She didn't believe in ghosts, but Arkham Asylum briefly made her wonder. Alexandra could feel the years long past as she was escorted to Doctor Parekh's office on the second floor.
The old Arkham building had been renovated extensively from the sorry state in which it had been left after the sixties. The floors were an almost reflective white, the lighting was bright, and the walls had been completely renovated. No sad graffiti, no blood or grime, coated the pristine walls. Once, Arkham had been a madhouse in every sense of the word, filthy and damaged, echoing with the insanity it had promised to treat in its unfortunate patients, but Gotham proudly declared its new Arkham facility as the best on the East Coast. Technically it wasn't even called Arkham Asylum anymore, but went by the more mundane and politically-correct designation of "Gotham City Psychiatric Health Facility, Arkham." Even so, a well-earned menace still clung to the whitewashed walls and polluted the energy-efficient lighting, and the specter of the old asylum still possessed the new building for many. She wondered if she would have found the place as intimidating if she'd had no knowledge of its history. She fiddled with her sheer scarf as she thought about it, and in her mind it was at once reminiscent of a noose. Many hangings had taken place here, as death had been the only way to escape the cruel prison.
Dr. Parekh's office was on the second floor. He was probably twice her age and wore a white coat that looked a little too large for his thin frame. His hair was thinning and he wore a devastatingly vivid purple shirt and mustard-yellow tie. After Alexandra sat down, Dr. Parekh dismissed the CN that had escorted her, who left without a word. Dr. Parekh sat across from her behind his desk and said, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Shahin. Can you understand me just fine without the translator? I'm sorry that you won't be able to respond as you'd like, but can you listen well enough?"
Alexandra folded her hands in her lap and nodded.
"I'm really sorry we don't have the translator yet," he said."When they said you weren't deaf, someone decided it would be best to, you know, save some money somewhere. So I'm not sure when the translator is coming, considering your job here."
So Arkham did still have some empathy issues to work out. Alexandra held in her annoyance and just nodded again. She had the "amicable nod" down to a science after nine years.
Dr. Parekh continued, "If you have any questions, though here's a legal pad. You can come to me whenever you need a new one if you can't get one around here. I have a whole stock of them in the cupboard."
He handed her a yellow notepad and a fountain pen. Alexandra accepted it, brushed her fingers over the smooth paper, and set it back down. It abated her annoyance, but only slightly. Still, it looked as though Dr. Parekh, the man she would be reporting to on a day-to-day basis, wasn't responsible for her translation issues, and was apparently sympathetic and willing to meet her halfway.
"I know you were briefed before your interviews, and briefed a bit more after the review process, but I want to make sure you know everything before we move forward," he told her, meanwhile scribbling on his own legal pad. "This place is for criminals, so it's high-security, and sometimes we only tell as much as we absolutely need to about some of the patients here. Do you know the name of the inmate you'll be attending to yet?"
She shook her head; no.
"Anything about him?"
She wrote briefly on the pad and gave it to him: Dangerous, currently ill/manageable.
He sighed heavily, though not at her. "They want it to fall on me, I suppose." He sat up a little straighter. "Well, first of all, as you've probably figured out, they were looking for someone mute and deaf. The inmate is high-profile, and part of his stay here requires extreme solitary confinement and anonymity. No contact with anybody except his guards, myself and any other necessary professionals. Where you come in is that we've tried other assistive caregivers but the patient is very manipulative. He gets them to talk, he won't stop talking to them, and they either grow too anxious to work or become incredibly hostile towards the patient."
Alexandra just nodded again, a little more hesitantly this time. She'd figured during the reviewing process that she was about to be part of something a little more security-based. Until now, she'd never been hired because she was non-verbal-maybe because she knew ASL, and two other sign languages, or because of a recommendation by a respected doctor, but not solely because she couldn't verbally communicate. That part actually intrigued her despite the inconveniences present-she'd gotten used to those in one way or another over the years.
Dr. Parekh handed her a folder filled with a dense sheaf of papers. "Your official application and duties are in here. We'll go over them before you go, and you'll leave the paperwork signed, including the confidentiality agreement and waiver."
She took the folder. It was thicker than usual, but not intimidating. A good decent amount, upon inspection, appeared to be the paperwork.
The second folder he handed her was much slimmer. "And this is everything you need to know about the patient."
She opened it quickly, unable to totally hide her interest. The folder contained a few photographs inside, including pictures of the patient's wounds post-treatment. The picture of the inmate's face, with a heinous medical mask she'd once seen daily on the news, and the photographs of his mangled face without the mask, made her pause. She recovered a moment later, but Dr. Parekh watched her knowingly.
"It's alright to be surprised. Most people don't know he's still here in Gotham. Most figure he's either dead or in a secret prison somewhere. But I assure you, there is absolutely no reason to feel tense around him. I've been in the same room as him many times."
Bane? she mouthed.
He smiled. "Yes. Again, there's no reason to be nervous. He's receiving treatment here until his trial, which isn't in the foreseeable future. So far Bane has been psychologically evaluated extensively by just me, now that's he's finally recovering from the extensive wounds he received a year ago. Not that anything I say will matter of course, but it's part of the process." he smirked again, this time ruefully, then stood up and gestured for her to do the same. "We're going to visit his cell now. He's probably asleep at the moment-he usually is around this time-so it's best to do it now."
Alexandra followed him out of the office, and they walked down the corridor. Dr. Parekh walked her to the nearest elevator.
"I'm sure you know all about this facility's image," he said, "when it was reopened and cleaned up in the nineties-how it's humane, practices rehabilitation. We don't believe that the mentally unwell are freaks or monsters, we don't use the term 'crazy' to describe them-but that being said, the people here are still violent criminals. Until they're declared fit for release, you can't give them an inch. They'll take a mile and then some."
She nodded. Of course.
"Now," he said as they entered the elevator, "Your file says you've worked with plenty of criminals in other hospitals and nursing homes, but some of the people here are truly dangerous. There are people here you don't even know are here, and won't know about even by the time you leave. Security is very important, and so is safety."
He hit button four and up they went.
"We just call Bane 'Inmate 213' for security reasons, and for his own protection. I only say his name when I'm talking directly with him."
Inmate 213. Bane. She looked at the file again. There were no other names available. After a year and three months, the authorities still didn't know who exactly he was or where he'd come from. Almost all of his background information was medical in nature. Some of it explained his criminal activities, but most of it was from the past ten years, especially concerning the situation in Gotham. Alexandra recalled a hundred fearful memories from last year. But there was also a tingling of anxiety, and excitement. They'd chosen her for this special case. While she wasn't a doctor yet, they'd still chosen her for one of the biggest criminal cases-or what would be-in decades. What it could do for her career was too baffling to think about.
On the fourth floor, guarded by two men in black fatigues, Dr. Parekh took her to a cell halfway down the corridor. Alexandra peered inside the cell as casually as she could. A pair of plain, white sneakers were neatly set by the bed. Some pieces of notebook paper hung on the walls, and a single cardboard box held what she assumed were the inmate's legal or medical files. Next to the box was a stack of books. The only other amenities in the cell were a toilet, sink, empty mirror frame, and a cot. On the cot lay a giant lump, asleep under a stark white sheet. The big form rose and fell subtly, and she heard rhythmic, filtered breaths. Only a shoulder poked out from under the cover, some of it white with scarring.
A memory surfaced, of going to the zoo as a kid and wanting to see the lions, only to find them all napping or in their cave, and how she'd gone home disappointed that day.
"He's been sleeping a lot due to the physical trauma he's recovering from, and the medications we've got him on," Dr. Parekh said. "Harmless, overall. He'll make strange comments, or occasionally threats, but we're safe as long as we follow procedure. And you're job's simple; just deliver his food, medications, books from the library and the like. The guards escort him out for showers and exercise, I deal with his mental needs, and we have a very small medical staff on hand in case something happens with him. That's it. No one else here knows Inmate 213's identity except for the people I just listed, and the Warden. The FBI and CIA come in here to interrogate him, but you won't meet anyone else on this case."
Alexandra nodded as she looked more closely into the cell. Under the sheet lurked, all technical and empathetic terms aside, a monster. She'd watched all the footage taken of him in a class a few months ago. The professor had invited everyone to diagnose him over winter break. Whoever came back with the best diagnosis got to start the new term with extra credit. Her fellow students had thrown around the usual diagnoses: sociopath, schizophrenic, delusional personality disorders. Someone managed to convince the professor that Bane was a paranoid psychotic and backed it up with enough examples that he'd won the extra credit. Even though she'd not bought the diagnosis, she'd not been able to put together anything better.
Even now, Alexandra still had no clue what exactly was wrong with the man, or even if psychiatric help was enough to dig through whatever had compelled him to do what he'd done to Gotham. There was also the possibility that he had been, more or less, perfectly sane at the time. But that guaranteed a death sentence and was boring besides.
"I want you to read everything I've written about him so far," Dr. Parekh said. "Not just so you can do your job, but also to demystify him. Men like this-they enjoy intimidating people and playing with perceptions. I've found that the basic facts take a lot of the power out of the personalities they construct for themselves. Did you know he likes the pureed chocolate chip cookies we serve here? The kitchen only makes chocolate chip for dessert once a week and he always requests a second helping of it. If his behavior is good he gets an extra one. You'll find that in the file under his dietary requirements. Anyway, my point is that super-villains don't eat chocolate chip cookies."
She smiled. Right, she signed instinctively. He laughed and said, "I'm sure you agree with me."
She nodded once.
"But all joking aside, that's basically it. I can take you on a tour and go over the necessary forms with you before my three o'clock. Then you can go to the kitchen and library and get acquainted with everything there. Although you probably already know most of that stuff, given your credentials."
The bed in the cell creaked, and Alexandra jumped sharply before she caught herself. Dr. Parekh didn't so much as twitch; he just turned his head toward the cell door. The massive form on the bed moved again and the wire frame caved in under the shift in his weight. Like a sleepy bear, the inmate sat up, blinked drowsily, and scanned outside his cell. He shrugged the covering off himself and threw his feet over the side of the bed. The upper half of his jumpsuit was tied around his waist, with a faded gray sleeveless undershirt keeping him decent. More scarring-darker and less clean-crept across the flesh from under the material. She stared, professionalism lost for a moment, and he stared in return, eyes squeezed in a tight expression she couldn't read.
In a faint voice, due to his mask or his medical issues, he said, "Another orderly, doctor?"
"I've told you repeatedly now that orderlies were phased out of the American medical profession. You have an Patient Care Assistant." Parekh said this with a quick, almost friendly tone, a light smile on his face.
Bane shook his head. "Do you people sit around all day thinking up needless words and terms?" He looked back at Alexandra. "She's not dressed as an employee. They look like they belong here, and she looks like a person who couldn't respect the institution in any capacity when she came in today."
Alexandra looked out of the corner of her eye at Dr. Parekh.
Dr. Parekh just waved his hand dismissively and said to her, "That's all. Go to the elevator and I'll escort you back to my office in a moment."
She nodded hesitantly and walked toward the elevator. Despite her anxiety a moment ago, she wanted to stay; she'd rather spend more time with the patient than fill out forms. The fear would pass. And the fact that he was awake and talking was interesting, something she should be a part of.
"Is it wise to give me a female orderly? Or an 'Patient Care Assistant,' rather?" she heard Bane say as she walked away. She slowed down a little.
"Meaning?" Dr. Parekh said.
"Aren't males more common here? In case they need to restrain their patients?"
"Are you implying something, Bane?"
"Just making an observation."
Alexandra lost the rest of the exchange. But Bane sounded like every other patient who tried to lash out; a little more verbose, but just as frustrated.
When he was done with 213, Doctor Parekh took her through the patient's psych file, some of her paperwork, and then she was given over to the admin to have her ID and other effects re-checked. Finally she was given a proper tour of the facility, especially the kitchen, library, and where to pick up the medicines each day, then told to come in tomorrow at six-thirty, wearing white scrubs. The entire last half of the day was spent with her nodding and writing brief, insipid notes while bored people who clearly were frustrated talked to her in monotone about stuff they'd probably said a hundred times before. It was all routine, the same routine she hated going through at every new job. She'd assumed that being pre-recruited would have helped, but it didn't.
After it all was finished, they gave her a cell phone for texts, which was already programmed with the admin and Dr. Parekh's number. Then she was allowed to go home.
That night, Alexandra read Bane's whole file. Her budgie, Bernard, sat on her shoulder and whistled nonsense as she read. He could only speak a few phrases currently, and seemingly at random. She was working on teaching him words, though she couldn't do it directly. But Bernie was less than a year old and had plenty of time to learn. He was always vocal, though, and provided a chipper atmosphere to the small studio with its spare furniture, old walls, and unkempt mattress she still hadn't gotten a box-spring for.
It was past seven when she remembered a question she'd intended to ask about the dress code. Alexandra texted the admin and asked if neck-wear like chokers were okay on the job.
An hour later she got her reply: if she wanted she could wear a high-necked shirt under her scrubs, but no jewelry or scarves.
Not like her last job, then, but she supposed this one was more strict by necessity.
"I'm a pretty boy," Bernie announced as she got ready for bed. Alexandra patted his head with a finger and made sure his cage was open for him to return to when he was ready for sleep.
The next morning she went to work in light blue scrubs, a thin turtleneck underneath. She made sure it was pulled up high, but barely anyone noticed her anyway.