Chapter Nine: Old Hat
Being rendered unconscious was becoming old hat for Harley. Even so, it was always disconcerting to wake up in a new location. The smell of chloroform lingered in her nostrils, the taste still fresh on her lips. Toxic, damaging. How many times had she'd been subjected to its effects in the past few months? Well over a dozen times, it seemed. It may have been cliché but it was an effective sedative, allowing her to enjoy a dreamless rest, no care in the world. She refused to focus on the potential negatives, her liver and kidneys crying out with toxic distress every time the chemicals hit her system. She would be long dead before any side effects took hold, a victim of the villainous lifestyle she lived.
Waking up naked was also old hat, a memory of her training with Mr. J. Most people shied away from nudity, embarrassed by their flaws. Anyone who looked upon her form would be taken in by the bruises, branding, tattooing, and scarring that littered her body. Revulsion, pity, many emotions that others would put upon her once seen. She fed on such things, reveling in the brutal display of human cruelty that permanently marred her skin. The power of her naked form outshined any minor flaws. Love handles, thicker thighs, pimples, all this meant nothing compared to the glorious destruction of her skin. Harley made a mental note to kill the rest of Crane's men who may have seen her naked. Mr. J's privilege only. Thomas and Crane were exceptions. Mr. J allowed them. But the rest were dead men walking.
Thomas' unconscious, and not naked she noted, body was sitting across from her in a chair similar to her own. He faced her, head slumped down over his chest. Both of them were bound by duct tape to their chairs, her legs closed together for modesty's sake, as if she cared. Her gunshot wound was covered again in gauze and tape and she could feel it itch. Restitched, most likely. Medical tape also covered her nose, annoying, but it meant it was only fractured and not broken as she originally suspected. Strange for Crane to tend to the wounds of his enemy, but then again, he was a professional and he would want her in top shape for the field trip of fear he had planned.
"Thomas," she said, watching the deep intake and exhale of each breath from his still form. "Hey! Wake up!"
Harley would have moved closer but the chair was either too heavy or it was bolted to the floor. Likely the latter of the two. She didn't believe anything would rouse her friend at this point so she settled for staring around the room. White walls, carpeted flooring. The kind of carpet that frequented office buildings, a dark gray, uniform color. Everything was bare, no pictures or décor. Not even a desk. Just her and Thomas bound to chairs. The ceiling was the same boring white, paneled with speckles. She'd always wanted to climb up through one of those panels, like in the movies, and drop down to attack someone. Ninja style. If she pried herself loose, she might give in to that absurd temptation.
Time passed and her boredom grew. Harley was unaccustomed to a life without distractions, her mind space becoming more volatile with each passing minute. Her emotions begged to be let out, crawling inside her, screaming for release. Anything but the monotony. She had barely been able to contain herself for the past boring week at the mansion. Her mission from Mr. J kept her focused enough to push past all the noise in her head. But right now, the tedium, the silence was getting to her. Even struggling against the duct tape yielded no real response. It was tight, not enough to cut off her circulation but enough to prevent much movement. It also meant she was unable to cause herself pain, a stimulation that she sorely craved.
After what seemed like hours, but was likely only twenty minutes or so, Thomas stirred. His eyes blinked away the effects of the sedative coursing through him. She watched with interest as he took stock of his situation, moving against the duct tape in a futile effort to escape his bonds. The haze in his mind cleared as he lifted his eyes to see her sitting in front of him. Harley smiled, giving him a fingered wave, as much as she could with her wrists strapped to the chair.
"Morning sunshine!" She kept her voice chipper.
He blinked again. "You're naked."
"And?" She shrugged. Her state of dress shouldn't matter to him, but he was still foggy from the drugs.
Another blink, confusion passing over his face. "You're naked," he said again.
"Not like you haven't seen most of this show before. Where's your professionalism, doctor?"
"Why are you naked?" He seemed fixated on this fact, much to her amusement.
Harley had to laugh. "I have no idea."
Thomas shook his head, as if to clear the cobwebs. A deep breath and he looked back up to her, poignantly ignoring her nudity. "Did he...did they...?"
"Crane is many things, but a rapist is not one of them. I doubt he would have allowed his men a taste of the goods, either."
"Thank god. Are you alright?" He asked, as his eyes flickered around the room, taking in their surroundings.
"I'm naked, duct taped to a chair in an empty room. It's like Christmas for me. You?"
His eyes met hers again, serious. "I seem to be fine. They knocked me out after they put you in their van. Have you seen anyone yet?"
"No, but I'm sure Jonathan will be making an appearance soon." She looked at the door. "No cameras so he's probably waiting out the usual time for the sedative to wear off. But at least I got me some fancy new stitches while I was down and out. Sexy, huh?" She wiggled her hips as much as she could.
"Lovely." His lips quirked up a bit at her attempt to lighten their captivity. "I didn't realize you had a tattoo."
Looking down her body to her right leg, she smiled. The explosion of tribal lines that spread out from her knee covered most of the leg. "Seemed like the thing to do. Surprised you didn't notice before."
"Your lower half was always covered. Does it mean anything?"
Thomas was attempting to keep his mind off his situation, she realized. She understood the reflex, a mechanism for coping. Harley would oblige, for now. Things would get very real, very soon. "Doesn't mean a damn thing. I just liked the chaos of it, stretching across my skin. Really, at the time, I just wanted to have the sensation of the needle piercing into me, over and over. But the overall result worked out well. Goes nice with the overall package, don't you think?"
He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering her body again, nothing sexual in his gaze. Curiosity, not sated during her first night in his care. "How have you been able to survive all that?" His voice held wonder, and a touch of disbelief.
"I've told you time and time before. I like the pain." Her eyebrows raised. He really didn't get it.
"But, it's so much damage. I mean, it's insane." He looked up at her face again. "This isn't just masochism or abuse. This goes way beyond it."
"I'm just another experiment gone wrong," she sighed with a small smile, looking away from him. "Don't try to understand. I'm not a puzzle or an enigma to be solved. I'm a force that can't be comprehended. I'm just me, the harlequin, the hellequin."
"Harleen, look at me," Thomas commanded. The words reminded her so much of Mr. J.
The compassion that flared as she caught his eyes was almost overwhelming for her. Harley couldn't remember the last time someone looked at her like that. Pity, sure, but compassion? It had been so long, so many years. A mother's expression when she told a young teen how mommy and daddy couldn't be together anymore. Thomas' blue eyes stared back at her, forcing her to relive all that came before. Compassion as a doctor shattered her future as a gymnast. Compassion as a coach told her to give up her dreams. Compassion as Guy watched her shaking after a session. Something so raw about it all. One human to another. Mr. J could never look at her like that. And the empathy that came with compassion was lost to her the day that she gave in to her dark side. But, deep down, Harley would give almost anything to feel it again towards someone else.
"There is something about you," he said. "Always been something about you since we've known each other. You're so much more than you give yourself credit for. In all my years, I have never seen someone who is both as strong and as weak as you are." Thomas paused, then nodded, as if coming to a conclusion in his head. "You're right, I don't understand and I probably never will."
"This is who I am, Thomas," she said, softly. "I accept it. Why can't you?"
"Because I don't want you to die."
The naked honesty of his statement hit her like a ton of bricks. Harley fought back the tears that began to well in her eyes at the confession. Other women would have taken it the wrong way thinking his words to be an obscure way of admitting love. No, he was just saying he would miss her. A simple statement. No hidden message contained within it. But it was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever said to her. A beautiful truth that she, quite suddenly, realized she shared in return. She understood, somewhere deep inside, that she had subconsciously given herself up to Crane so that Thomas would live, despite her conscious mind's desire for blood. Friendship. Damn. Thomas was good. In only a few short days, he had royally fucked up her priorities.
Before Harley could respond, the door to the room opened. Jonathan Crane strolled in, pushing a metal cart in front of him. Various surgical implements were visible but what got her attention were several vials of liquid and two needles. Fear toxin concentrated in an injectable form, no doubt. And his mask. Thomas was eyeballing the cart with trepidation, his fear palpable, coming off him in waves. Crane had a tight smile on his face as he glanced at the two of them. Control. A tight leash that restrained his darker half. She doubted Jonathan understood their similarities, his control as harsh as her own had once been. Unleashed, he could be a force to be reckoned with, the Scarecrow. Bound, he was just another man with delusions of grandeur. She truly hoped the Scarecrow would come out at some point.
Crane wore a navy suit, so dark it could mistaken for black in the right light. Pinstripes ghosting down the material, three buttons, white shirt, navy tie. Not the fitted suits of his glory days that she recalled, but appropriate enough, giving him an aura of dominance. Pride, one of the seven deadly sins. Yet so much more hidden beneath his surface. The need to see fear in others must have surely come from a place of childhood darkness. She could picture the children relentlessly mocking the gangly teenager and his depression, anger, at their taunts. The desire for revenge. Crane saw her as another one of those bullies and he wanted to demonstrate to her just how powerful he could be. Thing was, she didn't go after Crane because he was weak or pathetic. He was merely a convenient body to thrust her wrath upon after her awakening. Another man who just didn't get it.
"That color really brings out your eyes, Jonathan." She broke the silence, keeping her tone conversational and friendly. "You should wear it more often. Quite striking."
"Thank you, Harleen," he said, civil as always. His fingers grasped a needle and one of the vials. "I find the color to create a soothing connection between myself and my subjects."
"I prefer red," she said.
"Yes, you would." The disdain was evident in his voice. He placed the needle into the vial, letting the contents float upwards until the needle was half full. "I'm certain the Arkham reds will compliment you nicely in your future."
"Now, that's an empty threat if I ever heard one. We both know I won't be going to Arkham when all of this is done." Harley was speaking of her escape. Crane was, no doubt, assuming she would be dead.
"Correct," Crane said, moving over towards her. Unlike Thomas, he showed no care for her current state of undress. "Are you comfortable?"
"To be honest, no, but I somehow doubt you care."
"Correct again. And you, Dr. Elliot?" His eyes shot from Harley over to Thomas who had been watching their exchange, mutely.
"I have to use the bathroom," Thomas said, his voice small like a child. Harley almost laughed.
"It'll have to wait," Crane said. "Because you, Dr. Elliot, are up first."
"Come on Crane, this is between you and me," Harley said. "Why bother with the appetizer when you know you'll get a full meal out of me?"
Jonathan smiled at her, that slight raising of his lips that dripped with arrogance. "I have to make sure the new formula works and Dr. Elliot will be a good beta test subject." He moved away from her, taking the five steps towards Thomas and leaning down over him. "After all, Harleen is my star subject and I would hate to ruin her with an untested solution. You, however, are expendable."
Thomas met Harley's eyes, his fear still wafting off him like alcohol. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. Crane could do as he wished and neither of them could prevent that at the moment. And something inside Harley held a sick curiosity as to what Thomas has locked up inside his skull. His fears. Something repressed that their simple conversations could never yield. Maybe an insight as to what drove him and explain the blood lust against his mother. Surely, with someone as complicated as her friend, it couldn't just have been about the money. There was some underlying motive that she hadn't wormed out of him. Perhaps Crane's toxin could. And, if it existed, she would use that knowledge to destroy Thomas, mind and soul.
So, Harley passively watched as Crane injected her friend with the serum. From the cart, he took up a recorder, turning it on. A quick glance to Harley made him smile. They were both psychiatrists and criminals. In this, they shared a kinship. A fascination with the mind and its darkest secrets, and the will to do whatever it took to unlock those secrets. She nodded to Crane, a sign of respect. As much as she fantasized about spending time carving up his pretty little skin, she did hold some admiration for his techniques. The science behind the medicine was something she never could grasp and his skill with it was quite remarkable. And while he might have considered her an inexperienced hack, per his journal, he did mention once that he was impressed with how thoroughly she delved into the mind of the Joker. Mr. J understood, even if he never said it and she never consciously intended it, that Harley had dug her way into his mind as deep as he had into hers. If she could do that to someone like Mr. J, she could do it to anyone. Crane recognized that, having watched the Joker obsess over her in the wee hours of the night from the opposite cell.
In another world, another time, Harley and Crane could have been great allies. Linked together by their passion for the mind, they could sweep through Gotham, tear it apart with the power of their intellect, their mutual dark sides reveling in the chaos before them. Crane, with his toxins, making people weep with fear and panic. Harley, with her keen insight, picking apart people at their weakest. Gotham could tremble at their feet, screaming and writhing in mental anguish. And it would only drive them further, to seek more darkness. In another world.
"Beta test subject has been injected with formula version 6.1. This version is liquid only, modified to create a semi-lucid state while still experiencing stable hallucinations and terror. This version is intended to allow the doctor to fully converse with the subject during phase two."
The formula must have been potent because the effects were readily apparent within minutes of injection. Thomas struggled against his bonds, his breathing shallow and quick. Harley watched in muted fascination. She had often witnessed the effects of fear, as both the creator and as a psychiatrist. The stomach churning, the heat against the skin, the heart pounding, the shaking. Often she touched the chest of her victims just to feel their hearts race, that knowledge that she was going to end them. For her, it was about the reaction. But she had never really appreciated fear for fear's sake. Such an elegant tool, breaking down even the most hardy of souls. Quivering masses begging to fly away from their source of terror. Thomas would get no such reprieve, the sweat starting to bead on his forehead. And then the screams came.
Thomas' stern face was twisted into something out of a Munch painting, the perfect O shape of his mouth as the cries poured out, jerking against his restraints like any asylum patient would. Eyes flickering between open and closed as the hallucinations hit his system. Crane leaned over him, watching every single motion of his reaction. This must have been phase one. The terror phase, when the subject was willing to claw their own face off to get away from whatever horrors they saw. With the starkness of the room, the screams reverberated and echoed until each one blended into the next, a symphony of dissonance. Harley closed her eyes and let the music of his screams wash over her senses, felt each howl vibrate inside her ear drums.
As the minutes passed, Thomas became motionless, the petrification of fear settling in, the prey understanding instinctually that they have lost. They hold ever so still, their bodies barely trembling with tension as they witness their fears come alive but they are unable to do anything but watch in silence. Thomas' mouth sat agape, his own personal hell that he could not escape. She suspected this was phase two. The subject would be more pliable without all the screaming. And if Crane's initial recording was correct, then he would also be lucid enough to speak his fears.
"Tell me what you see," Crane said, holding the recorder between himself and Thomas. No mask. Not yet. That would be saved for her alone. An honor, considering he was known to use it in all his so-called experiments. Thomas just didn't rate enough to see the Scarecrow.
"I...I'm in my father's study," Thomas gasped. "He's drunk, again, and yelling." His voice sounded younger as he spoke, reliving a childhood nightmare. "He has the belt. Mom is screaming for him to stop." The tears, that failed to form during phase one, gathered, welled in his eyes and came crashing down his cheeks.
Despite the severity of his mental anguish, Harley couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. Old hat. Abusive, drunk father. Useless, weak mother. Disappointment flooded her. She wanted more meat, not another Lifetime movie waiting to be produced. Another rich kid with the traumatic back story of abuse, who hates his mother because she couldn't stand up for herself. Granted, she had wished for a reason beyond the greed of the inheritance. Harley just hadn't expected it to be so mundane.
"He's turning to me. He's still angry." Thomas' voice became even smaller, as if trying to hide from the memory version of his father. "We're at the stairs. He has the cane. He tells me how mad he is that I'll never do better than the other kids. I'm stupid and worthless. Not worthy of the Elliot name."
For a moment, she thought back to the portrait of Thomas and his parents in the lounge and her feelings of loathing at its presence. The child had seemed so unhappy, his eyes lacking the luster of childhood, someone grown up too fast. And Harley recalled the faces of his parents. His mother, vivid red hair, a true beauty with her hand on her son's shoulder. Her eyes seemed sad, as if she had spent her life in a prison. And the father. The painter captured the coldness of his eyes with precision. The eyes of a man with no love in his life. For Thomas to escape that wretched existence, it was a miracle.
"And he's here," Thomas paused.
"Who's there?" Crane asked.
"Bruce." Detestation dripped with the word, squeezing through the fear. "He's laughing. Always laughing at me. At my failures. I can't be as good as him. I'll never be like him. He's got everything and I've got nothing!"
Yes, there was the meat that Harley demanded. Bruce Wayne. Back in her days at Arkham, she had attended a house warming to commemorate the rebuilding of the legendary Wayne Manor. After reconnecting with Thomas at that party, she could feel some minor hostility from him at the mention of the billionaire's name. She had dismissed it as mere rivalry between the upper class, but it seemed, at least for Thomas, it was was not quite as simple as that. No, he had a real hatred of the man. As well as fear. But was there something more to it than what Thomas was expressing now? She was determined to explore it.
"My father is laughing with him, now. They're just standing there mocking me." Thomas was scratching the wood of the chair he sat in. "I want to stop them but I can't. Oh god!"
"What is it?" Crane was pushing for as much data as he could get.
"He's handing the cane to Bruce. I'm at the edge of the stairs. They go down a long way but they don't care. They just want me gone. He's pushing me with the cane and I'm trying to grab on so I don't fall. I'll do better! I promise!" The panic in Thomas' voice was raw. "Don't jerk the cane away!"
The screams began anew. Crane sighed, straightening up again. He removed his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, an annoyed gesture. Phase two must not have lasted as long as he hoped. Or perhaps he wanted more out of the experience. Or possibly, a thousand other things since she didn't understand the science behind his serum. But for Harley, it was the breakthrough she had been waiting for. If she hadn't been tied up, she would have kissed Crane. Because corrupting someone's mind required the same leaps as healing it. That one discovery that put everything else into perspective. And now she had it.
The laughter burst out of her, shattering the ear-splitting screams of her friend. Crane's head jerked towards her, startled by her sudden outburst. But Harley didn't care. The key was found and she could now complete the mission set forth by Mr. J. Yes. Thomas would crumble, become like her, sate his desires. His mother was but a stepping stone. His real desire was to end the taunting voices in his mind. With both parents dead, only one thing was left standing in his way to true freedom. Bruce Wayne. Her laughter continued on, the maddening noise bouncing off the walls until Thomas' screams finally died. Then, the room faded to silence, eerie after the cacophony of fear and satisfaction.
When Crane finally turned the needle to her, she couldn't stop smiling as the toxin pumped its way into her veins. In a few minutes, she would be a drooling mess. But for now, Harley felt like she was on top of the world.
A/N: Would have had this up sooner but I didn't think editing while on vicodin was a good idea. Stupid dental surgery. In any case, I hope you all enjoy. Questions, comments, feedback, please review!