Ha Ha Harlequin

The bruises on Harleen’s neck were very profound, even with the twenty layers of foundation she had caking it. What once was her normal, pale skin color was now covered with purplish-bluish splotches, making her resemble some sort of strange, purple leopard. Or perhaps a giraffe, with the way she was stretching her neck out. She poked at one of the discolored spots, and then grimaced when she felt pain. She shook her head, annoyed. Now she was going to have to wear a turtleneck to work. And she hated turtlenecks. They always made her feel itchy and as if they were constricting her throat.

Well, she debated with herself. It’s a turtleneck or an open discussion with the Joker about my new décor.

Sighing, she left her bathroom and returned to her dresser. Or the box that served as her dresser. She pulled out a couple of sweaters, and then found a nice scarf.

Hm. Maybe I could just wear a scarf to work instead…

Suddenly an image of Dracula popped into her head. Despite the appropriateness of the situation, she tossed the scarf over her head. She ended up settling for a red turtleneck sweater. She held a skirt in one hand and then a pair of pants in the other.

The skirt would show that I am in touch with my feminine side. But it would also bring a lot of attention to my legs. The pants would cover a lot more up, but they would also show that I was aware that I was in a male-dominated field.

Oh the mind of a psychologist.

In the end, she went for the black skirt, making sure it was one of the looser ones she owned. Finally satisfied with her wardrobe choice, she looked at herself in the mirror once more.

I look like a school-teacher. With a grimace, she shrugged the thought off. Eh, I’ll be wearing my lab coat most of the time.

She pulled her hair back into a low, tight bun and allowed her bangs to flow down the side of her face. Her make-up was already done; she went with natural tones for her eye shadow, easy on the eyeliner, and with a little bit of mascara. She brought out her lipstick collection. She was stuck between Fireball Red, Red Hot Red, and Shined Rose. She decided that Shined Rose would be the most appropriate shade to wear to work.

The mirror reflected a smart, young, beautiful woman, someone ready to take on the world and all that it threw at her. Regrettably, she didn’t feel that way on the inside. She was terrified, and she constantly asked herself if she was ready to do this. But Harleen knew very well that she always got herself all worked up about something, and once she was thrown into the situation, she would charge through it like a trooper.

But she was never thrown at someone like the Joker before.

Her cell phone vibrated on the table, echoing very loudly in the nearly-empty room, and waking her from her thoughts. She dashed over to it, nearly tripping over her own bed on the way, and answered it, assuming that it would be the asylum, calling to tell her that something bad has happened or what not.

“Hello?” she answered, voice a little too eager. The caller didn’t seem to notice.

“Hey Harley-girl,” Pam greeted. Harleen pursed her lips at the nickname. “We still up for lunch?”

“Like I told you last night, Red,” Harleen mumbled while attempting to put her heels on. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’ll try my best. Geez, you’re being such a nag!”

“How so?” Pam asked, clearly not concerned with the insult. She was always like that, so breezy and easy-going. It was one of the qualities that Harleen admired about her.

“This is the third time you’ve called. Asking about lunch,” she pointed out, narrowing her eyes in annoyance even though she couldn’t see her.

“So?”

“You never do that, making me wonder whether or not you had an ulterior motive,” Harleen accused.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Harleen knew what was up; her friend was never this quiet.

“You’re setting me up, aren’t you?” It was more of a statement than a question. She immediately was annoyed even before she received the answer.

“Of course not,” Pam denied smoothly. “I just haven’t seen you in a long time. Can’t a girl just be excited to see her best friend?”

“No.”

“Hmph. Fine. I give. There’s this guy I met and he has this friend that I know would be perfect for you-”

Harleen moaned into the receiver, extra dramatically. “Red, didn’t I tell you to stop playing matchmaker with me? The last guy you picked turned out to be gay.”

“But Nick was so cute!”

“Yes. Cute and gay. Not exactly my type.”

Pamela chuckled. “Yeah I see what you mean. But I promise you, this guy is different. He’s a med student, like you were.”

Harleen glanced at the time and found she didn’t have time to argue.

“Fine!” she relented, shoving the Joker’s files into her purse and searching frantically for her jacket. “I’ll see you around one ok?”

“You’re late for work, aren’t you?” Pam assumed, a smile playing in her voice.

“How could you tell?” Harleen asked, but not necessarily surprised.

“You gave in too easily.”

Harleen laughed and they said their good-byes. Deciding that she was ready, she checked herself one last time in the mirror, then grabbed her purse and keys and took off. Today was the day, the day she would get the chance to prove herself to the other doctors at the asylum. To prove that she wasn’t just some blond bimbo who slept her way to get to the position she was at. That’s all people did when they saw her, assume, assume, assume. She was about to throw their assumptions right back in their faces.

“Good morning, Dr. Quinzel,” Arkham greeted as soon as she made her way over to his office. He was waiting, newspaper folded open in his hands and smile waiting on his face.

“Good morning,” she greeted with a simple smile. There was an awkward silence between the two. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t we going over to the maximum security wing?” Harleen asked, glancing at him skeptically. “You did say eleven o’clock, correct?”

He smiled and nodded his head. “We need to wait to be escorted over by an orderly. And we won’t be going to his room. He is going to be waiting for us in one of the interrogation rooms.”

Harleen thought this odd. She knew how much Arkham liked sticking to protocol, and protocol meant having sessions in the patient’s room, unless they were under investigation by the police.

“Are there going to be…policemen there, Dr. Arkham?” This was unsettling.

“Yes of course,” Arkham told her, standing up and sitting on the edge of his desk. “It was part of our agreement with the GCPD. In order to keep the Joker here, he needed to be under constant surveillance by members of the police force.”

She looked at him for a moment.

“And you were going to tell me this…when exactly?” she asked harshly. She was back to disliking her employer.

He shrugged at her. “I didn’t realize it was of importance to you.”

“Sir, it’s the police.”

Before Arkham could respond, there was a knock at the door. Harleen turned around, irritated at being interrupted, but then saw it was an orderly. She assumed this was the man that was going to take them to the Joker. All other emotions except for anticipation disappeared entirely.

“Ready doctors?” he asked, folding his arms so his muscles were bulging. Harleen didn’t even realize that it was for her benefit.

“After you, Dr. Quinzel,” Arkham told her warily, holding an arm out for her.

She ignored the gesture, but followed the orderly out. She noticed the sudden change of atmosphere as the three of them walked down the hall in silence. Arkham was apprehensive, and she could tell. The man only had one session with the Joker. This set her on edge.

“Here you are,” the orderly said gruffly. “Just knock on the door if you want out early. There is a panic button underneath the table, just in case things get out of hand. And for you, Miss, I was told to give you this portable one.”

He smirked at her, and gently handed a button to her. She thanked him and slipped it into her pocket. She really wished he would stop staring at her like that.

She looked around the area outside of her door. There were three policemen there, all looking very nervous. They had to have been new recruits. The GCPD needed them after all the Joker killings.

“We’ll be able to hear everything that’s going on,” one of them told her, tipping his hat at her. “But we won’t come in unless you ask for it, or the panic button goes off.”

She smirked at that. They were reluctant to go in as well.

The interrogation rooms were at the far end of the building, way in back, near an exit, just in case a detainee was brought in and the police wanted to interrogate him right away. The door stared at her innocently, as if it did not hold a dangerously psychotic criminal on the other side. She mentally puffed out her chest and followed Arkham inside, who seemed to go as slowly as possible. He really did not want to see the Joker.

Stepping through the door felt like stepping into a new world.

“Hell-o-o doctor.” Harleen heard him say once Arkham had entered. “Back so soon? Thought I, uh, scared you off there for a bit.”

His voice sent chills up and down her spine, made the hairs stick up on the back of her neck. It was nasally, but at the same time deep, and very masculine. It was like the lyrics and the music of a song that shouldn’t go together, but for some strange reason, they did. She had yet to see his face and she was already terrified.

Now, she didn’t want it to be like in the movies where as soon as Arkham moved out of the way, Harleen would be standing there, with some cool, collected look on her face, wind blowing her hair in a delicate fashion, etc. She did not want to draw that kind of attention for herself; she didn’t think she could handle it. So, instead, she resorted to quickly moving to the corner of the room, where there was a chair awaiting her. Not only could she sense him in the room, she also felt him, his aura, his very presence. To Harleen it was almost…intoxicating. She kept her face down, pretending to read her notes. How could you function properly when you knew there was a murdering psychopath in the room?

“Hmmmm…” Harleen heard him say, like a low rumble of thunder in his chest. Safe, yet dangerous all at the same time. “I must have been a very good boy, doc.”

She couldn’t resist looking up and catching his eye, his wondrous, intriguing, dark, cold, sinister eyes. They were staring back at her, with amusement in them. Looking away from him was not an option. Not anymore.

She took a moment to take in the man before her, blocking Arkham out. He was propped up at the table, straight jacket on, legs shackled together, make-up and green hair absent. Without his motif, he was just an ordinary man, except his mouth was adorned with two very wide scars, trailing from the corners of his mouth to halfway up his cheek. But despite that minor flaw, he was a very handsome man.

“And why do you say that, Mr. Doe?” Arkham asked, sitting down in his folding chair, files in front of him, ready for them to be opened. There was no true curiosity in his tone.

The Joker’s eyes rolled up into his head and he let out a dramatic sigh, returning his gaze to Dr. Arkham. He pulled his lips to one side in annoyance.

“I’m talking about legs over there in the corner.” His faced tilted over towards Harleen and his eyes flashed dangerously. She instantly regretted wearing the skirt. “Where’ve you been hiding her at?

Arkham sniffed, and then pulled a video camera out of his bag, a more high-tech one than Harleen’s. He set it on the table and hit the record button, lens pointed at the Joker.

That’s when Harley mentally smacked her forehead with her hand. He really shouldn’t be using a camera. Not with this patient. It would only boost his ego, create a desire for him to perform for an audience. She should have mentioned this before, but it slipped her mind.

“This is Dr. Arkham overseeing patient 6823,” he began speaking loudly, avoiding the Joker’s eye. Harleen simply watched from the corner, eyes never leaving the clown’s face. “Assisted by Dr. Quinzel.” The Joker’s eyes flickered to Harleen’s face briefly, and then returned to his current prey. “We will be referring to the patient as John Doe.”

The clown groaned.

“Here we go…I thought we talked about this, Arkham,” the Joker began in a disappointed tone. He was shaking his head side to side. “My name is not John Doe.” He said the name in a very nasally voice. “I’m not some person running around without an identity. I know exactly who I am. I am the Joker. J-o-k-e-r. Joker. Ja-oke, er. Like choker. With a j.”

His tongue flicked out of his mouth, tracing his scars. Harleen wrote it down on her clipboard.

“Then why don’t you share with the class your real name, hm?” Arkham retorted, spreading his arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Then I would not have to call you Mr. Doe.”

Apparently, the Joker grew bored with that topic of conversation, or just perhaps with Arkham, so he turned to Harleen. This did not please her. She did her best to make her face like as blank and expressionless as possible. Nothing for him to take and rip apart.

“Sooo-oo-oo, Dr. Quinzel-a,” he began, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “What’dya do to get locked up in her with little ol’ me? Hm?”

“Please refrain from speaking to my assistant,” Arkham commanded strongly. The Joker simply disregarded him, but continued to eye Harleen.

Her facial expression remained the same, but not because she was calm, oh no. It was because she was slightly paralyzed.

He’s speaking to me. Oh God he’s speaking to me…

Her paralysis wasn’t out of fear though. It was because she was feeling…exhilarated, an emotion did not expect. His eyes bore into her, as if he could see every inch of her physically and mentally. The scary part was that she knew that he could see it. It caused his grin to grow even wider.

“Ooooh, I like her, doc,” he said, finally addressing Arkham. “I hope she sticks around. Skirt’s a plus too. Such a nice change from these orange eyesores. Ever think of changing ‘em to purple?”

“How did you sleep, patient 6823?” Arkham responded, ignoring the Joker’s question.

“If I didn’t like Mr. Dooooooe,” the Joker started, drawing out the name. His tongue flashed out once more. “What makes ya think I’m gonna like patient 6823?”

He exposed his yellow teeth in a grimace at the title.

“Did you dream at all?” Arkham ignored him once more, scribbingly down on his own piece of paper.

Harleen shook her head slightly at the older doctor. Clearly, the Joker was a sociopath, and ignoring him was definitely not going to benefit Arkham in any way. If anything, it was going to make matters worse.

The Joker stared at Arkham, widening one eye and then switching to the other, as if analyzing his prey. Harleen was just waiting for him to strike.

“You’re married, right Doctor Arkammmmmm?” he asked casually, smacking his lips after saying Arkham’s name.

Arkham ignored the question, but she could see him tense up. So it begins.

“Got any kids?” the Joker continued, despite the lack of response.

“My personal life does not belong in this session,” Arkham said, sighing and rubbing a hand down his face. “Let’s keep the focus on you today, shall we?”

“When they do something bad,” the Joker said thoughtfully, as if Arkham hadn’t responded at all.

Harleen noted that he had a tendency to completely ignore Arkham, trying to show who was the dominant one in this session, who was in charge.

“Ah, when they do something wrong, ya know, break the rules, talk back, kill the neighbor’s cat…do ya lock ‘em up in their rooms? Hmm?”

“I punish them how I see fit,” Arkham answered, finally relenting to his will. Harleen knew this was going in a bad direction. He just confirmed that he had kids. And he yelled at her about letting her guard down. She resisted snorting at his stupidity.

“Ah, how you see fit?” The Joker was suddenly interested again, scooting his metal folding chair closer to the table. If he wasn’t in a straight jacket, Harleen had a feeling that he would be resting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. “But how do you know that, uh, your version of ‘fit’ is the right one?”

“It works for my family.”

“But what happens, when the day comes, and the tables turn, and your kids start to, uh, what’s the word…” his voice trailed off and he scrunched up his face in concentration as he searched for the right word. “Rebel, against you? What do you do then?”

The Joker was applying this situation to himself. Harleen couldn’t help but let a small smirk pull up at the corner of her mouth. He was good. They weren’t even ten minutes into the session, and he already had control.

“New punishments are made,” Arkham answered, as if the solution were natural.

“And what if these new, er, punishments didn’t work either? And you start to lose even more control?” the Joker asked eagerly, practically bouncing in his restraints. Harleen felt a chill as the climax of the session began drawing near. “What do you do now? Don’t you just start to lose control? You don’t know what to do so you react…violently…as a last resort. Doesn’t it feel goooood to let loose? To see the fear in their eyes and just know that they were going to listen to you now?”

Arkham swallowed, and Harleen could see that he knew exactly what that felt like.

Unfortunately, Arkham wasn’t getting the main point of the Joker’s speech, mainly because it was being directed at him in a way that Arkham applied to himself. The Joker was, in a way, explaining himself to them. Why he stole and killed. Why he chose anarchy and chaos over order and control. He liked being the one in power, and seeing things go his way. Classic sociopath.

“Your rules don’t mean anything to you at that point,” the Joker concluded, eyes flickering over to Harleen. She quickly tried to cover up the smirk that she forgot that she had, but it was too late. He caught it. “So why try to go back to them?”

“Thank you for your time, patient 6823.”

Arkham reached over and shut the tape off. Harleen looked up at him in alarm, wanting more than anything to talk at that very moment, but he glared at her, just daring her to speak. She remembered his words, and decided to keep quiet, turning her gaze back over to the Joker. He looked positively smug and triumphant. He had won today’s game and all three people in the room were aware of it.

“Oh, and uh, Doctor Quinzel?” the Joker asked suddenly, causing both doctors to turn around. Harleen was now terrified. “Nice turtleneck.”

He winked at her, but Arkham had taken her arm and pulled her out of the room. Obviously, he knew that she was hiding something.

Once the doctors were both out of the room and the Joker had been returned to his room, Arkham turned to Harleen.

“That was only a taste of what you’re getting into,” he told her stiffly. He was slightly shaken up.

“I…I see…” Harleen responded, sliding her glasses up her face. In all honesty, she wasn’t nervous. Not at all. That session alone had been one of the most exciting things she has experienced in a long time.

The only negative part about this was that…what the Joker said, some of it actually made sense to her. Logical sense. It disturbed even herself.

“Doctor, I have a few suggestions for you, for next time,” she began. Arkham started chuckling at her before she could finish.

“You suggestions for me?” he said smiling, giving her that look again. “You’re just an intern.”

“But I am also your assistant,” she retorted, anger boiling again. She was aware of the other officers eavesdropping, so she kept her cool.

“We’ll just see how the next session goes,” he told her, and walked away.

Harleen was so angry with her boss at the moment that she didn’t move. Not for a long period of time at least. He still underestimated her, even after going in there and coming back out alive.

It really isn’t all that impressive Harley, she tried to persuade herself. I mean, if you were the one talking to him, then it would be a different story.

But she wasn’t the one talking to him. It was Arkham. She breathed in deeply a few times, something that she’s been frequently as of late, and returned to her office. She needed to forget about the session and the Joker, just for the time being. She found Schiff’s file on her desk once more, and decided to give GCPD a call. She had almost forgotten about Schiff and his fiasco with Harvey Dent and the Batman. Surely, this would get her mind off of things. She glanced at the clock, and saw that she had a whole hour until she needed to get ready and head out to lunch with Red and her blind date. She picked up the receiver and dialed the police department’s number.