Gotham's Discontent
Chapter Ten: Estranged
Dr. Hugo Strange was the Chief of Psychiatry and the lead director of Arkham Asylum; Warden Carlson Grey might have owned the establishment, but he was actually the puppet—if the police ever came knocking, it was Warden Grey who met them at the door. But of course, whatever happened at Arkham Asylum stayed in Arkham Asylum; the GCPD sticking their hands in the asylum's business would be too sticky, especially all considering the goings-on in the building: several assaults, a couple murders, the "incident" during last Thursday's Movie Night—
Word spread like wildfire about the intriguing late-night show during the Editor's Choice, and it was met with praise. Although the knowledge of the Valeska Siblings fucking in front of a entire audience had raised some spirits as a new occurrence in the asylum—"Finally some good fucking food," Greenwood had described the encounter and the new breakfast with enthusiasm that he had demolished his Eggs Benedict in Hollandaise sauce with ferocity—it reached Dr. Hugo Strange.
Deedee didn't know whatever Dr. Strange did behind closed doors, though she was aware of his particular menacing reputation amongst the workers in Arkham; they feared him, and she wasn't sure why except for the fact that he was fond of giving his clients electroshock therapy and that that the man of gentle voice and small stature had somehow climbed the ranks to go as far as directing Arkham.
He had a few orderlies bring her into his neat and organized office, and she remained suspicious even after he greeted her politely, pouring a small cup of tea for she and himself as he looked at her from over the rim of his rose-colored glasses. Deedee was temperamental, but there were some authorities that needed to be given a matter of respect. Dr. Strange was one of them.
"Good morning," he had said in his slow drawl, setting the thermalized pitcher of tea on top of his desk. He handed her the cup. Deedee took it, sniffed it, "I'm not going to poison you, Deedee." He noticed the change in her facial expressions, and he nodded, "I know that is the name you want to go by. I read your file. I'm very aware of the nature of your relationship with your brother Jerome, and how well that movie night went."
"Ah, so you know about that." Deedee remarked, sipping her tea like a posh gent and then set it down. "Sorry, Doc. Heat of the moment and all. But your coordinator, Peter." She frowned. "He's a bit of a buzzkill."
"I'm aware of how your brother decided to remedy that."
"Not much of a decision; he just did it, but I'd have done the same thing."
"You'd have killed him," said Dr. Strange.
"You don't know that," said Deedee.
"If he had tried to lay a hand on Jerome?" Dr. Strange suggested.
"He could try," Deedee noted with a smile of her own. "Jerome can handle his own."
Dr. Strange gave an amused smile. Deedee felt the sense that perhaps Dr. Hugo Strange was a dark man, certainly not exactly what those outside the asylum would have led to believe. He'd have led the public to believe that he was a reasonable man with a strong moral fiber against hard-core criminals; but whatever he did that scared his employees made electroshock therapy pale in comparison.
"Of course, you had to have known that you'd be brought to me eventually," said Dr. Strange.
"All considering, I've been on my best behavior."
"You're a naughty girl, Deedee," Dr. Strange chuckled, wagging a finger at her as he took his seat behind his desk. "I know about what you did to little Laura's father. Quite a brutal thing; but I understand why you did it. He was a pig, wasn't he? I had meant to let him go for a long time; but the turnover…So tedious trying to train new hires."
"So, I did you a favor, then," said Deedee. "You're welcome."
"People go missing all the time in Gotham," said Dr. Strange without smiling. "It's part of the city's charm. But I don't like people going missing at Arkham. It attracts the attention of the GCPD along with its nosy cops poking their noses where they don't belong. I don't like the attention, not as much as you and your brother. Clearly," he added with a tiny smirk.
"So, you're reprimanding me for misconduct?" asked Deedee with a breathless, surprised chuckle.
"I don't expect inmates to behave; Arkham Asylum is, after all, a long-term treatment hospital for the criminally insane. Some of the patients are innocuous: Aaron Helzinger being one of them. I understand that you have almost a maternal relationship with him? Would you call it that?"
"You would." Deedee said.
"I do. I am intrigued by it. Do you know why?"
"Probably because you're a psychiatrist and I have mommy issues?" Deedee replied with a frown. "I care about Aaron because he acts like a little kid, but he's a grown man."
"You give him your desserts."
"The man likes cake," said Deedee with half a shrug.
"So, you care for him as a mother would—"
"Not any mother I knew," said Deedee coldly. "You really brought me here to talk about Aaron?"
"I brought you here to discuss your 'mommy issues'. I am the Chief of Psychiatry and I have a job to do."
"Well, that's disappointing," said Deedee.
She didn't intend to argue with Dr. Strange, owing to his lethal reputation; but she felt her stomach turn uncomfortably at the thought of discussing Lila Valeska—not out of remorse, but the concept easily roused her anger. Aaron Helzinger was an invalid, a man with little brain whom couldn't think much harder than a child could. He was harmless, except for the brute strength.
"The orderlies tell me that you have a certain charm about you."
"Stage performer," Deedee excused the former with a dismissive hand. "That's show business."
"But you've got a nasty temper that comes to the surface. That pretty mask you hide behind can only hold for so long until the real you comes out to play. Is that right?" Dr. Strange was writing something down on his tablet. "You're charming, manipulative, and you can 'supposedly' relate to most of the candidates here at Arkham; but you're impulsive, hot-tempered. You're the clinical definition of a sociopath because if you don't get what you want, you drop your entire persona—lose your temper, hit and scream…Kill."
"I'm not sociopathic," Deedee said. "I'm free."
"Your brother shows signs of psychopathy," said Dr. Strange. "Do you ever fear him?"
Deedee gave him a look.
"He has his moments," she answered honestly.
"Does he ever fear you?"
"Jerome isn't afraid of anything," said Deedee.
"So, if he fears nothing, what does he live for?"
"Me," said Deedee.
"Psychopaths do not have the ability to love. Not truly," Dr. Strange said.
"Then he's not your profile psychopath, is he?" said Deedee. "Jerome cares about two things: gold comedy and me. It has always been us for years. We care about each other, regardless of your MD-5 or whatever you get your diagnoses from." She felt the familiar burn in her cheeks. Dr. Strange was speaking ill of her brother, and the familiar urge to defend him spurred in the ilk of her stomach.
"Your sexual relationship with Jerome," Dr. Strange began, continuing to scribble on his notepad. "That's an interesting concept in itself, quite taboo, even in Gotham's present-day standards. I suppose that comes from your mother's influence?"
"Because she was a slut or…?" Deedee replied irritably.
"Deedee, I know that you don't want to discuss Lila, but this is therapy. I want to help you overcome the grief within—"
"I am not grieving." Deedee said. "I was glad she was dead then; and I'm glad she's dead now."
"Not about your mother, Deedee," Dr. Strange said.
Deedee stared at him. Dr. Strange pulled his glasses off the brim of his nose, folded them, and placed them at the top of his desk. He folded his hands carefully with precision, placing his writing utensil on the desk beside his notepad.
"You miss Haley's Circus," said Dr. Strange. "You want freedom, outside of your prison cell. Before, in Group Therapy, you and Dr. Boren had a bit of a nasty confrontation. He was wrong for that, you know. Victim-blaming is such a terrible ordeal in the medical field; I do not believe that you had any control in the environment that you and Jerome had to grow up in, no more control than—say—what you have in Arkham Asylum. You walked out, knowing that a certificate of sanity would be out of your reach."
Deedee said nothing.
Dr. Strange continued, "Your acting out in Arkham tells me that although you are 'content with being discontent'," he glanced down at his notes because apparently Dr. Boren had given him the final notes of her last session with him, "You're feeling some cabin fever. A girl like you—"
"—A girl like me—?" Deedee had interrupted, but Dr. Strange continued:
"—doesn't do well within closed walls; and it's because you are used to being a bit nomadic with Haley's Circus. Am I right so far?"
Deedee said nothing, but she merely tapped her nose sarcastically. Right on the nose. Dr. Strange simply took that as he was right; Deedee didn't want to admit it. She crossed her arms over her chest.
"How would you feel if I set you free today?" Dr. Strange said suddenly, clicking his tongue in finality.
Deedee stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"How would you feel if I gave you your certificate of sanity today, excused your behavior with Lila as feeling 'trapped', excused your murder of Lawrence Greenburg as feeling cornered (because, let's face it, the man would have destroyed you had you not fought back); and the incident during movie night was a defiant need to fight routine—something clearly you do not like due to your brother's love for the unpredictable, and change is actually good for you. That is to say," Dr. Strange put his glasses back on and showed Deedee the blank certificate of sanity with her name on it, with only his signature needed to make it official, "A full ride out of Arkham."
Deedee was speechless. Dr. Strange was…going to let her go? Just like that?
"This is not a bluff," said Dr. Strange gently. "I am not playing mind games with you nor am I trying to trick you. This is an official document, see the stamp?" he showed her the back of the piece of paper—the long-desired piece of paper from many residents of Arkham Asylum—
"You just said that I'm a clinical definition of a sociopath," said Deedee skeptically. "Why would you let me go?"
"Sociopaths are a dime a dozen in Gotham," said Dr. Strange. "I see them everyday. Psychopaths are what I collect, and you are not one. Your brother, Jerome, is quite the charming lad. Which, as I must add, means that he would not be going with you."
Deedee's expression faltered. So. Dr. Strange didn't think that Deedee was dangerous enough, special enough, to harbor in his loony bin. He wanted Jerome in his collection. She felt the strange feeling of a less than, something that Lila often had made her feel—felt when Lila discovered her children sleeping together in the single bed. Deedee would miss Jerome.
But would he understand?
"You're concerned about Jerome's resolve if you take my offer." Dr. Strange said.
"Actually," said Deedee, "I'm offended that I don't pose a potential threat if you send me back on the street."
"Ah, honesty," Dr. Strange remarked with delight. "That's lovely."
He slid the certificate toward Deedee.
"I will set you free today," he said. "You can walk out of here in the middle of the night; free to go as you please, do as you please. I don't care what—But you must leave Jerome behind. You and he are co-dependent; I'd like to help you break that co-dependency. Become your better self. And perhaps, should you actually ever become someone—" Deedee stared at him, immiserated— "I'll be very honored to keep you in my collection."
"So…" Deedee said slowly, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward. "You want me to walk the streets and potentially kill people so I might be able to join your little collection of psychopaths, all the while telling the public eye that I'm really not that big of a threat because Jerome killed our mother and I'm simply…acting out." A hard gaze. "That's what you're telling me, right?"
"The entire city is filled with Gotham's discontent, Deedee. Some go to office jobs. Some end up here. There is no cure to misery," said Dr. Strange. "I believe that what you are—sociopathic tendencies aside—is miserable. And you have been for a very long time. An abusive mother and a biological father who willingly would send you under the bus to protect his son rather than shield his daughter—no one would blame you for your fury and abandonment issues—"
"And you think that telling me the same thing by setting me free and keeping Jerome because he's more special will remedy that?" Deedee remarked coldly.
"Life is unfair," said Dr. Strange. "Unfortunately, it's really hasn't been unfair enough to you for me to think that you're a psychiatrist's wet dream, Deedee."
Wow. Deedee made a small laugh; it had been some time since Deedee had felt hurt—truly hurt—by words, but Dr. Strange had an eloquent way of making her feel inadequate.
"You're a bit psychotic, aren't you?" Deedee whispered with a thinly veiled smile.
"Take the deal, Deedee." Dr. Strange said. "I will personally let Jerome know why you had to take it. If he and you are as close as you say, and he cares about you as much as you say, then he will understand why you had to leave."
Deedee gazed down at the certificate of sanity. On some level, it didn't feel like Dr. Strange was offering a choice. It was a polite and subtle demand. Leave or face the worst outcome. She had no desire to be under the knife, nor to discover what other plans Dr. Strange had in store for the Valeska siblings. That, and the fact that Deedee knew in her heart that Dr. Strange was right; she wanted freedom and he didn't want her.
Deedee slowly nodded.
Dr. Strange smiled widely, and he signed his name onto the official document.
"Splendid." He handed it to her. "You're free to go. May you succeed in all your endeavors."