JMJ

Chapter Five

The Twinkling

What Jonathan said next now that he had Jervis' attention, was something that scared even Jonathan a little afterwards, because he had not planned it. It just spilled out like water from a spout completely uncontrollably.

"I did not fight for sanity and normalcy and even my very health to be dragged back down by you," was the first thing that came out. "I'm sure you know how I nearly killed myself with my injections meant to turn me into a beast of terror. How I wallowed in Arkham afterwards for some time about it besides. You knew from the beginning that my madness was taking me somewhere that even you would not dare to follow. You tried to warn me, but of course, I didn't listen. Naturally! How should one madman believe another? After all, everyone at Arkham can see the madness of everyone else far easier than the madness they possess themselves. That you tried at all, was probably only a wishful hope not to lose me, you're only confident; though still, I thank you for it. I was destroying myself. Eating myself up from the inside out. I had to be stopped. I didn't know how!"

He was going on so passionately now that he almost did not see Jervis' wide eyes and hanging jaw.

"I would have died. I was willing to die! I wanted to die, because I realized what a joke I had become!

"And I take it back. You are afraid. You're afraid of working hard at something that may never be fruitful. You're afraid of having to give up your life of trying to please your senses at the present without consequence. Taking what you want from life, isn't that right?"

Jervis swallowed hard and blinked hazily, but he could find no words to answer him.

Apparently, whatever had been building up inside Jonathan since Leland's phone call to his house continued, "If you're wallowing here because you've finally realized that about yourself then do something about it. But you won't because it's easier to stay in your Wonderland. It's easier despite the pain it gives you. I know, and don't deny that you've always known that it did not exist. You never believed you actually were the Mad Hatter. I knew you well enough to see that. It's just a game. A game about control. That's all it ever is with you! If I can make it out of here, starting out far madder than you and believe me I did believe that I was chosen by fate for my mission…! I almost believed I was a god. I almost believed that the Scarecrow was a separate being dwelling with me and that I was more the Scarecrow than Jonathan Crane. Jonathan Crane being the leech and the side-parasite tagging along. I was the Scarecrow, but you…! You don't come out of it because you choose not to. I know about your condition, and I know it doesn't help, but I know you could escape if you wished. You wanted to have an excuse just like you want to be depressed right now. Well, that's enough!"

His own hair was a wild mess by now, and he slumped disgruntled back into his chair with a huff and crossing his arms. He closed his eyes. Silence reigned, except for the sound of a crow out for spring pickings. The sound of the animal brought him a slight prick in the back of his mind with the images of empty, overcast fields and a lone Scarecrow hanging by a crooked fence. He shook his head.

"I apologize," he said after a moment longer and Jervis did not make a sound; he had hardly budged an inch for some time. "I…I don't know what just came over me exactly."

"You are different."

Jonathan opened his eyes and looked at Jervis. He did not look miserable anymore, nor even as angry as he supposed he would look. Simply put, he was just staring at Jonathan with eyes wide as saucers and mouth slightly open in his hazy shock as though he was not sure if he was awake or not. As Jonathan looked back at Jervis, it dawned on him what this may well be about, and he thought himself quite dense for not having realized it before.

Jervis had not believed in Jonathan's reformation— at least not fully. Perhaps he thought that Jonathan had only wished to retire and had not truly been sorry for his past. That was what he meant about not wishing to discuss everything he wished to with Jonathan in front of the guards and cameras.

Jonathan blinked rather foolishly as he stared.

Of course, Jervis would not believe the God of Fear relinquishing his title for anything more than retirement— or at least, he would not want to believe it.

Jervis had been with Jonathan for some time during those five years they were nerdy psychopaths together when not out on haunts and only hanging out at Arkham. He had to have observed Jonathan enough to know that he was no Penguin or Riddler that thought of the rogue-life as a career to be retired from. Even Jervis himself had desired retirement at one time, but there was a difference between retirement and reformation.

Jonathan, who knew himself now well enough to admit it, took life far more seriously than other people to the point of perhaps taking it too seriously at times. But in his taking life seriously and taking nothing as a joke, he would not have even considered the word "retirement" in the same paragraph as anything to do with the Scarecrow. After all, he had been believing more and more that he was morphing into the god he was meant to be and perhaps would live eternally. Well, almost…

If Jervis was aware enough of Jonathan to have been concerned about his experiments with his own body, then he should have known.

As Jonathan now returned his mind to Jervis, he knew that whatever Jervis had been in denial about or what he truly believed did not matter anymore. Jervis understood and could no longer deny it, so that even things that Jonathan said that probably would have sounded insulting only put Jervis into this clouded shock in which he still stared.

Then suddenly, Jervis closed his eyes and fidgeted with his fingers unhappily.

It was about this time that Jonathan remembered the staff, and he glanced at them. One guard was watching. The others were silhouetted in the other room listening. This was a far stranger "therapy session" than the ones he had gone through with Harley, but before Jonathan could consider this long Jervis interrupted him.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

Were walking close at hand;

They wept like anything to see

Such quantities of sand…

Jonathan blinked and then frowned.

"Jervis…"

"…A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,

Along the briny beach;

We cannot do with more than four,

To give a hand to each."

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Jonathan demanded.

But Jervis was as one in a trance, and he seemed unable to stop himself.

The eldest Oyster looked at him,

But never a word he said:

The eldest Oyster winked his eye,

And shook his head—

Meaning to say he did not choose

To leave the oyster-bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up

All eager for the treat:

Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,

Their shoes were clean and neat—

Jonathan squinted and studied Jervis hard as he leaned over the table and allowed him to recite blindly the entire rest of the poem until he reached the end. He supposed he owed him that much after his uncalled-for outburst, but he was reaching the end of his rope. His muscles were already tensed for getting up from his chair.

"…O Oysters," said the Carpenter.

"You've had a pleasant run!

Shall we be trotting home again?"

But answer came there none—

"The world had swallowed every one!" finished Jervis, and having finished with his trance, which Jonathan somehow felt he had played-up just a little, he stared at Jonathan as if expecting him to answer.

Jonathan waited for Jervis to explain, and he leaned his chin upon his hands with elbows propped upon the table. He cleared his throat.

Taking up the carafe, Jervis poured more tea into his cup and sipped with a fire in his eyes.

"First there was the eldest," said Jervis slowly and with care.

First there was the Eldest

He was the solid one.

Then there came the Second

Who was the toughest son;

Next there came the Cherry-child

Of the "Pure unclouded brow"

And Last there came the Twinkling,

The one that Time did not allow.

The Walrus, they all left behind

The world, so bright and fair

'Til the World devoured them all

Or took them to the air.

The Twinkling ate himself first

Then he turned the elders, Dee and Dum.

It was the child of "silver laughter"

That he drowned in tea and—"

"This isn't from Alice and Wonderland," Jonathan remarked impatiently.

For a moment Jervis looked about to fight answering and go on reciting his own composition as before, but he shook his head.

"No," he said bristling. "No. It isn't."

Jonathan tried to be patient. He knew Jervis was trying to tell him something in this strange roundabout way. He forced his muscles to relax and forced his irritation out of the foreground of his mind.

"And I'm sorry," said Jervis far more civil now. "I'm sorry about everything. There is Alice and there is Alice."

"Undeniably," Jonathan remarked.

"As March left you, for which I am, admittedly, grateful to some degree if not, yes, envious," Jervis went on with care, "you became the Messenger. The Messenger perhaps of things to fetch and things to carry, but I do apologize for dragging you into it, while I remain in prison, dear fellow."

I should have read the book before I came, thought Jonathan. I knew I should have read them both before coming to this mad tea party.

But he did think this not without sympathy.

His heart went out to Jervis despite himself as he watched this desperate attempt from Jervis to sort out his emotions through his books.

"Mr. Tetch," said Jonathan with renewed calmness. "I'm afraid you're going to have to speak clearer. I can't keep up with your Wonderlandian colloquialisms. I understand that you've made me the March Hare, though the Joker already had plenty of fun with that even if I would have guessed that either way. The March Hare became the Messenger in the second book, I understand. And the Hatter was in prison for a crime he had not yet committed."

"Yes."

"But I don't understand what your own little poem means at all."

"You wouldn't even had you read both works from cover to cover and analyzed it with all your splendid powers of deduction, Pr. Crane," said Jervis. "I will speak to you plainly, as well as I can, but it will take some explanation."

"I believe we have at least a half an hour to spare," said Jonathan. He glanced at his watch. "A little over a half an hour."

Turning pensive, Jervis muttered, "Unless…"

"Unless?" asked Jonathan suspiciously.

Jervis shook his head and waved his hand aside. He cleared his throat and began at a normal tone without recitations or gloomy atmosphere. He spoke as clearly as he could, which was surprisingly clear, but then he did have a very light, clear sort of voice when he wanted to use it as such.

"It began— well, with one of my earlier escapes," said Jervis. "Having sufficiently convinced my latest doctor at the time that I was suffering hallucinations beyond my control, and that these hallucinations were more harmless than not, it quickly gave me the opportunity to work while at Arkham. Having given up torturing that creature who I never wished to see again… Mrs. Reynolds, you know," snorted Jervis with the most supreme resentment and distaste, "I developed my work further to get Batman out of my Wonderland forever…"

"Yes, you told me about that."

"But you did not know why."

"Because of your failure at stealing Alice."

"No."

Jonathan held out his hand for Jervis to continue. Jervis did, after pouring Jonathan more tea into his cup.

"No, I had already given her up for lost— not that I would not have done something, I suppose, had she showed her pretty face where I could see it."

"Naturally."

"Anyway… I was in rather a pleasant mood when I began, actually. It was the first time I had overtaken staff with my mind control chips. Not very many, but enough to keep me out of the minds of those who weren't. Some poor soul was raving at the time so I was fairly overlooked."

"It was probably me, if it was before your Dream Machine," Jonathan said sipping his tea.

"Probably," agreed Jervis, "but I wasn't about to embarrass you." He cleared his throat. "I was still relatively new to Arkham Asylum, and everyone saw me as more harmless than most in general. There was even talk at that time of moving me from Arkham to a simpler asylum altogether since the only thing that burst my happy ramblings and "hallucinations" was my insistence upon keeping my hat. At the time Dr. Bartholomew was still in favor of allowing inmates their props."

"And it was you who ended it," agreed Jonathan.

"Quite so, quite so," said Jervis. "My plan was to escape as quickly as possible, but I was willing to take my time with it, in order to make no mistakes. First, my doctor, then a guard or two. There was an orderly here and there. Then, which was the most interesting to me and to this tale, I happened upon the secretary. This was almost a chance situation, purely circumstantial, but my curiosity was peeked. I had to know what was on file about me, and what they truly thought of me, before I made my escape. I needed to know more than Alice longed to be queen, and once she was, it was a place that ended in being rather unpleasant once she received the title. But there is no used turning anything into a kitten by shaking it…"

#

The Secretary was a large, square woman. Taller than Jervis and perhaps just tall enough to have rested her chin on his head. Rather more like the Duchess than the fat old Arkham cook, though their dispositions were similar and they certainly would have made some detestable peppered soup together.

The secretary was unmoved now with that heavy brow. She scowled over her desk as though intently at some gruesome show out the barred window. Her hands were folded over the top of the desk, her shoulders arched forward. Her pursed lips made her sharp chin tight, but even pursed her bright red lips were large and flabby. It was her usual grimace so that if anyone happened to see her, one would not be suspicious immediately. Usually, people under the influence of mind-control chips looked rather blank unless Jervis gave his slaves an order to do something violent or strenuous.

It had Jervis grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he mused over her and thought that this must be the blankest Mrs. Pendrill could look.

"Now if only one could watch her sneeze," muttered Jervis feeling the delight of a school boy allowed to mock a very crabby old vice principal without her knowing.

It almost occurred to him to draw a mustache under her lip with a sharpie, but he was here for other reasons. Besides, he felt it beneath him to act in such a way that might be comparable to something the Joker might do. He was content to be as a cat who could simply come and go as he pleased without being noticed or cared about.

He set to work with the filing cabinet, devouring its contents as though it said "Eat Me" on a giant tag on the nearest handle. He perused through, at first too high alphabetically for "Jervis Tetch". Apparently there weren't many inmates lower than "T", and it was before anyone of real interest like Wesker or even Maxie Zeus. But he did look a little at a few minor inhabitants of the asylum before finding his own.

"Aha!" said Jervis lightly as he took out his folder.

Despite the buoyant mood, however it was a little more than mere curiosity which led him to investigate this file. He sincerely wanted to know how much they knew about him. How much had they discovered about his past? He was already preparing himself for a chuckle despite a tiny whisper of apprehension in the back of his mind.

With tingling fingers, he opened the manila file.

He snorted.

Psychotic bipolar disorder/ paranoid schizophrenia: his current diagnosis.

His false hallucinations were pulling off.

"Lovely," he muttered.

They had his story about his attack on Alice Pleasance. There was his history of depression while in America. Ah, yes, but here was the part he was really interested in. His doctor from London, he saw first. His contact information. His credentials. Yes, and the medication he had prescribed to Jervis when he lived in London. There was Jervis' medical history according to said-doctor. His behavioral disorders, anxiety problems, and other such conditions, which had started before his bipolar disorder became evident. His whole mental state had been a mess even then. This also included his first episodes that he had experienced in high school before fleeing London on the chance of studying abroad.

Jervis' smile faded now. His brow puckered with annoyance.

Well, what had he expected?

It was not as if he had changed his name. He had been Jervis Tetch then and he was Jervis Tetch now. An ocean could not change that no matter what the latitude or longitude he had gotten to or what Antipathies he might have run into since he had left the island of his birth.

His gave a disgruntled sigh.

Despite the fun having completely vanished now, he read on. There was his family relations and their mental problems. His mother's disorders, the bipolar disorder of his grandfather. There was an awful lot about the psychosis and hallucinations of his uncle who believed on an off that he was going to be called in to form London's first space program when he wasn't claiming that there was a conspiracy against his plans for rebuilding Atlantis, which he claimed he had found before being rescued from his sunken battleship during the Cold War (which also had never happened). The files even touched on his father's depression and Bertie's dyslexia, both of which Jervis found to be completely irrelevant, especially the dyslexia. Then there was Meryl's…

"What?" Jervis whispered.

Meryl attempted suicide…

Meryl had never attempted suicide to his knowledge.

His mouth went dry as he read on.

After discovering what had happened to Jervis in his attack on Alice Pleasance and his condemnation to Arkham Asylum, Meryl had…

He stepped back unable to go on. His eyes had already passed over something about a critical condition, and something about not fully recovered yet, and the paper was so new. He could still smell the fresh ink.

"No!" growled Jervis. "No!"

He thought he heard footsteps in the hall. Instantly, he stiffened. Quickly, he threw the file back into the cabinet and jumped in front of the desk.

"When they open the door, tell them you're busy. Say anything to make them go away," he hissed to Mrs. Pendrill.

Then he ducked behind the desk where the guard would not see him. Mrs. Penrill did his bidding after the guard opened the door to ask if anything was wrong. She had always spoken monotone, anyway so that the guard did not think a thing, except how creepy Mrs. Pendrill was, Jervis was sure. Inside he was boiling and raging far too much to find the thought humorous, though.

This was Batman's fault.

Batman's!

Oh, he would make him pay!

No.

No, that would get him locked up in Arkham again.

Even before the guard shut the door, Jervis was fidgeting as the gears in his mind began to work. His thoughts turned to the Dream Machine.

The tears welling in his eyes burned his cheeks and fell onto the stained, overused carpeting he was crouching on. It smelled sour with his nose so close to it. He stared at the droplet marks his tears were making as though into a sea of salty pool. He could feel his mind washing away along the turbulent waves of this hot sea, swirling him into darkness, but he could not let himself go there. Not right now. Not in the middle of Mrs. Pendrill's office.

He had to get out of Arkham. Somehow he had to make it past the doors. Somehow he had to make it unseen off the grounds. He had to get away. Every cell of his body was screaming for escape from this pit of darkness, this pit of madness as he breathed to himself,

The Walrus, they all left behind

The world, so bright and fair

Escaped into the Wonderland

That took them to the air.

"…It's over…" he breathed.

He pulled himself to his feet and turned to the window. There was a lock on it. That meant despite the bars, this window would open. He turned to Mrs. Pendrill.

"Oh, my dear Mrs. Pendrill," muttered Jervis. "Would you be so kind as to fetch me a key?"