Chapter 4

It was a relief to finally get home and collapse onto my couch. I flipped the television to the local news station and left it softly playing in the background as I undressed and took care of my personal hygiene regiment. I looked in my fridge for something to eat and decided on a ham and cheese sandwich since I didn't feel like making a mess. I was admittedly a lousy cook anyway. If it wasn't microwavable, it usually turned out to be inedible. I poured myself a glass of cheap chardonnay I had chilling in the fridge and plopped back down on the couch to watch the news. No sooner had I taken the first bite of my sandwich, when my land line started ringing.

I glanced at the clock on my cable box, it read 8:15. I grunted knowing that it was inevitably my mother, Sharon, calling to find out about my first day at the new job. Don't get me wrong, I love my mom to death, but she always had this uncanny ability to call me whenever I was in the middle of something. I choked down my mouthful with a sip of wine and answered

"Hiya mom."

"Hi bubby! I hope I'm not calling at a bad time." I glanced longingly at my dinner and sighed.

"No mom, I'm just winding down and watching a little TV. I just got home a little while ago. How are you?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected. I just put Jenny and little Nicky down for the night and figured while it was quiet I'd see how my baby's first day was."

"Why are you putting the kids down tonight? Where's Barry?" I demanded.

"His band is booked at some bar in Staten Island. Since I have a rare day off I told him I'd watch them."

My little brother Barry was 23, four years younger than I, and one of the most irresponsible people I knew. He already had two kids from two different mothers, Little Nicky who was two and Jenny who was six months. He also had no steady income and spent most of his days in front of the TV playing video games or his guitar, poorly I might add. My mom worked two jobs and was practically raising his kids for him.

"Ma!" I shouted "You can't keep letting him do this to you! When is he ever going to grow up if you keep doing everything for him?" She sighed.

"Harleen, you know you were born gifted. I knew when you were a little girl that you were going to make something special out of your life. Your brother…" there was a moment or two of silence before she continued "He takes after your father. If I were to kick him out what do you think would happen to him, huh?" I exhaled loudly.

"He'd end up in Fishkill Correctional with daddy."

My father, Nick Quinzel, was the reason I went into psychiatry in the first place. I always felt the need to figure out how he could do what he did to our family. He was a gambler and a con-man who had made a career out of swindling widows out of their inheritances. For years he lived a double life, wining and dining these women and leeching every penny he could get. It eventually caught up to him.

I was devastated the first time he was arrested. Well the first time I realized he had been arrested at least. My mother had been telling me for years that he was either "at the office" or "away on business" whenever he was gone for more than a week at a time. I was nine the first time the cops busted in our door and dragged him away. By the time I was ten I had figured out that he had been living with other women and sometimes their children.

I can't even begin to explain how hurt I was that he was playing father to someone else's children when we, when I needed him so badly. I blamed myself for a while, thinking I was a bad daughter or that somehow these other families he had were better than me in some way. By the time I was a teenager I realized he was just a selfish man who did as he pleased without regard to how it affected anyone else. Yet I still couldn't help but love him even though I hated him too.

It was at that point in my life I discovered psychology and became determined to get my degree so I could help families in crisis, like mine. If I could keep one kid from feeling as lonely and rejected as I had growing up, I felt like I could make a difference in the world. The problem was we were dirt poor and living in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. It was gymnastics that saved me. I was good, like Olympics good, and thankfully a college recruiter saw me compete and took an interest. I was granted a gymnastics scholarship and before I knew it I was enrolled in the psychology program at GU and was off to live in Gotham City. My mother cleared her throat and continued.

"Enough about Barry, I want to talk about my wonderful, intelligent daughter and find out about her first official day as a full-fledged doctor."

I couldn't help but smile, mom wasn't usually much for flattery but I knew she was proud of me. Not to mention that she could talk to the women in her book club about at least one of her family members without embarrassment.

I filled her in on the events of my first day and the previous night. Needless to say it didn't make her feel particularly secure knowing that I was working in the same facility that was currently housing the Joker, Gotham's most infamous and violent mass murderer.

I tried to assure her that security was tight at Arkham and that every precaution was used to keep the staff and patients safe, but she was still skeptical. I glanced back over at the clock.

"Listen ma, as much as I love hearing from you, it's getting pretty late, I'm starving and I have to get up early tomorrow so I'm gonna run, but I'll call you this weekend, ok?"

"Ok sweetie, you get some rest and for God's sake please be careful. You know I worry." I grinned and replied.

"I know ma, I promise, I'll be careful. I love ya mom, night."

"I love you too. Goodnight Harley."