Four of a Kind

Harley’s first conscious thought of the morning was that she had to use the bathroom. Badly. It had taken her nearly two hours to fall asleep from sheer boredom. And now here she was at nearly 5 am and she had to go really bad. She growled in annoyance and tried to slide out of the bed. That was when she remembered the shackles and she lurched herself back into the bed, cracking her skull on the headboard. “Fucking hell…” she whispered, biting her lip against the pain. She lay flat again, drumming her fingers and wondering how she was going to get out of this. She turned her head and found that he was still lying there, breathing evenly, safe in the knowledge that she couldn’t move without his permission. She thought about waking him up, but knowing how much of a bitch she herself was when awakened from a dead sleep, she could only imagine the sleepy rage of a psychopath like him. No, waking him was out of the question.



She threw the covers back and saw that the shackles were thick bracelets attached to longer chains hooked around the frame of the bed. She could see that there were some attached at the foot, but those, thankfully, had been tossed aside. She pulled at the cuff, trying to slip her tiny hand through, but to no avail. Short of cutting off a thumb, she would never be able to get her hand through. She flopped her arm down again and screamed silently. If she didn’t get out of this bed soon, waking him would no longer be her biggest problem. She saw something sparkle out of the corner of her eye. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was a safety pin and suddenly the heavens opened up and angels sang. She grabbed the safety pin and instantly began working it into the lock on the shackle. “This is not as easy as it looks on television,” she whispered to herself. Finally, she heard a click. “Oh thank god…” When the shackle fell open, she cheered as quietly as she could and slithered out of the bed and into what she could only assume was the bathroom.



She squinched her eyes shut as the door squealed when she came out of the bathroom. But when she tiptoed back into the room, he was still sleeping soundly. She knelt down beside the bed to search for any signs that he was faking sleep. But he was definitely unconscious. Again she was struck by how freakishly normal he could look. Sleeping in the shadows, she believed that she could see a ghost of what he’d looked like… before. She stared into his face a little while longer, once again her fingertips reaching out to run along the rough ridge of the scar on his cheek. But just before she could make contact, her brain snapped to life and reminded her what a stupid mistake that would be. Suddenly she heard a creaking downstairs and she dropped like a stone to the floor beside the bed. She was waiting for him to wake up and find her, but he didn’t. He only groaned softly in his sleep and his arm flopped down over the side of the bed.



Like a cat scaling a clothesline, she crawled towards the door. She caught a glimpse of her skin, glowing blue in the dim light from outside, and realized that she was still completely naked. Looking around, she saw his jacket lying in a heap on the floor. She grabbed it and pulled it around herself, buttoning it all the way down. It swallowed her small frame and hung down to her knees, but would do for a little wandering. “Oww… fuck…” she shrieked as she put her hand in the pocket and pulled out a small razor sharp blade along with her own bloodied palm. She gripped the knife and crept out of the room.



Her eyes were everywhere as she slowly inched along the wall. There might be an army of maniacal guards down here, she had no idea. So she thought better safe than sorry. The corridor stretched out in front of her and she could see that it was lined with doors. The floor was covered with an old, dusty Oriental rug and torn wallpaper adorned the walls. She came to a set of stairs and followed them down. She jumped at every sound, wielding the knife like Norman Bates as she whirled around in the dark.



“I know why you scream at night…”



“Shut up,” she whispered to the voice. Now was not the time to lose it.



“Daddy loves you, Harleen…”



She put her hands over her ears, careful not to cut herself across the face. She could feel the warm blood dripping down the side of her face from her bleeding palm. She shook her head and continued on, trying to block out the voices. She took the steps down, one by one.



The house was a clichéd haunted house. Old, huge, moldy, and musty. This house had once been a grand mansion to rival Wayne Manor itself, but years of disuse had rendered it a shell of its former grandeur. The smell was so familiar but she couldn’t quite place it.



“… fucking whore…!”



Harley whipped her head around, looking for the source of the exclamation and seeing no one. “Who’s there?”



“No peeking.”



She heard the shot so clear that it made her jump, dropping the knife to the floor and hearing it skate across the floor. “What the hell are you doing here?”



“That one was real,” she whispered.



“Hey girlie! What the fuck are you doing here?” A tall man who looked like a street punk on steroids came out of the shadows. “You aren’t supposed to be wandering around--”



“I just wanted something to eat,” she stammered, her fear blocking the voices. “I-- I was looking--- for the kitchen.”



“The boss said not to let you go anywhere--”



“Was he planning on starving me to death?” she asked defiantly.

The man looked her over hungrily, an expression that reminded her of those dogs in that alley. “I got something for you to eat, sweetheart.”



“I was in the mood for more than a snack,” she growled.



“You got a mouth on you.”



“Yeah, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave me alone.” She gestured towards the stairs and he took her meaning. She had no idea if he would protect her again, but this goon didn’t know that.



“He’d probably thank me for teaching you some manners.” He came towards her, practically salivating with the possibility of what he had in mind. He could put her back, nice and quiet, where she came from and no one would be the wiser.



“A whore just like your mother!” The voice spat with venom in her ear and something in Harley snapped. She threw herself at the guard, tearing at the flesh of his cheek with both hands. If only she hadn’t dropped that knife. She dug in with her fingernails, feeling the blood wetting her hands. As he struggled, she used her grip on his face as leverage to sweep his ankle from behind and throw him face down on the floor, shattering the cartilage in his nose. And then she was on him, pounding at the back of his head with her fists.



“Fucking bitch!” he shouted, pushing her off of him, sending her skidding across the floor until she hit a stone column in the parlor, and spilling a vase over her head. “You’re gonna pay for that one, whore.”



She watched him come towards her and she scooted back against the wall. Lucky for her, he didn’t see her palm the shard of the porcelain vase. She cowered before him and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker. As he approached, he laughed at her feigned fear and went in for the kill. Even as she sliced the jagged porcelain edge across his jugular, he thought he’d won. It wasn’t until he saw the blood splatter across her face that he knew something was wrong. A wet, maroon blossom appeared on the marble floor and spread outward from his body. She kicked him away with both feet, sending him sprawling. She watched as he died, gurgling and sputtering until finally his body shook with tremors. And then he was gone.



“Look at what you’ve done!” Harley stared at the blood covering her and the floor. The crumpled mass that was her attacker lay a few feet away. The stench of his blood was all over everything and it was too much. She ran from the room and into what she hoped was the kitchen, and before she could stop herself she was violently sick into the sink.



“I’m sorry…” she cried, sliding down the wall and curling in a ball against the doorway. She still clutched the piece of vase in her fist, feeling it cut into her flesh.



She didn’t know how long she sat there, but she could tell from the orangish light coming from the window above her that dawn was coming soon. He would be awake soon and know what she had done. She rubbed her head and looked down, noticing that her hand was smeared with blood. She wasn’t really sure what was going to happen next. She was so confused by the whole thing that the possibilities grew more terrifying with every breath. She decided to do the only thing she could-- try and clean up the mess. She practically crawled back into the large parlor room. She could smell the blood everywhere. It dripped into her eyes and she could taste it on her lips. She ached all over from the exertion of having two fights in one night. But there was nothing for it except to try. She would get this idiot up off the floor, drag him into the back, clean up the blood and crawl back into bed. No one would notice one more body lying around this place.



She rounded the corner and slammed face first into The Joker. “Where the hell have you been off to?” he growled menacingly, grabbing her wrist and jerking her towards him. “Looking for a way out, I see…”



“No… I…” She stammered, unable to find her voice. She tried to wrench her wrist from his grasp, deciding that now was the time to run. “I… I…”



He mocked her with a cruel laugh. “I.. I.. I…”



“I was hungry,” she croaked. “I.. didn’t think…” She didn’t have time to finish as he pulled her closer, grabbing her hair and slinging her into the mirror on the wall.



“If you people would just learn to do what I ask!” He accented his words with a kick to her side, sending her sprawling again. “Why must I always be surrounded by disobedient idiots?”



She groaned softly, trying to crawl away from him. She could taste the blood in her mouth again. She wasn’t sure this time if it was hers or her hapless victim’s. “I wasn’t--” she rasped, being unable to scream as he grabbed her by the hair again.



“Excuses, excuses… really Harley… I had hoped you were something special.” He dragged her towards the stairs again and this time she was sure that murder awaited her in his bedroom. Maybe worse. She saw the moonlight glint off of something just out of her reach. The knife! She jerked away just enough to grab the knife and somersault backwards away from him. He laughed coldly and came at her again. She was prepared and lunged with the knife, narrowly missing his jaw and instead grazing his cheekbone before he grabbed her wrist again, pulling her forwards and twisting her arm behind her until she felt the joint pop. Pain shot up her arm and made her drop the knife. He held her strong from behind, the calloused tips of his fingers grazing over her midsection. She closed her eyes, shrinking from him as he inhaled the scent of her hair deeply. “Bitter spice,” he purred, rubbing his scarred cheek against hers. “You smell like you’ve been bathed in blood, pet.” His voice was even again, but she could feel the rage still boiling beneath the surface.



Without warning, he pushed her forward again, making her stumble over the body of the inept guard she’d killed earlier. When she lost her balance and fell, she landed right on top of him. She opened her blurred eyes and stared into the dead, soupy eyes of her victim. His mouth still contorted in a scream of surprise and streaks of blood painting his face, he looked like yet another sideshow freak. She gave a bloodcurdling scream and tried to scramble backwards off of the man, but her bare foot slipped in the puddle of blood beside him and she fell again.



The Joker laughed as she crawled away from her former prey, not knowing which way to turn. She could stare into the face of this ultimate sin, or into the face of perfect danger. Suddenly she didn’t care if he killed her or not. Beat her to death, slit her throat, rape her and throw her in the nearest river. She didn’t care. And something in his maniacal laughter told her that he didn’t either.



She watched him as he walked towards her slowly. He bent over her and grabbed her upper arm. She thought for a minute he was going to crack her skull against the wall again, but instead he just pulled her to her feet. “You ruined my jacket.”



“What?”



“My jacket. You could have at least taken it off when you slit that pig’s throat.”



She could only stare at him in disbelief as he led her back up the stairs. “Sorry…” she mumbled.



“I suppose its my own fault… daddy didn’t do very well finding clothes…” By the time they reached the top of the stairs, he was practically dragging her up and into the bedroom. There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room and she was fading fast. By the time he shoved her facedown into the bed, she was ready to faint. Her head felt heavy and she couldn’t quite form thoughts cohesively. He disappeared into the bathroom and came back minutes later with a stainless steel bowl, a bottle of vodka, and a towel.



“What’s all that?” she asked exhaustedly. For all she cared it could be the lime that would dissolve her body parts one by one.



“Sit up,” he said, his tone for once, deadpan. She obeyed and looked at him questioningly. “Give me your hand.” When she didn’t respond, he picked it up and turned it over. He reached back with his other hand and grabbed the bottle of vodka, pouring it over the deep gash in her palm from the porcelain shard.



She shrieked and pulled back, but he held onto her hand tightly. “Oww! What the fuck!?”



“Don’t be such a baby…” he murmured, pressing the towel to her palm. “You’ll need a thicker skin than that to survive in this place.”



“Or a blunt object,” she snickered.



“That too…” He mopped the rest of the blood off of her hand. “We’ll get you one later, pet. For now you’ll have to make do with only me to play with.” She watched him straighten her fingers and poke around a little, trying to see if there were any small jagged pieces still left in the wound. Finding none, he took up a tiny sewing needle and threaded it with deft fingertips. Incredibly deft for one whose hands were so large. He reached for her hand again, pulling it to his face.



“What are you doing?”



“Sewing this up--”



“NOOO….” she whined, again pulling away.



“I can’t very well have you bleeding in my bed.” His thumb dug into the crease just below the wound and she shrieked again but didn’t move a third time. She tried to watch as he pushed the first stitch through her skin, but the nausea took over and she had to look away. She stared at the cracks in the walls and wondered why she found this place so familiar. “Besides… can’t let you bleed to death… at least not yet.” He didn’t look up as he said this, only continued scrutinizing the wound, placing careful stitches. She bit her lip and tried to concentrate on something else.



“You are so odd,” she whispered. She squinched her eyes in an expression of confusion. He didn’t seemed fazed by her observation.



“What was your first clue?”



“I don’t think you’re nearly as fucked up as you’d like everyone to think you are.”



“Is that your… professional opinion, Dr. Quinzel?” He raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips in an expression that pronounced his scars once more.



She laughed and leaned back as he leaned over and bit the thread, severing it from her hand. “My professional opinion isn’t worth much. Especially not now.” She laid back and let him wipe more blood from her face with the vodka soaked towel. “You know how I got my phD in psychology?”



“I wouldn’t even begin to imagine--”



“I fucked the dean of students.” She laughed when he finally looked at her, this information apparently getting his attention. “Well its true. I was on the low end of mediocre all through college. Certainly not grad school material--”



“Given this new insight, it horrifies me that you can actually prescribe medicine--”



“Let your heart be at peace. I’m a psychologist. Not a psychiatrist. Ask your old pal Dr. Crane the difference--”



“Can’t ask him anything. Parades around in a potato sack all night--”



“Anyway, I--oww!” she squeaked as he plucked a shiny bit of mirrored glass out of her forehead. “Anyway, after a sordid encounter in his office he laughed at me and said that it had been fun but he still wasn’t going to accept my application. So I did what any other girl would do-- threatened to say he raped me.”



“The line is so thin--”



“But you never answered my question.”



“What’s that?” He laid down beside her, propped on his arm casually.



“Why would you save me like you did?”



“Quid pro quo…” he started, his eyes following down her body to where his jacket fell to the side exposing the curve of her breast, “tit for tat.”



She giggled, blushing slightly, but she saw that his expression was serious. “Because I helped you… not that I believe for one minute that you couldn’t have gotten yourself out eventually.”



“Eventually.”



“Why did you bother to clean me up after all that? Aren’t you going to kill me for bumping off that stoolie?”



“Maybe later.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully and then laughed in that maniacal way that made her blood turn icy. “Do I scare you, Harley?”



“Terrify. You terrify me.” She answered honestly but there was no quiver in her voice this time.



“Good. But I don’t think I’d kill you over that moronic waste of flesh down there. Perhaps someday I’ll shoot you into outer space with a rocket, but for now you amuse me. I like… the way you…. bleed.” The last comment was spoken with a dark venom that lingered on ‘bleed.’ The goosebumps popped out all over again and it felt like the skin on the back of her skull was going to walk away at any moment. He leaned closer to her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her throat. “Your blood is beautiful. It flows from you slowly, running into the creases of your skin…” He inhaled deeply, “And the way the bitter sweetness blends with your scent…”



“Quid pro quo…” she breathed heavily, cutting him off. “I want to know you.”



“What do you want to know? I’ve told you about my scars…”



“No… I want to know the truth. Everything.”



“No you don’t. And I wouldn’t tell you even if you did.”

“Fine. Then I’ll make it up myself. I’d probably do a better job anyway.” She wrinkled her nose in a pouty way and smiled. “Do you have a name?” No response. She giggled. “Jack… I’ll bet it was Jack.” She scooted closer to him, examining his face. He actually looked frightened at her close proximity. “You look like a Jack.”



“I have no name.”



“Liar,” she hissed. “You weren’t always like this.” She took a wave of his hair between her fingers, examining the dirty blonde that looked like it had been stained by a raver’s paste of lemon-lime kool-aid. She got braver, running the back of her knuckle over the slash where she’d grazed his cheekbone earlier with the knife. “You were beautiful once. Then somebody twisted you all up inside.” She smiled sadly and touched the scar across his left cheek. He flinched but didn’t shove her away. “But the distortion is on the inside. Like me.” She giggled girlishly again. “And I said we were nothing alike--”



“We aren’t!” he growled dangerously, shoving her back and pinning her down. “You and your… silly… girly ideas!”



She purred and arched up against him. “I am a silly girl…”



“Silly girls are of little use--”



“Oh save it,” Harley snarled. “Go on and kill me if you want. But I know you won’t…”



“And what makes you so sure?”



“You’d have done it already,” she giggled. “You were right the other night, you know. We’re more alike than you know. I knew we were kindreds from the first time I saw you. You think I interviewed you because it was my job? I begged the chief of staff to let me interview you. Did you think that they’d let a rookie intern interview a sick fuck like you on their first real night on the job? I asked him sweetly and when he refused… well I persuaded him.”



“You really are a little whore aren’t you?”



“What’s the difference? You use a knife. I use sex. We get what we want.” She purred and sneaked her hand down between them, brushing her fingertips against his cock. “I always get what I want.”



“Be careful what you wish for.”



“To be careful I might have just stayed at home.” She lifted her body, propping herself on her elbows, bringing her face so close to his that their skin nearly touched. “I’m going to kiss you I think.” She waited for him to protest, but he didn’t. He said nothing and seemed to be paralyzed as she moved her lips against his. The sensation was strange and exciting. She could feel the rough contour of his lower lip as she traced it with her tongue and then suckled it into her mouth. When she breathed into him, it seemed to bring him out of his stupor and he kissed her back urgently, an automatic response of his body. He pulled her lip into his mouth and bit down hard, chewing and pulling at it until he was sure that it would be swollen and marked later.



A minute or two more and he had come to his senses, pulling back and backhanding her savagely. “Fucking whore…”



Harley only laughed harder, knowing that she had surprised and frightened the great and terrible Joker. “Only for you.” She purred, using the small hand, still trapped between them to knead and tease his cock. She could feel him tense, trying not to move against her, but his resolve was waning. She licked his lips again and whispered against them, “I will be your slave just to know you. It must be something to know you.”



“No one knows me.”



Harley laughed. “Someday. You’ll tell me everything.”



He grabbed her wrists and pulled them over her head roughly. He sat back on his heels, pulling the jacket that still hung loosely over her slight frame open, sending the buttons flying. He smiled devilishly at her bruises. Angry purplish splotches dotted her skin and shallow cuts from the mirror downstairs and the vase had left bloody scratches here and there. One cut, strategically placed just over the pink skin of her areola, began to bleed all over again when he squeezed her breast. He watched it bleed slowly for a moment before leaning over to lap at the streaks of blood. It tasted salty and bitter, more intoxicating than any spirit. He needed more of her blood and before the night was over, he might bleed her to death to get what he desired. And with the way she writhed and purred beneath him, she wouldn’t put up much of a fight.



He released her wrists again and pulled her to a sitting position. Tangling his hands in her hair, he jerked her head back exposing her throat to him. He ran his lips over the vein gently before biting down again, bruising the delicate flesh and then sucking the blood to the surface. One hand slid down to manhandle her breast again. He bounced it a few times in his palm before thumping the nipple to make it stand up proudly. Tearing his mouth away from her throat, he took the nipple in his mouth again, rubbing his tongue firmly against it and then taking just the center between his teeth. She groaned when he pulled it away from her skin and then released it quick. Liking the way it looked, all bruised and swollen, he slapped it sharply two times, making her squeal again. Her skin felt so warm where his mouth and hands had contacted. She laid back again, watching him play with the other breast, giving it the same treatment. She purred, “You do want me, don’t you?” She let her thighs fall open, showing off her sex that opened gently, all pink and dewy.



“I’m starting to think you’ve been planning this from the beginning, pet.” Seemingly from nowhere, he produced the small knife that she recognized from earlier. “Such a pretty gash… maybe I’ll make you another.” She gasped when she felt the cold steel of the knife against her thigh. He ran it up and down slowly, watching for any sign of fear. She could feel the sharp edge skim over her skin, but she never flinched. He seemed impressed and dragged the tip lightly around her opening, across the hood of her sex and up the center of her body. She shivered when he brought it to her mouth. “Or maybe I really will make you just like me. A distorted harlequin.” She called his bluff by licking the knife. His usual trick didn’t scare her anymore. He pressed it against her lips and leaned down to kiss her, feeling both her lips and the edge of the knife. When he jerked it away, he caught the corner of her mouth and a streak of blood slid down the side of her face. The mirror effect was so disturbing that he shivered in spite of himself.



He threw the knife aside when she began tearing at the button on his pants. She couldn’t wait any longer. He’d have to kill her or fuck her, she didn’t much care which. But something had to make the painful yearning stop. He didn’t warn her, only shoved his cock into her completely, stabbing into her womb violently. She gasped and arched against him, wrapping one leg around his in an attempt to pull him inside deeper. He pulled back slowly and then slammed into her again, relishing the whimper of pain. She tried to throw her arms around his neck, but he pushed them away, pinning them at her sides and holding them there. He wouldn’t want her to think that this had anything to do with love or pleasure. He fucked her faster, finding a rhythm that was hard and furious, that left her panting and screaming as her head connected with the headboard over and over. She prayed that there was no one else in close proximity to hear her cries. She closed her eyes, feeling nothing but his cock pushing into her again and again. When she was close to orgasm, she begged him for release. He wanted to tease her. And he tried to stop, letting her fall from the edge only to push her back up again, but he couldn’t. She was right, the freaky little bitch… he did want her. When she came she screamed, arching off of the bed and tearing the sheets beneath her fingernails. She felt him shudder once and then everything was still. Their breathing was the only sound until he started to laugh.



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