Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Joan Leland, Dr. Bartholomew, Mad Hatter or Scarecrow. They belong to DC Comics and Warner Brothers. Nor do I own any of the quoted poems used in this chapter. Those belong to Edgar Allen Poe ("The Raven"), Lord Byron ("Don Juan"), Rudyard Kipling ("Gentlemen Rankers") and Samuel Taylor Coleridge ("Rime of the Ancient Mariner").
Water filtered out of the shower head, splattering against the back of her drenched head. Harriet mentally prepared herself by coming up with possible answers to the possible questions that she might be asked. Hot water was limited. With its concrete floors and walls, the shower soon turned brutally cold. Harriet hastily scrubbed herself with soap and shampooed her hair. She was shivering by the time she stepped out. With her teeth chattering and her skin raw, Harriet quickly changed into the thrift-store produced dress that had been provided for her. She towel dried her hair (hairdryers were prohibited) and tied it back with a ribbon. Leland had given her a tube of lipstick for this occasion; Harriet shakily applied the pink color to her mouth with a hand that wasn't trembling because of the temperature.
"Nervous, nervous, why am I so nervous?" she asked the mirror. If she was truly crazy, her mirrored self would have answered. Only it didn't. It merely stood there: pale and frightened and tired-looking. A sleepless night resulted in a pair of bloodshot eyes. "By Poe's writing desk, why am I so nervous?" She giggled even though there wasn't anything funny about the situation. "Why, I wonder, is a raven like a writing desk?"
The hearing was held on the first floor of the asylum. She was escorted there by a pair of orderlies and Dr. Leland, waiting for her outside the door, gave her a belittling pat on the shoulder. Harriet resisted the urge to shrug the hand off.
She was immediately introduced to a room of psychiatrists and board members. Or rather Harriet was seated in front of these people while Leland presented her. Yesterday that Scarecrow fellow had warned her about being like an ant underneath a magnify glass. That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all. It was more like being some rare species of moth and for one horrible moment Harriet truly believed that they were all going to withdraw pins and fasten her to that chair just so they could further examine her. Leland gave them her name, age and history, followed by a lengthy psychological explanation of her crimes. It really was as though Harriet was some unknown species of insect that she- Dr. Leland- had spent months scrutinizing. Leland, oblivious to her patent's uneasiness, continued to give her colleagues a thorough analysis on Harriet. Harriet tried to concentrate less on Leland's speech and focus more on the view outside the window, but every now and then words such as "delusional" and "paranoia" would capture her attention. Focus on the window, Harriet advised herself, and not the doctor. Outside snow was falling; it was as if Mother Nature was attempting to create a Winter Wonderland in celebration of the Christmas season. Harriet caught herself smiling at the word "Wonderland" and thought of how she wanted nothing more than to flee to that world of nonsense. Just then Leland and concluded with the statement of "used fictional books as a means to escape from reality."
Leland proceeded to give a positive speech about Harriet's progress. "Miss March has participated in numerous therapy classes," the doctor ended, "and has been an admirable role model for many of the other inmates."
They nodded approvingly, all except for the man wearing a red and white striped tie. "I heard she did severe damage to another woman her first morning here."
That she heard entirely. An indignant Harriet opened her mouth to reply, but Leland beat her to it. "My patient was only trying to defend herself. She did not start the fight."
Harriet bristled in frustration. She was capable of defending herself and therefore did not need Leland's assistance. She also did not appreciate the way they were discussing her like she wasn't even there, or did they think that she was too stupid to understand? Harriet vowed not to let them get by with it; she'll prove to them that she wasn't some brainless moth.
The man with the candy cane tie was not convinced. "And what about Lawrence Frizzle? Tell me, Miss March, do you regret your actions against him?"
"If he is innocent, then I regret it deeply," she answered. "If not... Well, I've got to say that no, I don't regret a thing." Harriet knew at once that she had said the wrong thing. The board members were shaking their heads and muttering amongst each other. Harriet's face turned red because of her folly.
"So you took it upon yourself to punish him for his so-called crimes." The candy cane man smiled smugly. "For your information, Miss March, the Arkham staff do not appreciate vigilantes."
"None of you seem to object to Batman," Harriet argued. "Isn't he the reason why half the people here are the way we are?"
"I beg your pardon, but did you say 'we'? I find it troubling that you still equate yourself with the inmates." And then, just to further his point that Harriet could not function in society, the smug little man added, "I also heard that she befriended the Mad Hatter."
"That's not a crime, is it?"
The man looked sternly back at her. "Jervis Tetch is a criminal. And I must say that I am deeply disturbed that you associate with the likes of him."
A multitude of rhythmical phrases surged through her head; Harriet held them back. Bad habit, bad habit, she must repress it. Her fists stiffened so tightly that the nails dug into the flesh. That was all she could do. Slowly her hands unclenched, leaving behind little crescent-shaped sores. "You put me in an asylum, and then you have the nerve to criticize me for associating with the insane?"
A short, kind-faced doctor spoke up. "No one is criticizing you, Miss March." He was using the same appeasing tone of someone attempting to prevent a toddler from throwing a temper tantrum.
"I am not a child," Harriet said.
"No one said that you were."
"And I can be friends with whoever I want."
"Yes, you can, Miss March."
The man with the peppermint tie then said, "Are you trying to tell me, Dr. Bartholomew, that the fact that she correlates with a member of Rouge Gallery doesn't bother you?" Before Dr. Bartholomew could answer, he asked Harriet, "What exactly do you two talk about?"
"That," she answered through gritted teeth, "is none of your business."
"Please, Miss March, answer Dr. William's question."
"Of course," she answered with a false smile and in a mock thoughtful voice she continued. "Hmmm... Let's see... Mechanical mice, mashed potatoes..." Harriet began ticking them off on her fingers. "Madness, monsters and masks... All things that start with M."
The smug little man did not look amused. "Just want the Dormouse said. Obviously she, like Mr. Tetch, is a fan of Carroll. Isn't that right, Miss March?"
She did not like where this was going. "He's not my topmost favorite, but yes."
He began to address the rest of the board. "Are you aware that Mr. Tetch calls her-" He let out a peculiar choking sound, like he was attempting to conceal a chuckle "-the March Hare?" He smiled triumphantly at Harriet's surprised expression. "I have it all here." The doctor held up a video tape and waved the criminalizing evidence. "Their conversations were captured by the surveillance camera. A number of those conversations revolve around Alice in Wonderland. I also have an audio recording."
There was a cassette player on the table. The man hit the play button and Jervis's voice was the first one heard. "I hope you don't mind my calling you the March Hare, m'dear. Just a simple term of endearment."
"No, no," came her recorded reply. "I don't mind." A brief pause. "Why do you like Alice in Wonderland so much?"
"It's hard to say exactly. As a child I enjoyed the mere unreality. As an adult… I felt a certain kinship with the characters. The Duchess for being so ugly; Alice for always saying the wrong thing; the Mad Hatter, the way he is so intimidated by his superiors, particularly the Queen and King of Hearts."
"I don't see anything wrong with that. I used to compare myself with Alice. I was so much shorter than the other girls until my growth spurt. Then I towered over most of them."
The man hit the stop button. "Apparently, Harriet March, or dare I say the March Hare, encourages Tetch's fantasies. An admirable role model, Dr. Leland? You must be joking."
For a moment Harriet could only stare at the tape.
"You're certainly nervier than hell," she said. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. It increasingly became louder. "You actually listened to almost every private conversation I had… You invaded my privacy. Yes, yes, Jervis and I talked about the book. What do you think I'm going to do next? Encourage the Mad Hatter to control the minds of every man, woman and child in Gotham?"
"It isn't appropriate to joke about such things, Miss March!"
"And it isn't appropriate for you to pry into my life, Dr. Williams."
Dr. Bartholomew cleared his throat. "That's enough, Robert. What you did was completely unnecessary. Their discussions are not dangerous- Indeed, they might in fact be entirely beneficial. She, after all, discovered the root for his obsession. Clearly you are trying to incriminate her-"
"And you, Bartholomew, are trying to coddle her!"
The barrier was deteriorating; Harriet made no attempt to refurbish it. She chirped happily, "You mustn't talk that way to your colleagues, Bob." And then, in a singsong voice, she added, "You, Bob, are rather insolent, you know." The haughty little man was struggling to control his temper, but her poetic taunt sparked his irritation.
Robert Williams pointed an accusing finger. "You see! You see what you let these miscreants get by with!" It was impossible to tell who made him angrier: Harriet or Dr. Bartholomew.
"We're poor little lambs who've lost our way. Baa! Baa! Baa! We're little black sheep who've gone astray! Baa-aa-aa!"
"AND YOU DO NOTHING!" Dr. Williams roared. "It's your fault that these animals don't mend their ways. You baby them and then you release them. And then before you know it they are once again wrecking havoc-"
"I said that's enough!" Dr. Bartholomew demanded. The other board members looked from him to Dr. Williams and back again to Dr. Bartholomew. It was like they were watching a ping pong match.
Dr. Williams rose heatedly from his chair.
Harriet emulated his action.
"Robert, have a seat," Dr. Bartholomew instructed. "You too, Miss March."
Harriet ignored the command.
"Nightmare Life-In-Death was she," Harriet chanted, her honeyed tone greatly conflicting with the gruesomeness of her words. "Who thicks man's blood with cold." And she nimbly bounded over the table as she lunged for the doctor. They both toppled over. With a single knee digging into his chest, Harriet hissed, "I do not like it when people insult me." She gave him a stinging slap across the face. "I do not it when people criticize my choice of friends"- slap "-or call them miscreants-" slap "-or say that they are criminals-" slap "-or scrutinize-" slap "-every word I say." Harriet sprung up to her feet with the quickness of a jack-in-a-box. She really had no intention of attacking anyone else, but they didn't know that. Three or four orderlies wrestled to the floor so that they could place a straitjacket on her.
"Clearly, Miss March is in no condition to leave Arkham," Dr. Bartholomew said wearily as Harriet was escorted away. He glared callously at a disheveled Dr. Williams. "I hope you are satisfied, Bob."
