Disclaimer: Deadpool, Bullseye, Blind Al and all related characters are (c) Marvel comics and used without permission. Raven/Vixen/Katrina Kinkade, Samantha Rothman-Kinkade, Eugene, Vinny Veto, The Profits, Shady Oaks home for the Criminally Insane, and all related characters and information are (c) Cid Van Zwol. If you plan on using my characters or creations, let me know about it.
Dance with the devil
The psychologist watched his patient through the two-way mirror. Running a hand through his thinning, brown hair, Dr. Curtis Brasster sighed. It was his Saturday off – the first in months, and the last place he'd wanted to spend it was at the hospital. Why his patient had picked today to have an episode, Curtis didn't know, but there was a part of him that thought she'd done it on purpose. She enjoyed pushing his buttons and making him angry. While other patients at Shady Oaks seemed to take joy from the same thing, with Katrina, it was different.
Dr. Brasster was normally able to overlook the actions of his other patients – analyze them and do what was required of him as a psychologist then move on or, at least he's end up laughing about things over dinner with his wife. Unlike his other patients, Katrina's attacks on him followed no pattern, and offered no incite to her as a person. She didn't just say or do things to lash out or repress, or because she didn't know her emotions and actions. No, the things that Katrina said and did were just crass and mean for the sake of being so, and, Curtis had the sneaking suspicion a lot of it came from boredom as well.
However, that wasn't the only thing not sitting well with Curtis Brasster. Above everything else, including Katrina's crude actions, was the fact that she was easily doing more psychoanalysis of him, then he did of her. It would all start with him asking one question or another and Katrina dodging the question with ease, then sending it back at him, with a new spin. So, where Curtis came up empty, she discovered new and useful things to hurt him with and throw him off his guard.
Before taking her on, the board of directors at Shady Oaks had warned him Katrina was a former criminologist, and a damn good one. Upon hearing that, it had taken all of Curtis's restraint not to smile right into their faces. This would be it. The perfect task for a young doctor, only a few years out of University. If he could help her, get inside Katrina's head and right the wrongs, his career would be sealed. Though truth be told, that wasn't the only thing he wanted inside of, and maybe that was a small part of the problem.
There was no getting around that Katrina Kinkade was gorgeous. Even dressed in hospital scrubs, with no make-up or brushed hair, sometimes just looking at her was enough to get him hard. His lust was only amplified by the fact Curtis's wife had barely touched him the last year and when she did it was only because he'd begged.
Just thinking about Katrina and her soft, seductive voice caused a stirring in Curtis's nether regions and Dr. Brasster was forced to think un-sexy thoughts about his grandmother until he calmed down. After a moment, he focused his eyes back to his patient, laying strapped to her bed, dressed in nothing but a thin hospital gown, her blonde hair matted around her. She was smiling – at him.
Curtis didn't want to think about how she knew he'd been standing there. And he sure as hell didn't want to assume she'd known what he was thinking. That unnerved more then he could admit. Instead the doctor straightened his tie and picked up the clip-board that held an outline of Katrina's many conditions and what had happed that had called him in from his cabin by the lake, back to the city.
Taking one long, deep breath he pulled a pen from his pocket, so as he might take notes on their conversation, then left the mirror, and entered her room.
She wasn't looking at him anymore. Katrina just studied the roof in a most arrogant manor, that caused Dr. Brasster to again wonder if she did these things on purpose. "Now, Miss. Kinkade," Curtis began, his voice holding an upper-class, British accent that he only partially faked - "why don't you tell me about your little outburst this morning?"
Despite everything, Curtis was looking forward to hearing the woman's answer, and had a feeling that the contents of his patient's mind could fill several theses.
Katrina slowly let her gaze travel from the roof, to Curtis. She grinned happily up at the doctor and strained slightly against the leather confines that held her to her bed. "Well," she stated in a calm tone, "I simply told Nurse Wagner that he was an asscanon, douchebag; and that if he came any closer to me with the needle I would rip his balls off and curb-stomp his ugly, fucking face. With the stuff that he's into I thought he might go for it. Messed up man, that one, he should really seek therapy."
"I see…" With a heavy sigh, Dr. Brasster placed his pen back into his breast pocket and his clip-board down the shelf near the door. "That was not the outburst I was referring to, Miss. Kinkade."
"Oh?" The blonde relaxed her head back on the bed and looked genuinely surprised.
"I was referring to the incident with you and Bradley."
Katrina Kinkade looked thoughtful for a moment, as though seriously pondering things. In seconds her face brightened. "Oh, right. That. I had no real intention of eating his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti."
"We take threats of cannibalism very seriously around here. As well as attempted violence."
"I suppose it didn't help that I ran at him with a spoon, then?"
Curtis shook his head, and felt the beginnings of a headache. "Why do you continue these outbursts?" he asked. "They are getting you nowhere."
Pursing her full lips, the smile left Katrina's face. "Because I need a good – hard -fuck, Curtis. Wanna give it to me? We can play doctor."
Dr. Brasster took a deep, controlled breath. Though the part of him that was raw, untapped male wanted nothing more to be balls-deep in his attractive young patient, the thought of losing his reputation and practice kept him from acting on those desires. "I really don't think…"
Katrina's voice took on a cynical tone that snapped like a whip. "Is that what you say to Emily when she's sucking you off? Do you say 'Honey, I really don't think that would be a good idea?' No. You make little homegrown Bukcake videos with the good Mrs. Brasster, don't you?"
Nearly choking on his own tongue, the dark-haired therapist narrowed his eyes. "Watch what you say about my wife." Though he was used to Katrina's language it never ceased to amaze him, how filthy a mind and mouth she had, and he wasn't even going to inquire as to what Bukcake was. Silent, Curtis looked at Katrina and disturbingly realized that was one of the things about her that really turned him on. It was her brash attitude, even more than the blonde's apparent 'porno star' looks.
Katrina sighed, rolled her head to the side and groaned, "I think you need to get me another doctor, Curt. You bore the hell out of me."
Taking a seat near her bed, Curtis smiled, happy to no longer be discussing sex with Katrina. "My job is not to entertain you. It is to cure you."
"I need curing?"
"Do you think you do?"
Katrina didn't answer, only wriggled around uncomfortably against the straps. "And to think I used to actually like light bondage."
Doctor Brasster rapped lightly on the observation window behind him and within seconds an orderly walked through the door. "Please remove the straps from Miss. Kinkade, and hand me my clipboard." Curtis stated, his tone calm and professional. He was sure that four hours, restrained to the bed, and a small dose of sedative was enough to calm Katrina.
Nodding the orderly passed the clipboard to the doctor, walked around the bed and undid the straps that were holding down Katrina's naked legs. The ones that covered her waist and chest followed, then finally her hands were freed.
"Anything else, Doctor?" asked the orderly as he looked, pensively from Doctor Brasster to the smiling and now unrestrained mental patient.
With a shake of his head Curtis dismissed the orderly. Once the large man had gone, he looked to Katrina who eagerly sat up and stretched. Quickly the doctor's gaze returned to the notes in front of him. Curtis didn't want to stare, and honestly didn't trust his body if he did. He could see the outlines of her nipples through the material of the gown. He sat, silent for a moment, all the letters on the page seeming to blur in front of him. Taking a chance, Curtis again looked to his patient. He was a trained psychologist, after all. He would be professional, deal with Katrina, then go masturbate in the bathroom stall. Simple as that.
"Better?" Dr. Brasster questioned as he caught himself staring at the hard, perfect flesh of Katrina's legs. The flimsy gown barely covered her body, and as Curtis continued to take in his patients tight curves, and exposed flesh, he found it hard to control the pressure building in his crotch. Clearing his throat, he, quickly crossed his legs, and adjusted his position so that he might be a little more comfortable.
"Oh, yes, much better." Katrina stated, cocking an eyebrow as she looked at Curtis. "Now let's chat about my outburst, shall we?" The blonde mocked Curtis's British accent flawlessly. "It'll be just like in Silence of the Lambs. Quid pro quo. You take off the straps, I'll tell you anything you want to know, Clarice."
With a chuckle, The doctor shook his head, pulling out his pen to take notes. "Very well. I want to know why you always hide behind a sarcastic exterior, to begin with."
"Because I can. Because there is no point in acting otherwise. Because in the end that is what people expect of me." Getting up off the bed, Katrina wandered to the other side of the room and looked out the barred window. "Because out there, all they see is what they choose to see, not what really is. People like to think they are flawless, holier-then-thou. They believe that they don't have the very qualities in themselves that they hate in others. But, the truth of the matter is, everyone's a criminal and everyone is a whore."
Jotting like mad, the psychiatrist nodded, although more to himself than to his patient. "Go on."
"No, No. It's your turn…. Remember, agent Starling?"
"Very well." With a sigh, Curtis looked up from his notes and cocked his head to the side. He was aware giving his patient free reign to ask him questions was treading into dangerous territory. He was not only breaking one of psychiatry's golden rules, but was also in a position to allow her more power over him then she already held. However in the end, the chance to find out more about what went on in her mind won out and against his better judgment, he continued the line of conversation. "What do you want to know?"
Katrina leaned on the windowsill and folded her arms across her chest. "Tell me, honestly, do I scare you?"
Back when he was in university, Curtis swore he wouldn't fear his patients yet, there was something off-putting about this one in particular that made him want to say, yes. It wasn't that she had been a killer; the Shady Oaks Home for the Criminally Insane was full of murders, psychotics, and worse. It wasn't the fact that all he had to do was look at Katrina to develop a hard-on, or that she could read him like a book, it was something else, something that lay in the eyes of the young blonde. Whenever Curtis happened to catch a glimpse of this 'something' it made him wish that he could run home to his wife and she could tell him it all would be all right. It was an emptiness like he'd never seen; a barren wasteland, bleeding behind her eyes like an open wound.
Curtis Brasster dealt with serial killers, cannibals, rapists, and the criminally insane on a daily basis. He had seen things - heard things - that would have caused the average person to either sob or vomit; and for the last four years these things had only seemed to get worse, as did those who fostered them. However, in all that time he had never felt a twinge of fear quite like he felt when he was with Katrina.
He decided to lie, at least attempting it seemed easier the truth. "No," the dark haired doctor stated calmly, "I'm not afraid of you."
Walking towards him, Katrina smiled genuinely. "Sure, sure. Let's play a new game now, Curt."
"I thought this one was going rather well," Dr. Brasster declared. That was the truth; he'd gotten more information out of Katrina in the last four minutes than he had in the past five months. "My turn to ask…."
Within a few seconds, Katrina had crossed the room and was squatting in front of Curtis, looking up at him with her haunting green eyes. "You want me, don't you?"
"I don't know what…"
Slowly, the blonde placed her hand over the crotch of Curtis's dress pants, and sighed. "I thought so." There was a disappointment in her voice, although it was gone as quickly as it had come.
A light moan escaped the lips of Curtis Brasster as Katrina removed her hand from his crotch. Nudging his legs apart, she placed her hand and his inner thigh.
The doctor's mind tried to scream out a warning, to tell him that something was wrong - to call the orderly back into the room. But the euphoria of the blonde's hands on his body stopped anything but an erotic bliss.
"The new game is a betting game." Katrina stated, her voice whisper quiet. "Are you a gambler, Clarice?"
Smiling slowly, the psychiatrist ran his finger along Katrina's arm. "oh, yes."
"What do you bet," Katrina leaned forward a little and rested her elbows on the doctor's knees, "that I could kill you sooner than you could scream?"
Before Curtis could react, Katrina leapt up from her crouched position and in one quick motion, smashed the palm of her hand into Doctor Brasster's forehead, cracking it back into the thick, plated window behind him.
Blood rushed out from the back of the unconscious doctor's head splattering out across the mirror and nearby wall. Katrina then placed her hands on the sides of Curtis's twitching head and snapped his neck like it was nothing more than a stick.
"I win."