The Laughing Man, Book Two: Goner

Chapter Eleven

The taste of blood in her mouth was pure ecstasy, feelings denied and pushed down for so long. Harley could feel the unshed tear that threatened to slide down her cheek as she lost herself in her past, the new hash mark in her arm paying homage to the death of her love. A final goodbye, a permanent space on her skin for the memory of Kyle Kopski. Her sadness would end at this moment, filled with Crane's drugs and high on the taste of Mr. J's skin and blood. Almost as delicious as her own. The taste of freedom. She had been gone too long.

The muffled groan of her captive drew her attention and she giggled, her mood shifting yet again, a high pitched squeal at the thought of what Crane's pain would tell her. She bounded over to his tied up body, a grin splashed across her face. His mask was stuffed into his mouth as a gag, duct tape holding his body to her office chair. A present waiting to be unwrapped in blood and gore. She couldn't wait to make him feel her wrath and her gratitude for waking her up. And she was ever so grateful.

A quick look over to the discerning eyes of Mr. J, she couldn't contain her glee. "Why don't you go play somewhere else? This one's mine."

Crane moaned again, the sound unable to penetrate the makeshift gag. His sweat was delightfully fragrant, enough to make her lick his forehead to absorb some of his growing fear into herself, like a sponge. A quick slap of her newly acquired knife against his cheek, relishing the sight of his eyes opening, terror stark on his face. The former doctor saw his future reflected in her eyes. And that future was going to be full of agony.

"You and I are going to have so much fun, aren't we?" Harley smiled down at Crane.

The door shut, Mr. J gone. She was finally alone with the man who brought down her walls.

Crane was humming an old tune while he leaned over Thomas, a light shining into the pupils of the bound man. What he was checking for, Harley wasn't sure, but she did recognize the tune. Hush Little Baby. A common lullaby, one whose theme was strangely appropriate for her friend. The child who was never happy with what he had. Always wanting something better, something more. Crane picked up on that little fact quick, reminding her that his degree was just as good as hers, and his mind just as keen.

Very little headway had been made on escape. The duct tape had loosened, but not enough to slip her hand out. Breaking her hands wasn't really an option if she wanted to have any hope of getting past whoever Crane had on guard. Thomas would likely be useless in any real confrontation. No points for effort. He may have been a killer but his kills were methodical. Escape was all about improvisation. Even if she freed her hands, she wasn't sure how to loosen the duct tape wrapping around her chest and legs. She was flexible, but she wasn't a contortionist. And while the cart was in the room, a free hand would only allow her a quick second of action and throwing needles wasn't exactly easy. Only one route to go to freedom. Too obvious but potentially dangerous for her friend.

"I have to go to the bathroom," Harley said.

Crane peered up at her, his icy blue eyes scanning her up and down behind his glasses. "No you don't."

"Fine, then," she shrugged. "I'll just pee here."

Shame, dignity, those were foreign concepts to her. She would do it, not only to prove a point, but also to relieve her bladder, all because it was in her instincts. And she would always be a creature of instinct. The smell wouldn't matter to her. Humans were smelly, disgusting creatures. Her past was littered with urine and shit, between her old fun and her medical days. Crane may have had the same experience in his rotations, but his OCD nature was well known by both the staff and patients at Arkham. He couldn't help but keep things as clean as he could.