In Another Life VI

Harleen Quinzel awoke to the sound of sirens. There were always sirens in Gotham City, cutting through the night, disturbing the sleep of the innocent. Harley was no stranger to the noise of a big city – she had grown up in Brooklyn, after all. But the sirens here in Gotham always seemed to wake her up. They sounded different. Or she was just on edge living in a new place, and every little sound woke her up.

She rubbed her eyes, going over to the window and seeing the beacon of light and justice, the Batsignal, shining brightly against the clouds. She smiled a little, and felt reassured of her safety. The Batsignal was a literal beacon of hope for the good. For the evil and the wicked and the criminal, it was a reminder of the justice they could never escape facing.

Smiling, Harley climbed back into bed, drifting off to sleep despite the wailing of the police sirens. She awoke some time later to a different sound, a scratching, creaking noise by her window. In the hazy state between dreaming and waking, she thought it must just be a tree branch or something, until she suddenly remembered there was no tree by her window.

Her heart began beating wildly and her body chilled as she suddenly heard the creaking of her window sliding up, and the unmistakable sound of somebody breathing as she heard a figure creep into her room. She tried to control her own breathing, her heart tightening in fear, too terrified to do anything, let alone sit up or look up at whoever had entered her room. All she could hear was the figure's breathing, sounding labored and pained, as it walked carefully around her room. Her fear became uncontrollable when she heard the footsteps heading over to her bed, and in one burst of courage, she rolled over with eyes wide open, as a gloved hand was suddenly clapped over her mouth.

She stared up in horror at the man staring down at her, his face hidden by the darkness, with only his bright, green eyes visible in the glow from the streetlamps that penetrated her curtain. "Don't scream!" he hissed. "I'm gonna take my hand away, and you are not gonna scream, you got that?!"

Harley nodded vigorously. He removed his hand, which did nothing to ease her panic, since his bright, green eyes still studied her carefully. "Is your door locked?" he murmured.

Harley shook her head. "Others in the apartment?" he demanded.

She nodded. "My…roommate," she whispered. "And her boyfriend."

"They asleep?" he demanded.

"I…I think so," she stammered.

"There a back way out of the building?" he asked.

"Through the basement."

He nodded. "Ok. I'll be outta your hair soon. Just stay quiet. Because if you don't, I'll make sure you stay quiet permanently, got it?" he demanded, holding up a gun.

She nodded again. He stood up, wincing in pain and limped toward to the door, then suddenly stumbled, swearing loudly. Harley sat up, noticing the trail of blood coming from his leg. "You're hurt," she whispered.

He laughed. "Thanks, Captain Obvious," he retorted. "It ain't bad – just a little gunshot. I've had worse."

"I'll call an ambulance…" she began, reaching for the phone, but he pointed his gun at her again.

"No," he hissed. "No, no ambulance. You reach for that phone again, and I'm gonna blast your pretty face off, get me?"

She nodded, terrified, and watched him hobble toward the door, swearing under his breath. "You're…not gonna make it down the stairs," she stammered. "Without medical attention."

"You some kinda doctor?" he demanded.

"Yes," she replied. "I'm a psychiatrist. But I went to medical school. At the rate you're losing blood, you won't be able to make it outta this building without losing consciousness."

He glared at her. "Hand me your sheet," he snapped.

She obeyed, and he tore a piece off, wrapping it tightly around his leg. "You need to get the bullet out…" she began.

"I'll do it later!" he snapped. "I don't have time to dilly dally, toots! There's some kinda psycho after me!"

"The person who shot you is following you?" gasped Harley, horrified that they too might enter her apartment at any second.

He snorted. "Nah, I got caught in the crossfire. I'm a lucky guy like that. The guy who's following me don't use guns, everyone knows that. Crazy Bat freak," he muttered.

Harley gaped at him. "Batman is after you?" she whispered, as her terror returned. That meant this man was most definitely a criminal, and probably a very dangerous one.

He nodded curtly. "Think I managed not to leave too bad a blood trail – the suit soaked up most of it," he said. "If he didn't see me come in, I'm in the clear. And if nobody tries calling the police, of course," he added, studying her. "Maybe it'd be safer in the long run to silence you permanently," he said, cocking his gun.

Harley stared down the barrel, breathing heavily, frozen in fear. He pulled it away. "But the shot would wake your roommate and her boyfriend," he murmured. "And I ain't got my knife with me right now. I guess I could always strangle you or something, but that's a lotta effort. And you're right – I'm losing a lotta blood."

He sat down against the wall, clutching his bleeding leg and trying to stem the flow. "You got tweezers in your bathroom?" he demanded.

She managed a nod. "Get 'em and bring 'em back here," he muttered. "And if you think of running or trying to call for help, you won't live to regret it. Got it?"

She nodded again, heading for the door, her whole body shaking. She tiptoed carefully past her roommate's room, but didn't hear a sound, and didn't dare risk waking her up. She entered the bathroom, flicking on the light and rummaging quietly through the cabinet until she found the tweezers. Then she crept carefully back to her room, shutting the door firmly and handing them to him.

"Good girl," he muttered, seizing them. "You say you went to medical school?"

She nodded. "Then you're used to a lotta unpleasant sights. I'll be disappointed if you faint," he said, digging the tweezers into his bleeding leg. He hissed in pain, biting on his hand to keep from crying out and whispering a steady stream of swearwords. Harley watched in horror as he dug around inside his flesh until he pulled out a tiny, metal ball.

"Thank Christ!" he gasped, dropping the tweezers. "Oh, Jesus, no matter how many times you do it, it never gets any easier! Not like killing a guy, huh?" he said, grinning at her.

She didn't know how to respond, and he frowned. "Bet you've never even killed a guy," he muttered.

"Uh…no," stammered Harley.

"You don't know what you're missing!" he chuckled, but it twisted into a grimace of pain.

"You can't make it outta here on your own," murmured Harley. "You're gonna need an ambulance."

"Yeah – let 'em fix me up so they can send me back to the clink, or worse, the electric chair," he muttered. "No thanks, toots. I'd rather bleed to death here."

"I'd…rather you didn't," she said, slowly.

He chuckled. "Yeah…the carpet cleaning'll probably set you back a bit," he said. "Blood don't wash out easily."

His laugh turned into a hiss again, and he shut his eyes tightly, clutching his leg. "Let me see," said Harley, gently. "Please."

He glared at her, but removed his hand, and she studied the wound. "It should heal fairly quickly," she murmured. "But not if you go traipsing all over the city."

"Ain't got a choice, do I?" he demanded, struggling to stand up. He failed, stumbling to the ground again. He lay against the wall, looking up at her. "Well, if this is how it ends, at least I got a pretty last sight," he murmured. "Pretty little doll…big blue eyes…golden hair…almost like an angel…course…won't be seeing any angels where I'm going!" he laughed feebly. "So better enjoy it while it lasts."

His eyes shut and his head fell forward. Harley panicked, feeling his pulse. It was beating regularly. He was still alive, but had lost consciousness.

She stood up slowly. A self-confessed criminal was lying on her floor. A self-confessed wounded criminal. Harley had no doubt she could take care of the wound – it looked worse than it was. But it was a good idea to get him to a hospital. But at the same time, she didn't want to be responsible for sending a man to his death by the electric chair, even if that was what he deserved. Lying on her floor like this, he looked so peaceful. His face was relaxed, and strangely handsome, although the man was clearly a lot older than she was. He looked almost innocent like this, and Harley knew she didn't have the heart to turn him into the authorities. She hadn't asked for a wanted felon to come into her life, but as he had stumbled through her window, she now felt responsible for him.

She went to the window, looking out at the Gotham skyline again. The Batsignal still shone brightly against the clouds. Harley shut the window firmly, and then turned back to the man. She grabbed some pillows and a blanket from her bed and slowly put them over and underneath him, as gently as possible. She didn't even know his name – she just knew he was in trouble, and she needed to help him.

She climbed back into bed, wondering who he could be and what he had done. It seemed kinda crazy to her to keep a criminal hidden in her room – he was clearly a dangerous man who would kill her as soon as look at her. But she didn't see what choice she had. Hand him over to the authorities and to his death, or hide him here. This seemed the lesser of two evils. She only hoped she had made the right choice.