Ello! Minion here! First I would like to thank all you wonderful readers and reviewers for following my humble yet demented story throughout its twists and moments of confusion-Hopefully I can clear some of that up with this update!

Speaking of which, this chapter has a few points I'd like to explain. While not obviously said, the majority of Revis' memory loss stems from the Electroconvulsive Therapy and seeing as I haven't undergone the treatment myself (and I hope I'll never have to x.x) I've relied on testimonies from those who have and I learned that memory loss may persist for a week or so at the least then return but any long-term gaps are simply gone. If I'm wrong then please correct me, it won't interfere with the story but I'd like to be as accurate as possibe within my writing. Another note on accuracy, the violence in the chapter is all based off of creative speculation due to my lack of expertise in these matters.

Secondly, I used exerpts from "Miss Lucy Had Some Leeches" by Emilie Autumn, the song is quite awesome and paced to a clapping game if anyone is interested in a bit of morbid fun.

Oh and as for my Halloween treat, it was complete but after reviewing it with the utmost unsatisfication I decided to make MANY revisions and the semi-oneshot will now be around 4-5 moderately sized chapters due the complexity in the plot and a desire to thoroughly disturb everyone and get a few laughs while I'm at it.

Also I do not own in any way, shape, or form Batman with that in mind, enjoy!

Chapter 8

...Days Later...

"Hey bitch, it's time for dinner," the gruff guard said while opening the door to my cell and shuffling inside.

It's been light for a few hours now...or was it seconds? Either way I was glad the beasts were gone...although I was beginning to miss the nightly terror. It seemed wrong if I wasn't lulled to sleep by a hoarse throat and the crushing headache derived from screaming.

I always did enjoy the strangest of things. But then again, I was contradicting...Perhaps the fear would be welcome now?

Nevermind that, I had company.

I looked at him solemnly.

"Cut it out freak, just take your grub and I'll leave."

I raised an eyebrow at him mockingly.

"What?"

"Unless you intend to spoon feed me, I suggest you untie me."

He cursed then spat and placed the tray on the ground before nearing me cautiously. He started with my legs then quickly untied my arms although he seemed to fumble with the bindings a bit.

He seemed awfully awkward around medical equipment and procedures for a guard...

I sat up achingly and waited for the proper blood flow to circulate.

"What are you waitin' for? Dig in," he snapped, clearly uneasy around me.

He was probably instructed to stay and watch me eat to ensure my 'health' although he was a bit tense for the job most guards seemed bored with.

I smiled sweetly, "Being tied up for days with only a few breaks has left me drained, would you be so kind as to hand the tray to me?"

He snorted, "Do I look like a butler to you?"

I didn't waver in my sweet smile so he spat again, on the food I noticed, then held out the tray.

I suppose Arkham was well prepared, even the trays were Styrofoam...Then again, they were stupid enough to serve me some lumpy perversion of soup.

Ignoring his impatient shuffling, I reached out a hand but instead of accepting the tray, I grabbed the Styrofoam cup, surprisingly steaming, and jerked my wrist so the watery soup flew into his face. If the temperature wasn't enough, the shock of being hit with a form of liquid would have caught him off guard anyway.

As expected, he brought his hands up to his face reflexively letting the tray fly toward the bed as he backed away unsteadily.

Not letting the situation come to an end, I lunged at him and succeeded in tackling him (face first I was happy to note) into the ground while I bashed his head into the floor harshly.

Well I guess I did lie about being drained of strength...

When he was dazed, I reached along the top of his bullet proof vest for the zip ties he kept on his suit. Not wanting to loose time, I bashed his head into the ground once more then managed to tie his wrists together behind his back.

Now the fun could begin.

I smiled although he couldn't see it, "You're truly a miserable human...In fact, I believe there's no need to justify your death—Well that is when you eventually die."

Giggling slightly, I ran my hands along his vest then stripped him of his weapons which consisted of an oddly shaped gun, short pocket knife, and a portable bottle of mouth wash.

What sort of Arkham guard was he?

Oh well, waste not want not...Then again, I didn't want to do anything but waste him.

He started to make some noise although the sputtering threats and muffled curses weren't so intimidating when he was helplessly bound.

Hmm, I think since he's a dirty, vile man, he'd benefit from some purging...

I easily heaved him up onto the padded bed after dodging the poorly aimed kicks and secured his legs into the bed's leather bindings. Now his hands would be tricky...

Oh well, there was never something as too much head trauma.

I pocketed the knife but then awkwardly grabbed the gun and held it up.

Hmm, how was I supposed know if it was loaded or at least how to check if it was when I hated guns?

He seemed panicked enough as he squirmed and pleaded in between curses, "Please, please don't," yet when I examined the gun some more then neared him, he changed to threats, "You filthy bitch, I'll kill you myself!"

I tilted my head questioningly, "How do you kill Death?"

His red, sweaty face scrunched up in confusion but I hit him harshly with the butt of the gun. He groaned and I saw my advantage.

Carelessly dropping the gun on the ground, I used the knife to cut the zip ties and easily restrain him with the leather bindings so graciously supplied by the bed.

"Y-You motherfucking," he paused to groan, "Y-You fucker; stupid cunt."

I raised an eyebrow then bent over once more to grab the mouth wash, "Such a dirty man...You've had impure thoughts from the moment we met. Then again, it wasn't too surprising. I could see the filth streaming off you as I choked you...Tell me, what might have possessed you to want to 'shove my cock down her throat so hard she'll bleed' ?"

His eyes widened, "Y-You bitch, how the hell did you know—"

"Oh I know enough..." I smiled down at him then raised the mouth wash, "But it seems you have a lot to learn...I'll leave your ears for last but now I want to focus on those beady little eyes of yours."

"Fuck you!" he yelled and spat on my face.

I glared at him and wiped away the saliva before descending on him. Holding his shoulders down further with one arm, I pocketed the mouth wash within the breast-pocket provided by my jumpsuit in exchange for the pocket knife with the other. With expert skill honed from years of wielding a variety of blades for entertainment, I flipped open the blade and held it in front of his face.

"You see while I have enough courtesy to allow those like 'The Joker' their own creativity, I'm not apart from," I paused trying to think of the appropriate word as I waved the blade in front of his face carelessly, "applying similar methods to my own work."

Whatever question he was about to ask was cut off as I roughly grabbed his chin with one hand and slowly, deeply dragged the knife over his lower lip. He tried to wail but that only stretched the cuts as he jerked under my touch.

I repeated the process on his upper lip with slightly difficult due to blood which filled his mouth and blocked my line of sight. When I was sure the pain would keep him from speaking, I wiped the blade on his sleeve then folded it together and placed it back in my pocket in favor of the mouth wash.

"Now where was I? Oh yes, your eyes..."

Without warning, I placed my hand around his right eye and held the eyelid back while I uncapped the bottle with one hand and steadily poured the liquid into his open eye.

Almost immediately he tried to jerk back, his mouth once more tearing as he yelled, but I kept his eye open to the irritating solution until half the bottle was spent. Allowing the teary, red eye to fester I repeated the process to the other.

This was all just a bit of fooling around—After all, mouth wash in the eye and a split lip wouldn't teach him a lesson...but I'd make sure he'd suffer.

…

I dare say the room was much better this way.

I smiled and felt the drying blood crack along my face (thankfully I wasn't wearing my glasses!).

Broken groaning sounded from the bed, drawing my attention to the nearly dead man who seemed so tired...so hopeless...so deliciously broken.

"P-Pleese, keel me," he spoke through what appeared to be another gurgle of blood as he tried desperately to not move his lips.

I cocked my head, eying the strips of muscle, separated tendons, split joints, and so forth that were spread out like streamers, sprouting from each limb, "Why would I when you'll die within the hour?"

"Pu-pu," odd sputtering noises came in quiet bursts as he tried to beg again.

I traced patterns in the still wet blood decorating the floor but my main focus was the picture I painted on the wall.

I never was talented when it came to art but drawing a scarecrow tied to a post with crows attacking it had been easy enough.

I saw it as a bit of motivation. After all, crows were birds of death and I would be killing the mutated scarecrow that visited me each 'night'.

"How silly of him to think he would escape unscathed, don't you think?" I asked the scarecrow on the wall although he seemed busy being torn apart my crows, "Of course, I took the proper precautions..."

I glanced to him once more noting the tightly tied tourniquets on each limb made from strips of the man's clothing. The body would conserve blood and energy to maintain the vital parts of it and while limbs were used to hunt, escape, and build, the torso and head were essential and therefore my experiment was conducted without a hitch.

Yet there was so much blood I decided to have a little fun and decided to decorate the room in the cooling, thin liquid. Sadly, the bright colour dried to the shade of rust, but there was so much of it I had time to continue playing in it. I giggled slightly as the scene reminded me of a song I knew long ago...How did go again?

For awhile I sat trying to remember then began to clap out a rhythm as I sang happily to the song I committed to memory as a teenager.

"Mentally hysteric

She's failed the exam...

Don't bother telling Lucy for

She doesn't give a—

I cut off and quickly changed the rhyme again as I tilted my head to the side and continued to carry on with the song by clapping in time.

"Damn that Nitrous Oxide.

For when you can't escape

They say the surgeons oft commit

A murder or a—"

My memory suddenly deserted me, causing me to frown then pick up in another section of the song which I did remember.

"Madness is a nuisance.

And no one is immune.

Your sister, mum, or daughter,

May become a raving—

Lunatics are dangerous.

And doctors are obeyed.

They also go together—"

"Oh God!"

I glowered while opening my eyes as I noticed the door to my cell was open and Dr. Crane stood there with a blank face (without glasses I noted) while the man behind him seemed pale and continued to whisper religious nonsense.

"How creative..." Dr. Crane remarked tightly.

I stared at him curiously, "If you are referring to the song it's actually from an artist I listened to when I was younger..." I trailed off then looked at the wall, "Yet if you're commenting on the wall, it's nothing too impressive..."

He glanced at the wall only to tighten his jaw and stare back at me with a hard gaze, "And if I'm addressing the mutilated body tied to the bed?"

I shrugged, "I suppose there was some merit found in the experiment but apart from the slight puzzle of unwinding his anatomy while keeping him alive but it was quite dull. Then again, with these utterly lacking resources it's not too disappointing..."

Dr. Crane blinked, surprised, "He's alive?"

"Pu-pu," the man struggled to speak again as Dr. Crane stepped aside to allow the other guard who rushed in about to help yet froze gagging on the smell before he threw up in a corner.

I frowned distastefully at him as he dry heaved then looked to Dr. Crane, "My, my, standards in guards certainly have been lowered...I mean, you would think they'd let anyone take the job with the way these two acted."

Dr. Crane looked at me sharply, "I believe it would be best if you came with me."

I stood allowing the blood to flake off my stained uniform while fresher blood dripped from my fingers, "Wouldn't that compromise your office's 'pristine standard'?"

He pulled on my arm sharply so I was barely a foot away from him. My breathing hitched as I stared into his chilling gaze unable to speak.

He spoke in an unidentifiable voice, "I never claimed we were journeying to my office."

He roughly dragged me out the door and into the hallway.

I dragged my feet in and pushed against his arm causing him to stop and look at me with a warning look.

I frowned at him, "I've had enough."

He didn't reply so I continued.

"I'm tired of caring, tired of fearing, tired of trying...So I've decided to stop."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "You tortured a man, painted a mural on the wall with his blood, then sat in the gore to sing a dark song; whatever it is you think you may accomplish, I doubt it's working."

I shook my head then paused as I looked around, "Where are the other guards?"

"What are you rambling about now, Revis?" he asked clearly irked by my change in conversation.

I looked around again...Something was off about this.

"The guards...If I so much as lunged at someone I would be restrained, sedated, and left to rot of a few days in solitary confinement but now...nothing."

I was momentarily distracted as Dr. Crane pulled me along the hallway again, "Nonsense—"

I pulled back once more, slowing his pace but I was unable to stop him entirely, "No listen, something's not right—"

"Your paranoia, as always, proves to be a hindering pestilence to your logic—"

"Will you stop?!" I jerked back violently, using the same level of force I used on others yet hid whenever dealing with him.

I managed to slip through his grasp long enough to raise the knife I kept in my shirt's pocket and hold it to my throat.

His eyes widened before his face grew blank once more, "Revis—"

I cut him off while furrowing my eyebrows, "No, this is my point. I would have been searched for a weapon and rendered immobile. Right now you'd be secretly trying to signal the security and I'd have a horde of guards at my back instead of a spineless fool vomiting up his lung while his 'companion' bled out."

I lightly drew the blade across my skin, only adding enough pressure to split my skin yet as the blood dripped down Dr. Crane held out a hand to me.

"Hand me the knife, Revis."

I looked into his eyes deeply, "No."

"Revis, there's an explanation—"

I smiled and tilted my head which split the skin further. In fact, the leaking blood sort of tickled...

"No, like I said I've had enough. Death may never die but the tools of death are expendable."

Many things happened at once.

I drew the blade sharply against my throat while Dr. Crane reached out to both pull my long hair back and hold the arm with the knife. I was thrown off balance which caused me to fall and let go of the knife as he wrestled me into the ground.

Before I could, he held me against the ground tightly, breathing heavily, "You're not allowed to kill yourself," I struggled vainly as he pressed into me, "You're life is in my hands, Revis. This is for your safety."

I laughed hollowly and lay still beneath him, "When did 'helping me' include lying—"

He tightened his grip causing me to take a sudden breath of air at the pain.

"Don't question me," he said in a dark voice.

I looked into his icy eyes and tried to fight the rising feelings that continued to tether me to him.

I didn't want this—The dark scared me out of fear but left behind my feelings.

I relaxed into his touch and laid my head down on the hard ground to stare at the wall while I let him pin me as he reached into his suit. In a twisted way this was the closest to being openly embraced as I would ever experience. I hadn't longed for another or even felt the stirrings of lust for years, especially after Lucius...and yet I found myself bleeding my heart over with unrequited lo—No, I wasn't that far gone...

I was unable to pull him closer so I closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere safe and far away from Arkham...

Somewhere nice, like a warm house near a rainy forest...

And inside that house, I was laying down with him in a window seat, leaning back into his embrace—I smiled as his arms tightened around my waist. This was nice, it was home...

"Revis..." there it was again, that dark warning.

I opened my eyes only to find my vision blurring as I stared at a standing Dr. Crane.

Why was he up so high? Did I fall off the window seat?

He sighed, "It seems you've developed a slight resistance to the narcotic..."

Reality came crashing down as I realized that was a distant dream, a foolish dream. He would never see me as anything but a nuisance and I would never be free of this torturous lo—feeling.

So what happened? Wait, he said narcotic—Did he drug me?!

I blushed from humiliation and tried to stand up but I could barely move. I struggled to raise myself off the floor but panted from the exertion as I collapsed again. I felt him stand over me before he reached down to wrap his arms around me in a tight, restraining hold.

Despite my struggle to fight down the rising feelings I was once more swept away in his touch. That dark, cloying energy...the addicting feel of exhilarating fear and danger...

No, I remembered why I left. I was unable to hide these betraying feelings—

Wait I left...then why was I here?

Cold logic washed over me like the freezing baths I took each morning at the old Victorian house.

I remembered Dr. Crane, he was there.

He...There was a car—

Why couldn't I remember?

I felt him shift and pull me up before dragging me to the end of the hallway.

Without another word, he opened a door while balancing me in one arm. By the time he managed to straighten me up although I was mostly leaning on him, he was slightly out of breath. I tried to look into his eyes one last time but he pushed me into the dark room where I fell, unable to break my fall while he closed the door behind me.

...

Darkness...

My eyes hadn't adjusted to the light yet but I was hardly worried about 'boogeymen' in the dark.

No, if anything, I would be ready when the scarecrow came. How I was to fight off the creature while I was barely able to lift my head, I was unsure of but my bravado didn't fade. As I said, I was done...

I knew this wasn't real or right.

In fact, it was because I was unable to descend into the person I was in Arkham before, because I couldn't slip into a defensive, raging personality that I figured out the lie. Of course, not all the answers were known but at least I was closer to the truth than before.

If I were to fall into the same behavioral mannerisms I used upon arriving to Arkham, I would be lost in the web of lies; to fear acting out against Dr. Crane, to hate those around me, to desire freedom while barely clinging to sanity, trying to function in Arkham by creating a destructive defense mechanism...I would have been lost.

I've been through many things in my life so much that I felt both burdened and liberated.

I smiled.

Well there was that contradicting factor usually present in my life.

I was weighed down by my past traumas, weary of others, broken and scared...but I was also free. It barely made sense to myself but because I stopped fighting, because I ceased to struggle, I was free.

Lashing out at others made no sense when I could cooperate. Sure I was terrified but since I accepted it, I was beyond fear. While I was bound to Arkham, I had my will. Not the will to lash out but the will to endure...and, of course, Dr. Crane helped—Or did he?

I remembered my life, a little over a year of living in an abandoned house, months of having close to nothing to eat, suffering mild frostbite on my fingers while I spent my days obsessively relearning the violin in the uninsulated, freezing Victorian house.

I remembered the feeling of desperation and the initial fear of performing as the harsh names sent my way whenever I tried to play in front of a store. I remembered my utter despair and moments of suicidal thoughts, yet I also recalled Mr. Baker.

Truthfully, he caught me pawing through the garbage of his cafe but instead of hitting or hollering he asked me to come inside for a decent cup of tea. The next morning, I began to play in front of his cafe for food in a sort of partnership.

Yet things weren't always easy. I've had trash thrown at me, some greedy teenagers have actually stolen the money I earned. I've even had hoses turned against me from angry neighboring shoppes.

Then slowly things began to look up and as the money increased (along with my song selection and skill), I sought out a forger. In the ending months, things seemed almost golden. Angry shoppe patrons merely glared through windows while large crowds gathered to watch me play instead of passively observe while I was beaten into the ground. I was almost free, merely two days from my new identity, when Dr. Crane entered my life.

The next events were blurred as I recalled more of the soul wrenching fear than anything else but I awoke to find myself back in Arkham with my sociopath psychiatrist in pristine condition. He claimed to have been helping me but how was it that I remembered something else entirely? Also he seemed to have changed...

He looked slightly haggard, his cheekbones more noticeable, not to mention the utter lack of glasses—and mine as well.

I didn't understand this. Wherever I was it wasn't Arkham, with the utterly pathetic 'guards' and lack of authenticity it clear to see. Yet wherever I was, Dr. Crane was in control...

I wanted to believe he was helping me...but more than that I wanted to believe he cared.

I found myself able to move slightly when I was able to shakily push myself off the ground into a crouched siting position.

I wanted him to care for me, to keep me safe, and maybe...to look at me with something akin to lo—acceptance.

Absentmindedly, I stroked the cold surface of the floor...was that tile? More curious than frightened I felt along my surroundings until I unsteadily crawled/dragged myself to what seemed to be a wall of tile.

Was I in a bathroom?

At times, I would be untied and escorted to a tiled room for either a shower or bathroom break...That's right the 'solitary confinement' didn't have a toilet, sink, or anything apart from that bed.

Well, I was already filthy, a shower would do me good.

Blindly, I felt up the wall and continued to drag/crawl until I felt a metal knob. Holding my breath, I turned it sharply allowing lukewarm water to fall atop my head.

After getting over the initial shock and sputtering for air. I rubbed against my skin and uniform, hoping some of the blood would come off. My hair proved to be a hassle as it fell over my head like a wet, tangled net. Eventually, I found a way to gather all my hair then flip it back. While I ended up with a face full of water, I thought of my actions as a victory.

As my muscles gained more strength, I woozily stood although I was too tired and cautious to try walking on such a slippery surface. Yet from this position I could roughly scrub the rest of my body through my clothes. The utter lack of soap or light made the endeavor slightly hopeless but I didn't mind.

As the water grew colder, my thoughts wandered...

Here I was in the dark, as I have been for awhile, standing in a wet area with water cascading down and yet nothing has happened. There were no feelings of paranoia, chills, odd flashes, slight sounds, nothing...

What changed?

My teeth began to chatter which brought my attention to the now frigid feeling of the water but I found myself unable to move.

What was different?

Here I was weak, cold, wet, and vulnerable and yet nothing emerged from the shadows.

Amid my shaking my stomach growled. Shocked I looked down but only succeeded in getting a mouthful of cold water. Wiping my mouth I then reflected on the meal I missed because I attacked the guard—

Was there something in the food?

"You drug your cafeteria food?"

He looked deeply into my eyes, "Think of it as the additives within the food you buy at the market, already full of nutrients but more vitamins and antioxidants are added anyway.—

"As I was saying before, today we're discussing your medication—"

I glared at him, "I'm not taking medication." I doubted the 'cafeteria food' was to blame for that man's chemical irregularities and I would not be subject to the same treatment.

Shock rang through me.

What was a speculation, a mere possibility, was now a reality.

He was administrating drugs into my food! But why would he drug me? Because of those drugs I suffered horrible terrors, malicious hallucinations—which had me restrained and tortured...

How was he 'helping me' by poisoning me?

I shook from fear, hurt, anger, and cold but refused to move.

H-How could he? He was supposed to keep me safe. He was the one I depended on...

I was unable to tell if the wet feeling on my face was from the shower or my own tears but I knew the choked sobs came from me. My knees shook before giving out and sharply connecting with the tiled floor. The pain only doubled me over as I sobbed, hugging myself while icy water pummeled me relentlessly.

Why did he want to hurt me? Why would he lie to me?

The betrayal burned me to a frigid fragment of myself. I sat in the dark, clutching my heart as I whimpered through the stabbing pain.

I-I trusted him, he helped me—before he betrayed me or was it all a game?

"You don't have to feel that way anymore. You said you cared but I'm asking you to trust me—"

"Trust me, Revis. I can keep you safe, in fact I already have been. Would you like to know how?"

I pulled at my hair in an ashamed desperation.

How could I have fallen for that? Why was it I only understood my faults, the two edged words of others, after the betrayal had taken place?

"Can you trust me now? I've been protecting you from those who beat you when you were," he smirked condescendingly, "defenseless."

No! SHUT UP. SHUT UP—

"Do you trust me?"

"Why is my trust so important..."

"I've protected you from those who harmed you, I've given you no reason to mistrust me. In fact, this was only to punish you for your misdeeds: attacking both staff and inmates alike, killing within the asylum, acting out in attempts to escape, drawing unnecessary attention to yourself, the list goes on and on."

"Punishment...?"

"Yes, if you hadn't harmed so many, including yourself, I wouldn't have done any of this. Yet you've received your punishment and now I hope you've learned a lesson."

How far did this sick game reach? 'If you hadn't harmed so many, including yourself, I wouldn't have done any of this'. What twisted logic did he wrap around me? That he was 'helping me', that I could 'trust' him, what did he expect to gain from this?

"Shh, just let go. Don't question it, I am here for you. I've protected you, I'll keep you safe—"

"Trust me, Revis..."

"—Revis...You're safe with me—"

"Yes Revis, I'll protect you from everything...Do you trust me?—"

"Revis, do you trust me?"

Why? Why was my trust so important?

I wailed in agony as the pain, the confusion, all of it tore through me. I truly thought he would be there...He seemed to know what to do, how to help me, he even poisoned Lucius—but before that, when I first saw the cells he basically admitted to experimenting on them...

What if Lucius was merely another test subject—

"Yes, he was the first to sample my newest brand of medicine."

But why me—"I'm just another crazie with slight resilience to your poisons...Why am I so important to you?"

"You're different than the rest of them."

Was I merely an easily fooled pawn? Did he find some amusement in watching me as I—

My jaw clenched, cutting off my sobs.

I cried in front of him, hugged him when I was scared; I practically confessed my feelings to him...and he used that to betray me. I was so weak, so pathetically vulnerable, so...hurt—

"I had plans to deal with you but I find the more recent chain of events to be more suiting toward my plans."

Were things still going according to plan, Dr. Crane?!

I felt so distant, numb to everything...or so I would have been except for the all too human heart that bleed in my chest.

No, this is what I wanted to break away from. The same emotional bond I had once before with Lucius...The feeling of absolute need and faith despite the marring pain and fear in his actions.

I wanted to leave before things progressed so far...before I fell in love with him.

I cried out as my chest jolted with another agonizing stab, I loved him...I was in love with my tormenting, sadistic, cold, psychiatrist.

No—My protest quickly died...

I didn't feel up to bothering with the theatrics of screaming, clutching my head, or hitting the wall. I was beyond that. In fact, I felt a numb sort of thrill like the feeling one gets when they do nothing to stop an impending danger.

I knew I was about to be hurt more than ever, possibly killed, in the next days if he knew of either my feelings or my knowledge of his betrayal and yet I felt an almost pleasurable high.

I was going to die, if not physically then mentally, the next time I met him. Even so, I knew I would fall into his lies, his poisons with a knowing smile if only to feel his agonizing embrace one last time before I faced his wrath.

Oh yes, love is a many splendored thing, indeed.