Predator. Prey.

Distraction.

Had I imagined it? Or was I dreaming?

I sat up in my bed, ears facing the door, my face warped with confusion.

Within seconds, I heard it again. The scream I've heard before. Somewhere in my brain, where all my memories were fried into almost faded nonexistence, I struggled to recall why it sounded so...personal.

Flashes of black and grey fog seemed to hover inside my mind, not allowing me to make any connections. I needed to see the face. I needed to save it.

Still in my tight dress from last night, makeup smudged around my eyes, I darted out of my bedroom, making my way to his office, a room I knew the sound was coming from.

I didn't give myself any time to prepare for what I was about to see and I quickly turned the knob, holding my breath in anxiety. I saw Joker's face before I saw anything else: his thick hair was wild, his black eye makeup messier than usual. His red lipstick was faded, cracking on his mouth. No shirt adorned his lean figure, and he wore plain black pants that were perfectly ironed. He looked feral, and I could tell in his eyes he hadn't slept last night. But he still looked like a dream: a beautiful, untamable, unpredictable dream.

Then my eyes wandered to where his were fixated, a small figure to his right. She was shaking, tears slipping off her cheeks and pooling at her feet. Her short, wavy hair was matted and tangled, her green orbs were glazed over in undeniable fear.

The walls closed in around me, and for the first time in months, a crystal clear memory emerged from my brain, projected itself in front of my eyes, and refused to disappear. The single memory evolved, and quicker flashes of more insignificant memories followed, one after another, after another, after another, after-

"Alex?"

The minute the name escaped my lips she fell to her knees, collapsing into a broken, helpless heap of shredded hope. Her voice was like a knife cutting inside me, releasing image after image of my past life,

"H-Harleen. Harleen, Oh my god, oh my god!"

Her erratic breathing didn't allow her to say much more. My brain was in overdrive, for every second I stared at Alex, the more it allowed me to remember of her. Her laugh, her shimmering eyes, her sense of humor, her sarcasm...everything was flooding back and emerging from the fog. A smile played at my lips but Joker's deep voice halted it in its tracks,

"This little tattle-tale's been been trying to rat me out for months, baby."

The usual sense of amusement and anticipation I feel when Mr. J tries to torture his victims was not present as I stared at her, unable to take my eyes off the tear filled orbs of my best friend. He was circling her, looking at her with hungry, insatiable eyes, not looking one bit sane.

It was a look that normally drove me wild. Now it striked fear into my soul.

Joker, grabbing an unfamiliar stack of paper from Alex's feet, threw them in the air, watching with elation as they trickled down back to the floor. Hundreds of copies of the white paper were everywhere, over the dressers, over the cabinets, the tables, my feet. I picked one up, shocked and momentarily my breath hitched in my throat as I read the words that tore at my heart: 


Missing: Harleen Francis Quinzel.

Age: 24.

Height: 5'6.

Last Seen: Arkham Asylum.

Reward: $5,000.

Any information regarding this missing person's whereabouts, call Alex Fyda at 773-555-2278.