a/n: I started writing this awhile back when I was attempting to understand my perception of the Riddler in my other story. This will be a series of one shot interviews between each Batman rogue. I don't own any of the characters. I hope you enjoy it! The next chapter will be Harley Quinn.
Patient Interview 4
Edward Nigma aka the Riddler
She paused in front of the bland tan door. She wasn't looking forward to her next session at all. He had only been in Arkham for seven days, and still managed to completely infuriate her in that small allotted time. With a motivated deep breath she opened up the door to the white brick patient interview room. Across from the lone metal table sat a tall man with crazy red hair.
Edward Nigma gave her a smug smile as he laid his hands causally on the table. "Good Morning, Doctor," he said sweetly.
She paused at the door before closing it. She tried to act like his cheery greeting didn't bother her as she shut the door and moved to her chair across from him. She pulled out her recorder and put it on the table. "Good morning to you to Edward. You seem like you're in a good mood," she commented politely.
His eyebrow twitched at hearing his real name, but the smile never left his face. "Yes, I guess I am," he answered.
"Why is that?" she asked pulling out her notebook hoping that maybe some real progress could be done today.
The man gave her a slight glare like her simple question had insulted his intelligence. "Why does it matter? I don't quite understand why psychiatrist must ask the most dreadfully dull questions. There is no intellectual substance and therefore no challenge," he said as his thumb and index finger pressed together like he was rolling an imaginary object between them.
There goes her hope of progress. Letting out a tired sigh, she asked, "Okay Edward. What is it you would want me to ask?"
"Like a woman to put the work into the man's hands," he spoke leaning back into his chair, "I'll give you an example to help this process along. Hmm. Riddle me this, how do you not put a blade to your wrist when knowing your life is wasted on the incurable?" His lips turned into a calm smile as if the question were about the whether.
She frowned, "I find that inappropriate."
"Getting into the depths of a mind is not required to be appropriate especially when every person has dark thoughts…if they have thoughts at all," he mumbled the last part annoyed. His dark green eyes focused on something behind her.
"Do you really believe that to be true? Before your accident people found you friendly" still an arrogant jerk but friendly "…so dark thoughts didn't always plague your mind," she argued.
He let out a small giggle, closing his dark green eyes for a moment before opening them again. "I prefer not to lie so I will ask you a question…do you believe the first time I killed was after the accident?" he asked as he titled his head to the side. It almost looked like he was studying her expression for deeper thought.
She couldn't control her facial muscles to turning to shock then disgust as she ingested his meaning. He had killed before the accident. She had suspected that something in his past had set up the Riddler and the accident was just the tip of the iceberg, but she hadn't expected the killing to be before the accident. She put her calm mask back on and finally said, "Well I guess we are seeing some progress here. This is the first time you admitted to killing instead of blaming them on your riddles."
His dark green eyes rolled up under his black frame glasses then back at her, "It is all an interpretation. A brother rips and destroys his sister's doll. The little girl responds through tears 'you killed him.' The girl is to young to understand that the doll is not alive and therefore cannot die. We, however, do not burst this ignorance and continue to comfort her which only strengthens this false idea in her mind."
"Are you saying the people you kill are like dolls?" she asked somewhat disgusted with his lack of concern for human life.
He smirked shaking his orange hair out of his face. She wondered for a moment if that was why he wore the hat. "I am saying that you cannot kill something that has no brain power to be considered alive, but society sees things differently."
She frowned again. His respect for others was nonexistent. She had yet to meet someone as arrogant as him. "Let's change the topic."
"A Comb Contorted Flour?" he asked with a smug grin.*
She ignored the question and moved on to her own, "How is your leg?"
His smile didn't fall, but it faltered while his thumb and index continued to roll the imaginary object. "How many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?" he asked.
"Edward…" she said with a tired sigh. This had happened a few times now.
"I counted 347, but still was unable to reach it," he stated his eyes literally glazing over as he thought about it.
"Edward, every time I bring up your leg you start talking about tootsie pops. Are the pain killers working?" she asked again. He needed to tell them so they could either increase or decrease the dose depending.
"Riddle me this, a man decides to quit his job, so he turns off the lights. He walks out of the room and 200 people die. Why do 200 people die?" he said his eyes getting a glint of happiness in them as he looked at her again.
"I'm not sure," she answered wanting to roll her eyes.
"He operated a light house," he said with a short giggle.
"Clever, but Edward you are using your riddles as a defense mechanism again. I'm here to help, and I can't do that if you don't talk to me about it," she tried to sound supportive, but at this point she wanted to be done with the session.
"If I thought I needed help I would have admitted myself, wouldn't I?" he said more causally.
"So you don't think there is anything wrong with what your doing?" she asked.
"Genius are misunderstood by the simple minds around them. Abraham Lincoln was not a popular president during the civil war; it was only after he had left the presidency that he gained the fame. I think about 60% of children pick Lincoln as their favorite president."
Her face deadpanned. Her features started to look haggard. It felt like trying to swim upriver as she argued, "You put people in death traps that is not something that can be misunderstood."
"They are riddles doctor…easy riddles that they can easily escape from. Don't blame me for television rotting their minds," his hand cuffed hands moved to the table as he talk. She watched in disgust as he began outlining an invisible question mark.
How could she go about curing a man who thinks he is above god? How can she convince him it's murder? She wanted to slouch over with the weight she felt.
"You like classical music correct? Beethoven in particular?" he said interrupting her thoughts
"Yes…how do you know that?" she said eying him suspiciously.
"Well since I have been locked up in my cell with nothing to do. My mind has kept itself busy with some riddles. I've been thinking of one for you. It's rather complicated out of respect for your somewhat above average thought capacity. Would you like to hear the beginning of it?" he said his dark green eyes lingering on her face.
Before she had a chance reject this he continued. "The music stopped. The woman dies. Why?" he asked his long lips turning into a vile smile as he leaned over the desk to stare at her.
Her fingers clutched around her pen. This mad man would not threaten her. "I believe we are done for the day, Edward," she said calmly getting up.
As she opened the door the Riddler finally spoke, "Think about the riddle dear!" Her response was to slam the door hard.
The Riddler just sat there in his wheel chair. A frown finally formed on his lips. They were all incompetent Doctors. If the woman had a reasonable IQ she would have realized that the riddle he described had nothing in relations to her. By mentioning music and suggesting a riddle she only assumed it was a death threat. The actually answer had to do with a tight rope walker, but of course the average mind would never conceive that. He was surrounded by buffoons dressed up as doctors on some pretense they could cure others.
He rubbed his leg again even though the handcuffs prevented any real movement. The drugs did nothing to subdue the pain; only intelligent thought would prevent it. He had little faith he would access any of that soon.
The door behind him opened revealing Mike, his orderly. The big blond man walked over to him, and pulled his wheelchair out from the table. The Riddler dearly missed his cane, but the people wouldn't allow him to have anything sharp on his person. "Did you get what I asked for?" he said in a cold monotone voice.
Mike stopped the chair before he opened the door. He then heard the man digging through his pockets. The Riddler smirked as ten tootsie pops were placed on his lap.
"Good," he stated putting them under his shirt. He could handle the stupidity of Arkham if he had his candy.
*Uncomfortable Doctor?