Vindicated: The Making of Harley Quinn

Chapter Two

I twist my pen. The engraved initials, painted in gold, are now etched in my memory. I don't know how long it's been since I first sat down, but It must have been quite some time ago. I've memorized the room. There are exactly 254 black and white checkered tiles on my side-a web-like gate of barbed wires and mesh separates me from my patient-and on his side, many tiles have been badly scuffed, some even broken. In the back left corner of the room there's a buzzing light that won't stop flickering. In the right corner, under a hauntingly ominous shadow, is a bed. He's in it.

"Okay okay okay!" A voice booms from the bed.I jump. My seat shrieks against the tiles. "Are we going to sit here in silence, waiting for the grass to grow? I think I fell asleep after the first half hour! You're killin' me here. Oh! Oh! Wait! I know! Let's start things out with a little . . . comedy. Jokes always know how to break the ice, right?" Two pale feet with crooked toes dangle from the shadows and jump out into the flickering light. Even in the dim gloom I can tell he looks a lot like he does on TV. Long, lanky, sheet-white and downright menacing. Well, not so much menacing. Just a little odd. I'm sure he's menacing, but I can't see that with his face in the cocky smile it's in now, especially since he doesn't have disturbing amounts of paint and makeup on. He looks more ...human like this.

Let's find out if the mind matches the body.

"Umm...state your name." My eyes shift down to the paper clamped to the clipboard. When did I get this clipboard? I'm shaking. Ugh, how can I be nervous? I'm a professional. I deal with crackpots like him for a living; I shadowed at Blackgate prison for Pete's sake! Ugh! Well, I guess it is my first day, but I've been preparing for so long. It's just all so weird. It's all so . . . different.

I inhale through my nose and let out a gust of breath through my mouth. I straighten my shoulders and shift my thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose. While trying to wince out the annoying flickering coming from the corner, I twist off a hair tie from around my wrist and twirl my blonde hair into a messy bun.
Clearing my throat, I say again, more clearly this time, "State your name."

The Joker's smile widens. His lips pull apart to reveal a picket fence of yellowed teeth. "Ooh, confidence. Sexy!"

My eyes narrow. "State. Your. Name." My lips purse.

His smirks. And finally: "Joker."

My face relaxes as I continue, "Your real name?"

Joker makes a tsking sound with his tongue and slowly ticks his index finger in a disapproving manner, "Ya gotta earn it, Doc."

My eyebrow rises. "Is that right?" Joker takes a few steps in my direction so that his hands can grasp onto the netted wiring.

"What's yours?" His face presses against the gate, his tossled green hair curling between wires. His dye must have been applied long before he got in here because I can see dark roots sprouting out from beneath, like soil beneath a field of grass.

"Dr. Harleen Quinzell," I reply, scooting my chair closer to him.

"Hmm...ha...ha...haha," he breaks into uncontrollable laughter. I just watch him; his eyes are squinted shut, lines are creasing his forehead, and there are deep circles of purple underneath his eyes. He looks worn. His laughter slows down. "Can I—ha—can I call you my little harlequin?" he bursts out laughing again. This man's insane.

"Careful, now, we wouldn't want you to bust a gut," I say, giving him a coy stare. He perks up.

"Ahhhh, so the beauty-and-brains comes with a sense of humor too?" he says, his eyes hungry and eager.

I shift my pursed pout and feel my dimples appearing as I try not to egg him on with any teasing. It's just so nice to relieve the tension.

"I just might be able to kind of tolerate you!" he replies, springing up and plopping himself on the floor, crossing his legs and putting his chin on the back of his laced fingers, like a child pretending to be on good behavior. "I love a lady with a sense of humor!" His mouth covers half his face when he smiles. It's silent for a moment until he starts roaring with laughter again.

I give a loud sigh and look at him over my glasses. "Let's just get down to business, shall we?" I put the clipboard down and reach beside my chair to pick up my moleskin notebook. I flip to an empty page and clear my throat. I look up at the smiling nutcase in front of me. I've sure got my work cut out for me, I think. At least I don't feel so nervous anymore. I start to wonder why that is when Joker speaks up.

"Listen, Doc, I don't really like to do the whole talking thing—especially with stiffs like you, no matter how gorgeous. So how's about we don't waste our time? If you leave now, I promise I'll be a good boy and not hurt you like I did the last guy."

I look at him above my glasses again, eyeing him speculatively. They did say he had trouble with his last therapist. I squint one eye. "How did you even get to him through this barbed fence?" Joker grinned and held out his hands. Beads of blood were trickling down his palms like tiny rose petals. I forgot that he'd just grabbed the fence moments ago.

"Let's just say I have high pain tolerance," he replies before another fit of laughter.

"Oh?" I glide my pen across the first blank page, filling in the lines without whatever observations I can gather from this simple response: uncaring, unrepentant, shameless, bonkers.

"Listen, toots, I'll cut ya out a deal. We take down this pokey metal death net and I'll tell you all about my relationship with the Batman. It's a complicated tale." He puts his hands behind his head and slowly falls to the ground with an aura of relaxed nonchalance. This definitely peaks my interest. I could become the world's most renowned psychoanalyst if I released a paper on the Joker's complicated relationship with the Batman.

"Deal!" I say a little too excitedly. Joker turns his head away from the ceiling and towards my eager expression.

"Ah, sweetheart, this is going to be a beautiful friendship, I can tell." His face twisted into an eerie sneer and he let out a throaty laugh that turned into a cough.

Call me crazy, but I think I'm going to enjoy examining a mind so warped and demented as the lunatic in front of me. I just hope working with such a wacko doesn't drive me nuts.