Chapter Fourteen

I'll be seeing you again
I'll be seeing you in hell
Come crying to me now baby
Dead end zone for a dead end girl
-The Misfits, Die, Die My Darling

There was no way I was going to just sit at home. I didn't have anything to do there; I couldn't call Pam anymore and there was no way I was going to try to contact my Dad. Even as I dismissed the idea of calling my father, though, I was tempted by it. It might be nice to go home and take a few days, think things through and sort out my plans—but no. No time. I had work to do.

I went upstairs to visit Dr. Crane. It had been a long while since I'd seen him, almost two months since I had been banned from talking to him. Now, I figured, was as good a time as any. I got the feeling that this would be a goodbye. I didn't know if I would ever be coming back to Arkham.

He was in his cell, sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up, staring at the wall. His spine was rigid and he was watching the white expanse intently.

I stepped up to the glass. "Dr. Crane?"

He turned his head. He looked at me. And he laughed.

He laughed like he wasn't locked up in a giant cage, like the world wasn't going to hell, like laughing was going out of style. He just sat there and howled at me until he cried and gasped for breath like a drowning man. Dr. Jonathan Crane didn't lose composure like that. I'd barely seen a chortle out of him; snide smirks were much more his style, even when he was crazy.

I wanted to know what the joke was.

"What's so funny?"

He pushed himself off of the floor and wandered over to the glass, trying to regain his composure and wiping tears away. He pressed his hands to the glass at his chest level. "Have you looked at yourself lately, Dr. Quinzel?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Did my makeup just this morning. What, is there something on my face?"

He shook his head and raised a hand, tapping his index finger on the glass just in front of my face. "You're completely insane." His voice was as mellow and calm as it had been on the best of his lucid days; he may as well have been discussing the weather… or, as was more typical of him, Schrödinger's cat.

"No, I'm not," I said defensively.

"Yes, Dr. Quinzel, you are," he said, the smile fading away as his voice took on a somber tone. "In fact, it's my professional opinion that you'll be gracing the halls of Arkham as an inmate quite soon if you don't get out of here."

"Aw, but then I'd miss your charming company," I retorted.

He worked his jaw thoughtfully. "Since you bring it up, I was told that the last time you visited me, I tried to kill you." I nodded in confirmation, and he nodded back. "My apologies, Doctor. I wasn't myself. May I ask why you're visiting now?"

"I just got kicked out. Not officially, but I have the sense that a pink slip isn't far away," I said pensively. It registered somewhere in my mind that I was confiding my troubles to a crazy man—but then, what else was new?

"Ah. Well, don't be discouraged," Crane said calmly. "This place chews people up and spits them out. Rumor has it that Doctor Stratford—" he pronounced the name with cool contempt, narrowing those big blue eyes of his into slits—"got the knife." Crane had, on his lucid days, been quite vocal about Stratford's inability to run the asylum. In his opinion, Stratford was a grasping idiot.

Then again, Crane had used his authority over the asylum to drug the whole water supply. I never thought that he had the right to critique the tactics used by other directors.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're an inmate, Doctor. How do you get all these stories?"

He shrugged casually and said, a hint of arrogance pervading his tone, "People talk. I just know how to listen." He shook his head at me. "It's a shame about you, though. You always were an interesting student. You responded well to the abusive treatment I leveled at all of my students. It was as though you thrived on the very thing that frightened and hurt others." He looked speculatively at me. "I should have liked to have a chance to observe you closer. Ironic that the first time we met outside of the university, you were observing me."

I managed a wry smile. "I see you've gotten back in touch with what's left of your sanity, Dr. Crane. You planning the breakout yet? It's a shame you missed your chance the other night."

His face went blank. "It's been nice catching up," he said calmly. "Don't you have somewhere to go now?"

I smirked. "Goodbye, Dr. Crane. I hope to see you out on the streets again soon." He kept his face tranquil and blank, but a glance over my shoulder revealed that he was watching me thoughtfully as I walked away.

I reached my home and changed out of work clothes, favoring a pair of pinstriped black pants that were comfortable for all their stylishness and tight around my hips—that way I didn't have to worry about them riding down while I was running. I topped them with a blood-red v-neck and topped the ensemble with a fitted black faux-military jacket, which I left open.

I packed the pockets of the jacket with my keys, wallet, a flashlight, the Joker card I'd picked up the previous night, and a pair of mini-binoculars. I was going back to Banbury Crossing, and I was going to figure out why it was significant. I'd be damned if I was going to give up that easily.

I put my hair up as I left the house. I felt like I was preparing myself for a fight. I didn't know why; I just had that feeling. Maybe I was going crazy. Either way, I felt like a badass.

I drove back to the Crossing and ducked into the building again, some of my courage from earlier wearing off once I was back inside. I didn't have a knife with me this time—if some junkie squatter was inside and got spooked, I might be in trouble. Still, I had relative confidence in myself. I could run fast and, given the opportunity, punch hard. I kind of felt like beating something up, anyway.

I went upstairs to the room where I'd found the card and started looking around. I didn't see anything amiss. There was literally nothing. It pissed me off.

"Where are you, J?" I asked the empty room aloud.

I went to the window. It was boarded up, but there was a gap of visibility between slats. I took out the binoculars and fitted them to my eyes, looking out, wondering if I might be able to see another building suitable for a hideout from this room. Maybe that's why he left the card here—to tell me I'm on the right track.

That's when I heard the noise.

It was a cracking sound from downstairs, like somebody's foot colliding hard with wood, loud for its distance. I jumped and gasped, whipping around towards the door. There was nothing after that.

Fear told me to stay put in the room, to try to lock the door and hope that whoever it was would just go away without finding me. However, curiosity drove me. There was a chance that it was him.

Carefully, cursing every lazily creaking floorboard, I moved out to the stairs and looked down.

Clowns.

More accurately, men in clown masks. There were three or four of them, heading up my way. One of them looked up as I glanced down at them.

Ohshit.

Instinctively, I darted away as he shouted out, running away from the stairs and—well, where was I going now? There wasn't another set of stairs, I would die before setting foot in the rickety elevator that probably didn't even work anymore, and they would find me in any room in which I chose to "hide."

I was at a dead end and the guys were getting closer. I ended up darting back into the room where I'd found the card, slamming the door and shoving my shoulder against it in an attempt to hold it shut.

Wait a minute, Harley.

These guys… they're in clown masks. Guess who hires minions and makes them wear clown masks? They're with him, probably—I don't think imitators or wannabes would be well-received at all.

Yeah, but they didn't strike me as the type to ask questions first and kill later. They saw me in their territory, they saw a threat, and they were probably going to try to kill me. Right now I had to survive.

I fumbled at the lock. There was no switch; it required a key. I cursed aloud as a heavy body slammed into the door, pushing it open a few inches before falling away and allowing me to shoulder it shut again.

I shrieked when another attack forced the door mostly open. This time, it didn't slam shut again—someone got an arm through, reached around and clawed at my face, eventually finding my hair and jerking on it, pulling me closer to the opening.

I was screaming, they were shouting at each other, there was a whole lot of confusion, and so I missed whatever the sound was that made them all shut up. All I knew was that everything went suddenly quiet. The hand let go of me and slid back through the opening, and the door, under my weight, slammed shut again.

I gasped for breath, trying to recover from the scare as I listened to the movement in the hallway outside. Everything grew eerily quiet, and then:

"Please… open the door."

It was him. I was still for just a second, and then twisted around, shoulder still pressed against the door. A tiny shred of rationality still remained, and it weakly protested no, don't, he could kill you…

I didn't listen. I threw the door open to find a semi-automatic pistol pointed at my face.

The Joker didn't seem particularly surprised to see me, though he arched his eyebrows. He didn't lower the gun, instead looking patronizingly over his shoulder towards his men and saying, "See? Sometimes all you gotta do is ask."

He dropped the pistol to his side and entered the room, moving his spare arm in a sweeping motion, gesturing for his men to follow. He was dressed as I'd never seen him before, in a long purple greatcoat over a green-and-purple suit, wearing shining purple gloves over his hands. His makeup was on—not perfect, smeared in places, but definitely there.

I had to admit to myself, purple suited him better than orange.

The men rushed in and I backed away from the door—despite (or perhaps because of) the Joker's appearance, I didn't exactly feel safe. However, they ignored me, following their boss, who was looking around the room.

The man in question pointed at the back wall. "There," he said. The clowns moved without question—I noticed a little late that two of them were carrying axes, I thanked providence that they hadn't jumped straight to Jack Torrance tactics when they were on the other side of the door from me. With that thought fresh in my mind, I couldn't help but flinch when they started hacking into the wall, sending a sheet of dust towards the ceiling as the plaster crumbled and fell.

I was a little fascinated by the process, curious as to why they were demolishing the wall, so I was watching vigilantly when I felt the air change as someone moved to stand beside me.

I turned my head and looked up. He was there, steadily observing them as well, and when I looked, he rolled his eyes to the side, towards me, and turned his head slightly. He regarded me with a curious look but said nothing.

My breath escaped from me in a rush. "Hi." It was a completely inane thing to say, of course, and my voice sounded unnaturally breathy even to my ears, but it didn't matter. I had found him. I had found him, and I wasn't intending to let him out of my sight anytime soon. Of course, I had no delusions about my abilities as far as that goal was concerned—if he wanted to abandon me again, he certainly could.

I was just hoping he wouldn't want to.

"I was hoping you'd show up," he said softly, and my heart started beating faster.

"You said… Banbury Cross," I said the moment I trusted myself to speak. "I did some research. I was here earlier, but… there was no one."

"Of course not. This—" and he stretched out his arm, indicating the quickly-disintegrating wall—"is a storage facility." Funny-looking storage facility, I thought, but was wise enough to keep that thought to myself as he added, "You know, I imagined our paths might cross."

I looked up at him and something belatedly occurred to me. "You threw me off of a roof," I said flatly. It wasn't exactly an accusation, but it wasn't lighthearted teasing, either.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the men turn his head abruptly towards us at the statement, and I imagined that the mask concealed a gaping jaw, but he quickly returned to work before the boss saw. The Joker sucked in a breath through his teeth, sounding slightly pained.

"Yeaaah," he said slowly, and winced dramatically. "I needed a distraction, ya know? I mean, if it's any consolation, I knew he'd getchya." He leaned towards me, raising his eyebrows conspiratorially, practically pressing his forehead against mine. "I've seen him do it before," he said, as though he were letting me in on a big secret.

He was such a bastard, but I couldn't help but grin. He was the only one who never gave me any bullshit, who never tried to trick me or lie to me. He gave me the truth, and I couldn't help but love him for it. The truth was what I had decided to pursue, after all.

"My best friend was murdered the other day," I told him casually as he leaned back again.

"Ah?" he questioned, looking politely curious.

"By her superior. She was a genius and he wasn't. He got jealous."

"Ahh," the Joker said, clicking his tongue at me. "Nothin' like a good dose of petty humanity to clarify things, huh?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I think you could say that." I paused, and then rushed ahead. I was already slipping; might as well take the plunge courageously. "I've been trying to find you ever since."

"Uh-huh. Why's that?"

I hesitated, glancing briefly at the clowns. They'd finished tearing down the wall, revealing what appeared to be a miniature arsenal behind it. They were now loading up with guns—big guns. Little guns.

One gun, two gun, red gun, blue gun.

"Because you were right," I said slowly, watching the guns and feeling my eyes slide out of focus as I retreated into my mind. "You were the only one who's ever been right. People are evil. They don't deserve protection; they deserve exposure. They need to see how evil they really are. Until they can see that, there's no way they can really change. Nobody's gonna waste time fixing a problem that no one sees."

He was very silent for more than just a few seconds. Finally, I felt a touch beneath my chin—his gloved hand, turning my face towards him. I pulled my eyes back into focus as he lifted my face up, staring straight into his blazing eyes until I thought mine might burn out of my skull.

"Are… you… sure?" he purred softly.

I took just a second—that hard stare, boring straight into me, made me panic, question everything I thought I'd come to understand. After a moment, though, I nodded. "Yes. I'm sure. I want to help you. I want to keep you from getting thrown back in that place. Just show me how I can do that."

A smile crinkled his face. "You're in luck," he rasped, and let go of my chin, throwing his arm instead across my shoulders and pulling me tightly to his side. "A position just opened up on our team. We could use a shrink—some of these guys, not so good in the head. Ah, him, for example," he said, waving vaguely at one of the guys who had just lifted a load of guns. "Crazy as a bat."

The guy turned his head towards the Joker, and I got the distinct impression that behind the mask, he was giving the two of us a very dirty look. He quickly looked away, shouldered his burden, and slipped out of the room.

I didn't care. A new world had just opened up to me. Before this, although I would scarcely allow myself to think it for fear that it would ruin my resolve, I had expected to be scorned by him, to be thrown off of another building and left to rot. I hadn't imagined that it would be so easy.

But apparently, it was. Apparently, those sessions had meant everything I hoped they'd meant. Apparently, the Joker was just as happy at the prospect of continuing to see me as I was at the idea of getting to see him every day.

Nothing like finding out your crush is reciprocated, huh?

He lifted his voice and addressed his men. "Are you through yet?" There was a curious note of impatience in his voice, and two remaining men hurriedly nodded, clearing the rest of the guns out from the wall and hustling from the room.

The Joker showed no signs of letting me go. In fact, he pinned me tighter to his side as he strolled from the room, leaving me the option of walking with him or being dragged along. I went willingly.

I was just beginning to realize how tall he really was. I was in flat shoes and the top of my head didn't quite reach his shoulder. He already looked better than he had in Arkham. He looked like he'd had a few square meals and a full night's sleep. Freedom suited him.

"So," he said as we hit the stairs, "it's, ah, mighty convenient that you'd show up just now." Right foot, left foot—we moved in unison, at the same pace downstairs.

"I was going to say the same thing," I fired back. He let loose one sharp bark of laughter. I shrugged. "I'm tenacious. I wanted to find you and Banbury Cross was the only clue you'd given me. And I don't believe in coincidence." I swiveled my head, looking up at him. "You showed up at exactly the right time."

He pulled an innocent face that I didn't buy for one second. "Now, ya see, I'm lucky like that. How's the dear old Asylum?"

It was my turn to make a face. That place. Ah, well. If everything worked out, I wouldn't have to go back there. If I could find some way to stick next to J—if I could confirm that I actually wanted to and this wasn't some temporary delusion brought on by Pam's death—then I could forget all about that nuthouse.

"It's… almost exactly as you left it," I said hesitantly. "Doctor Wilson's kind of taken Stratford's place, and I imagine that means he inherited Stratford's need to control me."

"Well," said the Joker, licking his lips thoughtfully, "they did hire you."

"True, but that doesn't mean they're responsible for my mental health." We'd stopped on the bottom floor, and he let me go, moving to stand in front of me and stare down into my eyes.

"Ah, yes, your mental health," he purred. "How are you, little Harley? Mentally, I mean?"

I looked uncertainly at him before steeling my spine and replying, "I'm seeing things more clearly than ever."

He turned away, laughing giddily at some private joke. I followed him outside, squinting in the sunlight. Someone (wonder who?) had haphazardly driven the gray van over half of the barriers blocking off the building, ending up parked almost inside of the door. The clowns were loading the guns into the back of the van.

"I hope you're not planning on going home anytime soon," the Joker said conversationally as he watched the goings-on with an air of casual interest.

I shot a look at him, and sensing my gaze, he rolled his eyes to the side, looking at me out of the corners. "Oh, we probably won't have time to stop by," he said. "There's just so much to do." At this last bit, his tone was all but vibrating with dark excitement. I could only imagine—he'd been trapped in Arkham for three or four months; I was sure he was ready to get back into the swing of things.

"Boss?"

The Joker swung his head around, staring intently at the clown who had addressed him.

"You want me to drive?" asked the clown, looking uncertain—well, as uncertain as a being could look while wearing a clown mask.

"Do I want you to drive?" the Joker mimicked him. "Do I want you to drive?"

The clown didn't reply, probably figuring that it'd be wiser to keep his mouth shut. After a tense moment where the Joker stared and the clown stood silent, the former shrugged. "Sure."

From the way the clowns raced to the front seat, it was clear that they didn't want to be stuck in the back with him. The first two climbed in swiftly, and the last one fell back resignedly as the Joker gestured for me to climb in through the back.

I obeyed. The back was separated from the front; there was a bench built into one side. The guns had been placed in cases stacked in the corner. Other than that, it was bare.

The Joker got in behind me, and when the clown stepped up to follow us, the Joker braced himself against the walls and planted a foot into his minion's chest, shoving him out of the back. "Catch the next one," he snapped, and pulled both doors shut in the clown's face.

The Joker turned back to me as the engine started. The look on his face was more intent than I'd ever seen it before, frightening in its perfection.

"Now," he sang, "let's get down to business."