Nolanverse #1 "Why Do We Fall?" Entry - Excerpts from Arkham Part 1
Title: Excerpts from Arkham
Universe: Nolanverse
Genre: Drama
Rating: R
Characters: Thomas Schiff, Jonathan Crane, Harleen Quinzel, the Joker
Total Word Count: 11,240
Part 1 Word Count: 5,589
Warnings: language, violence
Summary: Excerpts from the journal of Arkham inmate Thomas Schiff, written over a 6-year period.
Author's Note: My entry ended up being too long for Livejournal word count limits, so I am posting it in two parts. First time this has happened to me.
Excerpts from Arkham
Excerpts from the journal of Thomas Schiff, Arkham Inmate #230446, written over a 6-year period.
Green beans for lunch today. 1 slab of chewy meat in a brown sauce - Couldn’t tell what it was. Apple sauce with the usual pills crushed in. They taste like cinnamon.
God knows how long it’s been since I picked up a pencil. Dr. Quinzel said that keeping a journal will help in my rehabilitation. She isn’t even making me read this to her - Only share what I want to. So I feel okay writing that she has way too big a rack to be wearing a blouse that low. No wonder half the kooks have the hots for her - or at least pretend that they do. Personally I think she’s trying too hard - like she likes the attention. You’d have to be one crazy broad to want the attention of the crackpots in here.
Couldn’t eat the green beans today. They reminded me of the Boss. Wondering where he is. If he’s okay without me. When he’ll make his escape and take me with him.
They keep him in another wing of the Asylum. In Solitary. Don’t know where that is. Don’t think I could find him. One of the big guards is blond and gives me the creeps - reminds me of Dent. Get the shakes just passing by him to the cafeteria. I sent a thought to the Boss last night. I was thinking it really hard so it would make it through the walls of my cage. I told him I was sorry but I was helpless to save him and he’ll have to find a way out on his own. I told him I was waiting for him and to please come get me. I think he heard me. I know he did.
Half the cages are filled with us, it seems, his henchmen. Once we had the run of Gotham, like a group of eagles in formation, spreading his brand of order throughout the city. Now our wings have been clipped and we’re grounded to Earth. Why do we fall? And how long will it take before we soar again?
They can’t hold us in here forever. Not even the Batman. Nightly I hear the screams of my comrades, calling for freedom, rattling the cages. The guards are getting antsy. Even the Blond seems nervous at times, like they all know it’s a joke. One big joke the Boss started telling a long time ago and soon the punchline’s gonna come and we’ll be the last ones laughing.
Maybe Dr. Quinzel was right. I do feel a little better writing this down. Less lonely at least. Can’t talk to my cellmate. Can’t stand him. Guess you’re my only friend, Journal, till the Boss comes to get me.
~~~
Baked potato burned the roof of my mouth at lunch. Carrots piled in a mucous gel. Special surprise for desert - strawberry shortcake. We never get strawberry shortcake.
Bigger surprise just after Lights Out last night. I was lying on my bunk staring up at the cot above me. Kicking it with my foot to the tune of “Hush, Little Baby” sung in my beautiful tenor. Zsaz used to hate it when I did that. He’d poke his head down and curse and spit at me and tell me I was a goddam bastard with screws loose in my head. Then he would go on and on ranting about that “sonovabitch quack” that got him holed up in Arkham in the first place - prison would have been better than this - and how one of these days he was gonna take him the fuck out. He was always ranting about that. Usually I’d let Zsaz rave on uninterrupted but that ugly bastard was really starting to get on my nerves, so last time he went at it I pounded the springs above me with both feet so hard Zsaz fell over onto the concrete. Then he broke my nose. The guards came and took him away a screaming cussing mess and I haven’t seen him since. Last I heard, he attacked a nurse and got himself locked up in Solitary. My nose grew back crooked. Only thing I regret about getting rid of Zsaz. I hope the Boss still recognizes me when he comes to free me. Oh God what if he takes one look at my crooked face and is so disgusted he leaves me here all alone? Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with the thought of it and feel the tears streaming down my face, down my busted beak.
Anyway, like I said, it was after Lights Out and I was singing “Hush, Little Baby” and lying in the dark, kicking the cot above me as hard as I liked, picturing Zsaz was still up there helpless to do anything about it. The old springs above were squeaking loudly as I kicked them, and I was halfway through the verse “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” when I heard the buzz of the keycard being used to open my creaky cage door. was completely dark in my cell, and I could only see the outline of the two figures standing in the doorway. One was big and bulky and I recognized him as the Blond Guard. I admit, I panicked at the thought of him coming in here. I swept my feet down quickly, keeping them as tight to the mattress as possible, hoping he hadn’t heard me making a disturbance. I sent him a thought as strong as I could that I was good that I wasn’t doing anything wrong and please don’t shoot me I was just following orders. The second outline was slightly taller than him and much lankier. I heard the crack of handcuffs being undone - the lanky figure started rubbing his wrists and Blond barked he didn’t want any trouble out of him. Then he barked at me that the asylum was full up and they’d had to place my roommate on short notice and he trusted I’d get along better with him than my last one - or else. “Yeah, you two are gonna be real good pals, you hear?” he threatened. Then the door swung shut with a rusty clang that cut the silence and here was I, trapped in my cage with an Intruder. One it was too dark to see clearly.
For a split second my heart leapt at the possibility that it was him - the Boss - that we’d been reunited at last. That somehow for some reason he’d got a transfer - maybe time out of Solitary for Good Behavior.
But then I heard the voice, that sweetly sarcastic, mocking voice that I only knew too well, even though it’d been a long, long time since I heard it.
“And if that mockingbird don’t siiiiiiing…” the Intruder crooned, continuing the verse from where I’d left off, lifting his arms up for the big crescendo, giving his slightly off-key all to an invisible audience, “Mama’s gonna buy you a diiiiiamond riiiiiiiing!”
That’s when I sat straight up in my bed. He was in the middle of giving his bows, muttering phrases like “Please, you’re too kind,” and “Sorry, I don’t do encores,” when I worked up the courage to utter his name.
“Doctor Crane?”
Crane’s head snapped in my direction and peered at me through the dark. I could feel his gaze piercing me. I could feel it even though I couldn’t see it.
“Schiff?” he said finally. “Inmate Number Two-Three-Oh-Four-Four-Six Thomas Schiff? Oh my God - I can’t believe of all the cells in all of Arkham, of all my former patients, I end up with you! How’s it going, Tommy boy?”
Crane swooped in dangerously close when he said that, shoving his face close to mine. His tone wasn’t pleasant. It had that familiar, condescending quality to it. My temples started to sweat, just like they used to back during our sessions. Crane had always liked to interrogate me in a way that made me uncomfortable, too direct - too penetrating. Quinzel was good about keeping her distance. She’d hardly glance up from her chart at me, like I could barely hold her interest. Which was great because she barely held mine. Crane was different. Crane was intense. Once, I’d let slip in one of our sessions that the only person who’d ever called me Tommy was my father, and Crane had called me that ever since. He loved tormenting me that way.
Crane’s eyes squinted at me, trying desperately to adjust to the near total darkness. Suddenly his hands darted out at my face and I jerked back, trying to remain still as he slid his fingers across the crooked bridge of my nose. “Geez, what happened to your face, Tommy? You try to take on the Batman yourself or something?”
I started to stutter some response, and Crane let out a cruel cackle, so unlike the mellifluous laugh of the Boss.
“Oh please, don’t go out of your way for me,” he said, “I’ll just make myself at home,” and he hopped onto the top bunk. I almost felt relieved of his presence, but then I could feel it, seeping towards me through the cot, pressing in on my head, getting in my ears like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing. I swatted uselessly.
“Long time no see, Tommy. So, how’ve you been? Still crazy I see. Me too, according to that dumb bimbo the geniuses in this city put in charge. To think what’s become of my beloved asylum,” Crane sighed.
“Y-you’ve met Dr. Quinzel?” It was a stupid thing to say, I admit. Of course he had, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. What can I say, I panicked.
“Met her? I’ve fucked her. ‘Course, that was years ago. I got out of here once before, you know, legit and everything. Yeah, I had Harleen’s little predecessor wrapped around my finger. I said all the right words, did all the right things - I’m a psychiatrist for God’s sake, I know how to play the game. So there I was, on the outside, lying low, biding my time. Waiting for someone to give the Batman what he deserves. Maybe I’m not the guy to do it, I know that now. But I thought that other fella, the new guy, that wackadoo, the Joker… now he seemed like he was ready to put out the Batman’s lights… before he was stupid enough to get himself locked up here.”
“THE BOSS ISN’T STUPID!!!” I screeched, kicking the cot above with every inch of my strength. Crane went flying and landed with a slap on the concrete.
Instantly all of my courage was gone and I was a quivering ball of fear. I don’t know, hearing the Boss insulted like that just got me worked up. I had reacted impulsively. I was regretting it now. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears already trickling at the thought of how messed up my nose was going to look now.
A few moments passed, and I opened one eye. Crane was sitting on the floor, rubbing the back of his head.
“Interesting,” he said.
“W-what?” I sputtered, terrified of the blow that was sure to come.
“’The Boss,’ you said. You called the Joker your boss. Oh Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Is that why you’re back in here? They pegged you working for the Joker? I let you and every other wackadoo in Arkham out to have the whole run of the Narrows, the whole run of Gotham, and first chance you get you take orders from a guy wearing too much makeup? Looks like someone still has dependency issues.”
I didn’t have a response to that. Mostly I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that somehow Crane thought he was the one who let everyone out of Arkham. And he had the gall to say I had issues. Last I heard, Crane was just as nutso as everyone else in here.
“So h-how’d you end up in here?” I finally worked up the courage to ask.
“Ah, Quinzel, of course. That bitch has had it out for me for years. She really relished how far I’d fallen, thought it’d be fun to push me down even deeper. She had a warrant cooked up, forced me into an evaluation. I played my part straight, but you can’t win a rigged game. Bitch had me committed - said I’m a danger to myself and others. She should talk. That cunt’s crazier than all of us. I should know - I dated her. She’s got everyone fooled, but I’m telling you, there’s a real nut running the nuthouse.”
“Like you used to,” I blurted. I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out. You see how sometimes I have a problem holding my tongue.
But Crane cawed with laughter, and I let myself breathe. “Yeah, like I used to, Tommy. So, are you gonna finish that stupid song or what? Just don’t kick the mattress, ever, or I’ll bite your fucking nose off.”
I laid in stunned silence for a moment before belting into the next verse, the one about the looking glass.
“You always did have a nice singing voice, Tommy…”
I made it through the entire song three times before the soft sound of snoring signaled Crane had fallen asleep.
~~~
Macaroni and cheese today. Dry cheese - hard macaroni. The noodles crunched under my teeth. I felt like a crow cracking acorns with its beak. Broccoli was soggy. Dessert good at least. Chocolate pudding.
That reminds me of something Dr. Quinzel said yesterday during Group Session. It was the strangest thing. She was making each of us patients talk about our past. She particularly likes trying to torment Jonathan, but he doesn’t give her an inch. He simply smiled at her and said, “Oh, I think you know all about my past, Harleen.” He refuses to call her Dr. Quinzel in front of the other inmates; she puts up a calm exterior, but I can tell it’s really pissing her off. It’s an interesting battle of wills - I never know exactly what they’re playing at or what really went on between them. I don’t really care. Jonathan says that was a lifetime ago.
Anyway, Quinzel was making me talk about the Boss yet again. That seems to be all we talk about nowadays. It’s unsettling - all it does is remind me how far away he is. All her questions are about him. Arbitrary stuff, things that I don’t see how they could possibly matter psychologically to me. What he was like before he came to Arkham, what kind of socks did he wear, did he ever entertain any lady friends around his lackeys…. I feel like I’ve answered these questions a thousand times but she just won’t quit it. Her blouse seems to keep getting smaller lately too - Jonathan says pretty soon it’ll disappear altogether and we’ll all go blind. That always makes me laugh. Jonathan has quite the smirk on his face whenever she interviews me in Group, like he knows something she doesn’t.
I admit, Quinzel seemed a bit more unraveled than usual this time. Not quite concealed behind her glasses there were dark circles under her eyes and a frantic desperation in her gaze. Her pencil seemed to shake as she made notes on her chart. But to be honest, I’m not so sure she was making notes. To me it looked more like she was doodling.
“Tell me again, Thomas,” she said, her hand scribbling furiously though her eyes never left my face. “Tell me what he was wearing the first day you met - tell me down to the tiniest detail - this is crucial - crucial to your therapy. How many buttons were on his vest? How many folds in his sleeves? And when you say Puddin’s suit was ‘purple’ do you mean more of an Eggplant shade or would you call it Byzantium? Here, I got you a color guide!” she said, digging around in her purse and pulling out a pamphlet from Gotham City Home Improvement. “Be as accurate as you can!” she practically screeched, lunging at me to thrust the pamphlet in my hands.
I glanced at Jonathan for help, bewildered. One of the more fragile patients started weeping. Jonathan returned my gaze with a pointed smirk.
Suddenly Quinzel realized her mistake, and tried to compose herself. She sat back in her chair, smoothed down her skirt, pushed the stray hairs back into her once severe-looking bun, now coming undone, cleared her throat and moved on to the next patient without delay.
But I noticed it. Jonathan noticed too. Pudding, she called him. Pudding. She called the Boss - my Boss - pudding, like he was some sort of yummy dessert treat.
It made me feel - I don’t know what it made me feel. All day her words wouldn’t seem to get out of my head, like a fly caught in a jar, buzzing around and knocking on all sides of the glass.
The fly wouldn’t stop buzzing even after Lights Out, when I was staring up at the cot in the dark. I sent Jonathan a message with my thoughts, but he must have been falling asleep because he didn’t seem to hear me. So I resorted to asking him out loud.
“Jonathan, you awake?” I said.
“No, what is it?” He didn’t sound very amused at being kept up.
“What do you think Dr. Quinzel was getting at, calling the Boss ‘pudding’?”
I could almost hear a smirk forming on his face as he answered. “Oh… I have my theories. Best not to trouble your little head about it, Tommy.”
That pissed me off. I hate it when he’s condescending like that. He’s not nearly as bad as he used to be, not to me at least, but there’s still something of the smug psychiatrist about him. Sometimes he seems to forget he’s one of us now. I guess sometimes I seem to forget it, too. Dr. Quinzel says it’s hard to give up old patterns, and occasionally Jonathan and me slip into that old doctor/patient routine. Hell, it took a few months alone before I was able to stop calling him Doctor Crane.
What happened was, one night, I was whispering “Hush, Little Baby” to myself and absentmindedly started kicking the cot above to the beat. After a few springy squeaks, I realized what I was doing and stopped cold, horrified at what I’d done. I’d been kicking Crane right in the back through the mattress. I hurried to plead my case - “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to - honestly, Doctor Crane…” - when suddenly he swooped down and pinned me tight to my mattress, holding my neck down with one arm and with the other clamped long, claw-like fingers over my mouth - hard. I was unable to speak, to defend myself. I couldn’t even struggle - he was surprisingly strong for such a wiry guy. The faintest beam of light from under the door revealed a crazed look in his cold, giant blue eyes. I watched as he leaned down to tear my nose off (how was I gonna explain this to the Boss, I thought) - when he bent his head to my ear instead and said in a strangely calm, slightly teasing voice, “It’s Jonathan, Tommy.” Then he lifted the hand on my mouth away.
“W-what?” I stuttered.
“We’re friends now, right? Equals, yeah?” he said, never once loosening his grip on my neck. “I don’t want to hear you call me Doctor Crane ever again.”
I couldn’t speak. I was shocked. I had never been anyone’s equal before. It was all I could do to nod my chin as best as I could, and then Jonathan set me free….
Sometimes I wonder if being Jonathan’s equal only gave him more power over me, only made me want his approval more.
Anyway, the pudding incident with Quinzel wasn’t something I could leave alone, especially when Jonathan was acting so smugly secretive about it, so I kept on pressing the issue.
“Jonathan, do you think Dr. Quinzel has private sessions with - the Boss?”
He didn’t even pause to think about it. “Of course. She meets with every loony in Arkham. She has to - I did,” he added, somewhat ruefully.
“You don’t think he - I mean - he wouldn’t go for a girl like that - would he?”
“I did,” Jonathan said, incredibly ruefully. “But live and learn, eh, Tommy? I wouldn’t worry about your old boss. He won’t get caught up in her snares like I did. I read up on the guy - he’s a total sociopath. Can’t feel an ounce of human empathy. He’ll never love anything or anyone.”
I was so relieved - Jonathan had made it so clear: The Boss could never love Dr. Quinzel, never ever, ever. The only thing that bugged me was he seemed to think the Boss was my “old” boss, like I wasn’t working for him anymore. He didn’t understand. I’d never stopped. I never will.
Then Jonathan told me to shut up already and go to sleep.
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then he said, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to sing that stupid little song of yours? Goddam you,” Jonathan said, swinging his pillow down to smack me lightly on the side of the head. “You know, I think it’s actually getting so that I can’t fall asleep peacefully without it.”
After I was sure Jonathan was fast asleep, I stared up into the darkness and made a decision about Dr. Quinzel. I decided that I’m never going to answer any of her questions about the Boss again. Take that, you stupid bitch.
~~~
Cold pizza at lunch yesterday, crust like cardboard. Fruit salad. The grape was squishy mush. Something called tiramisu. Had the lunch worker spell it out for me. Didn’t touch it. Decided it’s not worth eating something you can’t spell. Jonathan took his napkin and folded a swan for me. He handed it over with a wink. Told me someday it would grow up and fly. Always knows how to make me laugh.
A guard came over as I was playing with the swan. Rolled his eyes at me, then barked at Jonathan, “Crane. Get to the Visitor’s Room. You’ve got company.”
My eyes went wide. In all the years that Jonathan had been my cellmate, I had never seen him receive a visitor.
Jonathan was up in a flash. “Wait,” I said. “You can’t go. You didn’t finish your pizza.”
“You can have it,” he replied, without even glancing at me. “You like pizza, don’tcha , Tommy?” And he let the guard escort him away like I didn’t even exist. I watched him walk the entire length of the cafeteria without taking my eyes off him, then stared at the door long after it had closed after him. Finally I had to tear my eyes away, like I’d been staring at the sun too long. I looked down in my lap - the swan had crumbled in my hands, all the folds of the cloth come undone. I hadn’t realized I’d been twisting it.
I smoothed the fabric out, folded it meticulously into a tiny square, and placed it on top of my tray. Then I shoved the tray as hard I could across the room. It didn’t go very far - it wasn’t very aerodynamic - but it landed on the linoleum with a clatter that earned me the wrath of the guards and got me put on Clean Up Duty even though it wasn’t my turn.
Two hours later, Jonathan returned to the general population in the Day Room.
I was sitting on a couch, waiting for him. When I saw him, I gave him my angriest glare. I hadn’t done a single thing during the entire free period. Turned down two games of checkers, wasn’t even paying attention to the TV. A card game was going on in the corner. The fellas had tried to get me to join - one of them was going crazy over the fact that they needed one more player because, as he put it, “A prime number, it has to be a prime number!” - but I wouldn’t budge. I was numb to everything around me. Vaguely I saw the other inmates through a mist. Many of them I recognized from work with the Boss - work that took place so long ago. We were so lost without him. So purposeless, so directionless without his guidance. We are the fallen, I thought bitterly. Little birdies trapped in a cage, while people in the world around us get to fly free. What makes them so much more special than us? Why do we fall?
Jonathan came over to me, acting as though nothing was wrong. In fact, he looked like he was on top of the world. “Hey there, grumpypants. What do you wanna do today? I’m feeling lucky,” he said, eyeing the poker table. “Let’s go clean those guys out.” Inside, I was seething. I felt like I was going mad. How dare he try to pretend that nothing had happened. So I asked him point blank.
“Who was that?” I said.
“Who who?”
“Hoo-hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?!” I screamed, lunging at him, knocking him down, ripping into him. Immediately the guards separated us, but not before I got a punch in so good it bloodied his nose.
Jonathan could have stopped me from doing it. He’s stronger than me. Clearer-headed, too. He could have blocked my moves and messed me up even worse before I knew what hit me. But he let me do it. He let me hurt him.
The guards starting dragging me away, a nurse was running over with a needle in her hand, ready to sedate me, and Jonathan just looked at me, clutching his nose while blood dripped all over the stained, cracked, grey tile. He didn’t look angry as he watched me being pulled away, and somehow that hurt me the most. The last thing I remember was how cold and wet my face felt before it all went dark.
When I woke up, it was black, and I couldn’t move. I was lying in my cot, it was after Lights Out, and I couldn’t see a thing at first until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then I was able to make out the straps they had secured me with to the bed. I guess Jonathan heard me struggling against them because suddenly he called out from above -
“You fucking idiot…”
Suddenly my memory came boiling to the top of my head and I began struggling at the restraints harder, my anger renewed. Jonathan hopped down from the bunk as genially as could be and leaned over me.
“What, you gonna sock me another one, Tommy? The guards put these on you,” he said, picking up the end of one strap, “thinking you might be a danger to me when you woke up. I told them it wasn’t necessary.”
“You were wrong,” I said, straining.
Jonathan laughed. “Tommy, quit it, will you? Geez, don’t you get it? I wasn’t about to go blabbing about my visitor in the Day Room for all the loonies to hear. This is serious business going on. Don’t you understand?”
I responded by spitting in his face. The drool hit him in the forehead and began dribbling down into his right eye. He began to blink slowly, dangerously.
Now he looked pissed. He lunged towards me, grabbed my mouth with his hand and held it shut as tight as could be, breathing heavily on my face. He looked deranged. Any shred of the haughty, superior psychiatrist persona was gone - he was fully playing the part of the psychopath now. Oh God, I thought, he’s going to tear my nose off just like he said he would if I ever kicked his mattress. My heart had never beat louder in my life, not even that time Dent held the gun on me. This was going to be much, much messier. Jonathan stared into my eyes viciously, hesitated for only a moment, and seemed to come to a decision. Then without warning he lunged, kissed the back of his hand hard over my mouth and pushed himself away from me.
“You’re the only one I can tell about the visitor, Tommy. You’re the only kook I trust in this whole loony bin.”
I was deflated, numbed, completely and utterly. I couldn’t have moved a muscle even if I hadn’t been restrained. “Don’t you get it?” Jonathan said as he began undoing the straps, seeing that I wasn’t going to try to attack him anymore, “I had intended to tell you from the beginning what the deal was as soon as it was Lights Out. I couldn’t risk anyone else hearing about this.”
I rubbed my arms and sat up. “So what is it? Who came to visit you? I thought your family was dead.”
“They are,” Jonathan said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “That’s not it at all. It was one of my men on the outside.”
“One of your…?”
“Spies, Tommy. One of my eyes and ears in the underworld. You think I trust the daytime news channel in the Day Room to tell me what’s really going on in Gotham? I’m not a fool, Tommy. I had it arranged all along, if I ever got locked up again, if something big is about to go down, I’m gonna know about it. I’m gonna be ready for it.”
I was completely breathless. I had expected - I don’t know what I had expected. Not this. When Jonathan had got up to see the visitor, it had felt like he was abandoning me. Suddenly I felt very ashamed for not having trusted him earlier.
“Your nose,” I said. “I’m sorry. Back in the Day Room, I punched your nose. Did it… grow back crooked?”
Jonathan laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t have a mirror. You tell me.” He knelt in front of me, took my hand and held it up to his face. “Ow, sore,” he said as I traced the bridge with my fingers.
“Sore, but not crooked.” I smiled. “Guess I punch lighter than Zsaz. So that’s what all the secrecy today was about - information?”
“Well, that, plus I had a little memento snuck in. Bribed a guard to do it, he thought it was harmless. But it’ll come in handy - later. The point is you’re forgetting something very important.”
“What?”
“What kind of information, Tommy! Don’t you want to know what I learned today?” Jonathan seemed so excited, so exuberant. I had never seen him like this before. It was all I could do to nod my head.
He sat next to me and leaned close to my ear, whispering the words like they were sinful. “Someone is coming,” he said, “someone to challenge the Batman. And if it’s who the rumors say it is, maaaaan,” Jonathan paused to giggle, “the Bat doesn’t stand a chance. Do you get it, now, Tommy? Soon Gotham will be free for the taking.” Suddenly Jonathan grabbed me, pulled me to my feet. “And the fallen will rise. Soon, we’ll taste freedom again!”
Could it really be true? The prospect was too much, too much for my senses. The world was a blur. I was falling, falling. I could feel Jonathan catch me, or was it the Boss, I couldn’t tell anymore, could feel the drug the nurse plunged into me work its way back into my system, could feel it pumping through my heart as the world turned all to darkness and bliss.
~~~
Can’t remember what I had for lunch today. Don’t remember eating. Don’t remember what they served. Don’t remember going for lunch.
My mind is a mess, a racing, humming mess. All I can think about is the Boss. When Batman’s gone, he’ll be free. I know it. And when he’s free, he’ll come for me. And then the world will burn just like he told me it would. God how I want to watch the world burn.
I didn’t hear a word Dr. Quinzel said in Group today. I don’t think she heard a word anyone said either. She is quite blatantly a broken woman - completely snapped. Mostly she seems to hum her way through sessions. Her head is in the clouds, and there’s a constant, crooked, blissful smile on her face. Jonathan seems particularly pleased to see how batty she’s become. Says it’s just a matter of time now before she gets hers. He’s never forgiven her for committing him, for blocking all his attempts at release. I’ve never understood how she managed to keep her position. Jonathan says it’s obvious - either she, or someone she’s got an in with, is holding something over the right people. Says it’s actually scary the kind of power she wields. But at this point she’s bound to screw up something even the right people won’t be able to gloss over. I have no idea what Jonathan’s talking about, but I leave him alone when he goes on his little rants where Quinzel is concerned. She’s been a sore spot in both of our lives, and I’m content enough just knowing her comeuppance is on the horizon.
Continue to Part 2
Universe: Nolanverse
Genre: Drama
Rating: R
Characters: Thomas Schiff, Jonathan Crane, Harleen Quinzel, the Joker
Total Word Count: 11,240
Part 1 Word Count: 5,589
Warnings: language, violence
Summary: Excerpts from the journal of Arkham inmate Thomas Schiff, written over a 6-year period.
Author's Note: My entry ended up being too long for Livejournal word count limits, so I am posting it in two parts. First time this has happened to me.
Excerpts from Arkham
Excerpts from the journal of Thomas Schiff, Arkham Inmate #230446, written over a 6-year period.
Green beans for lunch today. 1 slab of chewy meat in a brown sauce - Couldn’t tell what it was. Apple sauce with the usual pills crushed in. They taste like cinnamon.
God knows how long it’s been since I picked up a pencil. Dr. Quinzel said that keeping a journal will help in my rehabilitation. She isn’t even making me read this to her - Only share what I want to. So I feel okay writing that she has way too big a rack to be wearing a blouse that low. No wonder half the kooks have the hots for her - or at least pretend that they do. Personally I think she’s trying too hard - like she likes the attention. You’d have to be one crazy broad to want the attention of the crackpots in here.
Couldn’t eat the green beans today. They reminded me of the Boss. Wondering where he is. If he’s okay without me. When he’ll make his escape and take me with him.
They keep him in another wing of the Asylum. In Solitary. Don’t know where that is. Don’t think I could find him. One of the big guards is blond and gives me the creeps - reminds me of Dent. Get the shakes just passing by him to the cafeteria. I sent a thought to the Boss last night. I was thinking it really hard so it would make it through the walls of my cage. I told him I was sorry but I was helpless to save him and he’ll have to find a way out on his own. I told him I was waiting for him and to please come get me. I think he heard me. I know he did.
Half the cages are filled with us, it seems, his henchmen. Once we had the run of Gotham, like a group of eagles in formation, spreading his brand of order throughout the city. Now our wings have been clipped and we’re grounded to Earth. Why do we fall? And how long will it take before we soar again?
They can’t hold us in here forever. Not even the Batman. Nightly I hear the screams of my comrades, calling for freedom, rattling the cages. The guards are getting antsy. Even the Blond seems nervous at times, like they all know it’s a joke. One big joke the Boss started telling a long time ago and soon the punchline’s gonna come and we’ll be the last ones laughing.
Maybe Dr. Quinzel was right. I do feel a little better writing this down. Less lonely at least. Can’t talk to my cellmate. Can’t stand him. Guess you’re my only friend, Journal, till the Boss comes to get me.
~~~
Baked potato burned the roof of my mouth at lunch. Carrots piled in a mucous gel. Special surprise for desert - strawberry shortcake. We never get strawberry shortcake.
Bigger surprise just after Lights Out last night. I was lying on my bunk staring up at the cot above me. Kicking it with my foot to the tune of “Hush, Little Baby” sung in my beautiful tenor. Zsaz used to hate it when I did that. He’d poke his head down and curse and spit at me and tell me I was a goddam bastard with screws loose in my head. Then he would go on and on ranting about that “sonovabitch quack” that got him holed up in Arkham in the first place - prison would have been better than this - and how one of these days he was gonna take him the fuck out. He was always ranting about that. Usually I’d let Zsaz rave on uninterrupted but that ugly bastard was really starting to get on my nerves, so last time he went at it I pounded the springs above me with both feet so hard Zsaz fell over onto the concrete. Then he broke my nose. The guards came and took him away a screaming cussing mess and I haven’t seen him since. Last I heard, he attacked a nurse and got himself locked up in Solitary. My nose grew back crooked. Only thing I regret about getting rid of Zsaz. I hope the Boss still recognizes me when he comes to free me. Oh God what if he takes one look at my crooked face and is so disgusted he leaves me here all alone? Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with the thought of it and feel the tears streaming down my face, down my busted beak.
Anyway, like I said, it was after Lights Out and I was singing “Hush, Little Baby” and lying in the dark, kicking the cot above me as hard as I liked, picturing Zsaz was still up there helpless to do anything about it. The old springs above were squeaking loudly as I kicked them, and I was halfway through the verse “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird…” when I heard the buzz of the keycard being used to open my creaky cage door. was completely dark in my cell, and I could only see the outline of the two figures standing in the doorway. One was big and bulky and I recognized him as the Blond Guard. I admit, I panicked at the thought of him coming in here. I swept my feet down quickly, keeping them as tight to the mattress as possible, hoping he hadn’t heard me making a disturbance. I sent him a thought as strong as I could that I was good that I wasn’t doing anything wrong and please don’t shoot me I was just following orders. The second outline was slightly taller than him and much lankier. I heard the crack of handcuffs being undone - the lanky figure started rubbing his wrists and Blond barked he didn’t want any trouble out of him. Then he barked at me that the asylum was full up and they’d had to place my roommate on short notice and he trusted I’d get along better with him than my last one - or else. “Yeah, you two are gonna be real good pals, you hear?” he threatened. Then the door swung shut with a rusty clang that cut the silence and here was I, trapped in my cage with an Intruder. One it was too dark to see clearly.
For a split second my heart leapt at the possibility that it was him - the Boss - that we’d been reunited at last. That somehow for some reason he’d got a transfer - maybe time out of Solitary for Good Behavior.
But then I heard the voice, that sweetly sarcastic, mocking voice that I only knew too well, even though it’d been a long, long time since I heard it.
“And if that mockingbird don’t siiiiiiing…” the Intruder crooned, continuing the verse from where I’d left off, lifting his arms up for the big crescendo, giving his slightly off-key all to an invisible audience, “Mama’s gonna buy you a diiiiiamond riiiiiiiing!”
That’s when I sat straight up in my bed. He was in the middle of giving his bows, muttering phrases like “Please, you’re too kind,” and “Sorry, I don’t do encores,” when I worked up the courage to utter his name.
“Doctor Crane?”
Crane’s head snapped in my direction and peered at me through the dark. I could feel his gaze piercing me. I could feel it even though I couldn’t see it.
“Schiff?” he said finally. “Inmate Number Two-Three-Oh-Four-Four-Six Thomas Schiff? Oh my God - I can’t believe of all the cells in all of Arkham, of all my former patients, I end up with you! How’s it going, Tommy boy?”
Crane swooped in dangerously close when he said that, shoving his face close to mine. His tone wasn’t pleasant. It had that familiar, condescending quality to it. My temples started to sweat, just like they used to back during our sessions. Crane had always liked to interrogate me in a way that made me uncomfortable, too direct - too penetrating. Quinzel was good about keeping her distance. She’d hardly glance up from her chart at me, like I could barely hold her interest. Which was great because she barely held mine. Crane was different. Crane was intense. Once, I’d let slip in one of our sessions that the only person who’d ever called me Tommy was my father, and Crane had called me that ever since. He loved tormenting me that way.
Crane’s eyes squinted at me, trying desperately to adjust to the near total darkness. Suddenly his hands darted out at my face and I jerked back, trying to remain still as he slid his fingers across the crooked bridge of my nose. “Geez, what happened to your face, Tommy? You try to take on the Batman yourself or something?”
I started to stutter some response, and Crane let out a cruel cackle, so unlike the mellifluous laugh of the Boss.
“Oh please, don’t go out of your way for me,” he said, “I’ll just make myself at home,” and he hopped onto the top bunk. I almost felt relieved of his presence, but then I could feel it, seeping towards me through the cot, pressing in on my head, getting in my ears like a swarm of mosquitoes buzzing. I swatted uselessly.
“Long time no see, Tommy. So, how’ve you been? Still crazy I see. Me too, according to that dumb bimbo the geniuses in this city put in charge. To think what’s become of my beloved asylum,” Crane sighed.
“Y-you’ve met Dr. Quinzel?” It was a stupid thing to say, I admit. Of course he had, otherwise he wouldn’t be here. What can I say, I panicked.
“Met her? I’ve fucked her. ‘Course, that was years ago. I got out of here once before, you know, legit and everything. Yeah, I had Harleen’s little predecessor wrapped around my finger. I said all the right words, did all the right things - I’m a psychiatrist for God’s sake, I know how to play the game. So there I was, on the outside, lying low, biding my time. Waiting for someone to give the Batman what he deserves. Maybe I’m not the guy to do it, I know that now. But I thought that other fella, the new guy, that wackadoo, the Joker… now he seemed like he was ready to put out the Batman’s lights… before he was stupid enough to get himself locked up here.”
“THE BOSS ISN’T STUPID!!!” I screeched, kicking the cot above with every inch of my strength. Crane went flying and landed with a slap on the concrete.
Instantly all of my courage was gone and I was a quivering ball of fear. I don’t know, hearing the Boss insulted like that just got me worked up. I had reacted impulsively. I was regretting it now. I squeezed my eyes shut, tears already trickling at the thought of how messed up my nose was going to look now.
A few moments passed, and I opened one eye. Crane was sitting on the floor, rubbing the back of his head.
“Interesting,” he said.
“W-what?” I sputtered, terrified of the blow that was sure to come.
“’The Boss,’ you said. You called the Joker your boss. Oh Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Is that why you’re back in here? They pegged you working for the Joker? I let you and every other wackadoo in Arkham out to have the whole run of the Narrows, the whole run of Gotham, and first chance you get you take orders from a guy wearing too much makeup? Looks like someone still has dependency issues.”
I didn’t have a response to that. Mostly I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that somehow Crane thought he was the one who let everyone out of Arkham. And he had the gall to say I had issues. Last I heard, Crane was just as nutso as everyone else in here.
“So h-how’d you end up in here?” I finally worked up the courage to ask.
“Ah, Quinzel, of course. That bitch has had it out for me for years. She really relished how far I’d fallen, thought it’d be fun to push me down even deeper. She had a warrant cooked up, forced me into an evaluation. I played my part straight, but you can’t win a rigged game. Bitch had me committed - said I’m a danger to myself and others. She should talk. That cunt’s crazier than all of us. I should know - I dated her. She’s got everyone fooled, but I’m telling you, there’s a real nut running the nuthouse.”
“Like you used to,” I blurted. I didn’t mean to. It just slipped out. You see how sometimes I have a problem holding my tongue.
But Crane cawed with laughter, and I let myself breathe. “Yeah, like I used to, Tommy. So, are you gonna finish that stupid song or what? Just don’t kick the mattress, ever, or I’ll bite your fucking nose off.”
I laid in stunned silence for a moment before belting into the next verse, the one about the looking glass.
“You always did have a nice singing voice, Tommy…”
I made it through the entire song three times before the soft sound of snoring signaled Crane had fallen asleep.
~~~
Macaroni and cheese today. Dry cheese - hard macaroni. The noodles crunched under my teeth. I felt like a crow cracking acorns with its beak. Broccoli was soggy. Dessert good at least. Chocolate pudding.
That reminds me of something Dr. Quinzel said yesterday during Group Session. It was the strangest thing. She was making each of us patients talk about our past. She particularly likes trying to torment Jonathan, but he doesn’t give her an inch. He simply smiled at her and said, “Oh, I think you know all about my past, Harleen.” He refuses to call her Dr. Quinzel in front of the other inmates; she puts up a calm exterior, but I can tell it’s really pissing her off. It’s an interesting battle of wills - I never know exactly what they’re playing at or what really went on between them. I don’t really care. Jonathan says that was a lifetime ago.
Anyway, Quinzel was making me talk about the Boss yet again. That seems to be all we talk about nowadays. It’s unsettling - all it does is remind me how far away he is. All her questions are about him. Arbitrary stuff, things that I don’t see how they could possibly matter psychologically to me. What he was like before he came to Arkham, what kind of socks did he wear, did he ever entertain any lady friends around his lackeys…. I feel like I’ve answered these questions a thousand times but she just won’t quit it. Her blouse seems to keep getting smaller lately too - Jonathan says pretty soon it’ll disappear altogether and we’ll all go blind. That always makes me laugh. Jonathan has quite the smirk on his face whenever she interviews me in Group, like he knows something she doesn’t.
I admit, Quinzel seemed a bit more unraveled than usual this time. Not quite concealed behind her glasses there were dark circles under her eyes and a frantic desperation in her gaze. Her pencil seemed to shake as she made notes on her chart. But to be honest, I’m not so sure she was making notes. To me it looked more like she was doodling.
“Tell me again, Thomas,” she said, her hand scribbling furiously though her eyes never left my face. “Tell me what he was wearing the first day you met - tell me down to the tiniest detail - this is crucial - crucial to your therapy. How many buttons were on his vest? How many folds in his sleeves? And when you say Puddin’s suit was ‘purple’ do you mean more of an Eggplant shade or would you call it Byzantium? Here, I got you a color guide!” she said, digging around in her purse and pulling out a pamphlet from Gotham City Home Improvement. “Be as accurate as you can!” she practically screeched, lunging at me to thrust the pamphlet in my hands.
I glanced at Jonathan for help, bewildered. One of the more fragile patients started weeping. Jonathan returned my gaze with a pointed smirk.
Suddenly Quinzel realized her mistake, and tried to compose herself. She sat back in her chair, smoothed down her skirt, pushed the stray hairs back into her once severe-looking bun, now coming undone, cleared her throat and moved on to the next patient without delay.
But I noticed it. Jonathan noticed too. Pudding, she called him. Pudding. She called the Boss - my Boss - pudding, like he was some sort of yummy dessert treat.
It made me feel - I don’t know what it made me feel. All day her words wouldn’t seem to get out of my head, like a fly caught in a jar, buzzing around and knocking on all sides of the glass.
The fly wouldn’t stop buzzing even after Lights Out, when I was staring up at the cot in the dark. I sent Jonathan a message with my thoughts, but he must have been falling asleep because he didn’t seem to hear me. So I resorted to asking him out loud.
“Jonathan, you awake?” I said.
“No, what is it?” He didn’t sound very amused at being kept up.
“What do you think Dr. Quinzel was getting at, calling the Boss ‘pudding’?”
I could almost hear a smirk forming on his face as he answered. “Oh… I have my theories. Best not to trouble your little head about it, Tommy.”
That pissed me off. I hate it when he’s condescending like that. He’s not nearly as bad as he used to be, not to me at least, but there’s still something of the smug psychiatrist about him. Sometimes he seems to forget he’s one of us now. I guess sometimes I seem to forget it, too. Dr. Quinzel says it’s hard to give up old patterns, and occasionally Jonathan and me slip into that old doctor/patient routine. Hell, it took a few months alone before I was able to stop calling him Doctor Crane.
What happened was, one night, I was whispering “Hush, Little Baby” to myself and absentmindedly started kicking the cot above to the beat. After a few springy squeaks, I realized what I was doing and stopped cold, horrified at what I’d done. I’d been kicking Crane right in the back through the mattress. I hurried to plead my case - “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to - honestly, Doctor Crane…” - when suddenly he swooped down and pinned me tight to my mattress, holding my neck down with one arm and with the other clamped long, claw-like fingers over my mouth - hard. I was unable to speak, to defend myself. I couldn’t even struggle - he was surprisingly strong for such a wiry guy. The faintest beam of light from under the door revealed a crazed look in his cold, giant blue eyes. I watched as he leaned down to tear my nose off (how was I gonna explain this to the Boss, I thought) - when he bent his head to my ear instead and said in a strangely calm, slightly teasing voice, “It’s Jonathan, Tommy.” Then he lifted the hand on my mouth away.
“W-what?” I stuttered.
“We’re friends now, right? Equals, yeah?” he said, never once loosening his grip on my neck. “I don’t want to hear you call me Doctor Crane ever again.”
I couldn’t speak. I was shocked. I had never been anyone’s equal before. It was all I could do to nod my chin as best as I could, and then Jonathan set me free….
Sometimes I wonder if being Jonathan’s equal only gave him more power over me, only made me want his approval more.
Anyway, the pudding incident with Quinzel wasn’t something I could leave alone, especially when Jonathan was acting so smugly secretive about it, so I kept on pressing the issue.
“Jonathan, do you think Dr. Quinzel has private sessions with - the Boss?”
He didn’t even pause to think about it. “Of course. She meets with every loony in Arkham. She has to - I did,” he added, somewhat ruefully.
“You don’t think he - I mean - he wouldn’t go for a girl like that - would he?”
“I did,” Jonathan said, incredibly ruefully. “But live and learn, eh, Tommy? I wouldn’t worry about your old boss. He won’t get caught up in her snares like I did. I read up on the guy - he’s a total sociopath. Can’t feel an ounce of human empathy. He’ll never love anything or anyone.”
I was so relieved - Jonathan had made it so clear: The Boss could never love Dr. Quinzel, never ever, ever. The only thing that bugged me was he seemed to think the Boss was my “old” boss, like I wasn’t working for him anymore. He didn’t understand. I’d never stopped. I never will.
Then Jonathan told me to shut up already and go to sleep.
There was dead silence for a few moments, and then he said, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to sing that stupid little song of yours? Goddam you,” Jonathan said, swinging his pillow down to smack me lightly on the side of the head. “You know, I think it’s actually getting so that I can’t fall asleep peacefully without it.”
After I was sure Jonathan was fast asleep, I stared up into the darkness and made a decision about Dr. Quinzel. I decided that I’m never going to answer any of her questions about the Boss again. Take that, you stupid bitch.
~~~
Cold pizza at lunch yesterday, crust like cardboard. Fruit salad. The grape was squishy mush. Something called tiramisu. Had the lunch worker spell it out for me. Didn’t touch it. Decided it’s not worth eating something you can’t spell. Jonathan took his napkin and folded a swan for me. He handed it over with a wink. Told me someday it would grow up and fly. Always knows how to make me laugh.
A guard came over as I was playing with the swan. Rolled his eyes at me, then barked at Jonathan, “Crane. Get to the Visitor’s Room. You’ve got company.”
My eyes went wide. In all the years that Jonathan had been my cellmate, I had never seen him receive a visitor.
Jonathan was up in a flash. “Wait,” I said. “You can’t go. You didn’t finish your pizza.”
“You can have it,” he replied, without even glancing at me. “You like pizza, don’tcha , Tommy?” And he let the guard escort him away like I didn’t even exist. I watched him walk the entire length of the cafeteria without taking my eyes off him, then stared at the door long after it had closed after him. Finally I had to tear my eyes away, like I’d been staring at the sun too long. I looked down in my lap - the swan had crumbled in my hands, all the folds of the cloth come undone. I hadn’t realized I’d been twisting it.
I smoothed the fabric out, folded it meticulously into a tiny square, and placed it on top of my tray. Then I shoved the tray as hard I could across the room. It didn’t go very far - it wasn’t very aerodynamic - but it landed on the linoleum with a clatter that earned me the wrath of the guards and got me put on Clean Up Duty even though it wasn’t my turn.
Two hours later, Jonathan returned to the general population in the Day Room.
I was sitting on a couch, waiting for him. When I saw him, I gave him my angriest glare. I hadn’t done a single thing during the entire free period. Turned down two games of checkers, wasn’t even paying attention to the TV. A card game was going on in the corner. The fellas had tried to get me to join - one of them was going crazy over the fact that they needed one more player because, as he put it, “A prime number, it has to be a prime number!” - but I wouldn’t budge. I was numb to everything around me. Vaguely I saw the other inmates through a mist. Many of them I recognized from work with the Boss - work that took place so long ago. We were so lost without him. So purposeless, so directionless without his guidance. We are the fallen, I thought bitterly. Little birdies trapped in a cage, while people in the world around us get to fly free. What makes them so much more special than us? Why do we fall?
Jonathan came over to me, acting as though nothing was wrong. In fact, he looked like he was on top of the world. “Hey there, grumpypants. What do you wanna do today? I’m feeling lucky,” he said, eyeing the poker table. “Let’s go clean those guys out.” Inside, I was seething. I felt like I was going mad. How dare he try to pretend that nothing had happened. So I asked him point blank.
“Who was that?” I said.
“Who who?”
“Hoo-hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?!” I screamed, lunging at him, knocking him down, ripping into him. Immediately the guards separated us, but not before I got a punch in so good it bloodied his nose.
Jonathan could have stopped me from doing it. He’s stronger than me. Clearer-headed, too. He could have blocked my moves and messed me up even worse before I knew what hit me. But he let me do it. He let me hurt him.
The guards starting dragging me away, a nurse was running over with a needle in her hand, ready to sedate me, and Jonathan just looked at me, clutching his nose while blood dripped all over the stained, cracked, grey tile. He didn’t look angry as he watched me being pulled away, and somehow that hurt me the most. The last thing I remember was how cold and wet my face felt before it all went dark.
When I woke up, it was black, and I couldn’t move. I was lying in my cot, it was after Lights Out, and I couldn’t see a thing at first until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then I was able to make out the straps they had secured me with to the bed. I guess Jonathan heard me struggling against them because suddenly he called out from above -
“You fucking idiot…”
Suddenly my memory came boiling to the top of my head and I began struggling at the restraints harder, my anger renewed. Jonathan hopped down from the bunk as genially as could be and leaned over me.
“What, you gonna sock me another one, Tommy? The guards put these on you,” he said, picking up the end of one strap, “thinking you might be a danger to me when you woke up. I told them it wasn’t necessary.”
“You were wrong,” I said, straining.
Jonathan laughed. “Tommy, quit it, will you? Geez, don’t you get it? I wasn’t about to go blabbing about my visitor in the Day Room for all the loonies to hear. This is serious business going on. Don’t you understand?”
I responded by spitting in his face. The drool hit him in the forehead and began dribbling down into his right eye. He began to blink slowly, dangerously.
Now he looked pissed. He lunged towards me, grabbed my mouth with his hand and held it shut as tight as could be, breathing heavily on my face. He looked deranged. Any shred of the haughty, superior psychiatrist persona was gone - he was fully playing the part of the psychopath now. Oh God, I thought, he’s going to tear my nose off just like he said he would if I ever kicked his mattress. My heart had never beat louder in my life, not even that time Dent held the gun on me. This was going to be much, much messier. Jonathan stared into my eyes viciously, hesitated for only a moment, and seemed to come to a decision. Then without warning he lunged, kissed the back of his hand hard over my mouth and pushed himself away from me.
“You’re the only one I can tell about the visitor, Tommy. You’re the only kook I trust in this whole loony bin.”
I was deflated, numbed, completely and utterly. I couldn’t have moved a muscle even if I hadn’t been restrained. “Don’t you get it?” Jonathan said as he began undoing the straps, seeing that I wasn’t going to try to attack him anymore, “I had intended to tell you from the beginning what the deal was as soon as it was Lights Out. I couldn’t risk anyone else hearing about this.”
I rubbed my arms and sat up. “So what is it? Who came to visit you? I thought your family was dead.”
“They are,” Jonathan said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “That’s not it at all. It was one of my men on the outside.”
“One of your…?”
“Spies, Tommy. One of my eyes and ears in the underworld. You think I trust the daytime news channel in the Day Room to tell me what’s really going on in Gotham? I’m not a fool, Tommy. I had it arranged all along, if I ever got locked up again, if something big is about to go down, I’m gonna know about it. I’m gonna be ready for it.”
I was completely breathless. I had expected - I don’t know what I had expected. Not this. When Jonathan had got up to see the visitor, it had felt like he was abandoning me. Suddenly I felt very ashamed for not having trusted him earlier.
“Your nose,” I said. “I’m sorry. Back in the Day Room, I punched your nose. Did it… grow back crooked?”
Jonathan laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t have a mirror. You tell me.” He knelt in front of me, took my hand and held it up to his face. “Ow, sore,” he said as I traced the bridge with my fingers.
“Sore, but not crooked.” I smiled. “Guess I punch lighter than Zsaz. So that’s what all the secrecy today was about - information?”
“Well, that, plus I had a little memento snuck in. Bribed a guard to do it, he thought it was harmless. But it’ll come in handy - later. The point is you’re forgetting something very important.”
“What?”
“What kind of information, Tommy! Don’t you want to know what I learned today?” Jonathan seemed so excited, so exuberant. I had never seen him like this before. It was all I could do to nod my head.
He sat next to me and leaned close to my ear, whispering the words like they were sinful. “Someone is coming,” he said, “someone to challenge the Batman. And if it’s who the rumors say it is, maaaaan,” Jonathan paused to giggle, “the Bat doesn’t stand a chance. Do you get it, now, Tommy? Soon Gotham will be free for the taking.” Suddenly Jonathan grabbed me, pulled me to my feet. “And the fallen will rise. Soon, we’ll taste freedom again!”
Could it really be true? The prospect was too much, too much for my senses. The world was a blur. I was falling, falling. I could feel Jonathan catch me, or was it the Boss, I couldn’t tell anymore, could feel the drug the nurse plunged into me work its way back into my system, could feel it pumping through my heart as the world turned all to darkness and bliss.
~~~
Can’t remember what I had for lunch today. Don’t remember eating. Don’t remember what they served. Don’t remember going for lunch.
My mind is a mess, a racing, humming mess. All I can think about is the Boss. When Batman’s gone, he’ll be free. I know it. And when he’s free, he’ll come for me. And then the world will burn just like he told me it would. God how I want to watch the world burn.
I didn’t hear a word Dr. Quinzel said in Group today. I don’t think she heard a word anyone said either. She is quite blatantly a broken woman - completely snapped. Mostly she seems to hum her way through sessions. Her head is in the clouds, and there’s a constant, crooked, blissful smile on her face. Jonathan seems particularly pleased to see how batty she’s become. Says it’s just a matter of time now before she gets hers. He’s never forgiven her for committing him, for blocking all his attempts at release. I’ve never understood how she managed to keep her position. Jonathan says it’s obvious - either she, or someone she’s got an in with, is holding something over the right people. Says it’s actually scary the kind of power she wields. But at this point she’s bound to screw up something even the right people won’t be able to gloss over. I have no idea what Jonathan’s talking about, but I leave him alone when he goes on his little rants where Quinzel is concerned. She’s been a sore spot in both of our lives, and I’m content enough just knowing her comeuppance is on the horizon.
Continue to Part 2