Commissioner Gordon slammed his car door shut and headed up the stairs leading to the Gotham City Police Station. He checked his watch, nearly six o'clock in the morning. The starless sky remained blackened over Gotham as he began yet another day of work. Already it was proving to be stressful when he got a call that they would be receiving a new inmate after the hospital believed she was well enough for release. They had been relieved to finally be rid of her, now she was Gordon's problem. Or at least temporally, her court date the following week would decide how long Gordon was responsible for the young woman.
He remembered the night they found her, almost three months ago to the day. After being rescued and delivered to a hospital by a certain masked vigilante, Gordon was called and informed that one of Gotham's most wanted may no longer be an issue.
A police officer rushed to meet the commissioner as he entered the room.
Officer Brown was relatively new to Gotham after he had transferred last month. Gordon had contemplated why such a handsome, clean-cut, young man would take the risk, Gotham City being one of the most dangerous places to be a policeman. But he supposed some of his men thrived on the action and excitement that came with costumed criminals and giant bats. Jim Gordon wondered if that's what kept him here this long and he simply could not admit to the thrill of working in a living comic book. Or perhaps he felt responsible for the city he had been raised in and didn't want to abandon it just as things took a turn for the worst. Either way, the police commissioner did not plan on giving up so soon.
He snapped out of this thoughts as the police officer began to speak, "We just got her a half hour ago, we put her in a holding cell," he handed Gordon a thick folder.
"How is she?"
"She hasn't said much sir, her doctor said she was on some medication," he paused, "And sir, she's wearing this dress... the one they found her in. She refused to change and I'm just letting you know it's pretty bad,"
Gordon nodded, he and Brown made their way to the other side of the building where their prisoners were kept.
She sat in the cell on the farthest side. Drug dealers, pimps and small time thieves arrested the night before stood at the end of their "cages" trying to catch a glimpse of the prisoner on the end of the holding cells. They were not discreet about it either.
"Get back!" Gordon yelled at the inmates, "Do something about this," he ordered an officer who was supposed to be guarding.
The commissioner attempted to quite all the catcalls and whistles that grew louder as he approached her cell. The other policemen made no attempt to help since the inmate being harassed was labeled as a "cop killer".
The woman sat back turned to him in the cell. Her hair was a mess, long with black and faded red dye clinging to it with a few inches of blond roots at her part. Her dress revealed dozens of healed over wounds that had left noticeable scarring.
Gordon could only shake his head in pity of her and what the Joker had made her.
"If you think she looks bad now," Officer Brown who was standing beside him began, "Wait till you see what he did to her face,"
"Ms Quinzel?" he spoke up.
"Call me Harley", she replied quietly, still not turning around, "What's taday's date?"
"It's January eighth,"
She gave a small, half-hearted laugh, "Time sure flies when ya havin' fun, huh commish,"
"Did anyone explain to you whats going on Ms- I mean Harley?" Gordon asked.
"Well," he sighed, "Where do I begin... maybe we should speak privately," he glanced at the other inmates who had quieted down somewhat then nodded towards the officer beside him who got a pair of hand cuffs, "We have to cuff you Ms. Quinzel, it's just a precaution," Gordon felt odd having to put the former doctor in cuffs.
"I undastand and I said call me Harley," she said flatly.
Officer Brown locked the cuffs around Harley Quinn's wrists before leading her towards the cell's opened door.
Gordon looked up at her face for the first time. Wiry stitches met both corner's of her mouth and spread across either side of her face in a twisted, black "smile", similar to the Joker's. Though the Commissioner noticed Harley's seemed to be done with more precision. It was clearly a carefully made smile unlike the Clown Prince of Crime's uneven one.
The top of her diamond patterned dress bore a dark, brown blood stain. Gordon made a mental note to see that she got some new clothing for when she would appear in court.
He wondered if it was wrong of him to feel compassion to someone who had chosen the life of a murderer. But somehow he still believed Harleen to be a victim of the Joker, not the clown's partner in crime.
Gordon tried not to stare and continued to the interrogation room, slowly, due to a walking cast Harley was still required to wear, wrapped around one leg. The commissioner could not help but glance every now and again at the macabre smile she wore. He could not imagine the pain that she endured as the monster carved it permanently into her face. Harley had just barely lived through the ordeal. If it had not been for the Batman or "the unknown individual" as the police were calling her rescuer, she would have certainly been dead having bleed out.
Despite her rescue and the doctor's best attempts at healing it, her face would never look the same. She would bare the same scars as her former lover in a week or so when the stitches were removed.
The police commissioner watched Harley sit down in a seat across the table from him. It was really a shame, Dr. Quinzel had been beautiful. The blond hair and wide blue eyes made him think of his daughter. It began to make him feel sick, thinking of seeing his own children in such a horrible state. He had personally called Mr. and Mrs. Quinzel when Harley was found and placed in the hospital. He explained to them the situation, what their daughter had done, what she would be charged with in court and at that particular moment; the fact that they could lose her. The Quinzels never came to visit they're only daughter like Jim Gordon had expected them to. Apparently her criminal ashamed her parents and kept them away from seeing her, even if it was the last time.
Gordon let out another sigh, he did not want to do this. After all this girl had been through he didn't want to have to explain that she may go to jail. But of course, the murders and theft could not go unpunished.
The police commissioner glanced through the folder Officer Brown had given him. It included everything concerning the disappearance of Dr. Quinzel, which seemed so long ago. It began with the day she was reported missing and ended with a list of injuries she had been treated for in the hospital as well as medication she had received.
Sedatives made up most of the list. Orderlies at the hospital worried about safely treating Harley for obvious reasons. They were concerned for her fellow patients lives as well as their own and so she spent most of the past three months unconscious or just barely.
"Several cuts, infections, a concussion, two broken legs, dehydration, malnourishment and... your facial injuries," Gordon read down over the list of things Harley was treated for, "Does that sound right?"
The woman across the table gave a weak nod in response. A defeated expression on her scarred face.
Gordon began to ask a question to which the answer was obvious, but required for police paperwork, "Can you tell me exactly what caused your injuries?"
Arkham Asylum was a much different place than when Joan Leeland had resided as chief of psychiatry.
Bruce Wayne had held a fundraiser for better security at the asylum after the Joker's escape. But the only form of security that seemed to change was that a large iron gate had been built in front of the building. Other than that, it was unknown what the money had been used for. Under the care of Hugo Strange few people entered those gates. When news stations wished to do reports on the asylum or its inmates cameras were no longer allowed. Most areas were made restricted, only allowing security guards, nurses, inmates and Strange himself to enter. And those employees were sworn to silence. Arkham quickly seemed to appear dark and mysterious, fitting for a city as strange as Gotham.
The inside became just as creepy as the outside. Most of the hallway's already dim lights flickered every so often, in need of some new light fixtures. The constant blinking cast sinister shadows across the walls which the paint peeled off of and was stained with blood.
The sound of patients screaming filled one hall particularly loudly that morning. The hallway which was farthest from the asylum's entrance, or exit depending on which way you were headed. This was the "high security" hall, though there was little difference between it and any of Arkham's halls. Dr. Strange had just gave it a title in order to make the public feel good. A judge saying he sentenced a murderer or a rapist to the "high security wing" of Arkham Asylum sounded better than; the murderer or rapist is sentenced to Arkham.
Above the terrified screams of the inmates yelled a very disgruntled guard, "Calm down, just everybody be quiet!" he made his way to the cell at the end of the hall, inside was the source of the other inmates panic.
"You! Shut up!" he pounded a fist on the metal door.
The inmate barely heard him over the screams and the sound of his own laughter, "What was that?" he giggled.
"You heard me you crazy bastard; shut the fuck up!"
"Crazy bas-tard," the inmate began through his hoarse laughter, "I get that a lot here. You people dooo know I have a name, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, just shut up, you're pissin' off the other inmates," the guard ordered, "Nothing's even funny,"
"Is it that nothing is funny ooor is it that yoou just don't get the joke-uh," the inmate replied still obscured by his darkened cell.
"Shit, I don't even know why I talk to you," he stepped back and grabbed his walkie talkie, "Hey I need a nurse with some sedatives and back up down here now," the guard spoke loudly to compensate for the noise surrounding him.
"What the hell's going on?" the guard on the receiving end of the walkie talkie asked, having heard all the chaos.
"Everyone's favorite inmate's got the giggles again,"
At that the amused inmate broke into another fit of laughter. Hoarse and terribly unsettling, the sound echoed through the "high security" hallway and into other halls, making more patients cry.
"I gotta find a new job," grumbled the guard.
Happy Dark Knight Anniversary everyone! I decided to release my fic one year after the day we were blessed with one of the best movies ever created.
Harley managed to survive, I'm sure you all saw it coming. Harley Quinn certainly cannot be killed that easily.
Speaking of Harley Quinn, I think in one of my fics I said that my Harley was Katherine Heigl. Well, I changed my mind. It occurred to me that while Heigl may have made an excellent doctor, playing a scarred, bi-polar, ex-girlfriend of the Joker may not be her thing. I think she has the look being blond and having that giant smile but its getting difficult for me to see it. Especially the only thing I have watched her in was The Ringer.
Instead I'm thinking more along the lines of Brittany Murphy. I have not seen any of her (Except Girl Interrupted but she wasn't in it long) but I watched some great Joker/Harley fan videos with her as Harley Quinn and it just seemed right. So I just thought I'd put that out there, though most of you are probably going 'the hell is she going on about? I'll picture who I wanna picture'. Meh, I don't know what the hell I'm going on about either.
I think its January in my story, I really just wanted to do that because January eighth is David Bowie and Elvis Presley's birthdays.
Dead Memories is of course the Slipknot song which I think fits this fic pretty well.