Chapter Five: The Biology of Blood Loss
"It could and it has in the past," Maureen stated, her tone steeped in seriousness. "Myself and my predecessor have had some success in lobbying support when the psychological proclivities support medical over legal intervention."
"Is that your opinion doctor?"
"I don't know yet," Maureen answered truthfully before adding. "That's why I don't want to minimize our sessions by grand-standing, displays of ego or forgetting the finality of a guilty verdict."
The session wrapped up soon after Maureen spoke when the med tech came in with a new IV bag and plastic tote of phlebotomy supplies to draw Bane's blood.
Maureen could see the fatigue in Bane's face and hear it in his voice even though he'd die before admitting it. She excused herself as Boris flanked the med tech and blocked Bane from her line of sight, he was an Eastern European moon eclipsing the sun.
Bane heard the click of Maureen's heels recede as she checked in briefly at the nurse's station before filling a paper cup with the scorched coffee from the staff lounge before walking briskly to the pharmacy offices, finding Sara Carlton elbow deep in incorrect invoices entered by a new tech.
"Good morning Dr. Carlton," Maureen called as she knocked on Sara's open door.
The eccentric woman with the contagious smile looked up from the labyrinth of paperwork on her desk.
"Dr. Hightower, good morning, please call me Sara."
"You want to go grab some popcorn shrimp in the cafeteria, they have clam chowder today too."
Sara blew out a breath, the invoices would still be there regardless of how full her belly was.
"Sure, I could use a change of scenery."
Sara grabbed her coat and the two women walked to the cafeteria, taking the long way around so they could take advantage of some sunshine.
As the two women chatted, Sara kept finding herself scrutinizing every aspect of Maureen's face, gait and even the tone of her voice. She'd heard Maureen referred to as the Ice Queen among other names and tried to make the connection as Maureen pivoted right back to business and asked what medications Sara was going to prescribe for the Joker to detoxify from the methamphetamine.
Sara and Maureen held their conversation while they were in line, conscious of who could be within earshot.
As Sara and Maureen found a table and delved back into the planned supportive medications, Sara couldn't help but try and link the nasty gossip to the woman sitting across from her.
As Sara and Maureen continued to eat, dunking their deep-fried shrimp into tartar sauce, across the Asylum in the kitchen, the crew milled about peeling potatoes.
Over the next seventy-two hours as the Joker detoxed and got past the worse of the symptoms, the director of Arkham, put the facility on lockdown as every cell and inmate was searched from stem to stern.
The lockdown prevented any patient and doctor visits aside from emergency needs.
During the time that the Joker detoxed, and the facility was turned inside out, the meth lab was discovered behind a refrigerator and an opening that had been carved in a concrete wall. The inside of Arkham's walls had been boasting a productive lab of illicit drugs and broke many of the fragile minds within the cells with its fatal touch and infiltration of the central nervous system.
Maureen found herself without a lot of work during the lockdown and stayed in constant contact with Dr. Sara Carlton about the Joker's progress and how she was treating his sleep, appetite, nausea, diarrhea, and hallucinations.
The seventy-two hours of lockdown passed differently for every inmate under Arkham's tiled roof.
As the Joker continued to detoxify, Bane paced his small cell, memorizing every divot in the floor as he mulled over Maureen's delivery of Talia's cause of death.
He spent hours of the day with his face pressed to the glass, razor-wire embedded window, straining for a glimpse of Maureen's window, coming to realize that she could be his way out, he could distort her words and use them against her.
Bane found that Maureen always seemed to find the bench seat when the sun was at its highest point in the sky.
He wondered as he watched Maureen press her face into the lush hibiscus blossoms, which inmates she had lobbied to maintain their life, even it was forever within the walls of Arkham.
Bane would've rightly guessed that Maureen's predecessor Dr. Eduard Ault had fought day and night to keep the Joker remanded to Arkham and not killed by the state.
His thoughts kept returning to the eternal absence of Talia, the flame that had been forever extinguished when Maureen confirmed of what he was certain.
After the lockdown ended, Maureen scheduled the Joker to resume sessions.
As the Joker was being walked towards Maureen's office with additional techs for support, behind her glass-fronted office door, Maureen fixed a fresh cup of coffee and adjusted the cuffs of her blood red blouse.
Arnold, ever early, knocked a couple times and escorted the Joker in, along with another tech while Ferguson hovered in the doorway.
After the Joker was secured to Maureen's office chair, she closed the door and settled in her own plush swiveling chair.
"How are you?" she asked as the Joker's eyes moved rapidly from corner to corner, eager to find any changes.
"Tired," he said quietly.
"Where'd you get the drugs?"
"My mother."
"How'd she manage that?" Maureen asked as she noted the mention of his mother on her lined pad of paper.
"She came out from under the bed and slipped them into my body."
Maureen nodded, "how have your dreams been?"
The Joker's eyes landed on one of her dahlias that was blooming, fascinated by the pure white blossom, he knew they'd feel like liquid velvet. "They've been colorful, every night I go to sleep and become a child again."
"How do these dreams make you feel?"
The Joker shrugged noncommittally in an even more diminished manner with the snugger shackles.
"Is your mother ever present in your dreams?"
The Joker's smile turned grotesque, "sometimes," he purred, his canines looking more prominent when he grinned.
"How about your father?" Maureen asked, her tone even but taking the wind out of the Joker's sails.
"My father went to get a fifth of Jack and pack of unfiltereds, he was supposed to bring me bag a sack of candy corn. He never came back."
Maureen nodded as she made a few quick notes, "how old were you when he left?"
"Eight," the Joker said and continued to look around the office as he added. "That's when my mother started crying and never really stopped."
"Did you ever look for your father?"
The Joker's smile widened as he brought his eyes back to her. "Maybe, he left me with quite the sweet tooth," the Joker cackled as he winked.
Maureen glanced up at the clock as the Joker began to babble in baby talk, every third word was either a sex toy or something that could be fashioned into a sex toy.
She found herself relieved when Arnold knocked on the door, his prematurity welcomed.
Maureen closed the Joker's file before steepling her fingers under her chin and leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. "I'm glad you're still here, let's try to stay away from those illegal drugs."
The Joker's wild eyes toned down in fire as his expression smoothed out. "I'll try mother, I'll certainly try," he finally drawled before he winked at her and dutifully followed the process of Arnold redoing his restraints and leading him back to his cell.
As the Joker asked endless knock-knock jokes to Arnold, who remain fat and silent, in concert across the facility in the room with temporary rooms. Bane was shackled, cuffed, and led to Maureen's office, via the staff elevator.
As Maureen waited for Bane's arrival, she quickly misted her ferns, a flight of irritation touched her when she saw Tommy had neglected to refill her spray bottle. Maureen bustled around the corner, triangular office, returning briefly to gratitude for Tommy when she saw her coffeemaker was ready to brew.
As Bane watched Boris press the round, plastic elevator button, Bane began to count how much time elapsed until the doors opened on the fifth floor. Bane tucked the numerical value away until later and cleared his throat, seeing Boris's shoulders tense at the rare sound from the fearsome patient.
"Who did you serve under brother?" Bane asked Boris's back, seeing the large man's reflected expression become distorted as the metal doors opened.
"Serve?" Boris asked without turning around and flicking the hold button of the elevator as he gripped Bane's upper arm and urged him to exit.
"You must've served in someone's war to return to a place full of suffering, damaged men."
Boris chuckled and mumbled something in his native tongue as he tightened his grip and led Bane down the hall to Maureen's office.
The corner of Bane's scarred lips pulls into a small smile at the few words he'd been able to decipher from Boris's deep timbres. He recognized the name of the dictator that Boris spit out like his mouth was full of battery acid.
Maureen waited by the door after she greeted Boris and watched him affix Bane firmly to her office chair before nodding on a wordless exit.
"How are feeling? How was your quality of sleep being back in your room?" Maureen started with as she settled in her chair and dragged her candy dish closer.
Bane watched the dazzling ring on her left, fourth digit catch the light and throw prisms to the ceiling before he spoke.
"I am much improved."
Maureen paused as she opened his chart and dated the corner of her notepad. "Any pain or discomfort?"
"Nothing I cannot endure."
Maureen nodded, thinking a switch in gears might reap more answers or a way in. "I'd like to run through another set of word association," she stated.
Bane kept his expression neutral at her tone which didn't invite debate.
He nodded as Maureen turned to the first word and tapped it with the square-edge of her glossy, manicured fingernail.
"Guilty."
"Yes."
Maureen never lost a beat as she made a penciled checkmark and moved on.
"Murderer."
"Yes."
"God."
"Fairytale."
"Evil."
"Manmade."
"Sex."
"Distraction."
"Love."
Maureen plucked a trio of primary-colored candies from the crystal bowl in his silence.
"Did Talia suffer?" Bane abruptly asked.
"Well, it's difficult for me to know exactly. I've only read the transcripts of her, her discovery," Maureen vaguely answered.
"From what you've read doctor, did Talia suffer at the end?"
Maureen set down her pencil and leaned forward on her elbows. "Is this truly what you wish to discuss?"
Bane nodded, fire began to simmer in his bloodstream, his eyes dancing with flames of liquid honey.
Maureen held his eyes for a breath before settling back in her chair and searching a manila folder for the transcript that was compiled and sent to her by the defense attorney.
Maureen thumbed through a few pages until she found the succinct summary of James Gordon coming across Talia al Ghul as her life was hemorrhaging in time with her perforated aorta.
Maureen pressed her lips together as she smoothed over the autopsy mentioning aspiration and how she'd clawed at her seatbelt, the biology of blood loss had won.
"Are her final words captured on that page?" Bane asked, his eyes glued to the paper in her hand.
Maureen nodded, "they are, but I am legally barred from discussing those specific passages as part of the prosecution's case."
Bane looked around the room, scanning the spines of the books hemorrhaging from her oak shelves. Bookcases bursting with medical manuals, novels, and poetry. He moved his gaze across her broad desk, narrowing his eyes at the easel-backed photos on her desk, wondering what images were within the wooden frames that faced her.
"The prosecution's case is simply part of the required theater they need in order to execute me," Bane started and brought his eyes to Maureen's as he continued. "Their adherence to the law is transparent."
Maureen nodded as she plucked several candies from the top of the dish. "I understand your perception from your point of view; however, I cannot share that information with you."
"Were you required to take the Hippocratic Oath doctor?"
"I was," Maureen started before Bane interrupted.
"Then you're familiar with not causing intentional harm?"
"Quite so," Maureen agreed as she quoted, "I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm."
"Withholding Talia's final words is intentionally harmful doctor," Bane practically hissed, furious he was shackled to the chair and reduced to practically begging.
"There is a difference," Maureen cut in. "This is a legal process with procedures that must be adhered to, it's very likely you will see this information presented in the courtroom."
"I do not wish to let those words be lectured to me in that side show act."
Maureen pressed her lips together. "I cannot share that information with you," she stated firmly as she slipped Bane's file back to the bottom, right drawer of her desk and locked it.
Bane's ears grew hot, and his peripheral vision shimmered, such a foreign feeling to be bound to the chair and unable to force his point, hobbled at her feet.
Maureen watched Bane attempt to keep his emotions inside the pressure cooker. She knew from years of sitting across from sociopaths, psychopaths, and schizophrenics, that he was considering what he'd do first in his quest to end her life if he was free from restraints.
She was not incorrect about any imagined act of his capacity for atrocity.
