“Do you ever regret what you’ve done?”
The blonde sat straight up in the hard, metal chair, but her attention was not focused on the overweight psychiatrist with an air of arrogance who sat in front of her. Instead, her head was tilted towards the camera in the top corner of the room, giving whoever was watching behind the lens a wide smile. Her hair hung lank around her shoulders, dirty and greasy from the lack of hospitable accommodations around the asylum. Her skin had been bleached white long ago, but looked almost yellow under the fluorescent lights. But even that coupled with the screwy cheshire cat smile paled in comparison to the cunning look in her eyes. Most people just saw a pretty girl who’d been screwed up by a madman, but a select few could see that Harley was so much more than that.
"Do you ever regret what you’ve done?” he asked again when she failed to give a response. Annoyance laced his tone now as though it were her fault. Like she really wanted to be there across from a man who reminded her of a walrus. There were tons of things she’d rather be doing at that moment ranging from playtime with her man to getting her eyes gouged out with rusty spoons. Anything that didn’t involve sitting there talking about her feelings. Not that she actually divulged anything worthwhile. But normally she was much more chatty than this, talking about anything under the sun like jokes she’d heard in grade school but couldn’t actually remember the punchline to and how she was really looking forward to a nice, hot shower when she got out of there. Harley turned her grin towards the man, feeling a sense of accomplishment when she saw him flinch a small bit. Nevertheless, her grin faded into a more discerning face, the one she’d used on her patients once upon a time.
“Do you think I regret what I’ve done?” Harley retorted, turning the question back on the man. He sputtered for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a decent response so she continued on another train of thought. “Why was six afraid of seven?” she asked, leaning forward as though everything depended on his answer.
He gave her a condescending look before answering confidently, “Because seven eight nine. I think everyone’s heard that one bef-.”
“WRONG!” she yelled, her voice full of glee. “It’s because seven is a well-known six offender.” At his dubious glance, she explained it. “Six offender. Get it? Like sex offender.”
"Very funny.” But his voice betrayed his true feelings. Harley was almost offended by his lack of laughs; surely Mr. J woulda laughed at that one. She’d have to remember to tell him that in a couple hours when they broke out again. He’d definitely get a kick out of it.
The man asked another question, but her mind focused on the escape plan again. All she had to do was be patient. Question after question, and the only responses he could get from her now was a grunt of agreement occasionally though she still had no idea what he was going on about.
“I don’t regret it, ya know,” she interrupted, glancing back up at him. “But you’re really gonna regret not laughin’ at my joke soon.” A loud bang could be heard in the distance as alarms began blaring through the asylum. Harley didn’t say anything then, settling instead for the earlier disconcerting grin as she waited. Laughter could be heard in the hallway outside getting closer to their location. Five, four, three, two, one… The door slammed open and a figure that had inspired terror in many filled the doorway. “Told ya,” she added towards the clearly frightened man before his throat was slit. She grinned even though she’d been close enough to receive a spray of blood from the now deceased doctor. “Hiya, Puddin’. Miss me?”