"FUCKING LET ME GO! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Liz pounded on the soft padding of her room with her side as hard as she could.
"I WILL LIGHT EVERYTHING YOU LOVE ON FIRE, STAB IT WITH A KNIFE AND FORCE FEED IT TO YOU SO HARD IT'LL-" she stopped suddenly, panting, leaned against one of the walls and sank down onto the damnable soft floor when she realized her threats would be of no use.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she leaned her head back slightly, a single clear bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. Her dark empty eyes rolled around to look at the ceiling. The bright lights were agonizing. And everything was much too white in here. If she weren't already insane, she would eventually become it from the room's damn decor. She smirked at herself.
"Insane, am I?" Liz hoarsely exclaimed. No. What she thought was insane was what this damn city called "justice". Her colleagues had told her not to confuse justice with vengeance. What do they know? Had they been there when it happened? No they hadn't. And what about this so called bullshit fantasy known as innocence? Liz spat on the soft cushiony padding. She needed to focus on how she could get out of this hellish contraption. Sure, a straitjacket looked good on other people. But she figured it definitely wasn't her style.
"Goddammit, what TIME IS IT?" her question turned into a yell of anger directed at no one in particular. She needed to get out of here; closed off spaces and her do not get along. And it's starting to get harder each and every time she breaks out. She also gets angrier. Her mind was racing as her eyes darted around the padded room, to the door and around again.
A noise at the door broke her out of her own thoughts.
"Uhh, Mrs... Krueger!" a psychologist poked his head into the room looking down at a clipboard in hand. Liz wasn't expecting someone to be down at this time. Whatever time it was. But really, if she had expected him, she would have been out of this damn straitjacket, out the door and off the island.
He tore his eyes off from the clipboard when he didn't hear a response. He looked around until he met Liz's eyes, a mixed look of confusion and interest meeting a look clearly giving off a "what-the-fuck-do-YOU-want" vibe. When she continued to stare at him in that way, he quickly shook his head and cleared his throat.
"I'd like to speak with you, Mrs. Kr-"
"I'm not somebody's goddamn wife so stop calling me "Mrs.", alright, four eyes?" Liz scowled. He cleared his throat, turned to indicate to the two burly men in white to force Liz to get up and follow him.
Her feet were cold as they traveled down the cold hallway, her eyes darting back and forth to the two men flanked by her side. She thought it best not to make a run for it now. Instead, she angrily focused on to the psychologist's ramblings.
"It seems as if, Ms. Krueger," he licked his thumb and flipped a paper over, "that you seem to constantly yell and toss yourself around in your room, having random outbursts that," they reached a room and he fumbled for his keys, "are... directed to no one in particular. You've been here... what, nine hours? Mostly sedated. And you've broken out 3 other times. I wanted to give you some special attention and ask a few questions."
He opened the door and one of the men roughly plopped her on a seat. She looked around. The very first thing she noticed was that the room was stark white. Shit. The fluorescent lights above her flickered a bit, which started to cause a headache. In front of her was a mean looking metal table, just out of her reach. There was another chair across from her. The men started to remove her straitjacket, but as soon as she was free, Liz's arms and legs were shackled to the chair.
"Thank you, that'll be all," the psychologist nodded to the men, taking the seat across from Liz. She glared at them from under her eyelashes as they left the room, closing the door behind them.
"Now," he folded his hands and her attention snapped back to him, "I wanted to talk to you about several things, Ms. Krueger. First off, let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane. I... would shake your hand but it seems you're incapable of doing so."
"It seems like I won't be escaping again, if that's what you wanted to ask about, smartass," her left hand clenched.
"I see. Well, I suppose you're the type of woman to get down to business," he placed his chin on his folded hands. Liz opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
"No, you see, Elizabeth, I don't care about how many times you've escaped. I don't care the reason why you were tossing around in your room- that was all just a show for your dear escorts. I don't want to ask what your motives were in what made you want to do what you did. No, I want to dig deep down to the roots of it, what started it all. I want to know my patients' perspective on things. They help me pick out the nitty gritty in their brains and dissect them into something I want to understand. I want to know what makes them tick, what happened before their morbid thoughts of the justice system or other shit like that," Liz shifted uncomfortable in her seat, "I'm just a man seeking knowledge. It's something that pleasures me," he leaned forward, "I'm a man who stops at nothing to get what he wants," his head lowered so his glasses glinted menacingly from the lights.
"My specialty is fear," he continued, looking directly into Liz's eyes, "Fear makes people do the craziest of things that root straight out from their childhood. An event happens that trigger an action and it's something that leaks into your brain and soaks there until something bad comes out of it. It's like shaking a bottle of soda and just waiting for the top to pop off. Except with humans, it's slower. Slower and more entertaining. Fear makes people do crazy things," he repeated, "and what better way to acquire knowledge of such things than here!" he spread his arms wide, his piercing blue eyes roaming briefly around the room.
"But why... What does that have to do with me? Why did you bring me here? I don't... want to be asked about what I fear," Liz replied, losing the edge to her voice and not knowing what to say. She knew she had issues. But she was starting to get the feel that this Crane guy wasn't all there himself. Her eyes darted to the clock. 10:02. He folded his hands on the table once again, looking down.
"I try and look into all the minds of my patients, Elizabeth," he replied calmly, the brief look of his insanity wiped clean off his face, "And, quite frankly, the whole subject simply fascinates me. And really, who's to stop me, who is to BELIEVE who when I am done with my little... experiments? Are the authorities to believe me, a well-known and respected psychologist? Or one of these crazies with a criminal past?"
Liz wasn't fully sure of what he was about to do, but she knew damn well that it wasn't legal and it would NOT be good.
"You fucking scumbag," she simply growled.
He stared at her, with those blue eyes that made it seem as if he were electrifying her. She stared back, quite not wanting to break his gaze, partially from want of looking into those beautiful eyes and hate of what he was trying to imply.
Finally, after what seemed never ending, he looked down, sighed, and took off his glasses. He looked back up at her.
"Would you like to see my mask?"
