“…and although his body has not yet been found, in the chimney or anywhere else in or near the factory, it seems unlikely that Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime could have survived his latest brush with Batman.”

Harley sat in the wheelchair, watching the flat-screen TV in Arkham’s remodeled admissions waiting room through a fog of pain medication and regret. She’d never had so much of either.

The policewoman who had found her lying in a pile of trash seven stories below Aquacade had been so gentle, telling her not to move, help was on the way, and everything was going to be all right. Her soft voice had brought tears to Harley’s eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had treated her with such kindness.

Harley never got her name, never even saw her face clearly. She’d tried to explain it was her own fault for not getting the joke. But the woman told her not to worry about anything, they were going to help her.

“Still, the Joker has been known for resurfacing when least expected,” the TV went on. “Time will tell.”

Time will tell. One of those all-occasion clichés people used to sound like they were saying something while saying nothing. Time will tell. Harley closed her eyes.

How long had she been waiting for an orderly to take her to her room? Time would tell. And there weren’t any rooms in Arkham, only cells. The people in them were called patients instead of prisoners. But they knew where they were, and what they were. They were crazy, not stupid.

How long would she occupy a cell here? Time would tell.

And vice versa, Harley thought. She could tell time, and the current time was Never Again.

No more obsession, no more craziness, no more Joker; Never Again. She could finally see that freakin’ slime ball for what he was. It had taken a seven-story fall to knock some sense into her, but all her broken bones would heal and all her bruises would fade; that had been Better-Late-Than-Never O’Clock. Followed by Never Again.

The orderly finally arrived to wheel her to her cell and she opened her eyes. She didn’t recognize him, which was a relief. Finally she saw the upside of the higher-than-average turnover among the orderlies. He was gentle as he helped her from the chair into the bed, and made sure she was comfortable.

I’ll serve my time peacefully, she thought as he poured her a glass of water and put it on her tray table. I’ll heal myself and I’ll get out of here to begin a new life, a better life. I will. I will.

He left without closing her door. Harley wondered if he was coming back. Then Joan Leland appeared in the doorway.

“I really hope you’ve learned a lesson from all this,” Dr. Leland said.

Where was a nice policewoman when you really needed one, Harley thought, her misery deepening.

“To think you were once so strong, so sure of yourself.” Dr. Leland’s expression was stern, and Harley supposed she couldn’t blame her. She wanted to tell Dr. Leland that she knew what time it was—Never Again—but she was pretty sure the woman was too busy telling her off to appreciate her insights.

“Tell me,” Dr. Leland went on, “how does it feel to have been so dependent on a man that you gave up everything for him and got nothing in return?”

She turned her face away so she wouldn’t have to see her ex-boss scowling while she waited for Harley to admit she’d been so wrong and Dr. Leland was always right about everything. “It felt like—” she began.

And then she saw it, on the nightstand beside the bed: a single, perfect red rose in an elegant bud vase, with a note:

Feel better soon—J

In spite of everything, she welled up with tears of ineffable joy.

“It felt like a kiss,” Harley murmured, smiling, unaware that Dr. Leland had left.