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Chapter 21: The Clown and his shadow
The night after the accident didn't leave her. It clung to her skin like smoke, like rust, like a second skin that she couldn't peel off no matter how hard she tried. Harleen Quinzel—doctor, professional, woman with rules—was gone. Or maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was still there, somewhere deep down, screaming behind the new voice that laughed when she shouldn't laugh.
She sat on the old stool in the asylum's medical ward, staring at her hands. Pale. Pale like chalk. Pale like death. And shaking. She couldn't stop the shaking. She pressed her hands to her knees, to her chest, pressed them together, but the tremor lived in her bones.
"Stop it," she whispered. "Stop it, stop it, stop it."
The door creaked. His laugh came before his face. It always did. It rolled into the room like fog, like a storm cloud, like something you could smell before you saw.
"Well, well, well… look at my little porcelain doll. Cracked, chipped… but oh, doesn't she shine brighter when she's broken?"
Joker stepped inside, his coat still stained from the dinner, his hair damp with factory steam. His smile was wrong—it wasn't wide, not sharp, not yet. It was softer, curled at the edges like he was amused by something only he could hear.
Harleen's throat tightened. She wanted to scream at him, hit him, ask him why he let the railing break, why he didn't save her, why he smiled when she fell. But the words got tangled. What came out instead was laughter. Small. Shaky. Not hers.
"You—" she tried, then stopped, laughed again, covered her mouth. "What did you do to me?"
Joker tilted his head, crouched low until his eyes were level with hers. They were green, too green, not natural. And behind them, something—something endless, something that pulled.
"I didn't do a thing, my dear. Gravity did. Life did. The world did. I just… nudged. And now? Now you see the punchline, don't you?"
She shook her head, shook until her hair clung to her face. "No, no, I'm not—I'm not like you. I'm a doctor. I help people. I don't—"
But her voice cracked. Her reflection in the dark window didn't look like a doctor. It looked like a ghost.
Joker chuckled, low at first, then louder, until it filled the room. He spun once, arms wide, as if the asylum itself were his stage.
"You are like me. That's the joke. That's the secret nobody told you. You tried to help people, and what did it give you? Hm? A desk. A pen. Empty eyes staring at the wall while they rot. And now? Now you feel. Don't you feel it? The freedom?"
Harleen's lips trembled. Her chest burned. Freedom. It sounded like a lie. But it also sounded right. Too right.
"I feel… wrong," she whispered.
Joker leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed her ear. "Wrong is right. Right is boring. Wrong is alive. Don't you want to live?"
Her laugh came again, louder this time, and this one wasn't forced. It bubbled up, bitter, sharp. Tears blurred her eyes, but she laughed through them.
Joker grinned. "There she is. There's my girl."
He stood, clapped his hands once, and the sound echoed like a gunshot.
"Come," he said. "Let's make it official. A little… christening. Gotham's waiting. Gotham's always waiting."
She hesitated, her knees weak, her breath unsteady. But she stood. Not because she chose to. Because she couldn't not.
---
The next night, Gotham saw something new.
It wasn't the Joker alone anymore. It was Joker with a shadow—no, not a shadow, a partner. A mirror cracked in half.
They started small. A pharmacy first. Joker walked in, whistling, tossing vials into the air. Harleen—no, Harley now, Harley Quinn—followed with a bat she didn't remember picking up. The clerk begged, hands up. She should've told him it was okay. She should've helped him. Instead, she laughed when Joker sprayed him with that terrible gas. She laughed when the man crumpled, giggling, choking, clawing at his own face.
After, she sat in the backseat of the car they stole, her hands clutching the bat so tight her knuckles were white. Joker drummed on the steering wheel, humming.
"You did good," he said.
Her stomach churned. "I almost threw up."
"That is good." He smirked. "Means the old you's still in there, clawing. But she's fading, fading fast. Soon it'll be all giggles, all grins, and oh… won't that be beautiful?"
She wanted to deny it. She wanted to scream. But the truth was, when she closed her eyes, she saw the clerk's face. And she laughed again.
She laughed until it hurt.
---
At the rooftop across town, Batman stood watching the fire from the pharmacy curl into the sky. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed. The reports said it wasn't just the clown anymore.
There was someone else.
Someone who laughed just as hard.
Someone who followed him.
Batman clenched his fist. "Damn it…"
The game had changed.