Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Dr. Bartholomew, Mad Hatter, Scarecrow or the Ventriloquist. They belong to DC Comics and Warner Brothers. Nor do I own any of the quoted poems used in this chapter. Those belong to Lord Byron and Lewis Carroll ("Hunting of the Snark, " "Fury and the Mouse" and "Jabberwocky")

Jervis laid on his cot, his arms behind his head, staring up above him like a stargazer. But instead of stars, there was only a discolored ceiling. A discolored ceiling with eight… No, nine brownish stains caused by leaks. Yes, he had counted the stains; that's how wretchedly bored he was. Dinner wasn't for another- what? Two hours? (Being unaware of the exact time was a downside of not being trusted with things such as wristwatches.) There was, of course, the thousand piece puzzle that the doctors had given him. He had already completed it; he had completed it four or five times, in fact. Jervis was slightly offended by the silliness of being given such a thing and found the jigsaw puzzle to be entirely pointless and unchallenging. Frankly, he was in no mood to again assemble the pieces and left the battered box underneath the cot. Nothing left to do except let his mind wander aimlessly, but before Jervis could sink into a world of wonderment, an obviously bored Jonathan averted his attention.

"Who killed Cock Robin?" The Mad Hatter turned his head. The Scarecrow, like himself, was staring up at the ceiling while chanting softly to himself. "I, said the Sparrow, with my bow and arrow."

And then came the March Hare from several cells down. She spoke out fairly loudly so that she could be also be heard. "Who killed John Keats? I, says the Quarterly, so savage and tartarly."

Jervis felt the need to participate. With a Cheshire-ish grin, he chimed, "You may charge me with murder, or want of sense-"

His was interrupted by a voice that shouted out crossly, "Shut up, all of ya's. Sheesh, ya bunch of jerks."

The Scarecrow reacted badly to this bit of rudeness. "Do not tell me to shut up," he warned threateningly. He did not raise his voice, but he spoke in a tone that was cold enough to freeze the harbor. "Never tell me to shut up, you mindless marionette-"

"Yeah, and what are ya gonna do about it, Twigs? You like rhyming so much? How about this? Crane, Crane, 'bout to be slain!" Or "Killed by a puppet cause he couldn't shut it!"

"Please, Mr. Scarface… Don't you know what that man is capable of?"

"SHUT UP!" Arnold Wesker let out a terrified whimper. "How many times do I have to tell ya? I'm the brains 'round here and you are just the hired help. Do I make myself clear, Dummy?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, s-sir, Mr. Scarface."

"Now that's more like it. I don't want ya treating me with no disrespect."

"I wonder what it is that your little doll fears most, Wesker?" Scarecrow taunted. Another faint snivel of terror was heard; Jonathon grinned nastily at the sound. "Or should I say, what you fear most? Losing your little toy perhaps? There are many things that can destroy wood, you know. Termites… A heated furnace… A lighted match… A flock of woodpeckers…"

"Y-you wouldn't!" the old man sputtered.

"What would happen to you if your boss was reduced to a pile of ash?" Scarecrow goaded. "What would happen to you then?" He didn't want for an answer. "You'd be all alone. Just a sick, lonely, frightened old man."

Jervis could see Scarecrow smile exultantly upon hearing the timorous Wesker's sob. He subsequently gazed down the hallway and into the Ventriloquist's cell, expecting to find a panic-stricken Arnold. Sure enough, the old man was crouched on the floor with one arm flung over his eyes. His other arm was operating the puppet- a puppet who was also wearing an asylum uniform. Jervis had a strange urge to laugh; he probably would have had the this scene not been so… pitiful.

"Please," Wesker sniveled. He began to rock back and forth. "Please, Mr. Scarecrow, Mr. Scarface didn't mean to offend you, honest!"

That was followed by "SHUT UP!" There was a thud; Arnold let out a cry of pain. "Enough with the waterworks. Can't you see he's bluffin'?"

They all seemed to hear the sound of footsteps at that very moment. Jonathan fixed his gaze onto the ceiling, a ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. A gulping Arnold tried to repress his wails.

"Yo, chief!" Scarface barked. "Ya gotta do something about that bundle of straw over there. He keeps threatenin' me!"

Jervis heard Dr. Bartholomew let out a sigh like a teacher about to break up a fight between two squabbling children. "Please, Mr. Crane. Do not provoke Mr. Wesker-"

"Mr. Wesker, my wooden ass! It's me he's been insultin', not Jerk-Face here!"

"How did you get those bruises, Mr. Wesker?" Dr. Bartholomew suddenly demanded.

"What? Oh… I, uh, I-I tripped," Arnold stammered with another noisy sniffle. He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. "I tripped and I fell-"

"You tripped?" the doctor repeated suspiciously. "I find that rather hard to believe. My guess is that those bruises were self-inflicted." His composed voice became severe. "If you can't control your friend, I'm afraid I have no choice but to remove him from your cell. You're the one in control, Mr. Wesker. Not him."

"Oh, yeah?" Scarface challenged. "If Dummy here says he tripped, he tripped! Jeez Louise. I didn't do nothin'! I gotta listen to Haystack quotin' Mother Goose and then that broad opposite of me keeps blabberin' all that poetry rubbish-" Something like a book being thrown against the glass was heard. The puppet cackled. "Don't like that, do ya, Doll-Face? As I was sayin', Chief, those two goons are yackin' and then Hats down there joins in. I try to say somethin' 'bout it and Stick Boy threatens me… And whatta I get when I brings this to your attention? Ya point that finger at me and accuse me of things I ain't done! Ya know what? I hope ya do remove me! Ya think I like bein' here to baby-sit this jerk? The truth is, Doc, we both know that ain't gonna happen. I know all 'bout Dummy here refusin' to eat without me and- Where ya goin,' ya quack! I ain't done talkin' yet!"

Jervis was too busy listening to the Ventriloquist's rant to realize that his cell door was being opened. The doctor along with four guards entered. "There really is no room for all of you," the Mad Hatter reprimanded loftily. "Is there a problem?"

"I regret to say that there is," Dr. Bartholomew answered. "It has come to our attention that you have talked about building another mind control mechanism. That's just as serious as concealing a weapon and I am unwilling to take any chances. Therefore I have no choice but have your cell searched as well as-" the doctor uncomfortably tugged at his tie "-have you undergo a cavity search. If you don't mind stepping this way…"

Jervis bit down on his lip in angry degradation and passively exited. In the opposite cell Jervis could see the Scarecrow looking pointedly away; further down the March Hare had her arms tightly wrapped around herself. She too was sparing him from further embarrassment by avoiding eye contact. He mentally began to recite Fury and the Mouse ("I'll be judge, I'll be jury, said the cunning old Fury.") as he was lead to a small room where some doctor Jervis had never seen before stood waiting. It began with his ears being examined and when the doctor switched on a flashlight and instructed, "Head back," he complied, reluctantly permitting the nostrils to be searched followed by the inside of the mouth. Truthfully, this part wasn't so terrible; it was no more intrusive than a routine checkup. However, when ordered to strip down, a blotchy flush spread across Jervis's face. He slowly removed his clothes and adamantly insisted on folding them. It was an absurd thing to do, but this finicky habit was a difficult one to break, plus it conveniently served as a stall tactic. Jervis proceeded to squeeze his eyes shut and muttered faintly to himself as the examination became more invading. "Beware the Jubjub bird…" He gritted his teeth as his entire figure shuddered. "…And shun the furious Bandersnatch."

Jervis was accompanied back to C-Block once the inspection was over. There two people were having a heated argument- Scarface and March Hare by the sounds of it- and their voices were echoing throughout the corridor. Triggered by the shouts, the deranged idiot whose cell was next to Jervis's increased the noise even further by pounding his fists against the glass. Jervis was quickly ushered into his cell as the guards attempted to quiet them down. He would have thrown himself on his cot, only his old cot was missing, replaced by one stained with what looked like human excrement. Disgusted with such filth, Jervis moved away from the urine-soaked mattress. He drifted towards the glass and peered down the aisle only to see a stoical Arnold holding Scarface.

The Ventriloquist had manipulated the puppet's hand so that it was rolled into a shaking fist. "I'm warnin' ya, Doll-Face. Ya better keep that trap of yours shut-"

March Hare laughed delightedly. "What are you going to do? Give me a splinter?" She added fuel to the fire by applauding. "This is more amusing than a Punch and Judy show! Come on, come on! How about a song? Oh, I've got an idea! How about 'Hi-Lili, Hi-Lo'?"

The guards' batons struck the glass in front of their cells. "CUT THE CRAP, THE BOTH YOU!"

"They've been at it since you left," Jonathan said to Jervis. "I am not exactly sure how it started, but my guess is that the Ventriloquist was retaliating because of the things I had said earlier." The grin on his thin face indicated that the Scarecrow was anything but sorry. "I must say that it was an excellent source of entertainment while it lasted."

Jervis shrugged in response before strolling over to the corner of his cell. He gave a backwards glance, saw that the hall was clear of guards, and fingered the brick with the zigzag chiseled into it. Quickly he loosed the block to reveal the hidden compartment. Yes, it was all there, little odds and ends had had collected: pieces hastily filched when a guard accidentally dropped and shattered a walkie-talkie, a few strips of tinfoil, a couple of rubber bands. Jervis put the brick back in place and once again thanked the previous occupant of this cell. He could not help scoffing at the laughable Arkham security as he wondered away from his secret stockpile. Still giving his cot a wide berth, Jervis eyed the cell only discover that two of the March Hare's mechanical toys had been taken. He no longer had the mouse or the oyster, but there was still the one that she had given to him earlier that day. Jervis removed his hat, turned it upside-down and peeled back the silk lining. A tiny spool-sized tortoise was hidden there. He looked at it inquiringly for a moment before gingerly giving it's head a pert tap. The shell sprung open to reveal an opening that was large enough to hold a pill. Inside, there was a single button cell battery that probably came from some portable electronic. A wristwatch perhaps, or maybe a calculator. It would be highly useful.

Jervis grinned and concealed the tiny mechanism back inside his top hat. "We called him tortoise because he taught us," he said out loud to nobody in particularly.

Author's note: I'm kind of wondering whether or not I should give this story an "M" rating. I would like to mention that I did not include the cavity search merely for shock value. Believe me, I was squirming while writing this and tried to make it as tactful as possible. I'm only trying to make this story somewhat realistic. Truthfully, I don't know anything about prisons. However, I do remember the stories my old Criminal Justice teacher used to tell and yes, a few of them were about cavity searches.

The "Hi-Lili, Hi-Lo" bit is from the movie Lili. It's not exactly a well-known film, but it is a favorite of mine. It involves puppets and so I couldn't resist throwing in that reference.

Also, I apologize for Scarface's painfully bad poetry. That was seriously the best I could come up with.

As always, reviews will be greatly appreciated.