Harley Quinn hurt. She missed the fire escape on her way out the window and ended up as street pizza; she was messed up bad. Her left arm was mangled in the fall and she had cracked a couple of ribs. She could hear Red's voice in her head purring away in that way she did whenever she was irritated - "I swear, you try my patience, you little...." Harley missed her.
It had all started out as just another job for Mr J. He had this great wonderful plan, it was an experiment in existential nihilism. You know snuff out half of Gotham and see if there was any difference. If there wasn't then the jokes on you because the entire human species is insignificant and without purpose and can make no real change in the totality of existence. Mr J was always good for a laugh. Unfortunately, the Bat didn't see it that way. That was the problem with the Bat; he had no sense of humour - existential or otherwise.
She was with Mr J when the Bat showed up, so Mr J says shoot him - the Bat that is - and so she empties a clip into him, but the bullets just bounced right off - how was she to know the Bat had Kevlar Mesh underwear - so she does the next best thing, she shoots his Boy Wonder.
That really cracked Mr J up, "Hey Bats don't laugh at my jokes too much. People will say we're in love".
Harley only scratched the kid, but the next thing she knows she's flying out the window. She ended up in a dumpster in the alley. The filthy remains of someone's once prized sofa breaking her fall. It could have been worse; she could have hit the ground and become a real concrete blonde. By the time she finally climbed out, the cops had cleaned up house and gone home to Gotham's funniest home videos. It was just dumb luck that it never occurred to Gotham's finest to search the trash.
Harley Quinn made a quick dash back into the crime scene. She needed to ditch the clown suit, clean off the face paint, secure that arm of hers and get back out on the street. She had to get to one of those Wayne City Electrical Stores, the ones with the wall to wall flat screen television displays. You couldn't jaywalk in Gotham without it making the news as a matter of public record. Gotham was that kind of a city. She was a psychologist, she ain't stupid.
They were still playing the news footage from the WNN copters when she got to the corner of Third and Main. Mr J didn't look so good; they didn't get his good side but Bozo really looked sharp in his new tweeds. Blue really was his colour. Well thought Harley Quinn at least Mr J didn't have to worry about nuthin in Arkham, they usually left his padded cell just the way he liked it and he always got an extra helping of tapioca pudding. Pudding for her Puddin.
She knew she had to start watching her back. It wasn't the cops that were worrying her, it was the Bat. She had tried to take out one of his own and that made it personal with him. What was the problem with the Bat? You shoot the Boy Wonder and he takes it like you maundered his pet goldfish or something. Didn't the people at Social Services tell him he wasn't suppose to bring minors along to bad places where they could be shoot, killed and have terrible things done to them. She could see it coming it was going to be "Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise!" with the Bat and Harley Quinn dead meat.
She had to get out of Gotham, maybe steal a bike (she couldn't drive with that arm of hers in a sling) take a left at Albuquerque and head into Metropolis, for a while at least. She could hear Red's voice purring away in her head again - "Harley, Harley, Harley. Never go travelling without a road map." Harley missed her even more.
All Harley ever wanted from Mr J was his love and approval. Not that she got it, not like from Red. Red was the best. They were inseparable. They were a team like Butch and Sundance, Thelma and Louise, Rocky and Bullwinkle. Harley always knew what Red needed to get her hap hap happy again. Well most of the time anyways. Red was special in that special way, you know.
It was past 2am, Pamela Isley had spent the last few hours calling every contact she knew and no one had been able to confirm if Harley Quinn was dead or alive. No one in Gotham wanted to talk about her. It was as if Harley had been crossed out from the phone book. If Batman was right about one thing it was that criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot.
Isley was drawing a tree, its branches the intertwining "ifs" and "ands" of her thoughts.
If Harley was alive, where was she? Hurt? Or just half way to Star City? Was her concern for Harley's well-being warranted? Could she expect next week's mail to arrive with a cutesy postcard scribbled full of hearts, noughts and crosses - "Sorry Red, had to hit the highway for a while. Miss You XXooXX". It won't be the first time; Harley disappeared only to show up on her doorstep with a silly grin on her face - "Hi, Bay-Bee" - before throwing her arms around Pamela in a big tight bear hug. Pamela Isley was never quite sure how she ended up with a friend like Harley Quinn.
If Harley was dead, what then? Was she expected to cry, scream and carry out a plan of retribution against the Bat? Against the world? That was how she ended up in Arkham in the first place. She still wakes up sometimes. She wakes up in the dark and she can hear them screaming; every tree, every flower, every blade of grass. The years have deadened her to the losses. She lost the Rosaceae Vularis when they built the new Gotham Penitentiary. The facility was Harvey Dent's brain child for a better safer Gotham. She poisoned him for it and she knows he has never quite forgiven her for it. Men are strange creatures with egos and a huge inferiority complex at the same time.
What would Harley have wanted? Harley had started talking to her about them (Harley & Ivy signed off with a heart), confusing talk about how Harley liked and admired her (no), leaving Gotham and finding a new place with more sunlight for a change (cant). Their place in the sun as Harley liked to put it.
Emotions were transient to Pamela Isley. She was a peculiarly deadly mess of contradictions; a moment sweet, the next destructive. Yet Harley Quinn was her friend and more important to her than anyone would ever know. Pamela wondered why that was, after all what's she got in common with a sociopath whose goal in life is to be the Joker's right hand.
She doesn't know and she doesn't understand why when Harley is gone there is a hole in the world where Harley used to be, a hole which she finds herself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.
I miss you like hell.
Continues in Chapter 3 –