O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
-WILLIAM BLAKE
Ten minutes.
She kept glancing nervously at the bright red clock. Ten minutes, and she will be finally meeting one of them. Picking up a pencil she discarded only a moment ago, the young blonde focused her stare on the paper in front of her. It was supposed to contain all the questions she planned to pose to her newest patient. Her soon to be favourite patient, she was sure of that. However, the only coherent words she could make out in the sea of scribbles and scratched out sentences were the ominous sounding 'THE ELIZABETH ARKHAM ASYLUM FOR THE CRIMINALLY INSANE'. Despite the situation, she could feel the corners of her lips pulling up into a small smile. Reading the blue water mark that sat on the top of every page in her notebook never failed to boost her self-confidence. She made it. She was there. A place she always wanted to be at, a place where she would make big things happen.
Her momentary feeling of victory faded as soon as it came, though. She ran a hand through the stray hair framing her paled face with a sigh. It was useless. She dared herself to look at the clock that mocked her from its place on the iron file cabinet opposite her desk.
Seven minutes.
She needed to concentrate. She needed to calm down. The expensive, retro style glasses she got herself as a reward for getting the internship at the facility landed on her notebook with a dull thud. She stood up abruptly and walked toward the small sink in the far corner of her office. She turned the tab and splashed some cold water on her face. She hadn't realized she was shaking, not until she glanced at her quivering hands clutching the rim of the metal basin. It shined silver. Like his smile.
Breathing in heavily through her nose, she shut her eyes close. She could hear the stories about individuals like him. All the professors' lectures, warnings from the experts she listened to in awe during her college years; their voices kept mixing and replaying in her head like some eerie tune from a broken gramophone. Glibness of charm. Calculating. Callous. Lethal. She found herself mentally repeating the Hare's Checklist. It fit him perfectly. Oh, it did.
"Remember, they may act interested. They may act like they are listening to what you're saying, contemplating their answers, showing signs of improvement. But it's all part of the game. They will try to lull you into a false sense of security. They will make you take your guard down after you start believing you have the upper hand. And when you do, they'll make you scream."
She shuddered. This last one was oddly similar to what Dr Arkham told her three weeks ago after he finally granted her a trial session with one the SUs alias Special Unit Boys, as he liked to call them. And so, she finally had one of her own: her first psychopath. And it wasn't just anyone either; he was the psychopath above all psychopaths in Gotham. Every therapist's nightmare, she had been informed. To her, though…well, to her, he was a dream come true. She opened her eyes and studied her face in the dirty mirror above. Oh yes, he was the one she was hoping for. She wouldn't have had almost beaten Arkham to death with her pleas over some second rate homicidal maniac. No, she wanted him. And by the grace of gods, she somehow got him on her list.
She took a deep breath and squared her jaw. She was going to live through this. She worked for it and she deserved it. She was not going to let some anxiety ruin what so far was the best moment in her budding career. Self-doubts ahead of a challenging therapy session were normal. Mild panic was expected. What was unforgivable was showing these weaknesses in front of the patient. And she was not about to do that, otherwise she'd be dead.
A sharp knock on her door pulled her back to reality.
"Dr Quinzel? The patient's ready in room 14965," the deep, calm voice of one of the guards cut through the shocked silence in her office.
She jumped to her file cabinet and checked the clock.
It was time indeed.
Leaning on the cabinet for support, the blonde mustered all her strength to reply in an equally even tone: "I'll be right with you, Mr Bolt".
She turned to the mirror again, her reflection staring right back: wide eyed, unblinking and devoid of any colour. She already removed her red lipstick straight after lunch. She knew there were indeed special procedures to be followed when it came to the Special Care Unit patients. No revealing clothing, no high heels, no extravagancies, no visible makeup. God. Her breath became rugged and her heart pounded in her ribcage like on that day when she received her dissertation grade. This was it. This was the moment.
The last thing she did as she was leaving her office was to look at the piece of paper on her desk. No. She won't need that. She'll improvise with her questions. After all, they liked spontaneity. And if they did, she was sure he would just love it.
I haven't yet decided how long this little story will be. Maybe just a collection of scenes like this one, maybe a multichapter, I don't really know. Therefore, reactions are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading!
ZeldaK