Three Years Later
Dr. Harleen Quinzel leaned back against the building, staring up at the gray, overcast sky and letting out her breath along with the cigarette smoke. She drew in another puff of the cigarette, letting the smoke swirl inside her before slowly expelling it out into the dreary air above her.
She finished the cigarette, and then ground the butt beneath her heel before opening the door and heading back inside Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
She knocked on the door to an office, and a female voice said, "Come in!"
She opened the door to see the head of Arkham Asylum, Dr. Joan Leland, sitting at her desk examining some papers. "Come in, Harley," she said, looking up as she entered. "Have a seat."
Harley obeyed, saying nothing. "This is a really unfortunate case," sighed Dr. Leland at last, closing the file in front of her.
"Aren't they all?" replied Harley with a small smile.
"I suppose," agreed Dr. Leland. "But this one is particularly tragic. It's always hard to see people in our profession go bad."
She studied Harley. "Did you know?" she asked. "Since you were so close with him, I mean."
"I wasn't that close," replied Harley. "He was sorta my mentor my first few years of college, but then we kinda…drifted apart. And I didn't know anything about this."
She watched Dr. Leland's reaction, but there was nothing to indicate that she didn't believe her. "I just don't understand what would drive such a brilliant mind to do something like this," continued Dr. Leland. "Drugging people to frighten them out of their wits – what did he hope to gain by it?"
Harley shrugged. "I can ask him if you want. May I see him?"
"Yes, but be careful," said Dr. Leland. "He's probably not the man you knew – he seems to have become dangerously unhinged. Be sure to have the guards with you."
Harley nodded, standing up and heading toward the cell block. She stopped in front of a cell with a familiar occupant in it, who looked up as she swiped her keycard and entered.
"Hello, Professor Crane," she murmured.
"Hello, Harley," he said. His face and voice betrayed no expression. "I'm glad that my recommendation could help get you a job here. It's an excellent facility."
"Yes, it is," agreed Harley. "I'm glad you like it – you're probably going to be spending the rest of your life in here."
He smiled. "My dear, do you really think I can't outsmart these amateurs and their pathetic little diagnoses? I'm so far beyond them intellectually – the fools won't stand a chance against my mind manipulation. I'll be out of here in a few weeks at most."
"I don't think so," said Harley, studying him. "But I see you haven't changed much."
"You have," replied Crane. "You've aged a lot in three years. You seem much more stern and serious than when I knew you, and you don't look very happy."
"I don't have much to be happy about," retorted Harley. "Especially since the guy who recommended me for my job has just been sent to this facility because of his experiments in terror on unsuspecting students. They're going to want me to testify at your hearing. They're going to want to know if I knew anything about these experiments."
"Well, I won't tell them if you won't," he retorted. "I still have no desire to incriminate you."
"You always had such contempt for criminals," murmured Harley. "I never thought you'd become one…"
"I am not a criminal!" shouted Crane, suddenly angry. "I am a scientist! My experiments were in the service of science – they were for a noble cause, the advancement of human knowledge! I am not some common thief or murderer, someone who takes pleasure in torturing and hurting others! My work was necessary, and exploring the limits of mankind's knowledge can often be unpleasant. But we must do it, for the good of humanity."
"How does frightening people to death serve the good of humanity?" asked Harley.
"That was an unfortunate case – the intention was not to kill the boy," retorted Crane. "It was an accident. I cannot be held responsible for an accident when my intent was to do no harm. But every failure is a necessary step on the road to success, don't you see? If we can manipulate fear, if we can control fear, there is nothing we cannot achieve. Fear holds us back from so many things – think of what humanity could accomplish without its chains imprisoning them. I am doing mankind a great service, and although I have been condemned as a madman, history will vindicate me in the future."
Harley said nothing. "I won't be allowed to treat you," she said at last. "It would be unethical, not that you'd care about that. But I will check on your progress from time to time, for old time's sake. I'll see you soon, Professor," she said, turning to go.
"Harley, wait," he said. She turned back to him. "I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you," he said. "I was so worried when I was teaching you that you might stray onto some dark path, and I know it was a close run thing for a while there, but you've really blossomed as a psychiatrist and as a woman. I always knew you'd do wonderful things if you just kept at your studies, and look at you now. I'm glad all your hard work paid off."
Harley just looked at him, but didn't respond. Then she left him, heading back out to the courtyard. She looked back up at the bleak sky, and reached into her pocket for another cigarette. She lit it, putting it to her lips and shutting her eyes as she leaned her head back against the No Smoking sign.
Tell me how it feels to do the wrong thing, to risk being punished for doing something you wanna do, and that you should be allowed to do…why should the law be allowed to tell you not to do that, under pain of punishment? Why not tell it to go to hell?
She heard Jack's words in her head as clearly as if he were there, and inhaled from the cigarette once more. She hadn't grown more fond of the taste of them, but every time she smoked one, she remembered Jack, remembered his words and his voice and the feelings he awoke inside her, the feelings that had come upon her when she had done the wrong thing. The acrid taste of smoke mixed with the memories of the greatest pleasure she had ever known.
She exhaled slowly, shuddering as the feelings came over her body again. It was pleasant to remember them, but it also hurt – the happiness of the memory was tainted with the agony of knowing she would never experience such happiness again. This must be what Jack had felt like, she thought – his joy at being with her corrupted by his guilt at what he thought he was doing to her. But he had been wrong to feel guilty. In his mind, he was an anchor on her life, dragging her down to a place full of darkness and misery. He hadn't realized that was what her life was now, without him.
After Jack's death, Harley had transferred to another university back in Brooklyn, to be near her parents. Her parents noticed the great change in her, but she never told them what had happened except that Gotham held too many painful memories for her. As she continued her studies, and with the support of her parents, she achieved her degree at last. Then came the need for a job, and while she didn't particularly want to return to Gotham and drag up the ghosts of the past again, she still had Professor Crane's recommendation, and Arkham was the most prestigious mental institution in the country. So she applied for a job there, and got it.
When Harley received the job offer, she had thought she would feel overjoyed – all her hard work had finally paid off, and given her an incredible opportunity to build an incredible career. But just like when she had received her degree, she felt nothing but emptiness – a hollow space inside her sucked down her joy and swallowed any positive emotion she had. She felt like she was constantly bleeding on the inside, from a wound that would never fully heal.
That had been a few months ago. And now she spent her days dealing with difficult patients who treated her with outright contempt, people who were so arrogant and sure of themselves that they insisted they didn't need her help, and that she didn't know what she was talking about. Some days she actually agreed with them – she didn't know what she was talking about. She didn't know how to make anyone better – her own life was bleak and empty, and she didn't know how to fix that.
And now this extra worry, she thought, shutting her eyes again. With Professor Crane's arrest and disgrace, her integrity could be called into question. But she was pretty sure she could lie convincingly enough – she had noticed that people tended to believe exactly what the young, blonde, innocent-looking girl said. The same traits that made people doubt her experience were also the very things that made her able to get away with lying. Nobody would ever suspect someone like her of deception. It was both a gift and a curse.
She exhaled the smoke slowly, and then ground the cigarette under her heel again. She returned inside and entered the break room, where the other doctors were gathered intently around a TV.
"What's up?" asked Harley as she joined them.
"They've arrested Sal Maroni," said one of the doctors, pointing to the footage of a gangster being led away in handcuffs. "So now the Three Families are down to two. Apparently they've got enough evidence to convict him, or think they have."
"Batman has," said another doctor. "No way the cops could take down one of the Three Families by themselves. They ran this town until he showed up."
"It's not just him who's got them running scared," spoke up another doctor. "The Families are fighting a war on two fronts, against Batman and against this Joker guy."
"Who's that?" asked Harley. "I lived in Gotham a few years back, and while I've heard of Batman, I've never heard of him."
"He appeared on the scene a few years ago – nobody knows where he came from or who he is," said the doctor. "There are rumors that he suffered some accident that's disfigured his appearance and burned off all identifying markers. All anyone really knows about him is that he's a total psycho – you think the patients we get in here are bad, but you should see what this guy does."
He tossed the newspaper he had been reading at her, and Harley saw that it had printed a grisly photo of a corpse with a rictus smile on its face. "That was one of Falcone's guys, apparently," continued the doctor. "The Joker has this gas that twists their faces like that. They literally die laughing."
"So both the Batman and the Joker are weird loners obsessed with taking down criminals?" asked Harley.
"Basically," agreed the doctor. "But Batman doesn't kill people. The Joker has no problem doing that, as you've seen, and not just criminals – anyone who gets in his way. Just our luck to have two vigilante nutcases running around Gotham," he sighed.
"Why do you suppose they do that?" asked Harley. "I mean, why the vendetta against criminals in particular?"
"You'd have to ask them, but good luck with that," retorted the doctor. "They're both rarely seen – they just leave their handiwork for others to find. And you couldn't pay me to analyze a mind as messed up as that."
Harley thought the opposite – analyzing minds as messed up as Batman and Joker's would be a real challenge. And maybe a real challenge could help her feel alive again, or indeed, anything again. Trying to find them would be a risk, but facing that fear might help break through her apathy. And speaking of fear…
She returned to Crane's cell, and handed him the newspaper. "That's the Joker's victim," she said, nodding at the photo. "What can you tell me about him?"
"The victim?" asked Crane, studying the picture. "Not much – sort of a nondescript man…"
"I mean the Joker," interrupted Harley. "I want to find him. And to do that, I'll need to know how he thinks. And you always told me nobody knew the criminal mind better than you. I assume that includes criminal lunatics."
"Well, since I'm considered to be one now, I daresay I'm an expert," agreed Crane. "You think building a psychological profile will help find him?"
"It's a start," said Harley. "And maybe it'll help your case if you help locate this criminal lunatic. It'll show everyone you're public-spirited, and demonstrate your good intentions, especially if it ends in the Joker's arrest."
Crane nodded slowly. "I suppose I have nothing better to do at the moment," he agreed.
"Good. I'll find as much information on the Joker as I can," said Harley, leaving the cell. "It'll be good to be researching again. Just like old times."