But that first night, the screams kept him awake; the smell of something burning was nauseating. It reminded him of something, something from a very long time ago. Something he couldn’t quite remember, couldn’t quite put his knife on, couldn’t quite figure out. All he knew was that it made him sick and shaky. After a few days of it, he though he really would go nuts. The fact that he couldn’t figure out why it bothered him so much only made it worse.
They had tried to make him wash his face clean, to see the man underneath, but that didn’t go over very well. Anyone who got close to him with soap and water met their maker in less than ten minutes. After five deaths in just three days, it was decided that he would be allowed his makeup, but under the conditions that he would wear an orange jumpsuit, like everyone else, and he wouldn’t kill any more of the staff. Yeah, sure.
He kept himself in entertained by finding interesting ways to kill the guards and nurses. Sometimes he was subtle, sometimes he wasn’t. There really wasn’t anything they could do to make him stop. He could look them in the eye and make all the promises they wanted him to, and then destroy whoever was unlucky enough to bring him his next meal. Once he had made a good dent in the staff, he had the honor of meeting the illustrious Jeremiah Arkham, current ringleader of the asylum. Joker had given him a very nice hello, HAHAHA!!!!!!! Apparently, the good doctor didn’t find the humor in being stabbed through the cheek with his own pen.
That little incident, of course, landed him in total solitude. The cot was removed and he was given three pitiful meals a week. No one gave him any more sedatives, no one checked to see if he was alive. He kept track of the days by carving his name into the bricks of his room with the small nail he had removed from the cot before they had taken it away.
He really didn’t mind being alone. That’s how it always was. He didn’t mind having so little to eat. He had never had much time for it on the outside. He didn’t mind the cot being taken. He was stuck in a room made completely of stone, did it matter whether he slept on stone or not? No.
Three long months into his seclusion, Dr. Harleen Quinzel came and changed all that. Well, as much of it as she could. She was young and beautiful, really ambitious- ready to face the world and make her name as a psychiatrist at the asylum. She demanded that each inmate be allowed exercise and recreation, that they have decent food, clothing and bedding, and that they have at least six hours a week to talk about their problems with her. Yes, she would have been a bright star, if she hadn’t fallen fast and hard for Gotham ’s most dangerous man. People thought he was crazy? They had obviously never had an obsessive woman on their hands.
“Harleen Quinzel, huh?” he said upon meeting her for the first time. “You know, toots, if you slash a few letters, you might have something. Harley Quinn is a much better fit for a doll like you!” And Joker had her wrapped around his finger from that moment on. At first, the doc had merely been fascinated by his every word. She was grouchy all day until it was his turn for a heart to heart with her. Then, she began spending more and more of her office time around him. And that wasn’t the only thing Dr. Quinzel was doing- there was a noticeable difference in the make up she had on, the clothes she wore. Eventually, her pretty engagement ring wasn’t even making any appearances.
She began spending all her time with him, opening up to him about anything and everything; her failed engagement, her insecurity as a psychiatrist, her abhorrence to putting on a smile all the time when she just wanted to live her life the way she wanted!
She called him “Puddin” and “Mista J”- her Jersey accent breaking through her carefully constructed mold. She got very comfortable with him, but never got close to him. After all, she had walked into his cell for a chat only to find him killing one of the nurses or guards more than once! Her brain knew he was dangerous, but her giddy little heart wouldn’t listen.
After working in the nuthouse just five weeks, she wasn’t even going home, spending most nights in her office falling asleep watching replays of their chats on her computer. Sometimes, she confessed her love to him in her sleep! It was so disgusting it was hysterical. Joker knew this because he was in the shadows, watching her, while she thought he was tucked away under lock and key.
Under the doc’s relaxed reign, it was very easy to get out of his cell. Yes, there were a few times when he wondered if it would be fun to run away with her, to have a partner in crime who would do anything he demanded- but her obsession with him was really more of a nuisance than anything. It would’ve been a cakewalk to kill her there in her office and be done with it. But why not have her do the dirty work for him? So he opted for watching Harleen Quinzel lose her mind and turn herself into Harley Quinn.
He started by telling her she was great, she was pretty, she was the best- and she gobbled up his words like they were candy. He even went as far as to clasp her hands in his own and declare that she was the perfect gal for him. She melted like butter on the spot. It was so hysterical to watch the doctor become as nutty as her patients. Eventually, she hatched her own plan to “bust out of the loony bin and live together happily forever!!”
It was so perfect, Joker wondered if he could have done it better himself. Harley had arranged everything, from explosions and guard distractions to a getaway route and costume for herself. She even had his carefully tailored suit and his knife collection in hand when she freed him from his cell a mere five months after he had been admitted.
He allowed her to get them out of the building and far from the property before beginning to ignore her. She started asking him questions about his old operations, his hideouts, his goons. He realized that she had planned the escape, and nothing else. She clearly thought that the next step was something he had figured out. True, he always had something in the works, but it didn’t involve her. There was no way that he was going to let that needy woman stick around with him- she was a Class A succubus! As soon as they were back on Gotham ’s main streets he lost her going around the block. Turning the corner much faster than her, Joker saw a door open to his right, and ducked inside quickly. Holding a knife to the throat of the man who had been about to leave, he stood there in the darkness holding his breath. Harley, the scatterbrain, walked right on by, happily humming to herself.
“Thanks pal, you’ve been a big help,” he told the man before knocking him unconscious.
He stepped out of the building and onto the street, watching Harley grow smaller in the distance. He could hear her calls for him, and headed in the opposite direction. After that, he promptly swore off women. They were far more trouble than they were worth.
Joker heard the next day that she had robbed some swanky jewelry store uptown. She really couldn’t resist shiny, sparkling things. New to a life of crime, she was picked up by Gotham ’s finest quickly. Harley was charged with a nice list of offenses, including grand theft auto and aiding in the escape of a criminal, not to mention the giant malpractice suit she now had hanging over her head. Although she tried desperately to claim insanity in order to be shipped off to Arkham, likely in hopes of meeting her “Puddin” there, her judge was not so convinced. Harley was currently serving her time in county jail with the rest of the common thugs of Gotham …
