HaHaHa

Ch32 - Arkham

Ch32 - Arkham

My eyes opened lazily.

Looking up from the corner of the room, I tried to steady myself trying to comprehend what was going on around me and where I was. I looked around the room it was completely empty except from some brown barrels next to me and a bed that I was lying on. Slowly I got up from the bed that was in the corner holding on to the barrels for support. My body felt as if I had been bruised in every corner. My legs felt shaky and could not support my body yet my head was the only thing that was feeling heavy. I placed my hands on barrels and arched my back as the pain was rushing through my body like an igniting fire.

My eyes squeezed closed as my face contorted. Never had I ever experienced such pain in my life. I could feel my head spinning ultimately I fell onto the floor my jaw clenched I grabbed a fistful of my hair pulling on it this helped to ease the pain. Slowly the pain was fading away my hand released my blonde locks trembling with fear. Sweat trickled down my face my breathing slowly went back to it normal rhythm.

A nurse ran in helping me up as I struggled against her gentle touch.

I had realized where I was, the hospital room.

It was just as devoid of beauty as I was of hope. The hospital room was more like a cell, how much things have changed in the past months. The roof was dull giving an impression of being rotten. The bed was still metal underneath, but technology had come so far. "I'm fine!" I snapped pushing the nurse away as I tried to steady myself on my feet.

She looked shaken by my reaction "You should rest Miss Quinzel, after all you did take a bad fall.."

She knew better than to upset me.

As I walked out of there I watched the guards bring in some fragile psychotics, the beleaguered schizophrenics, and threw them into the old holding cells. Every room was a mattress, a bucket and iron bars, they had changed the glass with bars, so much had changed since I was last here. The place was draughty as hell and the stone floors stole every lick of heat from the patient's bare feet. They stood shivering in their hospital gowns, their minds actively constructing new dialogues to cope with the hostile environment. This was Arkham for you.

My mind immediately sprung into action as I began to walk around the halls.

I've got to give it to them.

The council doesn't just build cells, they pour pure hatred into the design. The boxes are more like coffins with headroom and the only light is what creeps in under the door. The floor is five feet by two, enough to lie down at night with raised knees. The only sound other than inmates banging rhythmically on the walls is the audio they pipe in from the torture rooms, of which there are many. Ten minutes after the morning shift has begun the screams are layered one on top of the other, a gruesome choir of pain. But if you're in solitary that's a whole different world for you.

I walked further down the halls until I came across a very familiar cell door.

It was his cell.

My mind begun to race and my heartbeat began to slam against my rib cage.

When he is with me the pain stops, or at least it once did. When I had hope that one day he'd come to me and stay, he was my medicine. These days the pain ebbs at first sight of him, then multiplies and I want to flee. Then he goes and I miss him with a pain that sits in my guts like so much fire burning slow. Those flames belonged in my heart, in my soul, yet no more. And in this hurricane of my soul, amid the endless winds that scream, I make no move. I can protect me, or him. I will choose him until there is no more of my mind or my body, whichever comes first; that is my vow, my oath upon the song of the birds, the light that scatters on still water, the sun that rises each new day.

He betrayed you remember?

I tried to shove that voice way down.

Slowly and carefully I walked into the main hall, remembering exactly where it was, observing all the inmates that were allowed out of their cells.

In this crowded ward I am alone.

The day is broken only by the arrival of meals and medications, the visitors to other beds, the doctor on their rounds. There are faces and busy bodies but not one is familiar. Some guards, psychiatrists and nurses I recognize, but none of them greet me only stare at me in disgust. I am just another disease to them, I know how it works, I was once one of them too. Some are kindly, most are harried, and the air is punctuated with screams as those with broken bones must be moved, those were the ones who tried to escape but failed and instead got beaten up by the guards. Some cries were softer, not physical pain but the anguish of grief. All those keen emotions around me and none of them to me or about me. I am one of life's smilers, it's how I greet friend, stranger or foe. It doesn't mean I'm OK on the inside. Not at all. My love knew that, but he is gone.

Now I'm all alone.

No matter how much I screamed for help, no voice would come out ... or so I thought. In truth there was simply no-one left to hear, or rather no-one with the capacity to respond.

Their eyes scanned my body looking at the bruises, I shuffled and sat in the corner of the crowded with activities room.

Behind my masked smile I wore on my face, there was sadness and shock. I anxiously looked at my left and right, repeatedly as a single sound passes by, checking for signs of danger that would not come. I do not blame myself for being unreasonably afraid. I was new to this, being an inmate was a lot scarier than being a doctor, I tell you.

I pressed my back against the cold wall and clutched my knees to my chest resting my head on them, my hands reached to my hairs running through them. I had always been so self-conscious when I cried but now I just gave way to the enormity of my grief. I sobbed into my hands and the tears dripped between my fingers, raining down onto the ground. My breathing was ragged, gasping as strength left me.

I felt some pressure on my shoulder.

Immediately my head lifted up to see who it was. In front of me stood an old man with glasses, he looked like he was in his sixties at least.

"You new here?" He smiled sweetly

My hands whipped away my tear stained face and I stood up reaching up to his nose, height wise. I've never been tall.

"Yeah." My frown fell and a wide smile replaced it as I stared into his glasses.

"Thought so, if I'm not wrong you're Harley...Harley Quinn?" He asked guiding me towards one of the chairs.

I nodded quickly liking my lips "How'd ya know?" My big curious eyes kept staring at him as he sat down on the chair opposite mine.

"Well you see," He pointed at the t.v that was in the hall, "The news, and you used to work here as a doctor."

I smiled softy.

Then it hit me, "Arnold Wesker! You're the ventriloquist!"

A/n 

In some of the Harley Quinn and Batman comics that I read, Harley and the ventriloquist were friends (not exactly but something more like good acquaintances). So when another lady took scarface she got all protective of Arnold...so on...then she tried to kill that lady and when Batman took her back to Arkham he asked why she cared about him (Arnold)? And she said that he would help her (be her friend) when it was her first times in Arkham. So naturally I decided to incorporate that in my book :00 Hope you like my lovelies xx

AND OH ME GOD!!! THANK-YOU SO MUCH FOR 1K GUYSSSSS!!! 

HAVE A GREAT DAY/EVEING/NIGHT (you just made my day)