Remembering Jack

Past

Sitting at one of the most unconventional desks possible, the Joker laced his leather clad fingers behind his head and closed his dark rimmed eyes. His legs were propped slightly up against the wall and his breathing came out in short, even tones. His head would occasionally tilt sideways, when his interest was piqued by a distant mumble or footsteps; though it never lasted long. Pencils with broken points were scattered across the once flat surface of the desk, and fragments of broken crayons rolled back and forth with every twitch he made.

It was one of those rare – and most irritating – moments for the Joker, when he absolutely had nothing to do. The Gotham police force was still picking up after his last little ‘experiment.’ His mouth twitched with amusement and he opened his eyes slightly, in remembrance of last month’s events; the thought almost made him laugh. Out of habit, he licked his lips and closed his eyes once more, humming a nameless tune.

He just wasn’t having fun anymore. Batsy had remained incognito for the longest time, no matter how hard Joker had tried to draw him out. He’d tried everything! He had blown up everything from a bakery – which, really, had been Harley’s doing; he growled at the thought of her – to a church, with those nuns and their silly little hats on. He cackled and wiped away a fake tear from his eye. His shoulders shuddered with laughter and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop.

A timid knock came at the door and, opening his eyes, he glanced at the pencils on his desk. “Come in,” he briefly ordered, in his frightening, high pitched voice his workers had come to both fear and respect (but mostly fear).

“Hiya, Puddin’,” Harley cooed, waltzing her way in and feeling of everything with her forefinger, as if that made her appearance sexy and desirable. As if it would make him want her. There were only a few things in the world that could make the Joker squirm. Harley Quinn was one of them. And not in the way she would have liked. It had grown dark so she couldn’t quite see that he, in fact, had tensed up tremendously and shook his shoulders as if a shiver had run through his entire body.

“Puddin’,” Harley whined, feeling around in the room. She cried out upon hitting her leg on something. Joker tried hiding his laughter at her squeal of pain. “It’s so dark in here,” she whispered, reaching out for him. Her hands landed on his thighs and she smirked – in what she thought –seductively. “Dontcha wanna come play?” she asked suggestively, “the guys left and it’s just you and me, Puddin’.”

He jumped up angrily, pushing her to the floor without warning or regard to her cry of pain. “They left?” he growled, lifting her up by her hair, “you let them leave?” His disdain at Harley was momentarily outweighed by what she had just told him.

Whimpering, she tried to calm him down; thinking she knew how to handle him better than anyone else was just another lie he had led her to believe. “Puddin’, they were hungry!” she shrieked, throwing herself on him. She wrapped her arms around his torso and planted a kiss blindly. He threw her off and drug his foot – which now had a woman with her hands attached to it – all the way to the door, switching on the light. It was dim, but Harley got the message loud and clear when she saw the rage on his face.

“Oh, sweetie,” she cried, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry. Please-”

“Save it,” he growled, kicking her off. “Go get dressed. And throw that…thing you’re wearing away.” He shook his head in a disgusted manner, watching her in the coldest, unreadable way.

Though her face had a pained expression on it, Harley remained silent, at least knowing better not to argue. It was only when she climbed up to her feet – with no assistance from Joker, of course – and walked out into the hall that she sobbed loudly. The ‘thing’ she was wearing was lingerie: a red ‘dress’ trimmed with black lace. She had had it especially made with diamond shapes embroidered on it, hoping her Puddin would notice. But sadly, just like all the other times, he didn’t appreciate her efforts.

“Face it, Harls,” she whispered with her head drooped low as she walked to her room, “You gotta do somethin’. You just ain’t got it no more.” Entering her room, she closed the door and stared at her reflection in her mirror. Her eyes had been pretty once upon a time; now they were dull and useless looking. She pinched her face a bit, crying when she saw a wrinkle.

“Harls, all you gotta do is change ya look,” she told herself, “and make him want you again. Then you can sleep in the same bed again.” Wiping her face, she thought of all the great times they had shared: dancing under the moonlight in full costume, killing their enemies together, making love, torturing people… it had been the greatest, most romantic time of her life. Lately, though, her Puddin’ had changed; it was all because of that stupid, mean old Batman. He would never let her precious Puddin’ have a little bit of fun. He just didn’t understand her darling like she did!

Snapping her fingers, Harley smiled wildly at her reflection. Grabbing her jester hat from the dresser, she placed it over her limp blond hair and shook it around, grinning when it jingled. “That’s it, Harls! You get that old mean Batman and kill him for your Puddin’. Then he’ll be so happy that he’ll wanna marry ya!” she winked at her own self and ripped the skimpy article of clothing off, replacing it with her ‘uniform.’ She pulled on her black boots quickly and skipped over to her makeup. Grabbing the red lipstick, she applied it generously, as well as mascara and eyeliner. In a considerably better mood, Harley walked out into the hall and hummed a song about her and her Puddin’ that she had made up:

My Puddin’ and I
I love him so much I could just cry
I’d do anything, anything,
Anything to make that stupid old mean Batman die.

Thoroughly impressed with her ‘songwriting’ skills, Harley smiled at her Puddin’, who glared at her suspiciously as she skipped the entire way to the van. Joker, who once would have joined her – not because he liked her, but because it was fun – made his way out slowly. Startled when she realized there was no van, and that the men had taken it, Harley looked at Joker with wide eyes.

Tilting his head to the side, Joker closed his eyes, angrily thinking of torture devices to use on those men that were crueler than what the cruelest ruler would have ever used on anyone. His hands were balled into fists, the leather making squeaking sounds; Harley giggled at the sound a bit and quickly turned away when he glanced angrily at her.

“This is your fault,” he stated menacingly, taking a step forward. He circled her, feeling in his coat pocket. When the familiar jingle of knives filled his ears, it was a bittersweet melody to him. He smirked when she cowered away, throwing herself onto her knees, with her hands in a praying manner.

“Come on,” he ordered harshly, kicking her forward. She suppressed her tears and scampered to her feet as quickly as she could, lingering slightly behind him, though staying a far away distance if she needed to run. Shaking her head, she scorned herself for thinking such a thing. She could never leave her sweet, sweet, precious, misunderstood darling! She thought of more loving adjectives to call him when he stopped suddenly, making her run right into his back. Startled, she cried out and backed away. Luckily for her, he didn’t pay her any mind and went forward once more.

It was that stupid Batman’s fault that her darling was so mad! She would get him for it. Oh she would. Faltering, she realized she might need some help… Smiling, she thought of getting someone to help her and then killing them when the job was finished, so that she could take all the credit. Then her Puddin’ would be proud to introduce her as his girlfriend. Maybe even his wife. She silently applauded herself for her apparent stroke of genius and skipped after Joker, who had pulled a handgun out some time before.

Licking his lips, he looked severely around him, ‘planning’ what to do with those men. They took his truck, the money in it – that they ‘forgot’ to unload – and now he was out in the open, a target. Not only had there been a price placed on Batman’s head – for his arrest, of course – but there was also a quite a large sum on Joker, if he was captured and brought alive to the police. He would be placed right back in Arkham Asylum, from which he had just escaped – a little over a year ago.

This had forced him to move into the very far outskirts of town, where hardly anyone lived. It was mostly wasteland out here, and it smelled funny. He had picked one of the most rundown buildings possible, knowing it would attract little attention. Joker knew one thing: that was where criminals went wrong. They bought these fancy houses with all the money they stole and flaunted it for the world to see. They were easy to catch. And the ones who hid, well, they were just as idiotic. Not him though. He would never get caught. Unless he wanted to.

He titled his head slantways and weighed in letting himself get caught, just to have a bit of fun. Then thinking how boring it would be, he decided against it. Then he decided for it, thinking about all the freshly trained rookies that would be there after last year’s accident. He giggled to himself, remembering all the hats that had exploded in the air after killing an entire squad. “Ha, ha, he he, aho, ha,” he drawled out darkly, intending to scare Harley, which he did. Her bottom lip quivered as he looked around, almost in a dog-like manner, as though he was sniffing out his next victim.

He giggled to himself once more, uncontrollably. Harley stood behind him, puzzled, while he looked straight down at the broken up concrete. There was a hole, filled with water. “Let’s go to town,” he told her, in between gasps, leaning down to pick up a tattered poster with Bruce Wayne’s photo on it. Little Brucey was running for mayor. Joker just might’ve gotten what he wanted after all. Finally breathing normally again, he cackled, tapping the poster a few times; finally, with elaborate deliberation, he ripped it to pieces. “Oh, what fun we’ll have.”

Harley joined him in his gleeful laughter, even though she had no clue what the ripping of Bruce Wayne’s poster signified. All she knew that somehow, someway, she just had to find someone to help her kill the Batman. She had to end her pumpkin’s suffering once and for all. She couldn’t share her plans with him either, or he would try to stop her. She just knew he would try to protect her or prevent any harm from coming to her. That alternative actually seemed nice to Harley, though she shook her head. She was letting her devotion and love get in the way of what needed to be done. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t.

Linking his arm with Harley’s – to her great surprise, and happiness – Joker started to skip, Harley falling in step with him so that they moved at the same time. Content, she hummed her song she wrote. The moon cleared from behind the clouds and just ahead, she could make out a sign which read: Entering Gotham City Limits.