Rose, Rose, Rose Red
Chapter Six: She's Long Gone
It was almost as if she was five years old again, getting vaccinated at the pediatrician's office. Unlike her younger self, she didn't whimper or struggle. But there was still that disturbing second when the needle punctured the skin in her arm, and she had the ominous sensation that something foreign was entering her body. She'd hated it then, and she disliked it now, even as she told herself that it was all fine. She would be all right, this was going to help, strange as it seemed.
About a minute later, 'help' seemed very strange indeed.
The room grew dark - darker than any place on the earth could be. She couldn't have seen her hand if she waved it in front of her face, not that she was trying to. She was distracted, distracted by the presence of things too horrible to be named. The terrified feeling of being surrounded by evil threatened to overwhelm her as They circled her, Their feet dragging on the bare cement floor, Their breathing harsh, rasping, and utterly foul smelling. She couldn't see them, but all her other senses perceived them. Her body seemed to go slack, all her muscles refusing to obey her frantic commands. She was screaming at herself to do something, anything but sit here and wait for them to come for her.
The next minute, she was doing something, though not what she wanted to do. Her heart rate, before a loud drumbeat in her ears, became a frantic buzz. Her nerves grew raw, her breath shallow, and her muscles convulsed in unnatural rhythms. And They heard her: she could feel Thembreathing down her neck now, only to eager to crush and destroy. The malevolence in the air was almost tangible, and, had she had a firmer grasp on her mind, she would've sworn she saw this evil actually emanating from one of the presences in the room. It seemed the most aggressive, barely moving, but overflowing with something almost worse than the blind fury of the others - it knew her. Even as she stared blindly in its general direction, it disappeared; she knew, however, that it was not gone - it had just begun the hunt, and she was the prey.
She whimpered, and with that her mind let go of any coherent thought.
"Are you scared, little Marie?" A growling voice whispered behind her, and then she screamed. A chuckle sounded through the darkness, and she became aware of that singular presence again, now directly in front of her. "What's troubling you?" the voice mocked her, and she screamed again as razor sharp claws buried themselves in her chest, twisting her insides apart, destroying, breaking, hacking, burning, consuming...
Suddenly, the darkness receded a bit, and her agony seemed to dull. She managed to croak out two words from her torn-up throat "Dr. Crane?"
And then she saw him, crouching over her, his face inches from her own, his hair pointing in every direction, an expression of glee slowly draining from his face to be replaced with frustration. His features suddenly twisted and she shrank back as the darkness returned. She felt her thoughts slipping away again and could do nothing to resist. But even as this happened, she registered a small, painful prick on her arm. The world blurred painfully before slowly coming back into sharp focus as her eyes once again became aware of the fluorescent lights overhead.
She looked up at him, hoarsely whispered, "That was...odd," and fell off her chair, her muscles too exhausted to even hold her upright.
Damn, damn, damn. Damnation and damnit. That went well.
Jonathan strode briskly towards his office, acknowledging no one, mind working furiously while his body navigated SGA's corridors on autopilot.
What a disappointment the afternoon had been. An analysis of the blood sample he had taken from her would be needed confirm his suspicions, but the dose amount was evidently too low. Apparently, damaged minds needed less stimulus - she had shown, through her brief moment of clarity, that his medicine had not been potent enough for her mind. Thankfully, he had thought to bring a small amount of the toxin's antidote (conveniently diluted) with him. She would not suffer any damage from this session, but the fact that he had not given her a sufficient amount of the already weak antidote meant that he could repeat today's session with some improvements. He would get what he wanted in the end. Of that, there was never any doubt.
When he paid her his usual visit a few days later, she responded to his greeting with a rather clipped 'hi' and went back to fiddling with her knitting needles and yarn. She was obviously still shaken by the incident, and this time declined to take her usual seat across from him at the table. Jonathan regarded her figure, hunched in the corner on the floor, with a mixture of disdain and curiosity.
"I must apologize, Miss Johnson, for your unfortunate encounter the last time we met," he ventured, hoping to draw her into conversation. Silence greeted this particular attempt, so he tried again, "It appears that you reacted adversely to our treatment."
"Adversely?" she echoed in angry astonishment, dropping her needles. "Adversely? What the hell happened to me? What happened to my safety being the first priority?" Her dark eyes met his, filled with reproach. "I'm not doing that again," she said, surprisingly firm. He allowed himself a little sigh, taking off his glasses and placing them on the table. He looked her straight in the eye - Jonathan Crane did not back down, especially when so much was at stake.
"Miss Johnson, I must ask you to calm down or I will have to send for an orderly," he began, not so subtly reminding her that he was in charge. She took the hint and sat back down in her corner, her hands betraying her agitation as they fiddled with the needles. He steeled himself for a difficult conversation - he needed her cooperation, and in this state she was next to useless. He would tread carefully, speak gently, and hopefully get her into a better mood. It would not be easy, but it needed to be done.
"Now," he continued, "regarding Monday's session. It appears that you are allergic to a substance in the sedative I used. In most people, the drug has no effect other than the intended one. However," he raised his voice slightly as she gave a derisive snort, her behavior unusually bold. "In your case, this substance had the opposite effect - it prompted your body to release adrenaline instead of the correct chemical. This resulted in the unfortunate occurrences of our earlier session. You'll be glad to know that we have another medicine that will work just fine with your system, and I can safely promise you that we'll have no more repeats of what...happened last time," he finished rather lamely, annoyed to no end. He'd never spoken so unprofessionally in his entire life. It seemed to convince Marie, though, as she was nodding. That was good.
He started to pick up his briefcase, preparing to leave, but froze as he saw a frown crease her features.
"Why didn't you take a blood sample of mine beforehand?" she asked. "Isn't that the proper procedure, so you don't accidentally kill your patients when they're being treated?" He grimaced inwardly and began another lie.
"Miss Johnson, there are several blood test results on your medical records." This was true, but the facts presented there were entirely irrelevant to the effects of his concoction; it would theoretically work on anybody, and had not been proven wrong yet - thus any information about her blood was entirely superfluous. "According to your file, you should have had no problems with the medicine on Monday. That being said, mistakes happen. There was obviously a slip-up somewhere along the line, which regrettably resulted in this mess. I am sorry for the confusion you are experiencing right now, but we need to move forward, Marie," he congratulated himself on getting her attention, which had been lagging, by using her first name. That would throw her for a loop - he knew she would spend much of the day analyzing that sentence, trying to work out if he liked her or not. That would be most amusing - he loved playing with the female mind.
As amusing as that thought was, he managed to break out of his reverie long enough to realize that she was waiting patiently for him to continue. He gave her an approximation of a sympathetic and apologetic smile. "I know this is difficult for you, Marie, but we need you to cooperate if anything is going to improve."
"What if I don't want to improve?" she shot back at him in a manner any five-year-old would have been proud of. Now it was his turn to give her a reproachful look.
"I'm afraid, Miss Johnson, that that is not something you can decide right now," he said patronizingly, the tone of his voice hinting at disappointment. He watched her notice that he had addressed her formally again, smirking as he imagined her frantically trying to figure out how to win back his good favor, as she had obviously lost it. "The state-"
"-All right, all right," she broke in, clearly not wanting the conversation to continue. He looked inquiringly at her, and as she gazed at him her face fell. "Oh dear," she murmured, putting her face in her hands, "I'm so sorry. I'm tired, and I don't know what's going on with me, and I snapped, and..." she trailed off, obviously a bit overwhelmed.
"That's perfectly all right, Miss Johnson," he soothed. "I understand. Why don't I give you some time alone, and we'll talk again tomorrow, shall we?" She nodded slowly, looking up long enough to give him a wan smile.
Relieved, Jonathan collected his briefcase, glad to be back in control again. He wished her a pleasant rest of the day, and entered SGA's corridors, determined to finish the rest of his round before lunch.
As the last corner of his impossibly perfect suit disappeared into the hall and the door slammed shut behind him, she picked up her needles and began to knit. The steady rhythm of one stitch slipping gently over the other soon had her feeling calm and relaxed, and her mind wandered back to a time when she knew more than just the four bare walls of her asylum room.
Darling, what in the world are you making?
Oh nothing, mom. Just a scarf.
A scarf? You mean you're actually planning to wear it?
Yes, mom.
How novel! Kevin, do come see what she's making here - a real scarf!
The piece of fabric in her hand grew steadily longer as she moved into a trancelike state, a woman's hearty laughter echoing in her ears.
"Crane!"
It looked like Jonathan would not be finishing his rounds before lunch after all. Not with Miller around. The young doctor quickly arranged his features into a mask of indifference and turned to greet his colleague. "Yes, Dr. Miller?" he inquired, hoping the annoyance he felt was not making itself too evident in his voice. Apparently Miller didn't think so.
"Crane, I asked you for an evaluation of 12B two weeks ago. Where is it?" Miller sounded more rushed than usual, if that was possible. Jonathan pretended not to know what the man was talking about (by giving him a vague, unhelpful stare), solely for the sake of his own amusement. Miller was a fun one to piss off. Today, SGA's head did not disappoint. "Where is it, Crane?" he hissed loudly, his face nearly an amusing shade of purple. "I need it." A passing intern stared openly at the two men, obviously wondering what was going on.
"You need it?" Jonathan echoed, greatly amused. Miller didn't come close to begging often - this was a moment to be savored.
"Yes, I need it, Crane. For a hearing today - evidence, you know. Ms. Dawes requested it," Miller's eyes were shifting all over the place - he was not very good at improvising. Jonathan made a mental note to himself that whoever had paid him to cover for Marie was not very bright. Honestly. He was supposed to believe that the D.A.'s office was gathering evidence on the day of the hearing? Jonathan felt insulted.
"I'm afraid, Dr. Miller, that 12B's evaluation is in my office," he said. "Please excuse me. I'll get the paperwork to you immediately."
As he turned back in the direction of his office, Jonathan reflected happily that, while it had not been not his most coherent story, it had convinced Miller. Not that that was hard. Jonathan smirked, and began mentally running through patient evaluations in an attempt to find one which, with the name changed from 'Joe Patient' to 'Marie Johnson', would be convincing.
It was odd of Miller to follow through on the evaluation request. Marie had had no need for examination before. Jonathan had, until recently, assumed that he was supposed to take over her case and keep his mouth tightly shut. Now, he was not so sure. He needed to watch Miller closely, as nasty situations could grow out of this if left alone.
This was a tangled web indeed, but Jonathan was going to navigate it. He had to, for his own sake.
A/N: Just a quickie, as I'm pressed for time, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I liked writing it. Please review - tell me what you think about the other POV's and my OC, m'kay?
Cheers!
BB