THE BEST MEDICINE
Chapter Eight: Time's Silent Scream
ATTENTION: Thank you very, very much to everyone who reviews and encourages. Each review matures me a little, honestly… and I can finally take criticism! ^_^ AND HEY, a very special thank you to The Phantom for such an excellent, detailed review. I really appreciated it! WOW - it moved me, really! A thousand times THANKS and hey, this chapter is dedicated to you since you seem to understand and appreciate this story so much! So - *drum roll* - this one's for The Phantom. ^_^
***
Disclaimer: Anything Batman is WB, DC and Bob Kane. There are many references to literature and fairy tales that obviously aren't original either. (Oh, did I neglect to mention I wrote The Three Little Pigs way back in - OK, SARCASM!) You guys know what's mine and what isn't. ^_^ Admittedly, though, there is a lot of original stuff here too. Heck of a lot of original characters, for example.
A/N:
Firstly, so sorry for taking forever with this. I promise to never give up on this story, though. I have SO MANY stories on the go and don't have loads of time for any of them. I will finish this, though - eventually. PROMISE.
MAN, I have this other story I started years ago… and I get a review every single day from a harassing individual literally SHOUTING at me to finish it. Good God! I truly appreciate your patience, guys. Yikes.
Anywho, this chapter is literally over twice the length of all previous chapters. Forgive the crazed writing style here. I occasionally use it when there's lots to cover, especially dialogue.
Enjoy and please continue to review! I appreciate it! ^_^
***
"I'm Happy Jack and you're Fast Freddy!"
***
A adult take on Jake stood over a child, lying bloody and mauled on the snowy forest floor.
"Jesus!"
***
The very last rays of reddish purple sun were slowly, painfully leaving the overcast sky, menacing clouds rolling over the horizon towards her. Standing in the center of a very gray wheat field, Pamela felt the warmth of day being harshly drained from her and all the world around with sickening suction… the endless world of gray - wheat stretching as far as the eye could-
Choking! She was suddenly choking! Something had coiled sharply around her lovely throat and had probably been creeping up her from the very beginning; plotting with the first hints of gray, poised to spring like a deadly viper. Painful prickles dug into her windpipe like long, angry thorns - she struggled in vain. Slowly… her knees gave out…
A serpent… or perhaps… thorns… something sinister within the wheat…
***
Reginald Dubbert Duval, dressed very casually in khakis and a long sleeved shirt was resting on his knees before a group of very small, adorably attentive children. He was holding up cute cartoons he'd quickly sketched the night before in bright markers. They were carefree and fun. Now, if only his story wasn't over their pretty heads…
The beautiful laughter of children… nothing better for the soul…
***
"People, people!" Kenzy called order sharply, ready to explain himself. "This isn't ME. The board has serious issues with this new therapy. They feel - and rightly so I'm sorry to admit - that this new hypnosis stuff puts the patient in an extremely vulnerable position. It opens up all new forms of malpractice possibilities! God knows, a shrink could do ANYTHING on earth to a patient's defenseless, exposed mind! Besides, that kind of exposure is quite risky - I mean, I know what you're going through - believe it or not, I WAS THERE. Ok? I was there. I know you have to cure your patients and this seems so easy, the best way - but it's SO dangerous for everyone on so many levels."
"Kenz-"
"NOW - not another word. Call it fascism, dictatorship, boss's prerogative, WHATEVER - no discussion, people. End of story."
"So - it's gone altogether?" Westridge was shocked.
"Surely they can put safety measures-" Chesler started.
"AT LEAST for the malpractice-" Smyth tried.
Everyone was at a loss and all talking at once! Kenzy, temper building and pressure rising, started to speak when Duval lost himself professionally - "JIM! You said you were just LIMITING us, not-"
"SILENCE!" their supervisor rose - the breaking point. "I said not another word! NO DISCUSSION."
"You say a lot of things, Kenz."
Slick. Stupid Slick.
***
Duval, off work on a crisp Sunday morning, was huddled amongst small children in the downstairs of his Anglican church. Smiling with a form of sincere, soulful happiness only innocent, impressionable children could bring, Dub Duval held his adorable drawings before them. Staring up with the blankness of early childhood, the group seemed spellbound.
"A farmer was scattering seeds…"
Sunday school. Dub really did teach Sunday School.
"…some of the seeds landed on the path and weren't buried, doomed to be eaten by birds…"
The crow was great, the black marker almost shiny slick.
"…and some of the seeds landed in rocky soil. They grew for a while, sprouting some… but eventually… their roots hit rock and they dried up and died away… The sun scorched them dead."
The children stared, absolutely absorbed. The sun, the rock, the briefly merry wheat…
"…some of the seeds landed amongst thorns… and they grew very well for a time, very well indeed… unfortunately… the thorns grew too and they were forced to compete for survival. Sadly, the thorns always won - smothering the wheat, STRANGLING it… Though the wheat grew… no good ever came of it…"
The gray thorns of marker wrapped around golden wheat…
"The final seeds landed in good soil and grew. No birds, rocks or thorns bothered them and they were very prosperous and much good came of them."
***
Two little boys, probably around six or so, stood gripping a white picket fence, staring across a dark green lawn, up into the pure, white walls of the tiny, new Free Methodist church.
"They say that's where God lives…" Marty whispered.
Arthur blinked, "Who's God?"
***
"Reeves!"
Steam rose, towels whipped… condensation everywhere… Sweat gone, he finally felt clean again…
He wasn't an athlete. Well, not really. Back in Enojabo he'd played baseball furiously in the summers, but never again. Besides, that was a game of generations past. A dying national pastime. Regardless, it was not the sport for a suit. He would graduate and find himself a profession of suit. He'd left that dirty, sweaty sport behind him. It collected dust back in Enojabo. It had ALL been sweat and dirt there and now it all collected dust. Decidedly forgotten. Waiting for a sandy young Short Stop who would never return. Waiting for Peter… for Mowgli… for Fast Fred…
As he aged and found his place in the world, in a profession - in a SUIT - it all died to him. It was too horrible for words. It made him literally GAG. Disgraceful. Unthinkable. YUCK. He was never to think of it again. Never. It made him physically ill. He would gag, hack - nearly choke himself dead.
"Reeves!"
Psychologically gagging… choking…
Secondary school Arthur glanced up from his locker, towel around his waist, wet hair unkempt. Kennedy was coming over, massive brute that he was. Slapping Reeves on the back with a large, hard hand, "Saw you on the river this morning - you're not bad, man."
Eyes fell on the scar. They all wanted to know about the scar. He wasn't stupid.
***
Zyelle Domingo was snarling under her breath in Cantonese as the elevator doors sealed several doctors in. Considering they were together and she was furious it was obvious to all outsiders a senior staff meeting had not gone well and Kenzy was to blame. Finally, aloud and in English - "Insubordination?"
"Well, we ARE under contract." Wendy was blunt, cleaning her glasses.
"Yes… we're like any other union. Under contract and given military justice." Duval was gloom, eyes down in sigh.
"Guilty until proven innocent." Sam Spinelli whistled, agreeing.
"YOU." Domingo turned suddenly, "YOU just HAD to push."
Slick's lips parted in offended defense, but Dub's cheerful tones broke through an instant ahead - "SOOOO…" he stretched the syllable pleasantly, obvious in his attempt to change the subject. "Zyelle, you're surname - it's Spanish, did you know? It means Sunday." He was so obvious it was almost amusing.
"Always the peacemaker." Chesler sighed quietly to Martinez, never making eye contact with problems. Just casually observing as he glanced at the silver walls, waiting for his stop.
Zyelle kept coming. "You've always gotta open your-"
Unexpectedly, Smyth shifted smoothly between the combantants: "Zy, I understand you're pursuing a new thesis - something Jungian, I believe?"
Domingo blinked her almond eyes, temporarily taken aback. What-
"Your proposal. Now what was it? Ah, yes - Jungian complexes and word association." he prompted casually, knowing he'd killed the fight. "You DO need all our signatures for approval, don't you? ALL of them?"
OUCH. She understood.
"I see you got my memo." The words came cold, matching her expression. The instant the doors opened she was gone, Duval in tow.
"Nice, Cal." Wendy admitted, saying it all.
The doors whisked behind the pair and Dub paused shaking his head, that is until he noticed Zyelle was instantly off in brisk stride - obviously furious, muttering. He caught "nerve" and "ultimatums" before realizing she had his files.
Catching up and then matching her pace, "Wow… did Cal ever get your number, Zy! I-"
"Here!" she shoved several folders into his chest before storming away. However, unexpectedly, she stopped and over her shoulder - "Oh and by the way… my husband's of Spanish descent." - before disappearing around the corner.
Dub's mouth formed a silent "O" as he glanced down at the documents.
***
Martinez and Smyth watched Arthur Reeves silently through glass. His hand held a pen as his hollow eyes stared down at a dusty pad of provided paper. Unbeknownst to the patient, Smyth had sent several well worded letters to city council stating simply that he had not given Reeves the request for resignation, feeling his patient wasn't psychologically ready for such a crippling blow. He was buying Reeves time, sympathy and moreover, trying to keep up some image - some SHRED of dignity. Truth be told, he honestly pitied the arrogant fool.
"It's been days… nearly a week, Cal."
"I know. Kenzy and I have been fighting since Friday."
"Why? Why are you-"
"Natalia, please. You were put on Reeves only last week and frankly, you're only assisting. That doesn't make you an authority. His entire world revolves around that suit and tie. He's hanging on by a thread. We've got to be patient with-"
"You've explained a dozen times. That's not even what I'm referring to, nor Kenzy. WHY are you lying to city hall?"
"Arthur's got a lot of pride. It's his greatest friend and greatest enemy. It gives him drive, ambition - hell, the will to LIVE. At the same time, Lia… it destroys him. He's like an ancient Roman in that sense. Rather die than live in shame…"
Silence.
"I'm trying to protect him. Protect his pride. It's a delicate balance and I don't want him to die… or to even be forever psychologically-"
"Cal, you can't stop this… and you can't put it off much longer. In fact, it makes us look bad."
"How could my concern for my patient possibly reflect badly on an institution where patient comes first?"
Martinez sighed, eyes down suddenly. "Caledon - I honestly admire your kindness here. It's good of you to protect what's left of Arthur's public image and to defend him to his former coworkers - but… a phony diagnosis? Cal, you're lying and you're throwing the political system out of whack. They need to move on as quickly as possible - for the good of the people."
No response.
"You've been lying all week and you'll continue to lie forever unless someone puts a foot down."
"Kenzy DID. I've got twenty four hours to have the letter in the Mayor's hands. If not, I'm screwed."
Beautiful Martinez sighed, thinking before she spoke. Finally, her tone hard, yet caring - "Cal, I know you pity him. You're emotionally involved. You won't admit it, but you're emotionally involved and its getting you into trouble. Reeves got himself into this mess and-"
"Oh, save it." Cal walked out suddenly.
***
"…so… I just say the first word that pops into my head?"
"That's right, Temple." Domingo smiled warmly, pad and paper ready.
"Sounds easy enough. Never cared much for Carl Jung, though."
Ignoring the dig, she started - "First word. Ready?"
"Always." Temple Fugate answered pleasantly.
"Pancake."
"Time."
"Tulip."
"Time."
"I see. Perhaps we should try phrases, complete thoughts…"
"I'm game." Temple was indifferently cooperative.
"Fascinating."
"Two seconds. It took you two seconds to-"
"Temple… I'm sensing a preoccupation…"
"You've never worked with me before, have you?"
***
Later that day:
"Yes, just let out whatever randomly comes to mind…"
Jack Napier - "It's hardly random. I'm contemplating how incredibly stupid this is. Oops. Silly me. You wanted me to say something absolutely useless like DOG. Whatever was I thinking?"
***
And so on throughout the afternoon:
The Philosopher - "… and the whirligig of time has his revenges…"
Edward Nygma - flat, with melancholy lifelessness - "We stay in this miserable marriage because we're both too cowardly to be honest. I mean, we pretend we're fooling one another - though the pathetic truth is obvious even to complete strangers on the STREET. I would truly rather have you KILL ME than remain in this wretched relationship any longer… unfortunately, I know you're too stupid to actually pull it off…"
Jack Napier - "My only preoccupation is messing with you mind, honey."
Edward Nygma - "You know… my logic was all wrong there. I mean, why wouldn't HE just kill HER… No, no… brains or no, I've learned first hand you can't get away with anything anymore. STILL, why would he care if SHE didn't get away with it? He could always commit suicide, or HELL - the most painless, obvious approach - DIVORCE. Oh Lord, shut up - the entire thing lacks everything. It's just ridiculous…" Pause. "Hm? Oh no, no… This is all fictional, spontaneous depression. I never married."
Jericho Vespucci - "Gray umbrella…"
Harvey Dent - "Did I ever tell you I was poisoned as a child? … HEY, this IS relevant, damn it! It's what I'm thinking! Anyway, shut up and let me vent… I don't care if I talk about it every single session! I've just had a revelation and you're paid to hear it! … Looking back, I honestly suspect my mother herself. I mean… the life insurance. I was worth almost two million bucks…"
Jervais Tech - "Mad as a hatter, mad as a march hare…"
Jericho Vespucci - "Where do random thoughts come from anyway? I've never even SEEN a gray umbrella."
Harvey Dent - "I'm serious, Doc. She'd buy this insurance every single year through the school and then constantly joke about how a fractured skull would make us millionaires… Hey, I'm serious! I just read this article-" Pause. "Ya… Doc Martinez lets me read parts of her paper…" Pause. "Um, ya… she reads the paper at work…"
Jericho Vespucci - "Alright, alright… I admit… maybe this ONE TIME… but still… it could have been… HM… a very light mauve? HM… I suppose there aren't too many colours one could mistake with gray, are there?"
Harvey Dent - "OK, serious now, Doc. The article said there have only been two reported cases of Halloween poisoning on Earth and they were both parents going for the insurance…" Pause. "…NO, I'm not making this up!"
Harley Quinn - "When can I see Ivy?"
Jack Napier - very bored - "Ah, yes, Carl Jung. Psyche broken into conscious and unconscious mind. Then conscious to ego and unconscious to personal unconscious and collective unconscious. Yes, yes - personal unconscious is the stuff of dreams. Dub Duval would specialize there. Collective unconscious would be archetypes - never much went for archetypes, frankly. Suppose Duval would specialize there too. Really into mythology. Almost knowledgeable, that guy."
Edward Nygma - still miserably satirical - "So we'll just stare mindlessly at the television. It talks so we don't have to. We can sit together and yet be totally alone. God bless television. It keeps people who should have divorced ten years ago together, living a lie, living without really living. Heaven forbid we should worry about wasting the good years. The few there actually are before the youth wastes away-" Pause. "Still fictional." Pause. "Yes, extremely disheartening. Depressing. I'm aware." Large pause. "I'm extremely sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to ruin you day… year… LIFE…"
***
Jack Napier and Edward Nygma sat silently on the sofa of the recreation room, carelessly flicking channels…
"You know who I miss?" Jack predictably broke the silence.
"Who, Jack?" Ed was flat, expressionless - humoring.
"Whoever was here before me."
"In the grand scheme of things or in this very room?"
Jack didn't answer… silent again… until they were startled by the sound of locks and metal, the door opening. Their two guards escorting The Philosopher to the couch. He sat lifelessly between them, an air of ancient wisdom about him.
The guards returned to their side of the glass and all was quiet.
Suddenly and quite mystically, "…The enemy of my enemy is my friend…"
Silence.
Jack smiled for a moment, amused… then out of the blue… "Imagine if Crazy Phil was actually trying to communicate through his random quips?"
Ed was deadpan, no reaction - "Oh, yes, Jack… how it keeps me up all hours of the night…"
Jack made an unexpected, fake gesture to strike. Ed didn't flinch, he just added - his tone still blunt, sarcastic. "…tossing and turning… tossing and turning…"
"Don't interrupt!!!" someone shrieked horribly down the hall.
The three patients were indifferent, watching television.
"You just wait, Eduardo…" Jack smirked. "Someday it'll come out there was a method to his madness."
"Jack. He's memorized two dozen famous quotations-"
"Even consider it may not a loop? That it's perhaps a subconscious pattern - a primitive attempt to communicate?"
"Oh, yes, Jack…" Eddie was sarcastic on the surface, though annoyed beneath it as he actually HADN'T thought of that and should have. "OH YES. You've cracked the code. You matchless genius, you. Heaven forbid, I, the master of codes should ever able to unlock the secrets-"
"Bleeding ego…" Jack interrupted indifferently. Reading his mind.
Silence. A long, long silence…
Then, Crazy Phil again - "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Edward smacked his magazine on his knee, "What could it possibly mean, Jack? If you're so brilliant, hm? What-"
"Well, if it were obvious - the proposition of an alliance of villains. But hell, it's never obvious, Edward. God only knows what he's trying to communicate. On most levels HE doesn't even know. I'd have to know him better than he knows himself. Literally."
Crazy Phil, mystically - "He who lives by the sword dies by the sword…"
"See? He's brilliant. It's clever and applies directly to our lifestyle. Edward, you're merely jealous of his wisdom, his gifted tongue, his-"
"Ability to memorize. Oh yes, Jack - ravenously jealous." Sarcasm.
"How dare you insult my new friend's authenticity, Edward!"
"Oh, Jack, you're so theatrical-"
"I mean, it's not like he stole it from Jesus. It's not like it's a direct quotation from the New Testament. It's not like he stole it straight from the very Gospel of the holy Christ!"
Edward laughed aloud. "Jack, you really ARE clever." A sincere smile.
It was all a game with Jack Napier. Always.
***
Man-cub Mowgli always led goats to his animal friends. Pre-Gotham, though also pre-baseball, Arthur was walking his little brown goat through woodland, pretending he was delivering to Kaa. Whenever he unearthed a large serpent, he respected it as though it were Kaa the Rock Python. Sadly, months earlier he'd come upon a sassy rattler - He hadn't thought of Kaa then… no. Terrified, everything told him to bolt.
He was Mowgli, the little manling of India. He played amongst the wild animals of the jungle. Gave them goats. Since he appeared human, livestock walked with him merrily, suspecting nothing. The very image of trust. It said so in the story. Admittedly, they only read the first half, the Mowgli parts. He'd loved school only for the stories back in Enojado. Stories and later baseball. Marty was alright. Jake didn't go to school. He was lucky. He worked with Rancher.
Sadly, as the years rolled on he learned himself more T then Mowgli. More self-serving and hated jackal than brave and loveable wild boy. Somewhere wires crossed. Somehow everything changed. Not suddenly. No… instantly.
***
"THIS is your complex crap? Word association indeed and Jung my ass! Give my Freud, thanks." Kenzy tossed Domingo's clipboard in the garbage without hesitation.
Gasping, she started - "Kenzy!"
Blunt. "Stop wasting my life!"
Chomping his cigar, he seemed more news editor than supervisor.
***
He jogged, rowed - they knew that. Was nothing special, though. No REAL muscle. Othello and Dexter were eyeing the deep scar in Reeves' left side - it slashed deeply into his left side, scarcely reaching his left abs. Nasty. Inexplicable.
Roderick dropped his duffle bag on the bench between them, muscles well toned, quickly messing his wet hair with his hand. He followed their line of sight, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my." He smirked.
***
Pamela Isley wasn't well. Her eyes bruised with sickness… her once beautiful face lined horribly…
Doctors Smyth and Remington watched through her window gravely. She was nearing the end, they feared.
"What the hell could it be, Cal?"
"Something connected to her special immune system. One expert upstairs said he was shocked she'd gotten through childhood at all."
"The same ass that called her a Freak of Nature?" John snorted, skeptically unimpressed.
***
Wheel chair at the window. Life in shambles. Yes, where had he seen THIS before? Oh right. Every single day and night for the past week. This was his existence now. A piece of paper resting in his lap…
He'd started at least a dozen letters. He hated this. He hated this so much he was going to gag. Choke. DIE. The sensation was familiar. Déjà vu constantly teased, but he never let it take. Staring into the dying Autumn, his red leaves were all gone. Dead, bare trees remained. The first snow fall very near. Frost lined his window this morning.
Something nagged at him… Death, he assumed. Ya, by the first snowfall he'd be dead. He couldn't foresee a life now. A future. He could remember Marty speaking of similar feelings decades back. As a sophomore in high school, just before Reeves left him forever, Marty had expressed himself without a future. He just couldn't see himself past high school! He had dreams, plans, oh absolutely - he just couldn't see himself there. Couldn't see anything happening. He couldn't image himself going post-secondary. He couldn't see himself moving out, getting a driver's license, getting a CAR, getting married - having KIDS. He could see nothing. Therefore, he was convinced he wasn't fated to live that long. He would obviously somehow cease to exist by nineteen. Considering Reeves had last seen Marty at fifteen, it was impossible to know if the theory had proven true. At the time he'd thought it insane. Unable to relate, as he had enormous, very clear goals to achieve.
Now he could relate. By Jove, he could RELATE.
The wind whistled and he tried to picture Marty as a man. An adult working somewhere with a family. He tried to age the boyish face. Tried to picture his children, kids of similar make. That was nothing - it was the face. He just COULD NOT age it. Not a single DAY. He couldn't. Marty was right. Some people have no future. Sometimes you know you're doomed.
Arthur Reeves was doomed.
***
Jake was such an idiot. There were no lions in the jungle. Panthers, tigers and bears, certainly - but lions? HA. Lions lived in Africa! Jake was so stupid some days.
He'd just left the moron at the breakfast table, starting across the yard and down the lane for the bus. After the business with the wolverine, people could no longer turn a blind eye. Something was finally to be done. Rancher had risen to speak on his behalf and the council interrupted mid-speech with a decision. When Arthur was released from hospital, he moved in with Rancher and Jake.
Kicking stones along the path, the boy played the argument over in his head, mauling it like fresh meat. Jake was wrong, as usual. A simpleton beyond all proportion.
The hard arrogance had started in Arthur early.
***
Jericho had drifted away again… mind lost in wild, western paints and Christmas Carols off key… suddenly, absolutely unpredictable, he snapped back to reality - literally. He jerked his blond head hard and fast, smashing the back of his skull against padding accidentally. Thank God for the padding… and thank God he was oblivious to it.
Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to remember something…
Drifting again, he began to aimlessly step about, slightly turning as he absently hummed. It was almost unintelligible, mumbled very lightly. "…girls in white dresses… sashes… snowflakes that stay… nose and eyelashes… silver white winters that melt… spring… these are a few… favourite things…
***
Edward Nygma stared blankly into the white wall of his cell. He'd been incredibly good this week… many weeks now consecutively, in fact. Perhaps he could publicly dine now. Well, as publicly as Arkum allowed. It was more like a prison cafeteria… but it was something. An advance. Another chance to prove himself and advance even further. He could do this - he could DO THIS.
He saw green on the wall now. Green slopping about strangely. Things always appeared on that wall.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, a headache forming. He was remembering an argument months earlier with Smyth about one of his deepest issues - winning. He had to win. Always. He had to beat everyone. He had to be the best. It had started early, playing games with Kate. He cheated regularly in school to feel superior. He even tried to outdo his teachers most days. He had to be the best criminal. He couldn't let Jack outwit him. He had to outsmart Batman. He had to win their little game. It was ALL about winning. Everything was winning!
His head really hurt now. A pressure was building behind his eyes… building… Life was so terrible…
The words from the stupid argument long past echoed from the wall. The wall of images. The wall of sounds.
It hadn't really been a fight. He'd been the only one fighting. Smyth had been Smyth. Doctors weren't to fight with patients ever. Ed just hadn't liked what he was hearing. He'd been the only one fighting…
The words echoed from the wall of pain… the wall of memory…
***
Arthur Reeves, a popular city councilman now, was gently applying what he considered his most handsome smile. Handsome. Ha. In a few years he'd learn. Flashing his pearls and leaning in as he spoke, he hoped to sweep the cute little bank teller off her feet.
Yes. He was pathetic.
Sophomore Arthur, packing his bags and never looking back, would NEVER have considered a bank teller. He would have never considered anyone without powerful connections and a large income. Dating was all part of it. All part of The Plan.
Somewhere along his troubled path, subconsciously without a second thought, Reeves had unknowingly changed in this sense. Incredibly lonely without truly realizing, he'd changed. Starved for any form of feeling at all, he-
AH!
A rough, rugged man his size and ethnic background shoved Reeves aside - hard and thoughtless, forcing his way to the counter.
"Hey!" Arthur started, seriously peeved. Always proud, so very proud - especially before and regarding women. However, no further sound came out. Silence slipped through his lips as he was interrupted by earth shattering words -
"MONEY OUT OR YOUR DEAD!"
He had a gun. The man was pointing a gun at her!
***
Miss. Crawford stood before the class with a book of foreign fairy tales, mostly of the forest animal variety. Scarcely a child was actually listening. Kyle was scratching silly words into his desk again… Miranda was whispering to Monica… Richard was making paper animals from scrap paper. He always did. His desk was beside the recycling bin. He'd once given Arthur a jumping frog… Crawford had a flapping crane on her desk. Rich had been skipped ahead a grade - "gifted" the teachers said. Other boys struggled with airplanes, while precious Ritchie did something adults called "origami".
Marty was trying to get Reeves' attention. Arthur ignored them all. He was engrossed in the story, as always. The stories meant everything to him. His untamed imagination devoured them, envisioned them - currently, he was lost in his head, picturing it all.
Toby, a decent dog, beaten and beaten and beaten day after day until he could bare it no longer, left to join his wild brethren… He went back to his roots… his ancestors… his past…
Arthur could feel the kicks. He really, really could.
Marty struck him with a larger ball of paper. Arthur glared. Kids were so stupid! He failed to realize his would-be friend wasn't trying to annoy him - the ball unwrapped into a large message about after class. Realizing Reeves was in one of his moods, Marty's smile faded and he knew the likes of Moby Dick was more important then he - again. Always. Always with the animal stories.
Crawford read, her voice illustrating the misty forest… Toby's wild cousin tricking him… using him…
"Let me in, Brother. Unlatch the gate."
AH. That voice. That VOICE…
Through the gate, invisible - came the voice.
"Let me in, Brother. Unlatch the gate."
Toby whimpering, crouched, ears down and tail tucked trembling between his legs as an enormous, terrifying shadow spread over him slowly, menacingly.
It was all happening so SLOWLY - pressure, something had a snap - something -
"NO, IT'S A TRICK!"
Time stood still. Everyone froze, looking at him.
Miss. Crawford cleared her throat, lowering the book a little, "UM, yes, Arthur - but, please, as much as I appreciate your attentive enthusiasm… try and contain yourself in future."
Poor Toby. He'd just been trying to escape abuse for his roots…
***
How had this happened? HOW!?
He was on the floor… leaning against the counter… staring at his shoes, though they were no longer his. The man was wearing them - expensive, Italian make. That wasn't the issue, though. He was afraid to die. He was going to die and he knew it. Separated from the others, he'd been hatefully singled out. He would be first.
Cold marble floor… shiny black gun… cold marble-
Click.
A hostage, he couldn't breath. His captor was so close now, his breath very warm. His pale hand reaching under Reeves' jacket, the young politician's eyes wide with fright… Feeling around… feeling around… cell phone. OH. THANK GOD. He just pulled out the black cell phone.
Eyes meeting again, Arthur understood. The number had been communicated several times now, therefore this was actually a relief.
"We've got you surrounded, Malone!" Gordon called again.
He was on the phone. The criminal was on the phone.
Reeves was almost feverish - disoriented, terrified sweat, hair tousled wildly, flesh tinted red - the phone held to his ear suddenly. He understood, but he was going to faint… he was-
***
NO! It wasn't like that. He dreamed it often and always dreamed it wrong! LORD! He hadn't been feverish. That was a dream thing. He'd been warm and terrified, freaked - but hell, his memories - his dreams - over exaggerated the feeling every time.
Correction:
The phone to his ear, Reeves was drenched in terror sweat - yet too terrified to be anything but ALERT, not dazed with stupid fever. The phone loomed against the right side of his face, his hair a sweaty mess and his shoes truly gone.
An introduction had been provided, but he refused to speak. Not a word. NEVER. The shame! He'd rather be shot dead than lose all dignity. He would not let Commissioner Gordon hear the wobbling whimper behind his voice. If he spoke, he'd cry. Gordon would never hear him cry. They wouldn't play his tearful begging again and again on the evening news. He'd die first. Extremely proud, Reeves couldn't and wouldn't provide-
"Arthur?"
He didn't answer. Never.
"SPEAK!"
Silence. This wasn't courage. This was pride so deeply ingrained, so subconsciously insane…
"Arthur, please-" Gordon started.
Reeves didn't hear the rest. He'd been struck again. It HURT…
"SPEAK!"
"Arthur-"
CLICK.
"Hey Jim…"
Coward! Stupid, stupid coward! He hated himself for it and always would. He hated himself for every single syllable. He would never forgive himself. Thank God he didn't cry, though he cut it close. Could anyone tell? He was obviously frightened. He continued to speak - he couldn't remember what he said - but he'd managed to say something through his wet terror. He'd hear it over a dozen times on the evening news that night and to this day couldn't remember save the strongest of his weak words - "Hey Jim"…
***
Hiking through very thick, fall forest, Arthur was thinking. He rarely spent anytime in the forest these days - he was now going to leave it all behind. Though he wouldn't admit it, he would miss the wilds - the beauty of nature and all her inhabitants. The animals. Stories be damned - the animals were real. Nothing matched being startled by a large fox in the driveway or happening upon a deer. The instant pang of absolute terror was matchless. To see a little brownish black bear lumbering along… to accidentally startle a dozen birds… or to hear the wolves versus coyotes all through the darkness of night, their beautiful songs were honestly the stuff of souls.
Lord of all, he'd miss this world. The animals. Yet, his destiny lay in the city. His future was amongst the suits just like his father. His real father. His ROOTS. It was the only way. He had to succeed. He had to be like his father. He'd promised himself since day one of the new ranch life - he would get out. He would escape… even if it meant leaving this beautiful wilderness forever.
He failed to realize his soul was torn to shreds the day he took his last step amongst nature. His soul was torn to shreds… a wolf destroying lambs… black blood screeching from a beautiful, innocent mouth. Déjà vu - a dream. He would dream it again and again. Lambs, wolf, pasture - black blood… LORD… it hurt… he'd never realize how much it subconsciously shattered.
Trekking along, he was surprised to hear faint yelping. Playfully wild little sounds. Curious, the dark haired boy crept towards the source…
Coming to a ledge, he was startled to see several little gray babies tumbling about, wrestling. They were dark gray with black points and icy blue eyes. Priceless. He was so surprised his gasp caught in his throat. He stared in wide eyed silence, watching them tumble.
What were they?
Mere seconds passed and he realized them downy pups of some sort. Wolves perhaps? No, no. The answer was forming on the edge of his conscious - they sounded like f-
A flash of red-orange came out from under the ledge.
PANIC.
Reeves was gone. Flying through the forest. He couldn't bare another animal attack and a mother was not to be provoked. Goodness-gracious-Christopher-Columbus, one did NOT mess with maternal instinct! He would surely be-
AH!
The forest was thick and down he went. He'd only escaped five feet - he heard an adult yelp. OH GOD-
He attempted to stumble to his feet, but went down again, the forest floor lacking traction. Hurting his knees, he looked up, dark eyes a mixture of fear and pain. He looked up into the face of a second parent. Dad. It stared at him, its expression impossible to read.
Adrenaline taking control, Reeves was gone in a flash, racing through the forest, not daring to look back. He'd fall again. He had to get out! Would they chase? No. He knew once you left an animal's personal space the conflict was over. They wouldn't-
A very long, low, mournful cry…
His ankles dug into dead leaves like brakes, screeching him to a frightened, frozen stop. Panting and not daring to look back, he knew that was no fox. That was…
Treading upon crunchy leaves… breathing…
Very slowly turning, the youth laid eyes upon his very first wolf… A timber wolf. It was too large to ever be believed… and very dark.
***
Waking, Arthur wasn't startled at all. He'd dozed off at the window again, pen in hand. Blinking, he played the end of his dream over in his head.
No. That last part had never happened. He'd never, ever laid eyes on a wolf in all his life. Never.
Closing his eyes, he saw a dark, foreboding sign under his eyelids…
WELCOME TO ENOJADO - In God We Trust.
His tiny, childhood voice echoed - "Who's God? … Who's God?… Who's-"
Blinding pain. He closed his eyes and gripped the pen. He had to do this now. He had to-
He had glanced over Hill's official resignation request several dozen times and only now did he notice. Sure, it was the typical, photocopied letter sent to all who failed… impersonal, cold and professional without any feeling - but now he noticed a personal addition. Tiny, at the bottom in fresh blue ink:
There's just no other way. I'm sorry, Arthur. - Hamilton.
Closing his eyes again, pain flooding… LORD, he hated all the medication - it made this so much worse then… AH!! He didn't want to! He would rather die! He didn't want to! He refused - he would NEVER-
Memories drifted…
"SPEAK!"
Silence.
"SPEAK!"
Silence.
CLICK.
"Hey Jim… Hey Jim… Hey Jim… Hey-"
The blue ink subconsciously flowed like blue tears… "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry-"
He added his own in black:
Me too, Milt. Me too.
***
"I don't give a crap!" Kenzy pushed past Smyth forcefully.
"Kenz-"
"Shut up, Cal! I'm sick of this Millennium CRAP. In my day there were results!"
"Kenzy, PLEASE-"
"I'm gonna sit down with Reeves and not only will I break through all defenses and make him deal… I'll have that letter in twenty minutes."
"But-"
"Twenty minutes, I swear to God!"
Chapter Eight: Time's Silent Scream
ATTENTION: Thank you very, very much to everyone who reviews and encourages. Each review matures me a little, honestly… and I can finally take criticism! ^_^ AND HEY, a very special thank you to The Phantom for such an excellent, detailed review. I really appreciated it! WOW - it moved me, really! A thousand times THANKS and hey, this chapter is dedicated to you since you seem to understand and appreciate this story so much! So - *drum roll* - this one's for The Phantom. ^_^
***
Disclaimer: Anything Batman is WB, DC and Bob Kane. There are many references to literature and fairy tales that obviously aren't original either. (Oh, did I neglect to mention I wrote The Three Little Pigs way back in - OK, SARCASM!) You guys know what's mine and what isn't. ^_^ Admittedly, though, there is a lot of original stuff here too. Heck of a lot of original characters, for example.
A/N:
Firstly, so sorry for taking forever with this. I promise to never give up on this story, though. I have SO MANY stories on the go and don't have loads of time for any of them. I will finish this, though - eventually. PROMISE.
MAN, I have this other story I started years ago… and I get a review every single day from a harassing individual literally SHOUTING at me to finish it. Good God! I truly appreciate your patience, guys. Yikes.
Anywho, this chapter is literally over twice the length of all previous chapters. Forgive the crazed writing style here. I occasionally use it when there's lots to cover, especially dialogue.
Enjoy and please continue to review! I appreciate it! ^_^
***
"I'm Happy Jack and you're Fast Freddy!"
***
A adult take on Jake stood over a child, lying bloody and mauled on the snowy forest floor.
"Jesus!"
***
The very last rays of reddish purple sun were slowly, painfully leaving the overcast sky, menacing clouds rolling over the horizon towards her. Standing in the center of a very gray wheat field, Pamela felt the warmth of day being harshly drained from her and all the world around with sickening suction… the endless world of gray - wheat stretching as far as the eye could-
Choking! She was suddenly choking! Something had coiled sharply around her lovely throat and had probably been creeping up her from the very beginning; plotting with the first hints of gray, poised to spring like a deadly viper. Painful prickles dug into her windpipe like long, angry thorns - she struggled in vain. Slowly… her knees gave out…
A serpent… or perhaps… thorns… something sinister within the wheat…
***
Reginald Dubbert Duval, dressed very casually in khakis and a long sleeved shirt was resting on his knees before a group of very small, adorably attentive children. He was holding up cute cartoons he'd quickly sketched the night before in bright markers. They were carefree and fun. Now, if only his story wasn't over their pretty heads…
The beautiful laughter of children… nothing better for the soul…
***
"People, people!" Kenzy called order sharply, ready to explain himself. "This isn't ME. The board has serious issues with this new therapy. They feel - and rightly so I'm sorry to admit - that this new hypnosis stuff puts the patient in an extremely vulnerable position. It opens up all new forms of malpractice possibilities! God knows, a shrink could do ANYTHING on earth to a patient's defenseless, exposed mind! Besides, that kind of exposure is quite risky - I mean, I know what you're going through - believe it or not, I WAS THERE. Ok? I was there. I know you have to cure your patients and this seems so easy, the best way - but it's SO dangerous for everyone on so many levels."
"Kenz-"
"NOW - not another word. Call it fascism, dictatorship, boss's prerogative, WHATEVER - no discussion, people. End of story."
"So - it's gone altogether?" Westridge was shocked.
"Surely they can put safety measures-" Chesler started.
"AT LEAST for the malpractice-" Smyth tried.
Everyone was at a loss and all talking at once! Kenzy, temper building and pressure rising, started to speak when Duval lost himself professionally - "JIM! You said you were just LIMITING us, not-"
"SILENCE!" their supervisor rose - the breaking point. "I said not another word! NO DISCUSSION."
"You say a lot of things, Kenz."
Slick. Stupid Slick.
***
Duval, off work on a crisp Sunday morning, was huddled amongst small children in the downstairs of his Anglican church. Smiling with a form of sincere, soulful happiness only innocent, impressionable children could bring, Dub Duval held his adorable drawings before them. Staring up with the blankness of early childhood, the group seemed spellbound.
"A farmer was scattering seeds…"
Sunday school. Dub really did teach Sunday School.
"…some of the seeds landed on the path and weren't buried, doomed to be eaten by birds…"
The crow was great, the black marker almost shiny slick.
"…and some of the seeds landed in rocky soil. They grew for a while, sprouting some… but eventually… their roots hit rock and they dried up and died away… The sun scorched them dead."
The children stared, absolutely absorbed. The sun, the rock, the briefly merry wheat…
"…some of the seeds landed amongst thorns… and they grew very well for a time, very well indeed… unfortunately… the thorns grew too and they were forced to compete for survival. Sadly, the thorns always won - smothering the wheat, STRANGLING it… Though the wheat grew… no good ever came of it…"
The gray thorns of marker wrapped around golden wheat…
"The final seeds landed in good soil and grew. No birds, rocks or thorns bothered them and they were very prosperous and much good came of them."
***
Two little boys, probably around six or so, stood gripping a white picket fence, staring across a dark green lawn, up into the pure, white walls of the tiny, new Free Methodist church.
"They say that's where God lives…" Marty whispered.
Arthur blinked, "Who's God?"
***
"Reeves!"
Steam rose, towels whipped… condensation everywhere… Sweat gone, he finally felt clean again…
He wasn't an athlete. Well, not really. Back in Enojabo he'd played baseball furiously in the summers, but never again. Besides, that was a game of generations past. A dying national pastime. Regardless, it was not the sport for a suit. He would graduate and find himself a profession of suit. He'd left that dirty, sweaty sport behind him. It collected dust back in Enojabo. It had ALL been sweat and dirt there and now it all collected dust. Decidedly forgotten. Waiting for a sandy young Short Stop who would never return. Waiting for Peter… for Mowgli… for Fast Fred…
As he aged and found his place in the world, in a profession - in a SUIT - it all died to him. It was too horrible for words. It made him literally GAG. Disgraceful. Unthinkable. YUCK. He was never to think of it again. Never. It made him physically ill. He would gag, hack - nearly choke himself dead.
"Reeves!"
Psychologically gagging… choking…
Secondary school Arthur glanced up from his locker, towel around his waist, wet hair unkempt. Kennedy was coming over, massive brute that he was. Slapping Reeves on the back with a large, hard hand, "Saw you on the river this morning - you're not bad, man."
Eyes fell on the scar. They all wanted to know about the scar. He wasn't stupid.
***
Zyelle Domingo was snarling under her breath in Cantonese as the elevator doors sealed several doctors in. Considering they were together and she was furious it was obvious to all outsiders a senior staff meeting had not gone well and Kenzy was to blame. Finally, aloud and in English - "Insubordination?"
"Well, we ARE under contract." Wendy was blunt, cleaning her glasses.
"Yes… we're like any other union. Under contract and given military justice." Duval was gloom, eyes down in sigh.
"Guilty until proven innocent." Sam Spinelli whistled, agreeing.
"YOU." Domingo turned suddenly, "YOU just HAD to push."
Slick's lips parted in offended defense, but Dub's cheerful tones broke through an instant ahead - "SOOOO…" he stretched the syllable pleasantly, obvious in his attempt to change the subject. "Zyelle, you're surname - it's Spanish, did you know? It means Sunday." He was so obvious it was almost amusing.
"Always the peacemaker." Chesler sighed quietly to Martinez, never making eye contact with problems. Just casually observing as he glanced at the silver walls, waiting for his stop.
Zyelle kept coming. "You've always gotta open your-"
Unexpectedly, Smyth shifted smoothly between the combantants: "Zy, I understand you're pursuing a new thesis - something Jungian, I believe?"
Domingo blinked her almond eyes, temporarily taken aback. What-
"Your proposal. Now what was it? Ah, yes - Jungian complexes and word association." he prompted casually, knowing he'd killed the fight. "You DO need all our signatures for approval, don't you? ALL of them?"
OUCH. She understood.
"I see you got my memo." The words came cold, matching her expression. The instant the doors opened she was gone, Duval in tow.
"Nice, Cal." Wendy admitted, saying it all.
The doors whisked behind the pair and Dub paused shaking his head, that is until he noticed Zyelle was instantly off in brisk stride - obviously furious, muttering. He caught "nerve" and "ultimatums" before realizing she had his files.
Catching up and then matching her pace, "Wow… did Cal ever get your number, Zy! I-"
"Here!" she shoved several folders into his chest before storming away. However, unexpectedly, she stopped and over her shoulder - "Oh and by the way… my husband's of Spanish descent." - before disappearing around the corner.
Dub's mouth formed a silent "O" as he glanced down at the documents.
***
Martinez and Smyth watched Arthur Reeves silently through glass. His hand held a pen as his hollow eyes stared down at a dusty pad of provided paper. Unbeknownst to the patient, Smyth had sent several well worded letters to city council stating simply that he had not given Reeves the request for resignation, feeling his patient wasn't psychologically ready for such a crippling blow. He was buying Reeves time, sympathy and moreover, trying to keep up some image - some SHRED of dignity. Truth be told, he honestly pitied the arrogant fool.
"It's been days… nearly a week, Cal."
"I know. Kenzy and I have been fighting since Friday."
"Why? Why are you-"
"Natalia, please. You were put on Reeves only last week and frankly, you're only assisting. That doesn't make you an authority. His entire world revolves around that suit and tie. He's hanging on by a thread. We've got to be patient with-"
"You've explained a dozen times. That's not even what I'm referring to, nor Kenzy. WHY are you lying to city hall?"
"Arthur's got a lot of pride. It's his greatest friend and greatest enemy. It gives him drive, ambition - hell, the will to LIVE. At the same time, Lia… it destroys him. He's like an ancient Roman in that sense. Rather die than live in shame…"
Silence.
"I'm trying to protect him. Protect his pride. It's a delicate balance and I don't want him to die… or to even be forever psychologically-"
"Cal, you can't stop this… and you can't put it off much longer. In fact, it makes us look bad."
"How could my concern for my patient possibly reflect badly on an institution where patient comes first?"
Martinez sighed, eyes down suddenly. "Caledon - I honestly admire your kindness here. It's good of you to protect what's left of Arthur's public image and to defend him to his former coworkers - but… a phony diagnosis? Cal, you're lying and you're throwing the political system out of whack. They need to move on as quickly as possible - for the good of the people."
No response.
"You've been lying all week and you'll continue to lie forever unless someone puts a foot down."
"Kenzy DID. I've got twenty four hours to have the letter in the Mayor's hands. If not, I'm screwed."
Beautiful Martinez sighed, thinking before she spoke. Finally, her tone hard, yet caring - "Cal, I know you pity him. You're emotionally involved. You won't admit it, but you're emotionally involved and its getting you into trouble. Reeves got himself into this mess and-"
"Oh, save it." Cal walked out suddenly.
***
"…so… I just say the first word that pops into my head?"
"That's right, Temple." Domingo smiled warmly, pad and paper ready.
"Sounds easy enough. Never cared much for Carl Jung, though."
Ignoring the dig, she started - "First word. Ready?"
"Always." Temple Fugate answered pleasantly.
"Pancake."
"Time."
"Tulip."
"Time."
"I see. Perhaps we should try phrases, complete thoughts…"
"I'm game." Temple was indifferently cooperative.
"Fascinating."
"Two seconds. It took you two seconds to-"
"Temple… I'm sensing a preoccupation…"
"You've never worked with me before, have you?"
***
Later that day:
"Yes, just let out whatever randomly comes to mind…"
Jack Napier - "It's hardly random. I'm contemplating how incredibly stupid this is. Oops. Silly me. You wanted me to say something absolutely useless like DOG. Whatever was I thinking?"
***
And so on throughout the afternoon:
The Philosopher - "… and the whirligig of time has his revenges…"
Edward Nygma - flat, with melancholy lifelessness - "We stay in this miserable marriage because we're both too cowardly to be honest. I mean, we pretend we're fooling one another - though the pathetic truth is obvious even to complete strangers on the STREET. I would truly rather have you KILL ME than remain in this wretched relationship any longer… unfortunately, I know you're too stupid to actually pull it off…"
Jack Napier - "My only preoccupation is messing with you mind, honey."
Edward Nygma - "You know… my logic was all wrong there. I mean, why wouldn't HE just kill HER… No, no… brains or no, I've learned first hand you can't get away with anything anymore. STILL, why would he care if SHE didn't get away with it? He could always commit suicide, or HELL - the most painless, obvious approach - DIVORCE. Oh Lord, shut up - the entire thing lacks everything. It's just ridiculous…" Pause. "Hm? Oh no, no… This is all fictional, spontaneous depression. I never married."
Jericho Vespucci - "Gray umbrella…"
Harvey Dent - "Did I ever tell you I was poisoned as a child? … HEY, this IS relevant, damn it! It's what I'm thinking! Anyway, shut up and let me vent… I don't care if I talk about it every single session! I've just had a revelation and you're paid to hear it! … Looking back, I honestly suspect my mother herself. I mean… the life insurance. I was worth almost two million bucks…"
Jervais Tech - "Mad as a hatter, mad as a march hare…"
Jericho Vespucci - "Where do random thoughts come from anyway? I've never even SEEN a gray umbrella."
Harvey Dent - "I'm serious, Doc. She'd buy this insurance every single year through the school and then constantly joke about how a fractured skull would make us millionaires… Hey, I'm serious! I just read this article-" Pause. "Ya… Doc Martinez lets me read parts of her paper…" Pause. "Um, ya… she reads the paper at work…"
Jericho Vespucci - "Alright, alright… I admit… maybe this ONE TIME… but still… it could have been… HM… a very light mauve? HM… I suppose there aren't too many colours one could mistake with gray, are there?"
Harvey Dent - "OK, serious now, Doc. The article said there have only been two reported cases of Halloween poisoning on Earth and they were both parents going for the insurance…" Pause. "…NO, I'm not making this up!"
Harley Quinn - "When can I see Ivy?"
Jack Napier - very bored - "Ah, yes, Carl Jung. Psyche broken into conscious and unconscious mind. Then conscious to ego and unconscious to personal unconscious and collective unconscious. Yes, yes - personal unconscious is the stuff of dreams. Dub Duval would specialize there. Collective unconscious would be archetypes - never much went for archetypes, frankly. Suppose Duval would specialize there too. Really into mythology. Almost knowledgeable, that guy."
Edward Nygma - still miserably satirical - "So we'll just stare mindlessly at the television. It talks so we don't have to. We can sit together and yet be totally alone. God bless television. It keeps people who should have divorced ten years ago together, living a lie, living without really living. Heaven forbid we should worry about wasting the good years. The few there actually are before the youth wastes away-" Pause. "Still fictional." Pause. "Yes, extremely disheartening. Depressing. I'm aware." Large pause. "I'm extremely sorry, Doctor. I didn't mean to ruin you day… year… LIFE…"
***
Jack Napier and Edward Nygma sat silently on the sofa of the recreation room, carelessly flicking channels…
"You know who I miss?" Jack predictably broke the silence.
"Who, Jack?" Ed was flat, expressionless - humoring.
"Whoever was here before me."
"In the grand scheme of things or in this very room?"
Jack didn't answer… silent again… until they were startled by the sound of locks and metal, the door opening. Their two guards escorting The Philosopher to the couch. He sat lifelessly between them, an air of ancient wisdom about him.
The guards returned to their side of the glass and all was quiet.
Suddenly and quite mystically, "…The enemy of my enemy is my friend…"
Silence.
Jack smiled for a moment, amused… then out of the blue… "Imagine if Crazy Phil was actually trying to communicate through his random quips?"
Ed was deadpan, no reaction - "Oh, yes, Jack… how it keeps me up all hours of the night…"
Jack made an unexpected, fake gesture to strike. Ed didn't flinch, he just added - his tone still blunt, sarcastic. "…tossing and turning… tossing and turning…"
"Don't interrupt!!!" someone shrieked horribly down the hall.
The three patients were indifferent, watching television.
"You just wait, Eduardo…" Jack smirked. "Someday it'll come out there was a method to his madness."
"Jack. He's memorized two dozen famous quotations-"
"Even consider it may not a loop? That it's perhaps a subconscious pattern - a primitive attempt to communicate?"
"Oh, yes, Jack…" Eddie was sarcastic on the surface, though annoyed beneath it as he actually HADN'T thought of that and should have. "OH YES. You've cracked the code. You matchless genius, you. Heaven forbid, I, the master of codes should ever able to unlock the secrets-"
"Bleeding ego…" Jack interrupted indifferently. Reading his mind.
Silence. A long, long silence…
Then, Crazy Phil again - "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Edward smacked his magazine on his knee, "What could it possibly mean, Jack? If you're so brilliant, hm? What-"
"Well, if it were obvious - the proposition of an alliance of villains. But hell, it's never obvious, Edward. God only knows what he's trying to communicate. On most levels HE doesn't even know. I'd have to know him better than he knows himself. Literally."
Crazy Phil, mystically - "He who lives by the sword dies by the sword…"
"See? He's brilliant. It's clever and applies directly to our lifestyle. Edward, you're merely jealous of his wisdom, his gifted tongue, his-"
"Ability to memorize. Oh yes, Jack - ravenously jealous." Sarcasm.
"How dare you insult my new friend's authenticity, Edward!"
"Oh, Jack, you're so theatrical-"
"I mean, it's not like he stole it from Jesus. It's not like it's a direct quotation from the New Testament. It's not like he stole it straight from the very Gospel of the holy Christ!"
Edward laughed aloud. "Jack, you really ARE clever." A sincere smile.
It was all a game with Jack Napier. Always.
***
Man-cub Mowgli always led goats to his animal friends. Pre-Gotham, though also pre-baseball, Arthur was walking his little brown goat through woodland, pretending he was delivering to Kaa. Whenever he unearthed a large serpent, he respected it as though it were Kaa the Rock Python. Sadly, months earlier he'd come upon a sassy rattler - He hadn't thought of Kaa then… no. Terrified, everything told him to bolt.
He was Mowgli, the little manling of India. He played amongst the wild animals of the jungle. Gave them goats. Since he appeared human, livestock walked with him merrily, suspecting nothing. The very image of trust. It said so in the story. Admittedly, they only read the first half, the Mowgli parts. He'd loved school only for the stories back in Enojado. Stories and later baseball. Marty was alright. Jake didn't go to school. He was lucky. He worked with Rancher.
Sadly, as the years rolled on he learned himself more T then Mowgli. More self-serving and hated jackal than brave and loveable wild boy. Somewhere wires crossed. Somehow everything changed. Not suddenly. No… instantly.
***
"THIS is your complex crap? Word association indeed and Jung my ass! Give my Freud, thanks." Kenzy tossed Domingo's clipboard in the garbage without hesitation.
Gasping, she started - "Kenzy!"
Blunt. "Stop wasting my life!"
Chomping his cigar, he seemed more news editor than supervisor.
***
He jogged, rowed - they knew that. Was nothing special, though. No REAL muscle. Othello and Dexter were eyeing the deep scar in Reeves' left side - it slashed deeply into his left side, scarcely reaching his left abs. Nasty. Inexplicable.
Roderick dropped his duffle bag on the bench between them, muscles well toned, quickly messing his wet hair with his hand. He followed their line of sight, "Lions and tigers and bears, oh my." He smirked.
***
Pamela Isley wasn't well. Her eyes bruised with sickness… her once beautiful face lined horribly…
Doctors Smyth and Remington watched through her window gravely. She was nearing the end, they feared.
"What the hell could it be, Cal?"
"Something connected to her special immune system. One expert upstairs said he was shocked she'd gotten through childhood at all."
"The same ass that called her a Freak of Nature?" John snorted, skeptically unimpressed.
***
Wheel chair at the window. Life in shambles. Yes, where had he seen THIS before? Oh right. Every single day and night for the past week. This was his existence now. A piece of paper resting in his lap…
He'd started at least a dozen letters. He hated this. He hated this so much he was going to gag. Choke. DIE. The sensation was familiar. Déjà vu constantly teased, but he never let it take. Staring into the dying Autumn, his red leaves were all gone. Dead, bare trees remained. The first snow fall very near. Frost lined his window this morning.
Something nagged at him… Death, he assumed. Ya, by the first snowfall he'd be dead. He couldn't foresee a life now. A future. He could remember Marty speaking of similar feelings decades back. As a sophomore in high school, just before Reeves left him forever, Marty had expressed himself without a future. He just couldn't see himself past high school! He had dreams, plans, oh absolutely - he just couldn't see himself there. Couldn't see anything happening. He couldn't image himself going post-secondary. He couldn't see himself moving out, getting a driver's license, getting a CAR, getting married - having KIDS. He could see nothing. Therefore, he was convinced he wasn't fated to live that long. He would obviously somehow cease to exist by nineteen. Considering Reeves had last seen Marty at fifteen, it was impossible to know if the theory had proven true. At the time he'd thought it insane. Unable to relate, as he had enormous, very clear goals to achieve.
Now he could relate. By Jove, he could RELATE.
The wind whistled and he tried to picture Marty as a man. An adult working somewhere with a family. He tried to age the boyish face. Tried to picture his children, kids of similar make. That was nothing - it was the face. He just COULD NOT age it. Not a single DAY. He couldn't. Marty was right. Some people have no future. Sometimes you know you're doomed.
Arthur Reeves was doomed.
***
Jake was such an idiot. There were no lions in the jungle. Panthers, tigers and bears, certainly - but lions? HA. Lions lived in Africa! Jake was so stupid some days.
He'd just left the moron at the breakfast table, starting across the yard and down the lane for the bus. After the business with the wolverine, people could no longer turn a blind eye. Something was finally to be done. Rancher had risen to speak on his behalf and the council interrupted mid-speech with a decision. When Arthur was released from hospital, he moved in with Rancher and Jake.
Kicking stones along the path, the boy played the argument over in his head, mauling it like fresh meat. Jake was wrong, as usual. A simpleton beyond all proportion.
The hard arrogance had started in Arthur early.
***
Jericho had drifted away again… mind lost in wild, western paints and Christmas Carols off key… suddenly, absolutely unpredictable, he snapped back to reality - literally. He jerked his blond head hard and fast, smashing the back of his skull against padding accidentally. Thank God for the padding… and thank God he was oblivious to it.
Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to remember something…
Drifting again, he began to aimlessly step about, slightly turning as he absently hummed. It was almost unintelligible, mumbled very lightly. "…girls in white dresses… sashes… snowflakes that stay… nose and eyelashes… silver white winters that melt… spring… these are a few… favourite things…
***
Edward Nygma stared blankly into the white wall of his cell. He'd been incredibly good this week… many weeks now consecutively, in fact. Perhaps he could publicly dine now. Well, as publicly as Arkum allowed. It was more like a prison cafeteria… but it was something. An advance. Another chance to prove himself and advance even further. He could do this - he could DO THIS.
He saw green on the wall now. Green slopping about strangely. Things always appeared on that wall.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, a headache forming. He was remembering an argument months earlier with Smyth about one of his deepest issues - winning. He had to win. Always. He had to beat everyone. He had to be the best. It had started early, playing games with Kate. He cheated regularly in school to feel superior. He even tried to outdo his teachers most days. He had to be the best criminal. He couldn't let Jack outwit him. He had to outsmart Batman. He had to win their little game. It was ALL about winning. Everything was winning!
His head really hurt now. A pressure was building behind his eyes… building… Life was so terrible…
The words from the stupid argument long past echoed from the wall. The wall of images. The wall of sounds.
It hadn't really been a fight. He'd been the only one fighting. Smyth had been Smyth. Doctors weren't to fight with patients ever. Ed just hadn't liked what he was hearing. He'd been the only one fighting…
The words echoed from the wall of pain… the wall of memory…
***
Arthur Reeves, a popular city councilman now, was gently applying what he considered his most handsome smile. Handsome. Ha. In a few years he'd learn. Flashing his pearls and leaning in as he spoke, he hoped to sweep the cute little bank teller off her feet.
Yes. He was pathetic.
Sophomore Arthur, packing his bags and never looking back, would NEVER have considered a bank teller. He would have never considered anyone without powerful connections and a large income. Dating was all part of it. All part of The Plan.
Somewhere along his troubled path, subconsciously without a second thought, Reeves had unknowingly changed in this sense. Incredibly lonely without truly realizing, he'd changed. Starved for any form of feeling at all, he-
AH!
A rough, rugged man his size and ethnic background shoved Reeves aside - hard and thoughtless, forcing his way to the counter.
"Hey!" Arthur started, seriously peeved. Always proud, so very proud - especially before and regarding women. However, no further sound came out. Silence slipped through his lips as he was interrupted by earth shattering words -
"MONEY OUT OR YOUR DEAD!"
He had a gun. The man was pointing a gun at her!
***
Miss. Crawford stood before the class with a book of foreign fairy tales, mostly of the forest animal variety. Scarcely a child was actually listening. Kyle was scratching silly words into his desk again… Miranda was whispering to Monica… Richard was making paper animals from scrap paper. He always did. His desk was beside the recycling bin. He'd once given Arthur a jumping frog… Crawford had a flapping crane on her desk. Rich had been skipped ahead a grade - "gifted" the teachers said. Other boys struggled with airplanes, while precious Ritchie did something adults called "origami".
Marty was trying to get Reeves' attention. Arthur ignored them all. He was engrossed in the story, as always. The stories meant everything to him. His untamed imagination devoured them, envisioned them - currently, he was lost in his head, picturing it all.
Toby, a decent dog, beaten and beaten and beaten day after day until he could bare it no longer, left to join his wild brethren… He went back to his roots… his ancestors… his past…
Arthur could feel the kicks. He really, really could.
Marty struck him with a larger ball of paper. Arthur glared. Kids were so stupid! He failed to realize his would-be friend wasn't trying to annoy him - the ball unwrapped into a large message about after class. Realizing Reeves was in one of his moods, Marty's smile faded and he knew the likes of Moby Dick was more important then he - again. Always. Always with the animal stories.
Crawford read, her voice illustrating the misty forest… Toby's wild cousin tricking him… using him…
"Let me in, Brother. Unlatch the gate."
AH. That voice. That VOICE…
Through the gate, invisible - came the voice.
"Let me in, Brother. Unlatch the gate."
Toby whimpering, crouched, ears down and tail tucked trembling between his legs as an enormous, terrifying shadow spread over him slowly, menacingly.
It was all happening so SLOWLY - pressure, something had a snap - something -
"NO, IT'S A TRICK!"
Time stood still. Everyone froze, looking at him.
Miss. Crawford cleared her throat, lowering the book a little, "UM, yes, Arthur - but, please, as much as I appreciate your attentive enthusiasm… try and contain yourself in future."
Poor Toby. He'd just been trying to escape abuse for his roots…
***
How had this happened? HOW!?
He was on the floor… leaning against the counter… staring at his shoes, though they were no longer his. The man was wearing them - expensive, Italian make. That wasn't the issue, though. He was afraid to die. He was going to die and he knew it. Separated from the others, he'd been hatefully singled out. He would be first.
Cold marble floor… shiny black gun… cold marble-
Click.
A hostage, he couldn't breath. His captor was so close now, his breath very warm. His pale hand reaching under Reeves' jacket, the young politician's eyes wide with fright… Feeling around… feeling around… cell phone. OH. THANK GOD. He just pulled out the black cell phone.
Eyes meeting again, Arthur understood. The number had been communicated several times now, therefore this was actually a relief.
"We've got you surrounded, Malone!" Gordon called again.
He was on the phone. The criminal was on the phone.
Reeves was almost feverish - disoriented, terrified sweat, hair tousled wildly, flesh tinted red - the phone held to his ear suddenly. He understood, but he was going to faint… he was-
***
NO! It wasn't like that. He dreamed it often and always dreamed it wrong! LORD! He hadn't been feverish. That was a dream thing. He'd been warm and terrified, freaked - but hell, his memories - his dreams - over exaggerated the feeling every time.
Correction:
The phone to his ear, Reeves was drenched in terror sweat - yet too terrified to be anything but ALERT, not dazed with stupid fever. The phone loomed against the right side of his face, his hair a sweaty mess and his shoes truly gone.
An introduction had been provided, but he refused to speak. Not a word. NEVER. The shame! He'd rather be shot dead than lose all dignity. He would not let Commissioner Gordon hear the wobbling whimper behind his voice. If he spoke, he'd cry. Gordon would never hear him cry. They wouldn't play his tearful begging again and again on the evening news. He'd die first. Extremely proud, Reeves couldn't and wouldn't provide-
"Arthur?"
He didn't answer. Never.
"SPEAK!"
Silence. This wasn't courage. This was pride so deeply ingrained, so subconsciously insane…
"Arthur, please-" Gordon started.
Reeves didn't hear the rest. He'd been struck again. It HURT…
"SPEAK!"
"Arthur-"
CLICK.
"Hey Jim…"
Coward! Stupid, stupid coward! He hated himself for it and always would. He hated himself for every single syllable. He would never forgive himself. Thank God he didn't cry, though he cut it close. Could anyone tell? He was obviously frightened. He continued to speak - he couldn't remember what he said - but he'd managed to say something through his wet terror. He'd hear it over a dozen times on the evening news that night and to this day couldn't remember save the strongest of his weak words - "Hey Jim"…
***
Hiking through very thick, fall forest, Arthur was thinking. He rarely spent anytime in the forest these days - he was now going to leave it all behind. Though he wouldn't admit it, he would miss the wilds - the beauty of nature and all her inhabitants. The animals. Stories be damned - the animals were real. Nothing matched being startled by a large fox in the driveway or happening upon a deer. The instant pang of absolute terror was matchless. To see a little brownish black bear lumbering along… to accidentally startle a dozen birds… or to hear the wolves versus coyotes all through the darkness of night, their beautiful songs were honestly the stuff of souls.
Lord of all, he'd miss this world. The animals. Yet, his destiny lay in the city. His future was amongst the suits just like his father. His real father. His ROOTS. It was the only way. He had to succeed. He had to be like his father. He'd promised himself since day one of the new ranch life - he would get out. He would escape… even if it meant leaving this beautiful wilderness forever.
He failed to realize his soul was torn to shreds the day he took his last step amongst nature. His soul was torn to shreds… a wolf destroying lambs… black blood screeching from a beautiful, innocent mouth. Déjà vu - a dream. He would dream it again and again. Lambs, wolf, pasture - black blood… LORD… it hurt… he'd never realize how much it subconsciously shattered.
Trekking along, he was surprised to hear faint yelping. Playfully wild little sounds. Curious, the dark haired boy crept towards the source…
Coming to a ledge, he was startled to see several little gray babies tumbling about, wrestling. They were dark gray with black points and icy blue eyes. Priceless. He was so surprised his gasp caught in his throat. He stared in wide eyed silence, watching them tumble.
What were they?
Mere seconds passed and he realized them downy pups of some sort. Wolves perhaps? No, no. The answer was forming on the edge of his conscious - they sounded like f-
A flash of red-orange came out from under the ledge.
PANIC.
Reeves was gone. Flying through the forest. He couldn't bare another animal attack and a mother was not to be provoked. Goodness-gracious-Christopher-Columbus, one did NOT mess with maternal instinct! He would surely be-
AH!
The forest was thick and down he went. He'd only escaped five feet - he heard an adult yelp. OH GOD-
He attempted to stumble to his feet, but went down again, the forest floor lacking traction. Hurting his knees, he looked up, dark eyes a mixture of fear and pain. He looked up into the face of a second parent. Dad. It stared at him, its expression impossible to read.
Adrenaline taking control, Reeves was gone in a flash, racing through the forest, not daring to look back. He'd fall again. He had to get out! Would they chase? No. He knew once you left an animal's personal space the conflict was over. They wouldn't-
A very long, low, mournful cry…
His ankles dug into dead leaves like brakes, screeching him to a frightened, frozen stop. Panting and not daring to look back, he knew that was no fox. That was…
Treading upon crunchy leaves… breathing…
Very slowly turning, the youth laid eyes upon his very first wolf… A timber wolf. It was too large to ever be believed… and very dark.
***
Waking, Arthur wasn't startled at all. He'd dozed off at the window again, pen in hand. Blinking, he played the end of his dream over in his head.
No. That last part had never happened. He'd never, ever laid eyes on a wolf in all his life. Never.
Closing his eyes, he saw a dark, foreboding sign under his eyelids…
WELCOME TO ENOJADO - In God We Trust.
His tiny, childhood voice echoed - "Who's God? … Who's God?… Who's-"
Blinding pain. He closed his eyes and gripped the pen. He had to do this now. He had to-
He had glanced over Hill's official resignation request several dozen times and only now did he notice. Sure, it was the typical, photocopied letter sent to all who failed… impersonal, cold and professional without any feeling - but now he noticed a personal addition. Tiny, at the bottom in fresh blue ink:
There's just no other way. I'm sorry, Arthur. - Hamilton.
Closing his eyes again, pain flooding… LORD, he hated all the medication - it made this so much worse then… AH!! He didn't want to! He would rather die! He didn't want to! He refused - he would NEVER-
Memories drifted…
"SPEAK!"
Silence.
"SPEAK!"
Silence.
CLICK.
"Hey Jim… Hey Jim… Hey Jim… Hey-"
The blue ink subconsciously flowed like blue tears… "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry-"
He added his own in black:
Me too, Milt. Me too.
***
"I don't give a crap!" Kenzy pushed past Smyth forcefully.
"Kenz-"
"Shut up, Cal! I'm sick of this Millennium CRAP. In my day there were results!"
"Kenzy, PLEASE-"
"I'm gonna sit down with Reeves and not only will I break through all defenses and make him deal… I'll have that letter in twenty minutes."
"But-"
"Twenty minutes, I swear to God!"