know," Crane hisses, slipping into the small moveable box just as the doors begin to slide shut. Again I gasp, startled by the sudden venom in his voice, "you never did except my second offer."
My back collides with the wall. I feel the elevator jerk into motion. No escape now. "I wasn't interested," I wanted my voice to remain calm in my reply, but instead it emerged shaky. Crane smirks, feeding off my new fear. My legs begin to quiver as he takes a step toward me.
"Well I hadn't planned on taking no for an answer," he growls. I gulp my breath and pulse quickening. I slip my hand inside my purse, blindly searching for the small pocket knife I carry; a gift from Will to protect myself with on those dirty streets of Gotham. My fingers crawl around, fumbling through my collection of junk. Crane stands still, waiting for me to make a mistake so that he can pounce. I don't disappoint. For a brief second my eyes slip downward to peer inside my purse. That's when he grabs me. He pins both my arms at my second, his nails biting into my skin through my blouse.
Of course I scream and wiggling and grumble and kick blindly—I've squeezed my eyes shut. I can feel Crane's sticky breath on my neck, he growls something else to me but the adrenaline refuses for me to listen. Instead I kick him with all my strength in his shin. He hisses and for a moment his hand capturing my arm falters. I shake it free, claw at his face with my nails briefly before I stretch. Crane
continues to groan and his after my finger nails scratch his flesh. My hand smashes into the brass panel filled with buttons on the elevator wall. I push them frantically, as many as I can. My attacker's sweaty hand snatches my wrist and pulls it back. I squeal and just as I do I feel the elevator jerk once more, indicating it's stop. I open my eyes to meet Crane's furious, hungry, animalistic gaze. Despite my temperature raising a chill runs through me as he snarls. I kick again. This time where it really hurts.
His hands release me instantly as they reflexly move to cover his groin. He tumbles to his knees with an unflattering: "oopphh". I dart past him, through the elevator doors and down the hall. I don't recognize this floor as I run. Where am I?
I scream as my sprint comes to halt but quickly throw my palms over my mouth to silence the noise. I stand, trembling, in what I now realize must be the basement. There's boilers, pipes and etcetera everywhere. That and dozens of men in white paper masks spilling chemicals into vats and separating piles of powdered substances. Is this…are they making drugs?
A clawed hand digs into the flesh of my shoulder. I whimper as it whips me around to face its owner. Crane sneers, "I don't think this job is working out for you, Harley," he snaps, "come!" he pulls me to the cold tile floor.
"No!" I scream and thrash as he drags me by the wrist back down the hall I came from.
"You weren't supposed to see this, Harley," my hands begin clawing frantically at his suit jacket covered arms, "now I have some damage control to take care of."
"No!" I screech again. I remember my knife. With my free hand I dig once more into purse, still draped over the shoulder of my imprisoned arm. Crane doesn't notice.
"Where is your husband now, hmm?" he taunts, "now when you need him to protect you? Say, Harley, you ever look at him and wonder how stable his sanity might be?" my fingers graze over something cold and metallic, "because I have. But then again I seem to be doing that to more people more and more often lately."
"SHUT UP!!" I cry. I've found my knife and managed to open it with one hand as Crane rants. I plunge the small but sharp blade into his hand. He gasps pain, freeing my wrist as the blood begins to seep. I pull myself to my feet and scamper for the elevator close by while he curses me from behind.
Something, or someone, kicks my feet out from beneath. I yelp. As I fall my hand grazes over the up button. Crane's sweaty hand grabs me by the shoulder once more and whips my body around to face him. I hear the loud ding of the elevator's opening doors as he does so.
I try turning, but Crane whips my neck around again. My face is greeted by a cloud of mist. He's sprayed…something…
He drops me, my head hurts. I crawl, even shakier than before into the metal box. I half expect Crane to follow me but I hear no footsteps from behind. Instead I hear an ugly sound, laughing and
distorted to sound like a monster. I glance up. Outside the elevator a monster towers high over me. Its face is a crippled mess, eyes and mouth turning into dark, sneering abysses. I scream. The doors close.
My head spins as the metal box carries me upward. I clutch tightly to my knife, my only source of protection. I'm seeing double, no matter how many times I blink I can't seem to shake it. Everything is blurry. Everywhere I turn my head there are new faces etched into the walls, snarling at me with hideous shrieks and demonic glowing eyes. One seems to come alive, opening its wide mouth to swallow me whole.
I yelp some more, leaping out of the creatures reach. Instead of smashing into the elevator wall I fly through empty space, my body sliding onto polished floors. I look up. An empty space in the wall has transformed into another grinning mouth, huge and angry. Its jaws begin to slide shut, hoping to crush my feet between its teeth. I scramble away, barely able to stand but I still have both my feet.
The walls, ceiling, floor all spin and blur together laughing wickedly at me with distorted smiles. I try to run but I just keep stumbling in every direction.
"Haaarrrllleeeyyy," something behind me growls my name. I pivot to face the creature but immediately back away. Its face is white, with a black hole of a mouth and equally dark pits for eyes. The thing howls again, its bony talons reaching for me. I stumble backward quickly, not wanting this monster to catch me. In the center of its black rings, its eyes, are glowing white pupils that burn through my skin, piecing my heart with fear.
"Hhaarrllleeeeyyyy," again it snarls. I remember the knife in my hand. I swing my arm out as fast as I can, hoping to strike the creature. I can feel the metal in my hand tear into flesh and the monster's gaping black mouth is suddenly transformed into a bright red grin. The color twists and whirls upward, leering upon the thing's face. It reminds me of a clown.
I hear it howl in pain, chilling me to the bone. One of the creature's talons grazes my skin. I scream and leap from under its touch. When I leap the floor disappears altogether, refusing to let me land. My body slips downward into darkness.
Both occupants of the hallway scream in harmonizing agony for only a few seconds before one is silences. The hall is suddenly quiet; the chaos of moments ago has died. The man creeps forward; he can't see the woman from where he stands at the top of the stairs. He presses his sleeved arm against the left side of his face. His ripped flesh burning as the crimson blood seeps down his jaw. He spits some of the red liquid from his mouth, an agonizing motion.
"Harrr—" the man tries calling for his wife, but the wound enlarging his mouth keeps him from forming her name. He peers down the narrow staircase, heart nearly stopping once he sees the sight below him. His legs push him forward causing him to practically tumble down the flight of stairs.
"Haarrr-rryyy!" he cries to the heap on the floor. The man trips over the final step, falling to his knees. "Har—" he's forced to spit the blood from his mouth again, "Harley…" he finally manages through the psychical pain.
He had come to meet her, to take her home and for dinner as a surprise. Now the woman doesn't move, doesn't blink, doesn't breathe, doesn't pulse. He eyes remain open; her unseeing stare directed at her husband's knees. He body is sprawled in an odd position, something just isn't correct about her pose.
"Harleyy…" the man whimpers, water beginning to gather in his eyes. His trembling fingers gently brush strands of long blonde hair from her face. Her face is beautiful even now. With her hair pushed carefully behind her head her husband can now clearly see her twisted neck.
His shoulder collapse, his entire body shaking as a sob escapes his injured mouth. But that pain is secondary now. "No…" he whines in disbelief, "Harley…" he gingerly leans closer to her, fighting with himself the whole way so not to stain her with his blood. He lays an ear against her chest but hears no beating from within.
"No, no, no, no" he trembles. His hands search for any form of life across her skin. The warmth is fading from her body, causing him the scream out. He yells again, his voice raspy and hurt, his tears sting the cut in his cheek but he can hardly feel it. He can only see her lying lifelessly before him and the small pool of blood forming beneath her, seeping from between her legs. His hand reaches out to graze her belly; she had just begun showing signs of pregnancy a few weeks again. Her stomach was small, but still round.
The hand keeping the blood inside his skin ceases to do its duty. Instead the limp reaches for the small knife lying harmlessly amongst the other items spilled from her purse on the tile floor, coated in his blood. He runs his fingers across the now warm metal. He can suddenly feel the fragile pieces of his mind crumbling to the floor.
His fingers traced the path of his wound without purpose. Why? He found himself thinking, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why Harley did you do this? Why, what had I done, what did you…. I loved you! I loved you I trusted you I made you smile I…and you….unless she knew. He thought. She had always been the one to make him smile. The only one he loved and trusted in a world filled with vile and untrustworthy people. So she knew. She knew this would happen to her and therefore wanted to make sure she kept him smiling. After all he would be sad losing his wife and unborn child. She had to keep him smiling somehow. So why not carve her smile permanently across his lips, so that even through the rougher stuff he'd always be smiling. It made perfect sense.
He plunged the used knife into the right side of his mouth. But she hadn't a chance to finish, he thought as he pulled the blade upward into his skin. He giggled through the pain. No need to suffer; not anymore than he has to. Though his giggle soon turned into a grumble and then a sob as his eyes caught sight of the dead women on the floor. A thought struck him: had he killed her? Did her force her over that ledge?
NO! His mind barked as he ripped the blade from his mouth. He could still taste the metal as blood dripped on his tongue from both sides of his torn face.
He had the sudden urge to lean down and kiss her on her lips, but that would ruin her. He would get blood all over her face and he couldn't do that to such a beautiful creature. Instead he reached out and plucked a tube of abandoned lipstick from the ground. This had been hers. It has touched her lips. It would have to do.
He could hear voices yelling through the corridors. If they found him like this they would think he had murdered his own wife, which he hadn't! Had he? It didn't matter. Either way he had lost. He had lost her. He had lost everything, everything that ever mattered. So what was the point of carrying on now? Because you lost…and now you have purpose to fulfill.
He decided he didn't like losing very much. It was far better to be the victor. This losing business hurt far too much to make it habit. He would simply have to make it up to her—for losing. He would have to find a different game to play. A game he would win.
He suddenly remembered a phrase his father used to tell him once he was done beating the boy. "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger!" he would cackle, of course he was drunk most of the time so the words would slur, making his father sound like he was saying "stranger" instead.
"Look down there!" he heard somebody yell from above.
He crawled next to her and carefully, very carefully gave his wife a small peck on the tip of her nose, "love you Harley Queen," he sang as he wiped a small smear of blood from her face before pushing himself back onto his feet.
Others came rushing down the staircase, they saw the girl and they saw the blood but never any sign of another. He had already disappeared into the shadows of the asylum by then. He would blend in, just like any other patient. He would wait. Till the time was right, till the world would forget him, till he could forget himself almost entirely. Just let the madness consume, but remember your purpose: havoc. She told him once, havoc with ensue upon this loss. So he'll give it to them, all of those slimy, unfaithful, orderly, scheming, vile, greedy and stupid people that deserved it. And he would never—never—lose again. That was a promise.
