CHAPTER TEN

"I could hear it: the winds of unstoppable change were howling and I was standing straight in their cycling path; I should have ran, but I couldn't as I heard the whisper of my name..."

Unseeing, dazed, and silent; emerald irises stared blankly from a pale, beautiful face framed by brown curls. Moonlight filtered into the room as the owner lie immobile, just staring. Outwardly she appeared frail and broken, but within she burned with flames ever growing.

Elisa had been imprisoned in a darkened closet for days, yelled at, psychologically abused, and—the briefest flicker lit her eyes—physically abused. Apparently she had been "naughty" and Edward had been riled in the days before. That woman, Harleen had foiled his plans, Batman had foiled part of his plans, hell maybe she had even foiled his plans. She inwardly scoffed, how pathetic—or at least one would think—but Edward had the short fuse, strength, and madness to bite back. She'd come to be thankful for what hadn't befallen her, and yet at the same time she felt a turmoil rage within her and her eyes rolled upward. They found Edward who held her close to him in the darkness.

In the ethereal light his countenance was peaceful, gentle even. Elisa's lips twitched in inner disgust. How fooled she had been. This innocence almost melted her cooling heart, as did the tender way his arms embraced her middle. Too bad it was all lies only whispered by slumber; the truth was grandly different. There was no beauty here anymore. She had been shattered and, though he wanted to take the credit, Edward had had no hand in rebuilding her.

Hate, sudden and engulfing after days of fear, guilt, self-pity, and torture had reconstructed her. She had become the Enigma, but not his, though she was only too happy to allow him to be diluted to his fancy. She grinned and moved in his arms, pulling herself upward to gaze into his slumbering face.

'I follow him to serve my turn upon him, as Iago so bluntly puts it. He may think he possesses my heart and mind, but my will is not his nor any other part he muses to own. Poor, poor Edward, what have you unleashed in your hurry to create your Enigma?'

Her thoughts were anything but as soft and aery as her face portrayed. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. The bastard was sinking his teeth in so seep that he had gone as far as to send a letter of resignation to Nygma Inc. for her. She wanted to repay him for all his help. She didn't want this! She hated him! But, alas what could she do? She grinned devilishly; how sweet were the uses of adversity. She would toil with him, make him think that she lived upon his every word and kindness, but oh, how much more she would come to despise him.

Please him now and destroy him later. She would build a beautiful illusion and run only when the time was right. She had learned from every bruise, every caustic word, and every drop of blood. Naïve Elisa was no more, she would be the Enigma and the Riddler would fall, somehow someway. She would escape this life, but not without first causing the man pain.

Oh, how similar they were becoming, only to her the poles were rejecting one another. She may have been fond of him before, but now her heart was a pool of black, winter's water for him.

A hand on hers brought her mind from its plots, but she would not be angry for the interruption. No, why when such opportunities were offered?

Edward stared up at her hungrily. He grinned.

"Can't you sleep?"

She shook her head and stared up at him demurely—all in mock—and he pulled her closer, lustful lips seeking her own. She may not have been the alpha, but she was a wolf. She would allow him the mirage of control, but she felt that he who trusts in the tameness of a sleeping wolf is mad.

He maneuvered above her and she closed her eyes. Order to cause chaos, venom in her tender countenance; she opened her eyes and stared up at him in equal hunger: the lust to tear him apart.

"No," Harley spoke calmly into the phone as she entered into the room, her eyes glancing upwards at the Joker, sitting in his usual seat, uncuffed after a week of restraint.

He stared up at her as she waltzed in, a black bag slung over her shoulder.

"Is that a good sign, Commissioner? He's not replied yet—no, no, no I'm not saying that. I agree. I think he's still out there." She sighed, "Fine, yes, it's bad news. It means he's planning something big. Yes, I'm aware of the heist." Her face paled. "How much ammonium nitrate?"

The Joker's forehead furrowed. What? He turned his attention back to just studying Harleen, however—not the conversation.

"You're joking. Well, that's some good news. Yes, yes."

She sat down before him and bent over. When she straightened up she was pulling a sleek, black laptop from her bag. She opened the top and within seconds was typing quickly. She shifted the phone to her shoulder and held it there with a tilted head.

"Yes, half of the shipment, got it. What else? Broke into another electronics firm...left a calling card? A green card with a question mark...alright. Mm-hm, got that too." She nodded and continued to type. Finally she hit a button. "I'll look over this and give you my reasonings before the evening is over. Of course, Commissioner, yes, you too." She clicked the phone shut and stuffed into her pocket and then closed her laptop and placed it gently back into her bag.

"Sorry," she said to the Joker, who raised an eyebrow at her. She returned the gesture and turned on her recorder in her pocket. She hadn't taken a chance placing it on the table since a week ago. She offered him a gentle smile. "What no, 'Afternoon, Doc'? Or something a little more on the lewd side?" She placed her hands on the table top.

He gave a furtive smile, "Now, there's my Harley. You've been so boring and simpering these past couple days. I didn't hurt ya before did I?"

Harleen snorted, "Well, forgive me for attempting to be professional, but I'll be honest here." The Joker nodded sympathetically. "I," Harleen placed her hands to her forehead, "was flustered. I wasn't sure how to come and hold myself after the interesting situation I found myself in. You got me," she shrugged, "and then I decided that what you think or decide to act upon shouldn't affect me in the least. If you want to be counteractive, then I'll have to be too."

He lowered his head and licked his lips, "I'm liking the sound of this tactic, doc."

"You would," she crossed her arms. "So let's begin today's session and see where that takes us in an hour. Let's talk about," she glanced around the room and then back at him, "Harvey Dent."

"Good 'ol Harvey," he grinned, "you've become really interested into my crime spree lately. What happened to the days when you'd walk in comment on something or I asked you something and it turned into the basis for our whole session?"

"I got curious," she replied simply, not revealing in the least that she was actually still uncomfortable being in the same room with him. He was now unrestrained; something within her had not enjoyed his caged state, though he had found it quite hilarious. He had been impressed that she was not making empty threats.

He couldn't wait to get his hands on her again, and if she knew this, she did not acknowledge it.

"Actually, I wasn't in Gotham when you decided to take your anarchic waltz. I was away on a personal trip. I missed your crime spree, so now that I'm your doctor, I think I need to know about it all. Hearing it from your side would be more beneficial than just reading the reports in your file."

"You weren't here?" Harleen shook her head, "No, I suppose that's another reason they hired me. I'm a neutral party." The Joker laughed, "No wonder you're not as afraid of me as you should be."

"I've seen all your broadcasts, your work, everything, now of course it doesn't have as much of an impact with you not out on the streets anymore, but I have seen it. Should I fear you?"

"Don't you?" He grinned.

"Yes, but probably not as much as you believe I should. So Harvey Dent? Want to tell me about the little charade you played with him?"

"I was carted off to jail, and I sent my boys to take the clean DA and his little sweetie and rig them both to explosives, and this time I wasn't lying. They were definitely set to explode unless they were saved. Now, the ones who made a mistake here were my boys. Don't worry they paid for it later."

"Your boys made a mistake?"

"Yeah," the Joker leaned back, "you see I told Batman the right addresses for Harvey and Rachel, but my boys switched them up. Maroni's men are idiots too, but back to the story. I think they wanted to look smart, get some credit from me, but you know, I really hate it when someone I gave orders to doesn't follow them, and even more when they change the plan without telling me. You see I knew Batman would go after the girl—he had feelings for her, ya know. But now, everyone thinks that I lied on purpose. I'm a man of my word, always have been. They may see a criminal, but I do have some guidelines, not rules per se, just preferences. I don't rape and I don't lie on purpose unless it would make a good show—like the ferries."

"Those sound like rules to me." Harleen stated and stared into his eyes.

"There are no such things. If there were, no one would break them. You may call these laws that you follow rules, but they're broken so easily."

"And people are punished for them, like you are at this moment by being here in the Asylum."

"Sharp as a whip today aren't you? Want to know something no one else knows?"

"What? About your handiwork with Harvey?"

The Joker waved his hand, "It's practically over. Because of false information, they went to the wrong place and Rachel was blown to smithereens and Harvey's face was forever blemished. Besides this does have something to do with Harvey."

Harley linked her hands together, "Okay, I'm interested. What do you want to tell me?"

"Turn it off." He pointed to her. "Don't think that I don't know that you've got your little tape recorder turned on in your pocket." Harleen's eyes widened not in surprise, but intrigue. "Alright." She reached into her pocket and pulled the device out. She shut it off in front of him and placed it on the table. Her memory would serve, she decided.

"How would you react if I told you that Batman didn't kill those cops?" She blinked, then her mouth fell open, "You mean, Harvey?"

"Bingo, babe. You see I took him, Gotham's White Knight, and brought him down to my level. It wasn't hard, you see, because like I've said before, madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push. He was simply devastated that his little bunny got blown away, but it was nothing personal. Honestly, I was hoping that by some miracle both he and Rachel would be saved like in those action movies, but I've learned that life actually doesn't work that way."

"He lost it and murdered those people? I heard Maroni also suffered in the incident. What happened there? He never said anything about the late District Attorney." She gasped.

The Joker grinned, "Why would he admit something like that? He has to keep an image. It was just in his better interest that he went along with the rumors of an unfriendly Batman. So, Harvey lost his bunny, then his mind, and then he was out for vengeance. I'm not sure what happened that killed him, maybe Batman did that, but I can't think that's the story. If he killed Dent, why didn't he kill me when he had the chance, ya know? I want to know what Commissioner Gordon and his Bat are hiding. I would think it's very interesting to know."

Harleen shook her head, "Why do I trust you? You could be lying."

He raised an eyebrow, "Which means you do trust me. You don't have to, sugar, although that's a sharp blow that you should doubt after all that we've been through," He batted his eyelashes at her, "But Batman, who has never killed a criminal intentionally...why would he suddenly change his mind and not kill me, but kill cops and Harvey Dent unless he was on my side? And you and I know how much bull that is. So how does it feel to know that the Great Harvey went mad?"

She raised her eyes to his and within them was a cold accusation. "You think that telling me this is going to get me on your side?" She laughed, "If that was your motive, then you are sorely mistaken. I didn't even vote for him. I voted on the woman that ran against him." She smirked, "But I admit he was a good DA, but I can't blame him. Something was bothering him before, because you are right." She stared down into the surface of the table, "Madness is like gravity. In a way, I personally believe every person to be near to a breakdown. All society needs is the right blow." She muttered, and then cleared her throat, realizing how inappropriate that was. It wasn't needed. She attempted to save face. "Working with all levels of insanity you learn things. I'm a realist, not that I don't have Utopian wishes. I wish things weren't this way."

'Shut up, Harley, stop giving him this ammunition! Why are you still talking?' She screamed at herself. She glanced back at him. He was just watching her. She waited for his lips to twist into a cruel smile. She felt her face heat in embarrassment and nerves.

"Ashamed that you think way?" He asked, but there was no satisfaction on his lips, but within his eyes, those suddenly enthralling orbs it was there. She shared a philosophy with him, she admitted to herself, but she hated it. The feelings of attraction she had been ignoring were becoming harder to deny. Deny? The conservative voice, the one she had always thought was the real her was fading fast, disappearing.

She couldn't refuse it any longer. She, Harleen Quinzel, a psychiatrist was falling in love with her patient, a man unfit to walk the streets of Gotham. It wasn't like she wanted to set him free, but the thought sickened her. This wasn't how it was suppose to happen. Who thought sexual innuendos were sexy and endearing? Apparently she did.

"Doc?" He waved a hand before her face. Her gaze had fallen to the side, but she quickly returned it to him. "You are ashamed, you shouldn't be, you get it, the joke."

"Life is not a joke!" She suddenly shot. "I don't care who you are now! At one point in your life you were a little boy with ideal eyes! I may not know what changed your mind and morphed you, but you just weren't born this way—I will not believe that. Those scars are nothing but scars, but the event that marred you physically also scarred you emotionally. Yeah, I know I'm spouting the same shit that all your doctors have, but," she felt it, tears stinging her eyes. She fought them back even as they burned her throat, caused her pain. "People weren't created to do this! Normal people don't get pleasure from hurting others, but now everyone does. This world is so..." She fell silent. She had let her emotions get the best of her again. 'This world is so distorted.' She finished what her voice could not.

"Harley," her heart stopped at the gentle tenor of his voice and she hesitantly met his eyes with her own, shining with tears. She wanted comfort, hell she wanted him to tell her that she was going to be okay, that the room wasn't actually spinning. She wanted something forbidden to her. She opened her mouth to attempt to say something, something she wasn't going to be sure of until it fell from her lips, but knocking caused her to jump in her seat.

She shot up as if she had been found sleeping and someone had dropped a stack of textbooks on her desk. She craned her head and stared at the figure outside of the door. It was a guard.

'I didn't call anyone. No one heard my ravings did they? No, these rooms are basically soundproof.' Despite her confusion she was on her feet and walking to the door, composing herself. She didn't want any unnecessary questions. She was quite thankful; she had needed the jolt back to reality.

"Can I help you?" She spoke evenly with a smile to the guard who had knocked on the door.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your session, Dr. Quinzel, but I received this to give to you. It's been checked, nothing dangerous, but I will stay until you've opened it just to be sure."

Harleen took the item– a large, yellow envelope– and carefully turned it over. There was no address or anything. "Who brought this?" The guard shook his head and Harley hesitantly opened it, expecting some note from the Riddler.

When the seal was broken she nimbly reached into the letter and pulled out a yellowing newspaper clipping. She blinked. "It's just an old paper article." She sighed and smiled. "There ya have it, you can go, thanks."

The guard bowed and Harleen returned to the table, taking a quick glance to see that her tape recorder hadn't been moved before taking her seat again. "Newspaper clippings..." She placed the envelope on the tabletop and brought the newspaper to her eye level. "Let's see...Local Businessman Murders Wife...In the early morning hours of January 28th....Police came upon a grisly scene at...Henry Napier, 45, a local businessman had murdered his wife of twenty years, Lauren, 44....Their son, Jack only eighteen has been declared missing, but with the sight of such blood shred who blames the boy, only now entering into manhood?"

Her voice had begun shaking and her hands had started moments before. She laid the article on the tabletop and stared at it. "This is the murder from twelve years ago..." She clenched her fists, "Batman...why bring this up? I never wanted to remember this again in the first place."

"You knew the family?" The Joker asked, and the mere curiosity unclouded by any other motive should have tipped her off, but it didn't. She shook her head, "No, the boy, Jack, he went to my school, but he wasn't there on picture day. I heard it described that he was a quiet, intelligent kid. No one really remembers him. What a way to disappear, not remembered, but I guess he wanted it that way. This," she jabbed her finger into the article and brought her gaze to the Joker's, "this kinda of thing makes me sick inside. Stuff like this makes me think maybe life is nothing but a cruel, corroded joke."

She pulled another item out. It was photo of Henry Napier. She sneered. "Wifebeater, you never regretted killing her and driving away your son. Or did you kill him too? Never seen again, hell, I wouldn't come back. What kind of man can do such a thing? These kinda of men are the kind that turn people into psychopaths, these men turn kids into people like you. Poor Jack Napier, but he can rest now, the bastard isn't coming back. He got what he deserved." She placed the photo down and pulled out another one, this one of Lauren. "Karma is a-" She pulled her hand away from the photo as if it had burned her and it fell to the tabletop.

Her eyes were wide. Beautiful, long dirty blonde hair, just slightly curly framed the woman's face and expressive brown eyes stared from the photo. Harley brought a hand up to her mouth as the Joker took the photo and stared at himself. He had been silent, had said nothing. Now it all made sense. The woman in the photo held a close resemblance to the man before her.

"You're him aren't you?" She said, once again observing the Joker. "You're Jack Napier." Her voice was breathless and her heart was thudding. Was this the young kid who had definitely witnessed his mother's murder? Had his own father given him a permanent smile? Yes, something told her; all of it was the truth. One would think knowing would be exhilarating, but it hurt Harley. She understood. The system had failed him. She understood him.

The Joker laid down the picture and spilled the rest of the contents of the envelope on the table. It was all about the murder, the trial, and then the parole of Henry Napier. Then it was his own murder, the arson of his house.

"Dr. Quinzel," he said and she mutely stared up at him. He stood up and leaned over the table. "My father was...a drinker. And a fiend. One night he went off crazier than usual. I never knew why, not at all. Nothing of particular interest had happened. I hadn't done anything, Mom either. We were just about to sit down to dinner when he came in. My mom was slicing onions." His voice no longer held a mocking tone, the kind he used when describing his scar story usually. No, his voice was low, distant. His brown eyes weren't looking into hers either at that moment. He was remembering the past.

"The moment I heard the door open and heard one, two, three stumbling steps I knew he was drunk. My body tensed as I realized I would have to deal with this, like I had countless times before. Something felt off, though." He pushed himself off the table and began pacing the room. "He sat down and my mom brought him the paper so he could read it while she finished dinner up, but no...his paper was wet—it had rained earlier that day. I remember him yelling at her that it was her fault and then he jumped to her fooling around and all these other completely random accusations, then he started hitting her harder than I've ever seen him do.

"I'd never seen him that upset. I thought something must have happened at work, but I couldn't take it. She was my mother. Don't people promise to love and honor their partners? There's nothing in there about bashing their heads in. I yelled at him, called him every name I could think of. That didn't make his mood any better, but at least, I thought it would be me getting the beating, not her. And he pounced on me. I felt like a rag doll, and blood was everywhere. I fought back as hard as I could, but it wasn't enough.

"I remember his voice, 'Ya little shithead, who taught you manners? Your whore mother?! You don't talk back to me, d'ya hear me boy?! DO YA?! This'll teach ya!' Bam! Bam!" The Joker punched the air, "He hit me everywhere he could. Then mom was yelling, begging that he leave me alone. I wish she'd just kept her mouth shut. He turned back on her, and there was more screaming and when I was able to pull myself up into a sitting position against the wall that's when I saw her pull the knife she had been using to slice onions.

"He saw the knife of course, and it just made him even madder; he was pissed! How dare she pull a knife on him. They fought and he tackled her to the ground and wrestled the knife from her. There was more blood and both of them were bleeding. And then he stabbed her without any hesitation. He stabbed her over and over again...screaming at first and then laughing. Pure laughter. He was having fun...."

Harleen felt tears now freely flowing from her eyes. No wonder he was the Joker. Her heart ached. He turned and stared at her, and his face was not the Joker's. This was Jack and everything he was thinking was revealed to her. He walked towards her and turned her chair around so easily as if she was weightless and then knelt down in front of her.

"I was crying too. I knew she was gone. Then my sadness became fury. I screamed and attempted to get up and I got one good punch in on the bastard before he pushed me away and into a wall. When my vision came back he was towering over me. He held the knife, still red with my mother's blood in his hand. 'Why the long face, Jack? Don't you think the house is quieter now?' He held the blade up. 'Why so serious, c'mon crack your old man a smile.' I spat at him and he slapped me. He held me down and forced the blade in my mouth, cutting my lips in the process. 'Don't be so serious. Here, I'll help you. Let's put a smile on that face!' And...all I remember is the pain and when I woke up my face was stitched up and he was passed out on the floor. My mother still lied there.

"I called the police, and with adrenaline and just the need to escape, I ran away, used what money I could to buy a ticket from Gotham and left, vowing to come back and avenge my mother. And I did."

"You killed him," Harley whispered to him, "then you burned down the house, messing with the wiring and disappeared. Jack Napier died the night Lauren Napier died, didn't he?"

"No, Jack Napier just got rid of everything that made him Jack Napier and-"

"He slowly became the Joker," Harleen muttered and she sputtered before falling to full-out tears. A hand touched her cheek and wiped them away after a moment and she opened her eyes.

The Joker stared up at her. He stood up wordlessly and then leaned over bracing himself against the edges of the table. He was now staring down at her. "Harley, I wish I had met you in high school, who knows where life coulda gone?" He leaned down, and kissed her lips softly. "You'd better get going, your hour's up." He breathed against her mouth as he pulled away.

She picked up the clippings and stuffed them in the envelope wordlessly. She was out the door within minutes and the Joker watched her leave, for once a sober expression on his face.

What was she doing to him? She would be so easy to manipulate, but he didn't want that. He had made her cry; her tears concerned him. Her attitude touched him.

He had never wanted pity, but hers, it awoke something in him that he had thought never existed, or at least that he thought he would never feel.

Was it love? It wasn't lust, although he did want her physically, but he knew he wouldn't force her. He didn't do rape, and he would never pressure her; at least, maliciously. She would deny this come the next day, call it sympathy for him, and the thought brought an actual smile to his face.

He could handle that; he would handle that.

His precious, vivacious Harley Quinn. Who was who's puppet again?