"His body is missing. Well, I guess technically it was missing before, but now it's really missing." Detective Jim Gordon said to Quinn when she was seated at his desk.

"How is that possible?" Quinn asked. She knew she was starting to cry, even though she felt nothing but numb. "How did his body go missing two times?!"

Jim sighed, running a hand over his face. "We're looking into it."

"You're lookin' into it?" Quinn gave an unamused laugh and stood from the seat she had just a second ago lowered herself into. "Great. Fan-friggin'-tastic. I'm sure it's top priority." She shifted the weight of her backpack on her shoulder and started away, making it to the bottom of the steps inside the building before Jim called after her.

"It's top priority to me, Miss…"

"Lloyd. Quinn Lloyd."

"Miss. Lloyd? Like the Lloyds from—"

"The circus. Wow, you really are a friggin' detective, aren't you?"

With that, she took her leave. The tears were coming full force now. She never should have left him. She never should have up and abandoned everything she knew. But at the time it didn't feel like she had a choice.

Jerome hardly seemed to acknowledge she had spoken. He waltzed his way over to his mother's record player. It was a clumsy dance, graceless and mocking. He bent down to look at the disc on the player and nodded before beginning to hum "When I Fall in Love" and moving the needle into place. He knew exactly where on the disc that particular song lay, and that wasn't any surprise to Quinn. He'd hummed it so many times since the day with the rock. He'd hummed it as the ring master and his mother drug the body a hundred yards from the circus' set up and buried it. He had not been punished, because the man had been a spectator and not one of our own, but everyone was skeptical of letting him out of his trailer for many weeks after. Nat King Cole's voice washed over me, setting off a fire in the pit of my stomach.

"Did you hear me?" I don't mean to yell, but I do. "I'm leaving! I'm going! This is me saying goodbye, do you even care?"

"…in a restless world, like this is…love is ended before it's begun. And too many moonlight kisses, seem to cool in the warmth of the sun…" Jerome sang along with Nat's soulful voice, not even glancing in my direction as he continued to waltz with himself. That is, until Quinn stood up and started for the front door. Then he grabbed her by the arm, harder than she think he even intended to. But then again, what did she know? She was sixteen now, not the dumb little eight year old she'd been the first year she knew him, and yet somehow she didn't feel like she knew him any better at all. "When I give my heart, it will be completely…" Nat goes on without Jerome.

Quinn tried to yank her arm away, but Jerome didn't let loose. If anything he held tighter, his nails dinging into her skin through her red long-sleeved shirt. Jerome was smiling at her. He was always smiling around her now, and it might have made her smile too if it wasn't so bone chilling.

"Hardly Harley Quinnzelle, a harlequin and hussy as well?" He sang his little tune and then laughed.

"Ha, ha. Very funny. I'm no hussy. I'm no good at this. The crowds don't even like me. I want to be something else. I want to dosomething else." Quinn tried to explain herself.

Jerome didn't even appear to be listening. His hand moved from her bicep, down to her wrist without ever loosening his grip. She could feel the scratches from his nails as he held onto her wrist. Her heart jumped into her throat when he pulled the switchblade from his pocket.

"Whoa there, Puddin'. I'm not playin' around, you better put that away..."

"Hardly Harley…" he pressed the blade to the skin on the back of her hand, breaking the flesh. He pressed again, lower and at an opposite angle. "Quinzelle." He moved the blade again, and even though it hurt, she couldn't bring herself to move. She knew what he was doing. "A diamond shaped in the sands of hell." He pressed the blade to her hand one more time, finishing the diamond shape he was carving into her hand.

Jerome let go and Quinn pulled her hand close to her chest, looking down at the dark red slowly leaking from the wounds. It was sweet, in his own way, she decided in her head. He could have split her throat. He could have cut off her ears like she'd seen him do so many times to the rats that tended to hitch a ride in his kitchen from circus-site to circus-site. But he didn't. That was affection. That was his way of loving her. He didn't kill her right there. God knew he was capable.

He would never hold her. He would never kiss her, like she dreamt about all of those times. But he wouldn't kill her. That was something she could always count on.

She left his trailer then, as he lifted to the needle on the record player to move it back and replay the song. "When I fall in love…it will be forever…"

Quinn wandered the streets of Gotham for another hour. What had her plan been? She hardly had enough money for a couple of nights in a motel, let alone enough to last her until she could figure out what had been done with Jerome's body. But her financial strain wasn't going to stop her from easing her mind with a drink or five. The place with the purple, umbrella shaped light stood out to her the most of the street she'd found herself on. So she went in. A tiny girl in a sparkly white dress stood on stage, singing old blues numbers to the crowd. While most people were seated in booths, Quinn felt she best fit in at the bar. The empty bar.

"What can I get ya?" The bartender leaned against the counter. He was cute. A little older than her, but with nice, deep brown eyes.

"Vodka tonic. Three limes." Quinn didn't hesitate and quickly pulled her eyes away from the attractive man. She turned her attention to the stage. The performer was okay. Nothing special. But okay.

Quinn had wanted to be a lounge singer. That had been the plan all along. There wasn't a huge space in the circus for singers, but Quinn had a voice on her. At least, she thought so. She couldn't figure out why she'd spent the last five years of her life waiting tables in lounges just like this one, envying whatever floozy the owner had decided to toss on stage that night.

The first vodka went down like water. The second one like air. Then she stopped counting and she drank faster. It's a nasty devil, alcohol. It makes you crave and it makes you forget, until you completely forget what exactly it was that you were craving in the first place, and eventually you decide that you must have simply been craving more alcohol. And then, about five minutes before the place closes, you decide to rest your head on the bar, and don't even realize you're losing consciousness until you're already passed out.