The Dark Knight

[boo radley]

That couldn't be possible.

Not probable, actually.
I'd been in such a poor family, I didn't exist on governmental records. Being born in a hospital was about as close as I got to being recorded anywhere.
Then again, I know the government doesn't keep those fingerprints, because they can change.
We'd never been able to afford a dentist - and a passport? Forget about it.
Of course I wouldn't exist. But my wife?
I know she exists. Existed. Whatever. I was resolute and knew I'd find some way. But Harley's words - they killed me. I wanted to scream in terror. But... if I don't exist, and they say she can't exist, then... then, she could.
Kind of.
"You have to help me," I said. It sounded stupid: she was a doctor and I was a patient. Of course she had to help me. Even if I gave a doctor a concussion and killed another by strangling him. "Please." I waited. I wanted her to give me what help she could. Including an escape. Escape would be nice.
At least then I could see where things stood in the world. In Gotham.

[boo radley]

(sorry for double-post - my computer's being weird and won't let me click certain buttons right now... :/ )
I saw that Harley looked at me with a little pity. It made me feel weird. No one looked at me with pity here. Maybe... maybe I wasn't meant to be with my wife. I tried to rack my brains. Something was missing: an essential piece to the puzzle.
A word to the world: it sucks not being able to remember things.
Especially if they are things that've hurt you.
And it sucks even more when those things come back.
I tried hard to remember.
Harley just watched as I squeezed my eyes shut for a long time. I don't know how long, give it about fifteen minutes. I ran backwards in my history – through the blank spaces and flashbacks – and hit that one with the scars on her face.
See, when that fear gas came on me, I remembered a flash of my wife's face, and body, bleeding. And I focused on it. I felt terrible. I had to do something –
We couldn't afford much, being poor and all. I decided to take up an offer made by my ex-classmates to rob a bank. It was Gotham First National, Falcone's bank, as I later learned. And one of the mafia men came at me with a knife...
I don't know what happened to me. All I know is that I woke up the next evening in the bank, and I dragged my limp self home, and when my wife saw me, she screamed and left me.
Pain surged through my self. What happened? Did the mob give me those scars? Maybe, maybe not.

But one thing was for certain. She left me.
Maybe that's what Harley meant. I don't know.
But it killed me.

And I knew for certain that escaping Arkham would allow me to fix things for myself. I looked up dangerously at Harley.

[Nikki]

Tears begin rolling down my face as I watch him desperately try to remember his past.
Those fifteen minutes. . .they seem like an hour.
When he looks at me again, I see the expression on his face. None in his eyes, of course, but still. . .it's unnerving. Threatening. I feel like his prey, all of a sudden.
"What?" I say quietly, afraid to break the almost reverent silence. "What is it?"

[boo radley]

I'm leaving this place.
Hopefully.
"Help me. Help me leave. I want to leave." I mutter on to myself, but I don't think it matters... because it was pretty much the same thing repeated over and over again. Would she help me leave? I hoped so.

[Nikki]

"I can't get you out tonight."
Bad girl, Harley.
But still, there were things going on in this place that I didn't understand. Shady, underhanded affairs. Why shouldn't I be part of one as well? Especially for someone I cared about so much, so quickly. Surely it was a sign.
"We're both locked in here till the guard comes in the morning." My heart speeds up, whether from fear or excitement, I can't tell.

[boo radley]

I realize something: Harley and I are alone.

Well, not completely alone. There's the other freaks that've been locked up in here. I even saw that mafia guy, Falcone, get dragged in here earlier by Crane.
So maybe... it's a possibility... but maybe somehow we could escape.

Of course, it would be useful, in my sandbox called Gotham, to have a sidekick. And if she were to release me right this second, would she be my partner-in-crime, literally? Likely not.
I'd need her to understand me, first. To develop an...obsession, of sorts, for me. Because then, she'd do anything at my bidding.
Of course. That's what we would do all night.
Talk, and screw with minds.
I look up at Harley. "Harley...Quinzel. Harley Quinn." She gave me a queer look. "What? It reminds me of a Harlequin Jester."

She gave me another look.

Then I realized something – the makeup. I looked like some sort of twisted, demented clown. Clowns... but I don't want to ramble off in my head. No, no, no, no, no... if she's gonna understand me, even a little bit, I've gotta think out loud.
"Clowns... I talk about them a lot, don't I?" I continued before she could respond. "I wonder... I think I talk about them a lot, because they sort of represent." Yeah. "They represent me. See, they're funny. They're funny. Funny.... And me? I can be funny. If you think that what I do is funny."
I kept thinking.
"See, the world I live in, the world we live in... it isn't fair. And there are the people out there who want to make it fair. And they'll go to any lengths. They'll kill and torture people. That's what they do best. That's what they've done. And, see, a guy like me... well, I've gone through a lot myself. So I can tell... and I have the right to hurt back. And see, the people who want to make the world fair? They're puppeteers. They're conducting this little orchestra," I spat, "because they think of us as their toys. People are toys. They don't think, they just act as they're told. Me? I see above all that. I know. "

I was getting somewhere. I was beginning to realize... so much. A lot was going into me. I knew and felt right away. I was beginning to develop philosophies for myself. Philosophies that I understood.

"What would you say if someone said 'I think toys are real,' hm? Would you laugh and call it a joke? Hm? See, that's the problem. These people? They're fake. Toys. Which is why life's a joke. And, you see, jokes are funny. I think of it that way. If you break a toy, is anyone gonna care? Well, maybe your mommy and daddy because they paid for it, but then again, they'll probably forget it the next day. Same thing. If I hurt one of these... people? If I break them? I won't be...sorry. I won't be sorry. I'm not gonna care. It's a joke, right? See, that's what makes me a clown. I laugh and find time to make things funny. Oh, and you know, people fear clowns. Because clowns are terrifying. How am I terrifying? Yet, people did that to me too, hm?" I trail off into silence. I think my creativity's used up. All of it. So help me, I'm a damn clown, right? Right. So I waited for the jester to speak. Harley Quinn.

[Nikki]

I'm ready to snap under the weight of my self control. The tears haven't stopped since he'd gone silent the last time, they've continued a steady, silent flow, leaving trackmarks on my cheeks from mascara.
Because when he realizes we're alone, it isn't to my credit. I'd prefer his threatening me to this utter obliviousness. He just wants out. He just wants his stupid little wife back. His stupid little wife, who's probably rotting away in a dumpster somewhere.
Oh, Mr. J. Whoever you are. What the hell can I give you?
I was glad I hadn't replaced the 'can' with a 'would.' Because then the answer would have been dangerous.
Why? It's all I can think of. Why am I so intrigued by you, why do I love you? Why am I nearly ready to get both of us in a lot more trouble than I'd ever dreamed, not three hours after meeting him?
I can't do anything now. We're locked in. But after a few sessions, if I can show he's made some progress. . .if I can get the higher ups to trust that I'm improving his condition, even though that would be a gigantic lie. . .well, they wouldn't watch so closely anymore. There would be less activity, less guards, less people around to see us slip away.
Us?
It's good that I'm locked in a cell with him. I'm starting to believe that's where I belong.
I can't speak. I'll scream at him, I know it.
So I just sit there and draw in a shaking breath, trying not to look at him. But pretty soon I get to thinking about his philosophies, and I know what to say.
"So everyone should be broken, then? If you want me to help you, how can I do that if I know you're willing to break me?"
My eyes fix on a point over his left shoulder. It hurts to much to look at him full on.

[boo radley]

I look at her with a blank face. She's crying. Only... only not. Strange.
I feel some remorse.
Someone actually cared to listen to my ravings. Maybe that's why I wouldn't break her. Maybe.... it's... "Because I'd only be willing to break you if you were one of them. One of the puppeteers, or the toys, maybe even." I stopped for a second, looking at the ground. "My...wife left me. I don't think I can ever look at her without wanting to stab her. Even if I can't bring myself to it. My heart was ripped out because of her, I remember that much. But if you can care about this much... you see the world like I do. Maybe. But it's just as well because you even thought about it." I hope she gets it, because I'm worn out. And she's the only one who can help me become... myself, I think.

[Nikki]

Suddenly I want to shout for joy.
He hates his wife. He'd be disgusted to look at her now. Because she left. She didn't know just what she had.
"That bitch," I mutter under my breath, just barely loud enough for him to hear. I don't care. I don't care if he carves my face tonight because of this. I'm just so overjoyed that he's thought of me a little that I can hardly breathe. "How could you do that to someone you loved? How could you be so coldhearted that when they dragged themself home broken and bleeding and scarred, you turned away in disgust?"

[boo radley]

I look up, a little amused. She did begin an obsession, just as I had hoped. A few more days of this, and we'd both be out of here.
I quietly think for a moment. "I don't want to see her again." I think longer. "I'm not going to take revenge on her."
I don't know if Harley would. I hope not, because as far as I know, I have a child with that woman. And that kiddo's gonna need someone to bring him up.
I ain't gonna do it.
I just can't see it. The kid. The... thing. I can't see anything that resembles me and my "wife" at the same time.
But I can't let it die either. Because if it's there, maybe I could use it as a henchman, right?
But anyway, I look up at Harley. Hopefully she won't get it in her head to kill my "wife." She probably will.
Her first kill.
My first triumph, and yet, my umpteenth defeat.