Harleen drove her silver Honda Accord through the front entrance of Arkham Asylum, which was a gothic gate that was on the verge of death by rust. She pulled into her assigned parking space and cut off the engine.
She sighed and pulled back the sleeve of her blouse, looking at her wristwatch. It was eight o'clock. Her first session was with Arkham's newest celebrity at ten. She had two other appointments later today and hoped to be home by four, just in time to order her usual Chinese takeout.
Harleen opened the driver door and stepped out, careful not to mess up her new pair of leather flats. The parking lot had puddles scattered all about it, due to the previous night's sudden thunderstorm, and the thick fog made the place seem more ghastly than what it really was.
As she made her way up to the entrance of the main lobby, Harleen stuffed her car keys into her purse and took a deep breath, hoping today wouldn't be as horrible as she imagined it to be while lying awake half the night.
She pushed open the glass door that led into the clean, tiled lobby and was met with a slight gust of air-conditioned breeze. As she crossed the lobby towards a pair of double doors, she was greeted by the receptionist, who proudly displayed her porcelain veneers. "Good morning, Dr. Quinzel."
"Good morning, Victoria," replied Harleen, returning the smile.
Harleen pushed through the double doors and made her way to the very end of the hallway, to her office. She liked where it was located, because the rooms neighboring hers were empty and unused, giving her a bit more privacy than some of the other doctors. She switched on the light and threw her purse onto her desk. Just as she threw her bag down, she saw a manila file folder sitting idly on her desk, probably delivered by one of the interns after she left.
Sitting down at her desk, Harleen opened it, and by so doing, found the information on her newest patient. She scanned the pages, with interest and slight nervousness. She had never had such a highly-profiled patient before. Not much was said about the patient's biographical history, other than his weight (172 lbs), height (6'1 1/2), and his approximate age (27-30). Most of the files were police reports, news clippings, and anything else detailing his random chaos upon the city of Gotham.
A small knock on the door, followed by it opening interrupted her midway through a news report about one of the many bank robbings the Joker orchestrated at the beginning of his reign of chaos. In walked one of the interns, Chandra, a young dark-skinned woman with beautiful light brown eyes. She was carrying two mugs of steaming hot coffee and crossed the room to set one on Harleen's desk.
"So I hear you've got the Joker this morning," she said, taking a sip out her own cup. On the mug's exterior was a mocking yellow smiley face.
"Yep. Arkham told me last night, just before he arrived," replied Harleen, taking a sip out her own.
"Well, he's been causing a bit of havoc, actually. I was here until nearly midnight last night. He kept taunting the guards and one somehow ended up with a bobby pin halfway through his eye socket. It wasn't a pretty sight."
"Ah. Well," Harleen said, now with a rather nasty feeling creeping around in his stomach, "let's hope he won't try anything during our session."
Chandra only shook her head and smiled. "Watch yourself, Har. I'd hate to see something bad happen."
"Yeah, well, tell that to Arkham. I know he's assigning me this psycho just to get me off the staff. He hates me." Harleen said, glancing at her watch. One more hour to go until she was to meet the Clown Prince of Chaos and Crime and other synonymous words that start with C that she was much too lazy to name.
Great.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
"C'mon, clown boy! It's almost ten. Quinzel's gonna be pissed if we don't get you there on time."
The Joker, who was being practically manhandled down a long hallway, let out a long, hysterical cackle. "Yes, we wouldn't want to make old Dr. Quinzel sad, now would we, Barty?"
"It's Barrie. Now, come on." The guard whacked him in the back of the head with the butt of his rifle, making the Joker stumble for a moment, but he broke out laughing again.
The Joker's hands were bound by handcuffs and he was wearing a dark grey thermal shirt and a pair of scrub bottoms. The lack of makeup on his face made him feel almost naked, and his tongue constantly snaked past his lips to lightly graze the scars of his Chelsea grin.
After a few more minutes of continuous resistance, they reached a lone door at the end of the hallway. Barrie the guard knocked and a female's voice answered. "Come in."
The Joker was immediately pulled into a small office. Seated behind a desk was a young woman in her mid-twenties with long blonde hair pulled back into a loose bun. Her brown eyes traveled from the guard to him. The Joker gave her a wink and she frowned slightly.
"Barrie, you can sit him in the chair, right here," she motioned to a wooden arm chair in front of her desk.
As the guard pushed the Joker's shoulders so that he would sit down and be a good little boy, she spoke to him, eyeing him with curiosity. "Hello, my name is Dr. Quinzel. I will be your psychiatrist during your stay here at Arkham. Are there any questions that you wish to ask before we begin?"
"Hello, beautiful! And yes, I do have one question…Where have you been all my life?" He licked and smacked his lips together.
She didn't answer, but instead rolled her eyes.
"Would you like for me to stay here, Dr. Quinzel, or…?"
"You can wait outside, Barrie. I think we'll be fine. The session is only an hour," she said to the guard. He nodded and gave the Joker a final, threatening glare.
"Yes, Barrie, let Dr. Quinzel and I have some alone time," The Joker said.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Harleen watched as the guard closed the door behind him. Her eyes shifted from the door over to the patient in front of her, who was now twisting a pencil from her writing utensils cup through his long fingers. He seemed to be rather enjoying himself, she thought as she watched a twisted grin form onto his marred lips.
She let out a low cough to detract him from his current activity, in which she succeeded. He stopped spinning the pencil and for the first time since he entered her office, made eye contact with her. Now growing a little nervous, Harleen shuffled the paperwork in front of her, eyeing it to keep herself from sidetracking.
"So, Dr. Quinzel, is there a first name to go with that?" He had a slight Chicago accent in his voice, though it didn't make up for the eeriness he possessed.
She didn't want Dr. Arkham to be right and think she was going to wimp out during her first session. Harleen shuffled her papers once more, but then answered his question. "Harleen…My first name's Harleen. What's yours?"
"Harleen…Harleen…" he repeated the name, as if testing it out. "Such a…zany name for such an…ah…stiff girl."
"Yes, I suppose my parents had a thing for unique names…Has your stay with us been comfortable so far?" He began twirling the pencil again, eyeing it meticulously.
"If you can call cold meals and the queerest orderlies in town eyeing me down 24/7 comfortable, then I suppose it has been so far," he said, his tongue once again slithering past his lips.
"Well…is there anything we can do to make your stay with us any more…relaxing?" Harleen asked.
"I want my makeup back." His voice sudden turned serious, not straying from the point.
"Your…Your makeup?"
"Yes, sweetcakes, ya know. You've seen it, before." He leaned forward to make better eye contact with her. "You've seen me before."
Harleen began to shuffle her paperwork, a little nervous now. She hoped he wasn't referring to what she think he was. "I don't know what you mean--" but he cut her off.
"How could you forget, darling? You were one of the hostages when I robbed Gotham National Bank. I could spot you in a crowd," he licked his lips. "You were certainly the prettiest thing there."
Harleen remained speechless, but tried not to back down. He was just trying to get to her.
"Impressed, eh? I was a genius, wasn't I? I bet it took hours for the cops to terminate the grenade in your grip. Scared out of your wits, weren't you?" He seemed to get excited when talking about his crimes. "But let's get back to the point, sweetie. I want my makeup back. And my clothes, too. I hope it's not too much to ask? Hmm?"
"I'll see what I can do."
"And hopefully you will succeed, Harley-baby," he smiled at her with his yellowing grin and gave her a wink. She tried to ignore it, but something in his tone told her that he was determined to get back to his old self.
"So…if I promise to get you back your clothing and makeup, will you tell me a bit about yourself?" She hoped that this bit of leverage would lure him to tell her a bit of information.
"Maybe." The Joker's voice was mocking.
By the end of the session, they had gotten nowhere. They played a word association game, which left Harleen slightly disturbed. On the way back to her car that afternoon, she couldn't help but wonder what pasta had to do with sewing needles.
As much as she hated to admit it, this guy was somewhat interesting and even mildly entertaining.