"Confession is always weakness. The grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence."
~ Dorothy Dix
Chapter 9 – A Question for an Answer
"Iris, are you listening?"
"I've been listening for the thirty minutes and forty three seconds that you have been regaling me with the details of our sessions, Dr. Sunshine," Iris said, stretching her arms high above her head before folding them casually behind her head, "Is there anything else you wish to explain in great length to me before we move on?"
The blonde doctor sighed heavily, but her determination to prevail over this girl's stubbornness won out over the frustration and exhaustion, "Now then…since you have no questions, I've decided to just jump right into things. I know you and Professor Jonathan Crane have been having a physical relationship. There's no point in denying it, so—"
"I have never once denied it, Dr. Sunshine," Iris said calmly, "The doctors, orderlies, and guards in this fine establishment," the doctor noted her obvious sarcasm, "Simply do not know what happens between Professor Crane and I because, for one thing, it is none of their business, and second, they have never asked."
"You are, of course, aware of Gotham City's law regarding—"
"Those laws ceased to have any sort of impact the minute I became a patient at Arkham, Doctor," Iris interrupted with the same serene tone, "You should know that."
"Iris, sweetheart…" she sighed slightly at the young girl's dark glare with the pet name, "Honey, I think you'll find that I'm different than the other doctors here…I want to be your friend."
"That's not the job of doctors at Arkham," she said, but there was a softer tone to her voice, something Amy Sunshine did not fail to notice, "Joan has won my respect after six months of trying, and that's a record, believe me."
There was a long pause, and the blonde sighed heavily. She had heard of Iris DeLaine's resistance to therapy methods; after all, it was truly infamous to any doctor considering employment at Arkham Asylum. She had been observing the girl in the two weeks that she had been there, and all she had noticed was her blatant, even furious, contempt for the faculty and staff alike. She'd tried to make notes, but that would have required spying on her, and the point was to earn her trust, not create a series of events that would destroy any chance of gaining that trust. But…she thought to herself grimly, it didn't appear that she would be doing anything with her any time—
"What do you want to know?"
If she had not seen Iris' lips move, she would have convinced herself that she was hearing things. Her mouth hanging slightly agape, eyes staring at her rather stupidly for what seemed an eternity. Finally, the silence was broken as the young girl leaned forward, turning her body around to rest her elbows on the edge of the desk. Baby blue eyes met vivid sapphire, "You heard me correctly," she spoke, voice no higher than a whisper, "What do you want to know?"
She swallowed for a moment, wetting her lips weakly. She had never felt this frightened, and she could not explain it. She wanted to know, but did she dare reach her hand into this Pandora's Box? After another few minutes, she took a long breath, and took what small hold she still had on control over this situation, "Why would you give me these secrets?" she asked, "Why would you trust so easily after barely two weeks?" could it be? Was Iris finally caving, prepared to take the first steps to full recovery?
"Ask your questions,"
Amy chose to stop delaying and begin questioning before Iris closed herself up for good. Consulting her small, cheap leather bound notebook for some of the many questions she wished to ask the young girl, the doctor made the conclusion that jumping right into the serious questions would only destroy her chances at digging through Iris' mental and emotional walls. Instead, she decided to begin with some simpler questions…or at least, the subject that was foremost on her mind.
"Iris…I'd like to speak to you about your relationship with Professor Jonathan Crane."
For all her childish apparel, her speech that lacked maturity and diction that would suggest she had a higher degree of education than a twelve year old…Amy Sunshine was finally proving to have some sort of professional demeanor. Iris privately confessed herself impressed at how pleasant company the woman was once her attitude was somber. Or at least, she would have been even more intriguing had she not been set on prying open every door to Iris' past.
But two could play this game.
"Tell me, Iris…" she said, looking over her notebook at the teenager, "How did it all begin?"
She settled back, looking at the doctor with calm eyes, "I think you already know the answer to that question, Amy. It is no secret on the fine campus of Gotham State as to the nature of our relationship."
"It is no secret that you were Professor Crane's student—his best student, in fact," the doctor said, looking down at her scribbled notes for reference, "You spent all your studies with him…he was your counselor, head of your designated area of study…" her eyebrows rose slightly, "I confess, Iris…your relationship with him is quite impressive…"
"It was also entirely innocent," she said calmly, pressing her fingers together to create a steeple beneath her chin, "You would be as convinced of that simple truth as you are of the lies which Dr. Long has contrived…if you were willing to actually listen, but I have grown weary of expecting that from people."
Amy stopped. Suddenly, her curiosity for Iris' relationship with her professor dwindled away and faded entirely, replaced by a stronger sense of wondering as Iris, yet again, stated her blatant distrust of people. Closing her notebook slowly, she leaned forward, "Iris…honey, who hurt you?"
Whatever question she had been expecting, it was clear instantly that Iris was not anticipating that question. There was a flicker that passed through her eyes, then she gave her head a light, dismissive shake and looked back at the doctor, "What does that matter?"
"Iris…no one ends up in Arkham at your age and demonstrates this…well, lack of emotion without some impact from your childhood." She leaned closer, "Was it your parents, sweetheart? Are they the ones who did this to you?"
Iris looked at her, then gave a soft sigh, "How do I know I can trust you?" she asked, voice as soft as ever.
"You can trust me, honey…I promise. Did your parents hurt you?" she felt her breath catching slightly, feeling the anticipation equivalent with that one experiences just before the roller coaster takes that wild dive off the platform. A moment's pause, and then Iris finally looked at her.
"They…they were good for a while." She admitted slowly, chewing her lower lip slightly, "My parents stayed in my life…for a couple years, and they were good parents. They taught me to walk, to read, to dress myself…all of that was done as a family, just the three of us. I'm…I'm an only child, you see, so…I didn't have to worry about not having my parents' attention. And it was wonderful…it was like a fairytale, really. Like we were living in a play…" she gazed up with a dreamy look in her eyes, "So many other kids who had parents…parents with those kind of jobs—the really good paying ones…they seemed to be so lonely, hurt and broken because they never got to see their parents. But I was different…Momma and Papa and I…we always had fun. They were always smiling, always happy…always so loving."
She sighed softly, the dreamy look fading away, "But…things happened."
"What things?"
Another sigh, "Things…Daddy was so busy with work…he started to work late, very late. And Momma…well, she lasted a little while longer, but she became tired…so tired all the time. I tried to make her happy again. I tried to get her to play with me. We could always play. But Momma didn't want to play anymore. She spent all her time in bed. I tried to take care of her while Daddy was gone, but…well, I wasn't a very good nurse…not at that age anyway…not when I was only seven years old." She leaned her head against the chair, looking out the window, "And then Momma got sicker and sicker…she had to go to the hospital a lot. Daddy visited her almost every day…sometimes spending the night when she started living over there. Because he was gone so much, Daddy hired me a babysitter, but she wasn't nice. She spent all her time talking on the phone, one boy after another. Then she started bringing the boys home with her. Well, not exactly…I mean, she'd never let Daddy see her bring a boy over, but once he was gone, they were together, and I was locked in my room. But I could hear them through the floors." She shuddered, "The noises they would make…I didn't understand it, and I didn't want to understand it. In fact, I didn't want to understand it so much that…well…"
"Go on, Iris…it's alright, you can speak freely here." Amy said, not looking up from her notebook, where the pen was flying.
"Well…it's just…when I got older…when I got my very first boyfriend, I was thirteen…" she drew in her lower lip, "I knew Daddy didn't like him. He was five years older than me. But he was nice…he liked to buy me gifts…a lot of gifts, pretty things…like jewelry and those things. Oh, and he bought me clothes! Lots of clothes! I liked them…they were so pretty. I wanted to give him something in return…so…so I gave myself. He liked that…a lot. He started wanting his gift every night. And I gave it. He deserved it…for being so nice…that is…"
"That is, what?"
"That is…until he left me, for some other girl. She was older, prettier than me. He bought her nice things too. He liked her just like he said he liked me. I thought…I thought I was special. And every man I've ever been with…they're all the same. People tell me that I should look for better men, and I am! I'm trying…but it just doesn't seem like they're out there…I guess…I guess I'm just not…good enough."
She had broken off into soft, whimpering sobs. Amy dove for the tissues, handing Iris one and giving her a maternal look of sympathy, "Oh, there, there, there, Iris…you'll find someone. I know you will."
"Y-you really think s-so?" she sniffled into the tissue, "W…what if I've just…given up trying…?" there was something off about her, Amy noticed, as she lifted her head from her hand. Her eyes and face were dry…not a tear stain on her cheek, no redness in the eyes. She took the tissue and dabbed away a loose eyelash, and Amy saw the tissue was completely dry, just like her face. Iris looked up at her slowly, lips slowly curving up into a lazy smile, "Or is there another reason you're still single, Dr. Sunshine?"
The silence in the office was suffocating, crushing down upon the doctor as she slowly absorbed all that she had just heard over the last fifteen minutes…all the notes she'd taken—her eyes jerked down to the notepad, going back over what she'd written. Her handwriting seemed unfamiliar to her…rushed, messy and blurred. She ought to have noticed…too many similarities…too many common threads…too many bridges suddenly constructed between their lives. Swallowing slowly, she looked back up at Iris.
"You know, Amy…I have to admit I am impressed at the challenge you gave me. All of the others—Bartholomew, Joan…I can read them like a neon billboard, but you…no…" she shook her head, smiling lazily, "No, you are quite the tricky one to read. I actually thought you would be the easiest thing in the world to get a blueprint on, but you fooled me! Congratulations, my dear Amy!" she applauded her enthusiastically, "Well done, well done indeed! Never thought someone would actually prove me wrong, and here you are! But, all the same, it was nothing that couldn't be cured with a little tidbit of close and personal examination…noting the slightest detail about you. Oh, it took quite a while—yes, I know you've only been here three weeks, but that, my dear girl, is the longest it's ever taken me to get an idea of a person."
Her smile widened all the more, seeming more and more cunning by the passing second, "Poor girl…it must have hurt to watch the fairytale break apart like you did, wasn't it? To watch Momma succumb to illness as she did—I'm suspecting cancer was the culprit, no? And to watch Daddy lose his strength, and eventually his job…all because he was being a proper husband? A good and faithful lover to the woman he'd sworn his love and devotion to…till death do us part…and how did the company reward him? By announcing with no warning whatsoever that he was being fired. Yes, fired. After all those years of service…all the hard work he'd done, often not even taking credit for it…it was all being tossed away, like a used tissue. And Amy was left out in the cold…without a father, soon without a mother…no one to guide her, to help her make decisions in this world. And then to lose her virginity at the tender age of thirteen, to some selfish pig of a boy who just wanted his rocks off…you'd given him everything when you took him to your bed, didn't you, Amy?" she leaned closer, voice lowering slightly, "You didn't want it to be in the back seat of a car, or on the couch…you wanted to do it properly, to make it mean something. He didn't even care, did he? He just wanted his romp and then pack up and go. But you were so convinced that he loved you, weren't you? That's why you never, ever denied it to him when he wanted it. And how does he repay you? By running off with some billboard model creature with all the man's needs in one package—physically speaking, that is. And Amy had her heart broken again. You've never taken the chance again, have you, Amy? Here at the tender age of twenty-eight, and you have never had a real boyfriend…mere pick-ups at the local bars."
"But," she continued, "Let me tell you, Amy…this…bar-trolling exercise of yours…it's another excuse to hide behind. You are perfectly capable of finding someone, if you really wanted to. And you do want to, but you've spent the better part of fifteen years convincing yourself otherwise, haven't you? That's a dangerous card to hold, Amy…a very dangerous hand to deal…and a deadly game to play. Lying to yourself…that's the name of the game…and it will soon enough be your cause of death if you're not careful. So…heed my advice, Amy dear…after all, the only thing we have to fear…is fear itself. Let us not forget the noble words of dear President Roosevelt."
A knock came at the door, "Pardon me, Dr. Sunshine, but DeLaine's hour is up…we've got to take her back to the cell."
"Excellent timing, gentlemen," Iris said, standing and twirling herself towards the door, "Then we shall be on our way, won't we?"
"One…one moment more, Iris." Amy said, standing as well, using her desk as support, "You never answered my question…did your parents hurt you?"
"M…Mommy?"
Tiny fingers pressed to the cracked door, pushing it open slowly to reveal what lay inside—or rather who. A man, tall, burly, and reeking blatantly of alcohol, was on his knees, grinning obscenely, his body jerking forward repeatedly. The cries coming from the woman beneath him were nauseating to hear…something she had once accidentally heard in a pornography film. The girl shrank back as she saw the face of the woman beneath the ape of a man—
"Mother?" she called out.
The man looked shocked, and irate, but his reaction was nothing compared to her mother's. Before movement had even registered in her developing brain, she found her hair caught in her mother's vicious fist, and she was on her knees, bare skin being cruelly rubbed against the firm bristles of the carpet. Her small hands grasped onto her mother's fist—begging to be set free, trying to loosen the grip—she didn't know which.
"Mother, PLEASE! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I swear, I won't do it again! Please let me go!! Please, Mother, please! It hurts!"
"You have no conception of pain, little wench! But I'll show you…" she seemed to relish the shriek of pain as her daughter's head came in contact with the jutting corner of the kitchen island counter, "How dare you, Iris?! I told you to stay in your room!"
"Mother, please…please, I hate it in there…it scares me! Please, let me stay upstairs!! Please!!!"
SLAP! "Shut up, shut up, you miserable little…" her voice trailed off as those sharp blue eyes found a large knife, resting on the edge of the sink from today's breakfast preparation. She grasped it, looking carefully over it, then smiling slowly, lazily, "And to think…I was going to call you a bitch. You don't deserve to be called a bitch…look at you, little…thing. You're not even feminine. Such a disappointment. How could you fail so pitifully with my genes? You disgrace!" a slap and a whimper, "Well…if you're not going to get my beauty…" her free hand grasped the front of the neat plaid jumper and white top, ripping it away to bare a thin little chest, "Why bother considering yourself female at all?"
The knife lowered down, towards the heaving chest.
Pleading hands were grasped in the free hand, unable to move for protection.
Lower…
"Mother…Momma, please! Please, please, please!! I'll be good, I'll be good!!"
Lower…
"Mommy!!"
The cold blade touched the heaving chest.
"PLEASE!!!!"
The blade cut deep. Blood rose. Screams.
"If you want to pry and poke in someone else's personal life, Doctor," Iris said calmly, turning and facing the blonde doctor, "Try with someone else. I'm not interested."
"Tell me." She said, shaking slightly now, "Was…was any of that…any of that story you told…was any of it true…for you?"
Iris turned and looked back at the guards, ready to be returned to her cell…to the privacy of her own thoughts.
"Maybe some of it was. Maybe all of it was. Or…maybe none of it was."
