Author’s Note—We are back with a new chapter. Now, this one takes place back in 2012--you know, present day. And I’ve broken the rule I’ve tried to place upon myself for this story. I was trying to write a chapter ahead of each post. I’m not even halfway through chapter four yet, but hopefully, you’ll all forgive me. Also, about the Lil’ Pam comment in one of my reviews, it’s actually quite common for someone to be called by a nickname like that all the time. As I must mention her at least twice a fanfic, SlinkyAndTheBloodyWands real name is no where close to what I call her 95 percent of the time. I always call her Slinky…that’s how she chose part of her penname. I’m not the only one who does it either. I’ll grant you that “Lil’ Pam” would be hard to roll off the tongue every time, but it’s not improbable. Oh, and I’m not picking on you, I’m just explaining why I chose to do this. So please don’t be angry! I hope you all will enjoy this next one.

FEAR in an acronym in the English language for “False Evidence Appearing Real.”

--Neale Donald Walsch

Chapter Three—Sounds of the Past

Getting Thomas and Lil’ Pam to school that morning had been a hassle. Both had had projects due in today, and both projects had been big—really big. Thomas had built a rather well done guillotine—“with real chopping action!” he had advertised to his father and her as he sliced a cucumber in half—and Lil’ Pam had drawn a rather nice picture of a knight, a unicorn, and a princess—on jumbo size poster board. Lil’ Pam had cried when she thought that the picture had gotten a crease in it, and she had had an absolute fit when Thomas had taken off a small corner of her picture—less than an inch—with his guillotine.

After many tears, screams, kisses goodbye to their father, Harley finally got them to school. Her last words to Bruce had been, “It’s your turn tomorrow.”

After that came work. It was not a test day. Instead, it was the worst day ever. The day after a test day. This was the day when she had to justify—as if every one of her students suddenly had a doctorate—what grade she had given them. And some were just adamant that it was her mistake that they had failed, and not theirs. Finally, blessedly, noon approached.

Harley had to park two blocks away from Trowbridges because of all the lunch time traffic, and walking across the streets to get to the little café was like taking your life into your hands. Finally, she arrived to find Pam already seated in the outside patio section. Harley climbed into the high, black wrought iron chair across the small table of the same color and make from Pam. Pam smiled.

“Hard day at work?” she asked.

“Yes. It was the day after a test day,” Harley replied.

“Yikes.”

Pam and Harley laughed. Both woman had their hair pulled back, but Harley’s was in a simple ponytail and Pam’s vibrant red hair was in a very tight bun. Harley was dressed in simple black slacks with a red top, where Pam looked very business like, which fit. The pastel green woman’s business suit fitted the former con’s current position at the head of a multi-billion dollar gene-splicing corporation.

Pamela had long ago experimented with gene-splicing plant and animal genes, to her own devious ends. Eventually, she realized that her work could have so much more meaning. Now, she had cured diseases and prolonged the life expectancy for both plants and humans by at least ten to twenty more years. Her latest project was splicing plants with animals for beauty purposes.

“So, was there something wrong?” Harley asked as she placed her order with the passing waitress.

“No, absolutely nothing. In fact, nothing could be more right! It was a success!” Pam shouted, only lowering her voice when she had gotten to her last sentence.

“What was?” Harley asked.

Both women leaned forward so that they could whisper and still hear one another.

“The gene-splicing plants with animals for the purposes of creating like new hair colors or such. It worked!”

“Really? How? What happened?” Harley asked, images of herself with hair as red as a rose flitting through her mind.

“Well, we were experimenting on rats on changing their fur colors. We used lavender, and it worked! We now have a litter of rats with light purple fur growing in!”

Both laughed, long and hard. Of course, Harley was sure her reason for laughing was quite different from Pam’s. Pam was laughing, no doubt, because of the joy of her success. Harley, on the other hand, was laughing at the most absurd idea of purple colored rats. Once they were finished, they both took a moment to catch their breath. Finally, Harley picked the conversation back up.

“Well, that is great, but when will it hit the market?” she asked.

All in all, Harley cared nothing for the workings of a business or major corporation. However, seeing as her husband was the head of Gotham’s biggest corporation that did not mean she did not know anything about the hows and whys of business. Even back in her criminal days, she had been given a taste of what it was like to run a business. Of course, that was business of an altogether different sort.

“Well, we still have to test it on a few more rats, and then the higher ups have to approve human subject tests. You know, once it has been made certain that I am not going to turn people into half-plant half-duck people or something. If the human testing goes well, then I would figure about a year or so before it is on the market. So, we have some time to wait before my company’s beauty line is launched,” Pam explained.

The waitress came and put a cheese sandwich down in front of Harley and a salad in front of Pam. They thanked her, and, as the young woman walked away, they both began to dig in. A little ways into their meal, Harley wiped her mouth and asked, “So, how is Matt’s spa going?”

“It is going great. We are thinking about having our sixth anniversary there. You know, I opened it for him for a wedding gift, just before Lil’ Pam was born, and it would just be so romantic to close it down and have it only cater to us. Don’t you think so?” Pam said excitedly.

Harley gave her half smile to her old friend. It was nice to see that Pam had finally found happiness, like she herself had. They had both had it so rough; Pam would argue that Harley had it rougher than she did. Out of modesty, Harley would say that they both had it equally as hard…but she knew Pam was right. At least neither Pamela Lillian Isley nor Poison Ivy had ever let herself become subjected to someone as cruel and as sick as…her ex. At least neither Pamela Lillian Isley nor Poison Ivy had ever endured the torturous abuse from him or any other man. But Pam had always been much too…independent to suffer abuse. Thinking back, Harley was sure that it was this fierce independence that had first drawn her into her friendship with the plant-crazed woman.

“Oh! Let me tell you what happened the other day at the spa!” Pam exclaimed, cutting suddenly into Harley’s thoughts. “It probably was not as funny as I find it, but seeing as nothing horrible came of it, it is pretty damned hilarious.”

Harley turned her eyes to Pam as the botanist began describing the incident. Apparently, whoever was in charge of filling the mudrooms of the spa—called Serenidad Verde (“Green Serenity” in Spanish)—apparently misread Matt’s order form. Instead of the proper amount of mud brought in to fill the tub, an oversized order came in and filled not only the tub, but also the floor—stopping up the door.

“Well,” said Pam, “you know Matt’s issue with mud. Freaks him out. Well, it turns out that his employees don’t know this. He goes up and down the spa, screaming at the top of lungs for someone to clean it up. That he’s not going to go in there. People were freaking out. The guests thought that the place was on fire or something. By the end of it all, there are half naked people gathered around the front of the building while janitors cleaned up very expensive mud. Matt, meanwhile, is trying to collect himself and apologize to the customers. The guests are second-guessing whether they want to go back into the building or not. Finally, Matt has to give everyone there a free day pass to the spa in exchange for his frightening everybody. The rest of the day ran smoothly.”

Harley cracked up, tears streaming down her face. It took the pair a long time to finish their lunch. Every so often, the image of overflowing mineral mud and Matt yelling would come into their minds, and the laughter would start all over again. Finally, Harley finished her lunch and ordered a small coffee. She was quiet as she waited for it to arrive, causing Pam to lift an eyebrow.

“You were so happy and talkative a minute ago. What is wrong, Harl? You seem kind of off today,” she asked.

“It’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve had this…bad feeling looming over me lately. Like…I don’t know what it is like,” Harley sighed.

“When did it start, this bad feeling?”

“About the time of the blackout, actually.”

Pam laughed. “Well, you’re just afraid of the dark, then.”

Harley did not even try to grace her with her broken smile. She simply stared down at the table.

The waitress returned with Harley’s coffee and her check. Harley thanked her, then stared blankly down into her coffee.

“Is everything all right with you and Bruce?” Pam asked, a hand shooting out half the distance between them, ready to comfort her friend if she needed it.

“Yes, everything is fine with us and with the kids. I couldn’t be happier. That’s just what I do not understand. It’s like…like I know that something is going to happen. That something is going to come along and ruin it all for me. Like before.”

At this, a grave understanding passed over Pam’s face. She retracted her hand and folded it with the other in front of her. She leaned back in her chair, surveying her sullen friend. Finally, she spoke.

“Are you going to visit the cemetery today?” she asked.

Harley could not meet her eyes. Pam sighed.

“You shouldn’t visit there so often. I mean, I understand why you visit, sort of. Just…why? One of those graves you frequent you never even knew the bones that rot beneath it! This is not healthy for you, Harley!”

Harley brought her sad blue eyes up to meet Pam’s green ones. Pam gave a defeated sigh.

“You’re going to visit anyway, aren’t you?”

Harley nodded.

“I knew it. Take off. I’ll cover your check. Don’t protest—“ Pam said, as Harley began to do just that, “It’s not like we both don’t have the money. You can just pay for lunch next time. Go on, Harl. Just…make sure to make it back to work on time. Bruce mentioned that they are thinking of offering you tenure. You need to make a good impression.”

Harley stood, grabbing her purse. She graced Pam with her half smile and said, “Yes, mother.”

With a bouncing wave that did not do her gloomy mood justice, she raced back to her car. It was at least a fifteen to twenty minute drive from Trowbridges to Gotham Cemetery. It was going to be even longer than that with the after lunch traffic. So, to pass the time, Harley popped in a CD into the car’s player. As she was trying—and failing—to hit the high notes on the CD’s thirteenth song, she pulled into Gotham Cemetery. She parked alongside the road closest to the graves she was visiting.

She climbed out, checked her watch, but just as she reached the two graves of her destination, a voice called out to her.

“Harley? Dr. Quinzelle-Wayne? Is that you?” called a woman from a few yards over.

Harley stopped short of her destination with a mental groan. The woman—about Harley’s age, dark caramel-colored skin, and dyed, bobbed-short honey blonde hair—was approaching her fast. She was dressed in a knee-length, professional, gray knit dress with a high neckline and a black, light sweater over it. She held a very small bouquet of flowers in her hands.

“It is you,” she said, once she was close enough to Harley to extend a hand (which she did). “Good afternoon, Miss—I’m sorry; old habit—Doctor Quinzelle. How are you?”

Harley took her hand and stopped her handshake short. Muttering, as politely as she could manage, “Dr. Dawson.”

Dr. Meredith Dawson had been brought in during Harley’s last days in Arkham. Most of the inmates had all but disregarded her, marking her as another “come-and-go” intern. Her true purpose had been hidden from them. Doctor Dawson had had a dual reason for coming to Arkham. The first had been to replace Doctor Joan Leland, who had decided to take an early retirement. But the second reason…had been much less kind.

“I’m fine,” Harley answered finally, realizing that she had not before. “Can’t complain. Just here…visiting.”

Harley smiled and hoped it did not look as forced as it really was. With a breath, she added, “May I ask who you are visiting?”

“My father,” Dawson replied, indicating a grave back somewhere near her starting point.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Harley barely even glanced downward. She had never liked Meredith Dawson. It was true enough that she was good—even excellent—at her job, but she lacked a certain something. A warmth that only Leland had had even with Arkham’s most demented of patients. Dawson was cold with them, from what Harley could remember. Disregarding everything about them that she deemed “unnecessary to deal with.” Harley was glad that Leland had still agreed to work with her towards her rehabilitation rather than pass her case on to Dawson. Harley was sure that even with the help her husband had provided in bringing her back to sanity, it would have taken twice as long with Meredith as her psychiatrist. Of course, psychiatry was not the only medical profession Dawson studied.

“Well, it was lovely to see you again. It’s so nice to see a successful case in the flesh. I take it that your family is well?” Dawson asked, interrupting Harley’s thoughts.

“Yes. Fine. Thank you.”

It was a hard struggle to keep the cold, uncaring out of her voice. Especially when all Harley wanted her to do was just leave. Dawson got the message.

“Well, I must be getting back to work. Like I said, so very nice to see you again. Good-bye,” she said, ascending the sloping lawns to the little road that ran through the cemetery.

Harley did not even glance behind her as she muttered some pleasantry. Instead, she continued her descent of the lawn to the where the two graves she had come to visit stood among rows of others. The first grave—the larger of the two—was much older than the second. It was true what Pam had said at lunch. Harley had never even met the woman who lay in the ground beneath the psychology teacher’s feet, but she had known of her. Harley had felt connected to this woman. Sadly, she noticed that a single weed had made its way up out of the center of the ground in front of the grave. Harley bent and pulled it out of the earth. Tossing it aside, she moved to the second grave.

She should have brought flowers. She always forgot flowers. Of course, Harley visited this place so often that all of the roses she could bring would probably have piled up higher than the little grave. This grave, Harley knew, was little more than a marker, a memorial. But she had insisted upon having it. Bruce had made sure that she got what she had wanted. She believed that her love for him had truly begun at that moment, so long ago.

Harley put her hand out, dragging it along the top of the little stone marker. She gave her half-smile toward the grave, and said, “I came to visit you, Penelope, but now I have to go. I will come and visit again, promise.”

With this short visit under her belt, Harley trekked back up the hill to her car. She climbed in, started the vehicle up, and began to drive away when she heard the most curious noise.

It was small at first, but naggingly familiar. It grew a little, and Harley still could not place it. It was so odd, but she felt as if this sound was one that she should be very familiar with. It grew a bit more in volume, and suddenly…Harley knew it. She slammed on her breaks—causing them to make a loud squeal, barely noting that she had made it only a few feet away from the graves.

“AH HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! HEH-HEH-HEH-HEEHEEHEEHEE! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

She freaked out. There was no other way to describe her panic. That sound could not be here. Not here, not in her car. Not so loudly. He was not there. He could not be there. He was taken care of.

As if to reassure herself of this, Harley began to frantically look about her car. Once she was sure he was not the source of the laughter—the mocking, horrific laughter—she began to tear apart items in her car, looking for the source with the same frantic tension. Harley had torn apart papers, lifted up car rugs, thrown about items, and even tore into some of the car’s seat cushions before she realized the source of the laughter.

Her hair falling out from its ponytail, her light jacket sliding slightly off her shoulders, and breathing heavily, Harley reached a shaking hand forward and hit the “eject” button on the CD player. The laughter ceased, and the CD slid out. She took it into her hand, holding it between her index finger and thumb. She did not recognize the copied CD, and that was saying something. Harley knew every CD kept in this car. Shaking further still, she wasted no time in her next action.

She rolled down the window of her car, flung the CD as far as she could, and drove off at speeds that were unsafe for most human beings.

End Notes: Okay, a few hints popped up in this chapter. We all know what was on the CD, right? Anyway, if you did not figure it out, it will all be revealed in due time anyway. As for the whole “Pam’s husband” thing, it will also be revealed in due time. Can any of you guess who he is? Oh, and a note, I got the name Penelope from Slinky (see author’s note). That what her parents had originally intended to name her. Please enjoy!