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In some ways the Joker is like a storm, Harleen thinks.
She stands on a beach, her clothes soaked through by the rain. The blouse and dress pants she wears are clinging to her skin. Were she not lost in thought, she would be uncomfortable. Instead she stares out at the ocean and lets the rain pelt down on her.
Her glasses are forgotten in the car and her hair is stuck to her neck in damp clumps but all Harleen can focus on is the enigma known only as The Joker. After nearly three months of sessions, she thought she was coming close to figuring him out. Then she walks into Arkham Asylum that morning and… he’s gone.
He had escaped the night before, and no one had noticed.
The police questioned every staff member of the asylum to find the accomplices and of course, as his therapist she was put under a microscope. Her day had been non stop questioning with little variation. They tried to trip her up but she was solid. She had nothing to hide. They let her go an hour before her shift ended so she had to work overtime to catch up on her work.
Throughout the process she had felt numb. Because while she knew the Joker was intelligent, a quiet breakout seemed unlike him. He was egotistical, he would want to escape and kill everyone in the process just to prove that he could.
To Harleen it seemed odd. Part of her expected… what? A goodbye? She had been one of- no the most successful thus far with the Joker case. No one had gotten as close as she had. Is that why she felt so empty?
It didn’t matter anymore, he was gone.
With that thought, she decides she better leave. Harleen takes a deep breath, tasting the salt in the air and turns around, her shoes dangling from her hand. She makes the trek through the wet sand back to her car. She removes a beach towel from the backseat and places in her driver’s seat before climbing in. Then she sees it.
A purple note taped to her steering wheel, and in thin, scratchy handwriting, “You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?”
It’s signed with the letter J.
Tentatively, she removes it, because knowing the Joker it could be a bomb. Wouldn’t that be funny? Haha.
The whole ride home her heart is beating fast and she chews on her lip until it bleeds. She gets into her apartment before her knees give out and she slides down the door heart racing, staring at nothing but mind going a mile a minute.
She can’t tell if she’s happy or terrified or maybe both and it takes her a moment to realize that she’s dripping water all over her carpet so she gets herself up and showers.
The shower calms her, she rationalizes it all. If the Joker wanted her dead, he would have killed her. She’s happy about the note because he’s alive which means that he could still be caught and brought back which means she still has a chance at cracking him.
So she decides to forget about it for now, and get some rest. Today is Friday, she has the weekend to collect herself and prep for a new patient on Monday.
She relaxes, and comes into work on Monday as if she wasn’t affected at all by the events the previous week.
She’s just exiting the room after a session with another patient when a group of guards rushes past her.
She stops one of them and asks what is going on.
“The Joker is back, Miss. All guards are needed.” he replies, and then he’s walking away.
It takes her a minute to process but once she has, she follows the group of guards to the questioning and processing area.
It’s a white room with a one way mirror to separate it from the viewing space. As expected, anyone on break is viewing. She manages to reach the front of the group due to her short stature.
He’s there. It’s him. He’s sitting at the table in the center of the room in a straitjacket, chained to the floor. His green hair is almost blinding against the stark white walls of the room. Harleen tries to calm her breathing. Her jaw is clenched.
He looks more alive than he did before he escaped. Compared to now, he was just a walking corpse.
His lipstick is smudged and she can tell he was roughed up by the guards by a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.
The police officer sitting across from him asks, “So Joker, why did you turn yourself in?”
She doesn’t have time to be confused by the idea of the Joker surrendering because he answers in a gravelly voice, “Why, I missed my favorite psychiatrist, of course.”
He turns his head towards the one sided mirror and smiles with his mouth of metal, because he knows she’s there. Of course he does. He planned this.
It feels like ice water has been poured down her back because she realizes with startling clarity that the Joker is not the storm. He is the eye of it.