Mad Love : It could have happened

Η πρώτη προσπάθεια μιας ιστορίας που, σε κάποιους ίσως θυμίσει λίγάκι το Mad Love Story μεταξύ Joker και Harley ...
Κυρίως επειδή αυτός ήταν ο σκοπός!
Σε συνεργασία με τον Eric, που τυχαίνει να είναι πολύ καλύτερος από εμένα στο storytelling και με έχει βοηθήσει απίστευτα πολύ στο να βελτιώσω το στυλ μου!

Kate POV
…Prologue…

This story is not meant for many eyes to see...

To be precise, this story is made only for two. Or four.

Oh, I don't know; Do double personalities count?

The thing is, apart from some minor inconsistencies -time wise- and little to no inaccuracies, the facts noted down below are all too real.

Maybe that's what makes them so scary, after all.

Everything starts in a crowdy, dark little bar with loud music; just like in movies. Smoke thick as a cloud, colourful spotlights, people dancing; such a peculiar scene playing in a room no bigger than an average home-room just a few steps underground.

The camera, if we're still talking about that movie start, would soon zoom in the young, pretty woman sitting on the bar stool, dully sipping on her drink; A Kamikazi.

Enough Vodka to cover the bitter taste of lemon juice, enough lemon juice to dull the alcohol.

Enough ice to lighten the taste, making you want more.

Such an insidious drink Kamikazi is...

Her hair was a dark shade of brown, this special chestnut brown boys love; the kind of colour girls dream to trade with blonder shades. Not too short, not too long, but long enough to run your fingers through. Azure eyes shining behind the heavy black frames of her glasses. Bright red lipstick underlining her full lips.

Careless youth. Her lip imprint was resting on her glass…

She is around twenty six.

Her clothes would look rather old fashioned from a certain distance; a plain white shirt pushed underneath the elastic band of a slim-fir black skirt. Black high heels to match the outfit, imitating the strict look of a secretary. But her style is not old fashioned at all... The first two buttons of the shirt are as open as an invitation to her bosom. The not-so-careful crossed legs leave to a man’s imagination less than what can be handled.

But she knows. She had it all planned, from the moment she stepped outside her front door. Because she wanted to have her drink in a specific little bar, at a very specific hour of the night…

Waiting for a specific young man to appear.

But, until then, everything seemed so dull and meaningless!

She sighed, looking at her glass, now half empty, and snatched a small notebook from her purse. A small, feminine notebook, the same one all of her colleagues had at their last year of the Psychology PMS, accompanied by a tiny, shiny pen. A faint smile crept up the corners of her lips as she read again and again the brief notes she had been keeping on this man for eight days – or rather nights – in a row.

Entrance: 00:00
Table: 9
Day: 8th
Mood: Apathy

He had her attention alright. But, when you’re a Psychologist on the making, who doesn’t get your attention just by being as unique as anyone?

Although it would have been practically impossible to hear the door opening above the loud music, the jolly sound of glass meeting glass, a rock ‘n roll cry here and there, she felt a breeze of November’s cold air sending goosebubs down her body; thus she instinctively turned her eyes towards the entrance.

She first noticed his shoes; worn out leather boots, muddy –it was raining?- and wrinkled in places, stepping down the stair. The overused jeans, accompanied by an outdated black trench coat… The old fedora hat dripping on his shoulders… The briefcase.

He momentarily stopped, looking around, his sight never resting on anyone; his eyes pierced through the dancing bodies and the spotlights creating this chaos around him, then swiftly made his way between the moving mass on the dancefloor and took his seat on the table number 9, by the wall.

His table.

The trench coat was left resting on the back of his chair. The fedora came off, now drying on the table. His dark hair, dump, usually falling around his face, was soon tucked behind his ears.

God did he look tired…

With a nod towards the lame excuse of a waiter hiding in some dusty, forsaken corner of the club, he gave his order.

Martini dry. Two olives.

The young lady slipped her notebook into her purse again and hungrily run her eyes up and down his form. There he was, sitting on that table, waiting for his drink. She was almost certain of the series of events that would follow, but still her heart was beating fast. So fast she had to rest her hand atop her chest to tame it.

If the “Camera Rule” was still up for discussion, this would be the right moment for the young lad to break the Fourth Wall; to glare up from his drink with a lopsided grin, glance through the glass, right into the audience, with those huge, emerald eyes of his.

But, sadly enough, his drink hadn’t arrived yet, and there never was a camera to begin with. So his eyes locked with mine. Emerald eyes into azure ones.

For, naturally, I was the lady in shirt and skirt.

Hello. My name is Kate, and that’s the night I met – really met – Jack.

Jack POV
Prologue: Part 2: "SO I DIE"

~When love starts to die, it begins with a kiss.~

Bitter tears trickling down my cheeks, i remember the tears, so many of them, too many. I remember it like it was yesterday-or last night anyways-

-Heh-

I believe that's when it begun, that's when she took her toll on me. She always does, doesn't she? She has taken her toll on you as well...

-....Ahhh...heh...hnnnnn-

Don't you worry, it's going to be alright. I will guide you back into the light, another pill perhaps? Here, open wide...

* Muffled sounds as somebody's gulping down something. *

Shhh, it's all better, now...where were we? -Ah yes-

Shall we begin like David Copperfield? " I am born, i grew up"

* Dead silence*

The tears down the male's cheeks were a lot, bombastic sounds of rain falling upon him and all the other wretched sad little people like him. No, he wasn't crying, and the water running down his face was no tears, but the early winter's loud awakening.
His black heavily worn out Chelsea shoes splashed into the puddles of the street as he dragged his cloaked carcass where the street would lead him, yet again. He's been there before.

" Jack O' Cards "

It was a lousy bar, the exterior at least, oooo, i remember the moisture of the rain mixed up with the mud and all the street smells. At the time, i didn't bother with such things, but now, now i cherish every moment. "Why" you ask? Well, listen up.

* Sounds of something heavy being dragged forward with force, like heavy metal scratching against wood. *

The male with the trench coat and the fedora hat pushed the front entrance and headed down the stairs, his muddy soaked wet shoes clicking against the steps of the stairway. A dark intro one would say if this were a movie. But it's not. Or is it? It could be, after all; life immitates art. The interior was warm, cozy, a home away from home to some. A shelter, the second best place to hide when the whole world's after you.

-chuckles-
Would you like to know....what's the best place to hide.... when the whole world's after you?

So many faces, so many people, he quickly scanned them at once, with indifference, or maybe, maybe he was just looking for a way to evade them.
He was so close, yet so far away. The man in black swiftly squeezed his form through the -what seemed like- hordes of people. Finally, sweet freedom. Resting his tired slender frame onto a chair he carefully slipped his black fedora hat off his head.

Dark tuffs of wavy wet hair fell over his face and the big eyes of his sparkled as the Martini finally arrived. He'd been accustomed to this drink, and the olives were delicious. The best thing though, was the noise. With all that noise, no one would listen. He wasn't looking to be noticed.

I am a creature of habit. As much as all evidence points to the contrary and i enjoy the simple joys that life can provide, like your every-day average schmoe. " Jack O' Cards" was my kinda place, loud, cheap, yet somewhat glamourous. Every night for several nights, "Jack O' Cards " has been my home away from home. And every night i'd stop by, grab a drink and lose myself in all the sounds of people, always alone, just me myself and i. -Teeeheee- Or so i thought.

He stuck a cigarette to the corner of his mouth and lit it up. That same old woman, the cute one was there, a few feet away by the bar. At first he didn't seem to care for anyone in that place, but he could feel it in his gut when he was being watched, studied. She's had her eyes on him for quite some time now, hiding underneath her make up and the short skirts and all. The high heels, she was putting it out, a lot. The whole "Librarian " bullshit routine. The slutty one. Locking eyes with her his lively green ones gazed into her own for what seemed like forever. His eyebrows joined to a thin line. He was frustrated. The both of them had masks on, it was time for the charade to come to an end.

" You've been watching me, i've been watching you...seems fair. "

The young man made his presence known to her by walking over to the bar, slowly, gazing at her curiously. His voice was raspy and enygmatic. Eerie some could say.

Dressed in a white slim-fit dress shirt and a pair of faded skinny purple jeans that only flattered his slender long legs. He also wore a tight black vest, yes, a vest, hardly anybody wore those these days.

" Name's Jack..."

He uttered with a faint smile.

That's when i first met her you see, that's when i met my Kate.

~When love starts to die
So do I.~

Kate POV
 Part 1: Back and Forht

~Lift the lid off your heart's casket in the arms of rain.
Drift along this river of sadness 'til we feel no pain~

She couldn’t see for her eyes were shut, but she could hear. And even if she couldn’t hear either, the smell of fresh eggs and toasted bread was all around her.

Childhood memories… Her mother cooking while her father sung. Her younger sister playing in the backyard with the puppy…

‘Where am I?’

She blindly ran a hand through her hair and rolled on her back. Cracking an eye, she could have a glimpse of the old ceiling, painted over and over again in different colors, thus creating a crazy pattern so hard to follow as if she was trying to make out the waves of the sea.

It couldn’t have been her ceiling. Her ceiling in the house of her childhood was a light green color. This one was a bizarre mixture of sunset yellow and bright sunrise rose. She noticed a few white spots.

But she didn’t mind. Sometimes letting your gaze rest upon such a sight makes one relax…

A faint smile; the smell of food made her stomach growl.

‘When was the last time I felt that hungry in the morning?’ she wondered.

A whistle. A familiar song…

“Jack.”

She plopped herself up on one elbow and glanced around, facing right into a mirror. Her reflection, a young, naked woman with messy hair and a stunned look on her face, glanced back. She smiled and waved at her, even daring to dart her tongue out in denial.

This woman looked too happy to be herself.

The whistling continued, hidden somewhere in the depths of the small apartment. Eager to follow the sound, she sought for something to cover her body with - not that Jack would ever be bothered by her naked form.

Brows entwining over the bridge of her nose, she greeted the many masks around her, finding the tight latex and the shining silicone an unwise choice of clothing. She doubted Jack would be glad to find his creations destroyed for the sake of practicality.

One of his shirts, though….

A comfortable, slim fit, black, cotton shirt would do. She flung it over her shoulders and slipped her arms in the sleeves. Too long.

Giggling, she rolled them up both and buttoned the shirt up. Long enough to cover any attention-seeking parts.

…

“And where are we going?” I asked for the umpteenth time that night. Damn those Kamikazi… I promised myself I would never have another of those head-killing, room-spinning spirits ever again!

That is, if I was able to remember my promise the other morning…

“Somewhere safe.”

Short answer. And dry as a lemon.

‘No wait. Lemons are juicy…’

His hand came to rescue my head from colliding with the nearest wall. Something wet was rolling down the sides of my face, and, damn, it was cold. I thought I felt my own hand moving to wipe my face off, on its own accord.

“Water?” I mouthed.

“It’s raining. It had always been.” His voice rung in my ears loud and clear, painfully amplified.

Somebody would have a terrible headache next morning.

Something landed on my head.

‘A hat?’

I think I tried to take it off, for he stopped me, lightly touching my arm.

“Don’t. It will keep your hair dry until we reach my car.”

Car? Did he say car?

“I should probably go home.” I surprised myself, for my words sounded delightfully coherent.

I guess I was wrong. Or so his puzzled look told me.

“Madam, do you even know where your home is?”

As I was ready to answer, my tongue denied wording a single letter out.

‘Where do I live?”

He guided me to his car. From what I could grasp, it was black.

The ride home, his home, was shorter than I thought it would be; but I cannot be sure of my thoughts that night. Would it have been three minutes or thirty, I was unable to say.

What I do remember is the blues playing in the background, as if we were a part of a 40’s movie. This waving, light, cozy sound, this old-fashioned voice singing of things I knew not off…

When we finally arrived I was shivering. A dizzy, trembling mass of flesh and bones, relying on him to survive through that crazy night. A complete stranger.

For all I know, he could have done anything he wanted and I would still be smiling like an idiot.

But he didn’t. He undressed me, making efforts not to look, and gave me something dry to put on; I now think it was yet another shirt of his.

It smelled of lavender…

He put me to sleep like a mother would do; surely not like my mother would have done had she seen me in this condition.

I spent an entire night in his bed, him sleeping on the couch. And the next morning, I couldn’t flex a muscle. He brought me breakfast in bed, gave me some painkillers; he even fed me some soup and then let me sleep the day.

Next thing I remember, it was sunset when I opened my eyes, and he was still there, watching over me, bathing in the bright, warm colors evading the bedroom.

“Hi…” I breathed. My eyes still felt heavy, but I could see his smile.

“Hello Kate.”

Jack POV
Part 1

~This emptiness I've made my home
Embracing memories of dreams long gone
One last caress from the corpse of love~

The sirens started blazing alerting everyone that the clown was yet again out of his box. They spoke his name through the speakers, people in white clean clothes pumped the syringes full of sedative, strong enough to take down a grown lion. The long gloomy dark lit hallways started filling up with staff members.

" He's still in the asylum. Spread out. " One of the Doctors commanded, he appeared to be in charge of things. Another bad day, sometimes though that's all it takes to drive one sane man down insanity.

He giggled with glee and then muffled himself slapping a hand over his crimson lips.

" One...bad...day! " He uttered with bare teeth. " Oooo, naughty naughty alarm, i'm afraid our time's limited. So very limited." He cooed softly running the blade over the man's fleshy dried out lips.

" Where was i? Ah yes, chance..." Slipping the knife back into his pocket he took a seat opposite to the tied up seated man. " The beauty of randomness love, wether you're good or evil, wether you live or die...CHANCE! " Swiftly he pulled a gun out of his coat's pocket, holding it in one hand as if he was showcasing it. " Take this gun for instance, a six-shooter. Precise, acute, a killer with a trigger. " He breathed in and looked at the man with two dead green eyes, silence. Dead silence. His eye twitched as he emptied all six bullets onto the desk that seperated them both. " Let's play a game of chance. " He said with a smile sliding two bullets into two random slots of the cylinder. He spun it with one finger and waited for it to stop, holding the six-shooter firmly, pointing it to the man's face.

...

Perhaps i was mistaken, but my favourite librarian was surely not used to the side-effects of said alcoholic drink. She was far from tipsy, hell, the lady was in a state commonly known by many as " being drunk." A horrible state. I had nothing better to do and as my manners told me to, i decided to offer her a ride to wherever her home was at. Having the best intentions in mind. After all, for such a teeny tiny teensy lil' female and a drunken one at that, the world can be such a dangerous place. Wouldn't you agree?

Jack made sure that she would have some privacy when they arrived in his appartment, thus offering her his room. He removed her soaked by the rainwater clothes and tucked her to bed ever so gently. He cared little for her naked form, he had the choice of leaving her in her wet clothes but chances were she'd catch a cold or worst. Perhaps when she would wake up -whenever that happened- for she was pretty hammered by the look of things she'd wanna have a word. Maybe even one of the typical female rants. One overflowing with femministic ideas and sexism. He was greatly anticipating that, he hadn't had a good conversationalist in ages.

Time didn't seem to pass at all and she was out cold, he'd visit her from time-to-time, always standing by the open door frame of his bedroom, glancing at her. She was a bizarre sleeper, he noticed she'd twitch in her sleep a lot and jerk and thrust her legs, clear signs of nightmares. He knew of nightmares. He finally decided to enter the room, stepping on his tiptoes, he crept in, silently and stood over the foot of the bed glancing down on her. He felt a smile forming on his face. Why the fuck was he smiling? " You are safe now Miss. No monsters in the closet, no monsters under your bed, there are no monsters here. " He whispered. An old quote, something his father used to tell him when he was a litle boy. He placed a quick kiss on her forehead and left the room at once.

The next morning he too was twitching and jerking and kicking his legs.Arms dangling, fingertips touching on the floorboards as he was sleeping onto the couch. His eyes shot open as a trail of sweat had formed at his back. He felt warm drops gliding down his spine. Panting he wiped his forehead clean dropping his face into his open palms. Another nightmare.

" That's right Jacky-Boy, that's it, that's it boy. Spread your legs for me. Be quiet now, be quiet. I'm gonna teach all about it. Be quiet and i'm gonna teach you all about it. "

Jack stormed into the bathroom and held a box of pills in hand, the very familiar voice of the man echoing within the walls of his mind. It wouldn't stop. It never stopped. Two silhouettes, one was small, that of a boy's, the other one was bigger, that of an adult's. Both sharing the same bed. The adult was caressing the small boy like a man would caress a lover. Shadows in the night making noises, bodies rocking back and forth. Muffled cries of a child turned into the muffled cries of an adult. Jack swallowed the pill dry and looked at his tired refflection in the bathroom mirror. The voice faded to a faint phrase. " That's it, i'm gonna teach you all about being a man."

Fresh eggs and toasted bread. Just like his mother used to make it. " Eggy in a basket" she called it. He whistled happily an old tune from an even older cartoon he used to watch when he was younger. His favorite cartoon.

" Lah-da-da-da-da-dee-da-da-da-lah-da-da-da-dahh-dahhhh"

He hummed softly as he flipped the french toast with skill from the frying pan and onto the plate. Two "eggies in a basket." He skipped into his bedroom and served the female as well as giving her a couple of painkillers for the headache. " Ah, Bonsoir! " He exclaimed with a smile. For the next twenty minutes or so, he took care of her, feeding her like a mother would a child. He picked up the empty plates and the tray and left the room once more.

The sun was setting and Jack had spent most of his time working on another one of his mask projects, another creature or as he called them, his "babies." He would still take a break and check up on her, listening to classical music always inspired him. His fingers worked wonders as they danced up and down the brown wet clay. Forming features, giving life to an otherwise pulp of brown nothingness.

Another visit to the bathroom to wash his hands clean and to wet his raven long hair, slicking it back. He dried his hand with his cooking white apron and payed the female another visit.

He stood below the open doorframe keeping a distance from her, finally she was awake and she appeared to be feeling better. He cracked a smile and replied.

" Hello kate. Are you feeling better? You had a pretty nasty hangover. " He chuckled softly crossing his arms and cocking an eyebrow. " You should ease off the alcohol for just a few days. His voice was warm and it sort of had a fatherly tone about it. A caring one. He noticed she was wearing one of his shirts but chose not to say anything for the time being. He looked down upon the ground avoiding eye contact. " You should be more careful, had it not been for me you could've been in a lot of trouble. "

Kate POV
Part 2: Where we learn about her Past and see fragments of her Present

‘Oh, how I love prison cells; always so cheerful.’

The guard –‘humor me, that lame excuse of a man cannot be a trained guard!’- locks behind her back and, as she turns to show him a huge, toothy grin, shivers.
“You won’t leave a poor, defenseless woman all by herself, will you, sweetie?” Yet another grin, less toothy, more seductive this time.

‘It always works…’ the woman says to herself, feasting upon her, hopefully, prey-to-be. She is leaning against the cold, metallic bars and, her pointer hooked at a “come here” notion, winking to the man; his eyes fly from her finger to her breasts, squeezed against the bars.

“S-stay back, freak!” squeals the man and glues his shaky hand to his gun.

She’s pouting, obviously troubled, and crosses her arms over her torso. “Freak?” she huffs “Now I’m offended!”

And she slips on her legs, finally positioning herself on the tiles.

‘Okay. Maybe not this time.’

And so Harley Quinn –known to the world as Kate Frances Quinzel- is obediently sat, occupying herself with the counting of the, seemingly countless lines of her dirty white prison cell’s ceiling.

‘What a productive way to spend the night…’

…

“Kate!” The door slammed closed and the girl jumped, surprised.

“Father?” she asked, hoping for a sober paternal figure, instead of the heir to the empty throne of a drunk Mr. Hyde.

“You little slut…aghh…” A grumble. Then a low thud; a head banged against a wall, maybe?

‘Here goes nothing…’ the girl sighed and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. Swearing the insufficient length of her belly-free top, she paced towards the source of the noise and peeked from the doorframe.

“There you are, you whorish spawn of a bitch…”

‘Says the man who gave birth to me….’ Shaking her head in disappointment, Kate knelt next to her father. The smell of alcohol mixed with cheep perfume and layers of sweat made her pretty nose cringe, but still she tried to help the man stand, supporting his weight on her shoulders.

“Come on dad…Let’s get you to bed.” She moaned as her father carelessly stepped on her bare foot. “Just what on earth did you drink this time?”

“And why must I tell you…” he slurred. It wasn’t a question.

“You never do, either way.”

With a lot of swearing, sweat and growling, the unlikely duo reached the master bedroom, and Kate smiled at the sight of the bed. With a last push she threw the man, at least seven inches taller, on the mattress and wiped her forehead.

“There…” she muttered and placed her hands on her waist. “Sleep tight, father.” And she turned her back to him. She had to check on her sister, feed the dog, cook, study for school and clean up before she went to bed.

“I could use some help there.” She groaned, softly shutting the door, with her father’s loud snoring echoing around the small apartment.

…

The kitchen table made her smile; it reminded her of another kitchen table, one she had seen years ago. A family sitting around the stove, happily eating their meal… He mother’s light singing as she stirred the soup…

“My father never was a sufficient cook…” she murmured, not really caring if she would be heard over the sound of the coffee machine. “After my mother’s death, Beth took up some cooking classes, but what could one possibly expect from a ten year-old?”

She pinched the freshly fried eggs with her fork –“eggs in a basket” he had called them- and the orange colored juice spilled out, like blood would dribble from a fresh cut. “Thank you for that.” She mused at the eggs.

“Beth…” the man breather, seated across the table, gazing at her ever so tactfully under his long eyelashes. “What an old fashioned name.” he commented.

“It is, isn’t it?” Kate shrugged and frowned. “Mother used to read a lot of Harlequins. You know” she kept playing with her fork, creating miscellaneous patterns with the yolk “These Romance kind of books…”

“I know.” The man smiled.

“So, yes. Harlequins… Beth was one of these extremely romantic characters falling in love with a new man every twice a week.” She rolled her eyes “This kind of books make one believe there’s a prince waiting right around the next
corner…” The woman smirked and took a tiny bite from her fried egg along with the bread, gulped it down and neatly wiped her lips before she spoke again. “I enjoy them as well, Harlequins. They remind me of the clowns; the content of the book and the meaning behind the original name holds such an amazing contradiction!” said Kate and finished her lunch off.

There was a long moment of silence until she realized the coffee machine had stopped working, and the aroma of caramel scented coffee filled the small kitchen. She took a deep breath, already imagining the unique taste-print every single droplet would leave on her tongue.

“Harlequin…” Jack uttered. “Harley… Quinn…” The sound of the name made the corners of his lips stretch in what seemed to be an unsure grin.

“What was that?” Kate looked up, puzzled. Jack’s smile was still there when he looked back at her.

“Nothing.”

…

“Hey! Hey you! That’s not the proper way to treat a lady, let me tell you!”

‘The screams do echo rather loudly when you’re sitting in the middle of a concrete cell, with no other furniture than a bed.’

Quick, heavy steps bring the same fat, sweating man in front of her, and she electrifies him with yet another one of her crazy smiles. “What do you want, damn it?” the man asks.

“Company… And some pizza!” her sinister laughter bounces up and down, rocks back and forth inside those four cold walls.

The guard stands stoned, gaping at this being, so undeniably, absolutely and unquestionably brought to life by the hand of a cursed, God forsaken author. Her eyes are brown, wide and warm. He lips are red, bright copper lipstick smeared around and over them, exceeding the corners of her mouth; or is it blood? Hair messy and half burnt carelessly dyed blond, chopped and chipped in places. Her clothes, whatever remnants of a former Harlequin uniform proudly cover her curves, are ripped to shreds and hanging from her body.

Appealing or appalling?

“Where is he?” she says, and now the laughter is over. Her eyes pierce through the walls, seeking, searching. “Where is my Mister J…?”

The man takes a step back, for now she looks and feels like a feline trapped in a cage. With a jerk she’s glued to the bars, her face altered in agony and pain, finally settling in anger and wrath. “What have you done to him?” she yells.

“I ..I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the man stutters. A hand around his neck, surprisingly firm and strong for its size, brings his face inches away from hers, pressed against the cold metal; now they’re locking eyes between the bars.

“If you’ve hurt him” now her voice is low and threatening “I will find you…all of you. And I will burn you. Slowly, so you can feel your skin roast and crust before I cut it and feed it to you…”

“You’re crazy.” He’s amazed; he actually mouthed his thoughts.

She releases him with a sudden jolt of her fingers; he can now properly breathe, inspecting her closely as she positions herself on the floor again.

“People in love always are crazy.” She bluntly states. “Tsk. You obviously have never read a Harlequin in your entire life...”

Jack POV

" You have dialed 911, what's your emergency?"

Her voice was calm, soothing. In control, always in control. She was trained. Maybe it's time i stirred things up a little.

" Double homicide. "

The male voice uttered in a silent sickening manner.
" What's your locati--"
The female quiestioned but before she could finish the sentence she was cut short by a loud sound of an object crashing against the wall. The object being a vintage-styled phone that was tossed carelessly and quite ferociously away by the man. It mattered not though, they were going to trace the call back to this location. All was going according to the plan.

.....

" All is going....according...to the plan."

The clown murmured softly as he placed the gun to his own temple and pulled the trigger. A thunder struck outside making his deadly pale face light up for just a brief minute. The gun clicked. No bullet in the cylinder. It looked as if the odds were in his favor for the time being.

The Doctor sighed in relief squinting his eyes by the sweat that had formed upon his forehead -now trickling down his eyes- it burned a little, then again, he still could feel which meant he still was alive, and as long as there's life, there's also hope, right?

He slammed the cold revolver upon the even colder surface of the worn steel table and spun it around like a spinning bottle. it wiggled on and on, spinning out of control, both madman and Doctor staring at the gun, suddenly it came to a stop, it now was facing the Doctor. Perfectly still and oh-so-perfectly-deadly. His crimson red painted lips pulled back to a shark-like sinister grin.

" Ooo! Would you look at that Doc! Gun-Gun likes you! Wants to be your friend..c'mon now, give it a..give it a little peck, would ya?"

He giggled with glee as he swiftly grabbed the gun and pointed it to the man's face, he brought the metal object closer and closer pressing it against the man's lips.

" N-no! P-please! Don't do-don't do this! Don't do--"

<>

Smirking he pushed the gun through the man's lips and forced it down his throat, causing him to choke, it looked as if...looked as if the man was...

" Tsk tsk tsk, you pervy man you! Behave Doc!! What the hell are you thinking, HM? Tryin' to steal MY friend!! You cheap gun-sucking-WABBIT! "

He snapped and slipped the gun out of the man's mouth smacking him upside the head with it. He sighed and leaned back onto his chair stretching his legs. He wiped the gun clean off the man's saliva with his gloved hand and cringed in disgust.

" Y'know..." He stated casually. " There's a..-giggles softly- lemme show you.."
He stood up moved over quickly and behind the Doctor's back and pulling his tied up body by the shoulders positioned him facing the only large window of the room. Through the glass, one had a full view of the night sky and the moon.

" Stop, please just..what do you want?! What do you--"

The madman shushed him like a father would a child resting his head against the Doctor's shoulder. " Look at it boss, hm? La Luna, isn't it..beautiful? " They both took a moment to themselves, both probably thinking of entirely different things, the clown's green eyes snapped back angrily at the Doctor. " You don't seet it?! Of course you don't see it, how could you see it? You sad ol' sap, you sick sick pup! Just look at it! LOOK AT IT! " He yelled out with two tearful fiery eyes. " Why can't you see IT?!! " He yanked the Doctor by the hair and slammed his head against the window at once. " Look at it!! " And one more time " JUST FUCKING LOOK AT IT!" And again and again. " GOD DAMMIT WHY IS EVERYBODY SO DAMN BLIND?! " He cried out in a breathless tone only to realise he's been bashing the poor man's head many times over and quite ferociously. In result, his gloved fists were now stained in fresh red juice, human juice. He pouted and released the mushed bloodied man's head off his grip. The blood spatter on the glass trickled down the clean white floor, creating a lonely pool of quick-cooling blood. The man was dead.

-Sigh-

" Why can't anybody see it? They must all be...mad...mad "

The Joker whimpered shutting the door behind him and dropping his eyes upon the floor.

" Poor sickos, they need more medicine."

....

Psychologist-" Tell me Jack, let's talk about memories. Let's talk about your mother, can you do that for me? " The psychologist clicked on his silver "Parker" pen and crossed his legs pushing his goggle-like glasses up the bridge of his nose.

.....

Jack- " Memories can be...cruel, repulsive little..brutes like..chlidren, i suppose."
Jack answered as he crossed his legs in return and fluttered his eyes shut reminisching.

Jack-"I remember that night as clear as yesterday, though there's bits and pieces, fragments that somehow don't add up. They are somehow disconnected, missing even."

The house was located at the south-east corner of the city. A stone house with four-to-five floors. A house Jack once called home. He always liked the gates of the house. Heavy steel black gates with two golden sculptures of lion heads. Jack found the lion heads to be very imposing, One of those fine touches that made him appreciate that god-forsaken mansion. He always thought this house was built not to keep things out, but to keep things in. Things that went by the name of "mother." His mother. A violent mad woman that abused Jack from his early childhood all the way to his adulthood. Sometimes though, just sometimes there comes a moment of catharsis for our hero. Other times catharsis is but an illusion.

Jack- " I remember the smell of fried fresh eggs and buttered french toast, i remember the female voice humming softly. I remember the sunrise from my room and the sunset ...there is something about this particular sunset. Something's wrong.

Psychologist- Tell me of the night Jack, what happened that night between you and your mother? It's time you accept the truth. It's time you let go of that memory.

The young man screamed furiously. Slamming his fist against the chest nut brown kitchen table. The woman froze, she dreaded to tell him the truth. How could she tell the poor boy? How could she tell him that she knew? The boy insisted, she knew he wouldn't give up but she wasn't just ready to give up her charade. Until...

Psychologist- " What happened after you wrapped your arms around her throat Jack? What did she tell you?

She gasped for air and tried to fight him off. Jack was taller than her, and stronger. He was a slim slender healthy young man with two eager green eyes. Eager to learn the truth. The old witch coughed, he was choking her, pushing his fingers up her larynx, "the bitch would break"-he thought- and then she sung, finally. The truth came out from two rotten trembling lips. On her knees and with her son choking the life out of her, she spoke the hoarse truth.

Jack- " She..."
Psychologist- " Yes Jack? "

Jack listened closely to what she had to say, a breathless sickening voice. The truth spilled and something inside of him snapped. His eyes twitched as he felt claws scratching at the walls of his mind. All the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle had fallen into place. Wheezing and panting and with a strength that could only be compared to that of a lion's, he choked the life out of her, even in the end, she did put up a fight.

Jack- " She said nothing.."

Jack stood up. Baptised and reborn he looked up and through the kitchen window, and then he saw it. Baptised in murder he saw something on the full moon, a silhouette. A very cartoony smiling silhouette of a bunny. The bunny was happily skipping to the side of the moon. -There's a..there's a bunny on the moon, that's just...nuts!- He exclaimed with two wide eyes. He slapped a hand up his forehead and frowned,reason trying to talk some sense into him.-There's a bunny on the moon!!- He opened his eyes and let out a hysterical laughter, he paused and looked at the bunny once more, it smiled down on him. -I'd never seen it before- he chuckled choking on his own laughter.

Jack- " Oh, you've helped me out a lot Mr.Psycologist, that's one mighty fine pen you got there....mind if I...take a looksie? " Jack sneered as he forced himself onto the psychologist snatching the pen from his pocket and stabbing him in the neck with it. " Bunny...Bunny...Bunny.." He uttered and then cackled insanely as the psychologist choked on his own blood. " Too bad you can't see the sunset, it's oh so beautiful...i can see it in your eyes just like i saw it in my mother's eyes..." The psychologist tried to hold on keeping his eyes so very wide and so very open. Jack watched him closely, inspecting everything he'd do. The last time with his mother, he didn't have enough time to admire her sunset, not like now. -He thought as he kept his eyes glued to the dying man's eyes.- Suddenly Jack smiled. " I can see the sunset now. " He stated with a huge grin as the man let out his last breath.

....

" Be quiet Harley. "

The Joker instructed the female with the red and black Harlequin disguise. It was late at night and he had decided out of the blue - like he would usually do- to sneak inside an elderly couple's home. Stepping on his tiptoes she did the same creeping up behind him. They walked up the staircase that lead to the upper floor. "Stay put." He said quietly and she did like she was told. He apprached the master bedroom door and so very carefuly and gently pulled it open. He stepped into the room and gave her one quick last glance before he very gingerly shut the door behind him.

What followed after that was silence. A brief moment of muffled moans followed by a sudden noise of an object stabbing through bedsheets, probably, the minutes passed and silence took over yet again.

" You may come in darling. " He said through the room in a singing voice. The Harlequin practically kicked the door down in the sound of her puddin's voice and what she saw when she opened that door made her freeze. Her Joker was laying ontop of the bed, resting on his back, his feet dangling from the bed. It was a nice double bed. Probably white matress, good and soft. The sheets must've been one of those cool smooth ones. Then again, they were covered in blood. So much of it and it was everywhere, most of it on the bed, dripping down the floorboards creating smaller pools. There was a lot of it on the wall too. Blood spatters everywhere.

" Meet Mister and Mrs *Dead* " He said with a chuckle wrapping his arms over the two elderly corpses of a Mister and a Mrs's. He was very casual about it. And the image of him hugging those two corpses looked like a bloody macabre family portrait.

" Come closer now, don't be shy." He jumped down from the bed, drops of red all over his elegant clothes and white face. He crawled over to her on his knees, like babies do when they are learning how to walk. He looked up her doll-painted-face and smiled hugging her belly and burying his face to her flesh. He stayed there snuggling her, purring with delight and mad mad love.

" ...My love..."

Joker whispered softly while down on his knees. He lifted up his fist to the level of her eyes and as his fingers parted open a ring rested on his open palm. It was silver in color with tiny cute roses engraved around it, and in the center, a shiny purple stone. Very appealing to the eye. Very bright and at the same dark too.

The Joker said those exact words: " Kate, will you marry me? "

.....

Having left the office and having killed the Doctor the Joker made his way down the holding cells. Trying to avoid the security cameras the best he could and hiding when police officers would approach him. Dressed in the Doctor's outfit and having removed his makeup to somewhat blend in. He kept looking at his ID patch. His ID patch had a picture of the Doctor and his name: Doctor Stan Hatter. Finally, he successfuly managed to find his way down the holding cells and that's where they were keeping her.

" Now now officer, how's our new entry doing? "

He said in a low tone. Keeping his head down.

" She nuts Doc! She one crazy broad lemme tell ya! " The fat slob-of-a-guard replied. " Let's go see how she's going. " Joker said trying to hide his excitement. The guard marched forward and he followed. Passing one cell after the other, so many of them cells and too few of them occupied. Finally, they came to a stop in front of her cell. " Here we are." The fat guard gestured for the "Doctor" to step forward and continued with his nonsense. " This one Doc, she's a feisty one, she's been trying to get me to sing, tell her about her psychotic boyfriend's whereabouts. Where is that other freak anyways? "

" Right here. " The Joker replied lifting his head up to reveil to both Harley and the guard his true identity. The guard yelped as he saw the image of the man with the horribly sliced up cheeks, a kind of scarring that looked like a smile. He appeared to be a very pale man with very thin eyebrows slicked back black hair and those grotesque scars. The Joker headlocked the guard and even though the fat bastard tried to wiggle away the Joker successfuly snapped his neck releasing his body to collapse on the floor.

" He was dead the moment he layed his eyes on you. " He uttered coldly turning his head to her direction. " Did you know, there's a bunny on the moon? Did you know that Harley? " The Joker smirked stepping closer to the bars of her cell.

Kate POV
Where we learn about the Tin Soldier and his beloved Dancer...

“The flames lighted up the tin soldier, as he stood, the heat was very terrible, but whether it proceeded from the real fire or from the fire of love he could not tell. Then he could see that the bright colours were faded from his uniform, but whether they had been washed off during his journey or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say. He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him.

He felt himself melting away, but he still remained firm with his gun on his shoulder. Suddenly the door of the room flew open and the draught of air caught up the little dancer, she fluttered like a sylph right into the stove by the side of the tin soldier, and was instantly in flames and was gone. The tin soldier melted down into a lump, and the next morning, when the maid servant took the ashes out of the stove, she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the little dancer nothing remained but the tinsel rose, which was burnt black as a cinder”

The Brave Tin Soldier, Hans Christian Andersen

...

As much as she didn’t want to, they had to move from his small, cosy apartment. The sunny, well preserved alley where he used to live was now, much to Jack’s dislike, a sort of pole for policemen.

“They just won’t leave us alone…” Kate had sighed for the tenth time that day, as she picked behind the light-coloured living room curtains, down to the road. A police car was parked a few feet from Jack’s door. She breathed heavily and turned her eyes to him with a shudder.

Seated in the soft, feathery couch, he looked nothing like the man he used to be a few weeks ago. The jagged scars, neatly following his jaw line, formed a rough draft of a smile. ‘A real one, for what matters…’ thought Kate and circled her fingers around a stray strand of hair falling in her eyes. She would have to dye them, soon enough.

“Do I really look so bad…?” His voice had a hint of beef, but a lot of sarcastic, high pitched notes. She could almost feel them ricochet on the skin of her neck, her bare forearms, her calves…

She tiptoed towards him, peacefully, and sat herself next to him on the cushions. Inspecting the messy job she had done on his stitches, she thought she could have done better; had her hands not been so shaky; had she not be crying her eyes out as long as the sewing work lasted.

“You are the same man.” She simply said and ran one finger along the right scar, ever so gently. She wasn’t quite sure he could feel it, kitchen knives tend to destroy the nerves they cut through, and she was no surgeon.

But he caught her hand in his, firmly, and placed it atop his heart. “No” he said. “Not the same man.” And he smiled. A real smile, as if those scars could now magically pull the edges of his lips; as if that knife had done more than simply damaging his flesh.

‘He’s liberated…’ Kate realised and smirked despite the thought. ‘This is his true face. No more hiding.’

Maybe Jack heard her thoughts and responded to them and them alone, for he caressed her face and pulled her close; not for a kiss. Just for a hug.

“You look great, jack…” She mumbled, her face partially buried in his neck.

“I didn’t ask.”

…

“Ouch!” the man growled as the needle pierced through his skin and angrily glared at the woman. Her tear struck face glimmered under the artificial red light of the small room, enhancing the effect of the, very real and very liquid red colour segueing from his cheeks into his collarbone.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…!” the woman wailed and bawled, more tears flowing down her eyes, down to her neck and into her bosom. She could almost hear the small plopping sound the needle made as it pricked through the tore skin of his face. The resistance of his flesh as she pressed it with her soaked fingers… The tiny cut up pieces stuck under her nails….

“Stop crying and concentrate.” He mildly scolded her and stood as still as possible.

“Why did you do that...” she wept, lightly securing the yarn, connecting the upper and lower parts of his cheek so his teeth wouldn’t be visible anymore. With that motion, more blood gashed from the wound.

“I never smiled much.” He simply noted.

And, although she knew she would have the smell of his blood on her for quite a while, despite the horrid thought of being bathed in particles of his flesh, despite the sickening sight of her lover’s face being torn in two, Kate grinned.

Jack could have done her work easier had he used a straight razor instead of a bread knife with a jagged edge.

…

“Damn it, Beth, don’t move!”

Kate pushed the pedal for more speed, although she had it already grounded. She feared that, if she pushed more, her foot would penetrate the car’s floor and meet the tarmac.

A quick glance in her frontal mirror. In the backseat, her younger sister –or what remained of her - breathed heavily, one hand clasped upon her abdomen; a fast growing cooper stain she had become, her beloved little Bethy…

“I’m okay…” strived Beth to be heard over the loud cricking and cracking of the tiles spinning.

“Don’t talk.” Kate ordered and prayed her father hadn’t chosen the most isolated house in the area, far from every human presence and, most important, medical aid.

The nearest hospital was still ten minutes away.

“Kate…”  came the flat, breathless murmur from the backseat.

“You’ll be fine. Just hold on…” Damn, she sounded panicked.

‘Calm down Kate.”

She could feel her heart pounding in her ribcage, she could feel her pulse in her ears; her palms, sweaty, glistening with dread. The wheel was slipping from her grasp.

So was her sister’s life.

“I’ll see mom again…”

“What?” Her voice was so low, so hollow, Kate wasn’t sure she heard her talk. Above the bedlam of the air rushing in, the thundering beating of her own heart, the clenching and relaxing of her muscles, how could she have?

‘We’re almost there!” Kate cawed and a splinter of hope pierced her heart.

Hope is the deadliest of poisons.

She stopped the car outside the main gates of the Cebtral Hospital and jolted out of the car. With the hope of saving Beth still burning inside her heart, she opened the backseat door and unfastened Beth’s seatbelt. “Come on sweetie, just a few minutes more…Come on now, let me help you up..”

But when she snuck her arm under Beth’s back, the coldness of her skin alarmed her. Thunderstruck, she fell back on her feet, covering the gaping hole that was her mouth with a hand clasped upon it. The cry never left her lips.

“Oh my God..”

Blood was still trickling down the side of Beth’s stomach, pooling in the shallow crook of her belly; her eyes were staring outside the window, at the full moon shimmering on the night sky.

‘She always used to say there’s a bunny on the moon.’ And, with that last thought, Kate finally let her tears fall.

…

“You know, love… This could be the best present you’ve ever given me!” she cheers and claps in awe as the guard collapses in front of her. Kneeling down, she takes a closer look to the unmovable features, her eyes widening. “He seems so…dead…”

“That’s because he IS dead.” he declares, bemused.

Kate – ‘Harley’ she corrects herself – stares at her savior with a genuine smile on her sloppily painted lips. Her makeup is more messed up even than her suit, but she doesn’t seem to give a damn. Stretching her arms forward, wrists entwining as if they were cuffed, she grabs the metal bars and pouts.

“Won’t you release your Harley, Puddin’?”

A slight arch of a well defined brow, a lopsided smirk, and a few steps to the fore of the body brings him close to her cell. Staring into those huge, pleading eyes.

“Hmmm…” he taps a finger against his chin, indulging in the sight of the woman slowly melting against the metal door, finally spreading like butter on the floor before him.

“You are cruel…” says Harley, looking up to him.

“Oh, come on….” He bends one knee and lowers himself to match their height as much as possible. “You know I won’t leave you here.”

Her instant change of mood brings her face pressed flat against the bars, staring at him. A pair of hands pulls him close for a cooper colored kiss in between the metal spaces.

…

There was that fairy tale I used to read when I was younger; it was about the love being found in the weirdest of places. Between so very different people…

A tin soldier once loved a little ballet dancer. But fate parted their ways so many times, and they thought that it wasn’t meant to be. Yet, the soldier never lost his love for the dancer, and whenever he had the chance, he would always look upon her in awe, for he admired her values; I’m pretty sure he admired her beauty as well…

But there comes the day they can finally be together! If it hadn’t been for this one, very small unfortunate event: fire.

Fire keeps you warm. But it also burns; it can, potentially, kill you.

Fire didn’t kill the poor tin soldier who was tossed in the fire; neither did it kill the ballet dancer. Their passion killed them, for the moment they touch each other, the world around them changed so drastically and destroyed them…

This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object…

…

“You just took that old lady’s ring.”

The silver roses she loved; roses were her favorites. The purple stone was nicely shaped and shiny.

It was shiny because it was entirely covered in blood. Blood still warm, fresh, alive.

“She has no use for it now.” Said The Joker, face still burried in her belly.

'Legitimate, as it could have been. I give him that.'

Harley smiled to the man knelt before her and placed her hand atop his head, sharing a moment of tasteful intimacy; and the blood covering him almost from head to toe.

“I thought you’d never ask.” She said and the man looked up, crazily smiling. He took her hand and slipped the ring around her middle finger, smearing more blood on her.

“You know” Harley said when the short ritual was over and her Prince of Crime was back on his feet and oozing out happiness “I always wanted to spend my honeymoon in a jail.”

And the smile on his face grew even wider.

To Be Continued