Happy Easter everyone! I'll try to upload a new chapter later on today. Thanks and please review~
Chapter 4: Confrontation
My office was standard. God, I love being able to say that. My office. I worked my ass off in medical school to get pretty decent grades and I only had to sleep with one professor. New record. Anyhow, my office had plain cement walls. A metal desk with two drawers on each side was bolted into the brown carpet. There were two worn leather chairs parallel to my desk with wrist cuffs. They were also bolted down. In a place dealing with the volatile rejects of society, every precaution had to be taken. Cozy.
Dr. Arkham talked of the men and women held here as patients but if you lived in a cell, surely you were a prisoner. He had high hopes of rehabilitating these people, speaking of them as "poor, lost souls". If you had killed before and enjoyed it could you truly be redeemed? The system here was fairly simple. Those who Arkham considered benign were kept on floor ward A. The slightly more aggressive were kept on ward B. The big name serial killers and such were kept on ward C. Finally, the monsters that ran around killing anything that moved were kept on ward D. These were the patients who also had a knack for escaping.
***
"Now, Dr. Quinzel, do you fully understand what you are asking of me?" His taut face seemed almost sunken. I chewed my gum absently, trying to imagining what he would first say to me when we met. "Yes, sir." Arkham frowned. "Do you know how many of his doctors have ended up here? Or worse?" He feigned fatherly concern but I knew he was just trying to avoid a lawsuit. No one cared unless they wanted something in return. "Yes, Dr. Arkham. If he gets too spirited you will be alerted, trust me." In your dreams. I finally had a chance to both prove myself and to meet him, no way was I blowing this. "If you insist, Dr. Quinzel. Though I am allowing this, I do NOT approve." The other doctors were probably already pooling to see how long it would take until I would crack.
The next week, two burly guards shuffled him into my office. He ignored them and smiled brightly. Tousled green hair fell over his face, which was slathered in greasepaint. I had to fight the urge to ask where he got these things in the Asylum. I as they secured his hand that they had also bound his feet in chains. After the men had left, I was at a loss as of what to say. We sat a whole five minutes in silence.
"It's not polite to stare, Doc." He said eventually. I cleared me throat as twenty different responses tumbled in my head. "My apologies, Mr. Joker." I tried my best to sound professional. He saw right through it all and just smiled.
