Hey there, this is my very first Batman story ever published on here. My aim with this was to portray a different kind of fear than the usual sudden explosion of terror that our dear old doctor likes to prescribe, instead I wanted this to be slow, subtle and distinctly cruel. Any and all criticism is welcome, even a simple message just telling me how awful I am at least means you read the thing. Enjoy.
Ruth Delapore stared at the specks of blood lazily staining the tissue in her hand. The initial shock and confusion at seeing the scattering of dark red stains had quickly faded into weary resignation, a mental sigh that formed a simple phrase.
Of course.
She started suddenly, reality drowning whatever hazy space she had slipped into. Shaking her head, Delapore wondered why she was so worried, a lousy cough was nothing to be too concerned about. Making a mental note to call her doctor at the first opportunity, she continued down the corridor, attempting to reclaim her usual air of calm but utterly failing to ignore both the exhausted faces surrounding her and the dark impressions that continued to slither about in her mind. Everyone at the Asylum had been looking a little under the weather recently, she mused.
Perhaps there's a bug going around.
Delapore did not want to linger on the sharp jolt of horror that spasmed through her body, she knew that the dark well of memory was always prepared to flood her with buried misery. Gritting her teeth and scolding herself for being so pathetic, she quickened her pace, forcefully extinguishing all petty thoughts of disease. Dr. Delapore had important work to do, and she would not let some insignificant little bacteria stop her.
"And how does that make you feel?"
The words filled the bare Arkham room like an unwelcome guest that, although unpleasant to have around, was still perhaps better than being alone.
Arthur Griffin was intensely bored, and that particular question always made him feel like some stereotypical quack, too busy asking banal, meaningless questions to actually cure anything. He wondered sometimes when they would replace psychologists with automated machines, able to run through the endless list of questions far more efficiently and without the desire to end their career halfway through an interview. His current patient, a bloated middle aged man named Harry Pitt, was more than happy to babble away with or without Griffin's presence. Griffin was sure that if he got up for a coffee break, when he returned he would find Mr Pitt in mid-sentence.
"Oh just terrible doc just awful you have no idea how guilty I feel about the whole thing but it ain't my fault I didn't know I couldn't have kno-"
Griffin silently prayed that Mr Pitt would forget to breathe for so long that he would quietly pass out on the table. He seemed to consider breathing a waste of valuable talking time.
Fifteen more minutes Griffin repeated to himself, just fifteen more minutes and I'll be-
"What the hell was that?" Griffin exclaimed, shooting to his feet suddenly. His chair crashed into the polished white walls behind him with a harsh thud.
"Doc? Was' up with you?" Pitt said, leaning forward to study Griffin's panicked features. Griffin turned to face him, desperately trying to collect himself. Harry knew something had Dr. Griffin really spooked, his wife had just the same look right before he finally put an end to her nagging.
"Nothing. God, it was nothing, just thought I saw something out the corner of my eye." Griffin admitted in a hushed voice, his cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.
"Well, what kinda somethin' did you see?" Pitt asked, evidently enjoying the role reversal.
Griffin paused, too busy organizing his thoughts to notice Pitt's gleeful smile. Why had he freaked out like some ditzy housewife confronted by a cartoon mouse? Despite himself, he continued to stare at the corner where he thought he had seen...what?
Something creep, something crawl.
"A spider maybe, or, or a cockroach", Griffin answered, preparing for the insults sure to come. He had faced them many times before.
"Seein' bugs doc? Here I was, thinking I was supposed to be the crazy one!" Pitt laughed, revelling in Griffin's obvious discomfort and annoyance.
"Yes well, I think that will have to do for our session Mr Pitt, I'll see you next week." Griffin said, anxious to make an exit with some dignity left intact. He walked over to the door, trying to stop himself from sprinting.
Get out. Get out get out get out.
Griffin opened the door, taking a last look at his patient's mocking smile.
"You let me know when you want another appointment eh, Arthur? I think together we can overcome these delusions of yours." Mr Pitt shouted, breaking into a high pitched giggle as the door slammed shut.
Griffin breathed deeply, irrationally glad to be free of the cell. The security guard standing by the door shot him a puzzled glance, before deciding he didn't care enough to enquire into whatever had just happened. Griffin was glad of it and began to rush back to his office, already justifying the incident to himself. I just need to relax and get a good night's sleep, Griffin told himself, I've been working too hard, I always work too hard.
A bottle or two of pest killer wouldn't hurt though, just to be absolutely safe.
"Professor Charles Norton, the board would like to thank you for your application. After what happened to Warden Hadley, we're in desperate need for talent such as yours."
The words came from a timid, balding man seated at the head of a table filled with similar such men. The apparent sincerity of the statement was offset by a clumsy wink directed at the handsome, immaculately dressed figure stood at the other end of the table.
Charles Norton gave a wide grin that seemed to encompass the whole room with its kindness, modesty and subtle but deliberate sadness, as if the memory of Arkham's former Warden touched a nerve deep inside him. His eyes however, glittered with nothing but greed.
"My only hope is that I'll be given the opportunity to serve this Asylum, and make the improvements it so badly needs. Thank you so much for your time." Norton said earnestly, the practiced words smoothly rolling off his tongue.
The grin did not fade as he strolled confidently through the maze of the Asylum, but grew with triumph. It had been very easy in the end he reflected, a few favours, a few bribes and a very detailed plan that he had 'borrowed' from a fellow competitor had secured him the most powerful job in the Asylum. Sure, the former Warden's accident had been a terrible tragedy, but at the end of the day he was obviously the better man. Arkham Asylum would finally be getting the director it deserved.
Liar. Cheater. Thief.
Norton halted, pressing his hand to his temple. He gasped as he felt blood pumping through his head like thick tar, each beat bringing acute, hammering pain. Clenching his fists he stood firmly in place, waiting for the migraine to pass.
Where the hell did that come from?
Charles Norton had long ago decided that guilt was for the meek and mild, and not something he was going to let bother him. There was no way those words had come from his mind, Norton felt nothing but pride at his deceit. If a man was clever enough to get away with something, Norton believed, he deserved to keep his prize. No, he had heard those words.
Wrenching his eyes open, Norton stared wildly at the empty corridor in front of him. His momentary confusion was ended when two figures glided past, muttering softly to each other.
Had it been them?
Norton continued to stare, refusing to believe that what looked like two lowly interns would dare insult him in such a manner. How could they possibly know the things he had done?
His question ceased to matter when one of the interns turned her head to look at him. Norton stood paralyzed with fear at what he saw in that gaze.
They knew.
By the time he had processed her accusing glare, she had turned back, whispering to her comrade with a new intensity. Charles Norton could not believe what had just happened. He told himself he would catch up and confront them, that he would put a swift end to whatever vicious, jealous rumours they had heard about him and reassure them of his competence, his honesty, his decency. Continuing to picture exactly what he would do and say, Norton started to slowly slink back to the safety of his office.
Arthur Griffin stared at the faces around him in disbelief. The staff of Arkham Asylum met monthly to discuss security, patients and finances. It was often an agonisingly dull event, but this week it looked like they were meeting to discuss the death of their loved ones.
It must have been a damn rough week for everyone else as well.
The staff of Arkham Asylum looked tired, haggard and pained. Their eyes stared blankly at the table in front of them, each seeming like they were in a world of their own and that it was not a pleasant one to occupy. Even Professor Norton, who usually surrounded himself with an air of arrogant superiority, was weakly mumbling about some violent incident involving Two-Face and a nurse with heterochromia, his words falling quietly from his mouth like dead leaves.
They all look like they could collapse at any moment, Griffin observed.
Griffin's gaze circled the room, trying his best to reassure his workmates with a confidence he did not feel. Dr. Delapore met his look, her warm smile showing she appreciated the effort. She brushed her chestnut hair from her face and seemed to renew her effort to focus on the meeting.
Griffin had to stop himself from gasping when he saw the sharp, gaunt face of Jonathan Crane near the corner of the table. Griffin was temporarily baffled as to why Dr. Crane's calm, composed expression shocked him, before realizing that it was because Crane looked so serene. He was the only one that did not look affected by whatever had contaminated his coworkers. His icy, blue eyes seemed to be looking at everyone at once, examining the room and filing away the information he gained for later use.
He must see their pain as well, thought Griffin.
A piercing smack resounded throughout the room, and the whole staff recoiled in one fluid motion. One young nurse audibly screamed, a tension that had been building for days ripping itself from her throat. It took Griffin a few seconds to recognise the throbbing pain in his hand, and a few more to realise he had smacked the table with an unconscious, violent reflex. The whole room stared at him with an incoherent, preposterous fear.
"Sorry," Griffin began sheepishly, "thought I saw a spider."
The room was filled with sighs of relief and nervous laughter, no-one wanting to admit that the mindless dread they had all shared was out of the ordinary. Griffin sat in quiet despair, knowing that there was nothing underneath his flattened palm, yet absolutely sure he had seen a spider.
Arthur Griffin did not notice the pair of intense, blue eyes scrutinizing him, or the narrow fingers that gently scribbled a few words into a small, black notebook.