Arkham: Inquisition

by Andrew the Second

Trista Martin had studied serial killers for a psych mag for years, but her new assignment might be even more disturbing. She has been sent to Gotham, home of the infamous Arkham Asylum, a hospital for the criminally insane which houses some of the most dangerous and eccentric criminals in the world. An examination and reinterpretation of some of the greatest villains of all time

13. Chapter 13: Poison Ivy

Chapter 7 - Poison Ivy

1

After he had finished his story, Trista had almost forgotten about her promise to Adams. When she asked him he didn't hesitate at all. Like he would have told anyone who had asked him. Like it didn't even matter. When they restrain him, the first thing they do is inject enough tranquilizers to bring down a bull, after that they start the prosess of releasing him from his restraints. When they went to give him the shot, after they found the vein but before they injected it, he actually moved the vein in his arm, allowing the sedative to be absorbed more slowly in the muscle. When they unstrapped his arm, he was only half sedated and was able to crush the poor man's throat. He told Trista all of this with the emptiness of a person reading stereo instructions.

As Trista walked out of Arkham, the sky over Gotham was dark with clouds and smog. The unseasonable cold that seemed ever present in Gotham burned her cheeks and seemed to cut through her jacket like a silk nightshirt. She had relayed the information Zasaz had given her to Adams and Trista had expected disbelief or at least confusion. But the only thing she could read in the woman's face was a weary exasperation, like an overburdened mother getting yet another horror story from a teacher. For the first time Trista could see that Adams hated these men, though she might never say it to anyone, even herself. Trista began to feel empathy softening the edges of her dislike for the old bitch. She felt inexplicably drained after talking with Adams. Everything seemed to drop 10 degrees and lose some of its natural hue after spending so long with Zasaz and then seeing an oddly vulnerable Dr. Adams. She needed a hot coffee and a good conversation. Trista went back inside to see if Hilleman was around but he wasn't in his office and she gave up, leaving the asylum alone.

She settled for the hotel lobby coffee and her case files. As the coffee warmed her and the TV news spoke with the painting across the room. Trista had been halfway through an article she was quickly losing interest in when the name Poison Ivy was said by a news caster on the TV. She moved to the side to watch. They were reporting on an increase in serious accidental poisonings, mostly children and pets. They showed a photo of a plant that looked to Trista like oleander and they warned viewers to keep a look out for this strain of plant. They went on to say the species was identified as one of the unique specimens seized from the labs of Ivy Woods, better known as Poison Ivy. Anyone who spots one of these plants is urged to contact poison control immediately. she withdrew her case file on Ivy Woods. She hadn't been all that interested in her. She had almost omitted her from the list she had given Adams before. Looking at the mugshot she began to feel warmer. She was around Trista's age with fiery red hair cut short in a boyish pixie style. Pixie was the best way to describe her looks, there seemed to be some bright energy in her eyes which were slightly slanted but round and bright green. Her lips were the envy of any cover girl, dick sucking lips her mother would have called them, and she had a grin that seemed both childish, and devilishly menacing. Looking into her file she saw Ivy's crimes had been deemed eco-terrorism. Spreading invasive plants into corporate crops, tampering with insecticides, spreading harmful and poisonous plants into public parks and national forests, as well as developing biological weapons and dangerous fungus. Her background was scant but they listed her as having been born and raised in the Heros Karabazios cult that was raided 20 or so years ago. After the raid she disappeared into the foster system like most of the kids. She didn't turn up again in Gotham until she was 19 and had no arrests or investigations until recently. Trista wrote down the name of the cult and a list of any living relatives, as well as the names of any victims of her crimes. There was a former guard at Arkham who attempted suicide, but he was a patient at Arkham now and Adams would never let her near a regular patient. One of the men listed as a witness in the case was another guard who worked with Ivy at the same time, Blake Fincher. She found the name and number of a botanist at Gotham University who was head of the department who received many of the specimens seized from Ivy's lab. Trista supposed it was best to start from the present and work backwards toward her past.

2

The greenhouse and lab Ivy had built on her late husband's land has been seized and quarantined after her capture. Most of the plants and specimens were destroyed but several had been taken by the university of Gotham for study. Trista walked into the botanical labs of the university and was met by Professor James Bateman, who was the head of the botanical studies at the university. He was a bit older than Trista, lanky, balding, with horn rimed glasses and a beard.
"You must be Trista Martin." He said extending his hand.
"Must I?" Trista said jokingly and they shook hands and started through the garden area.
"The specimens we seized from Ivy's lab were in excellent health and condition. Many of them were difficult to cultivate and transfer. We had to add a whole wing to our labs here to accommodate them." He pointed to a row of lush green plants as a timed mister turned on and began watering.
"Some of them we were unable to maintain here because they required equipment and habitats we were unable to duplicate. I wish I had gotten a chance to see her lab before it was quarantined. It must have been amazing." Trista lightly touched a cluster of pale white flowers and said,
"You sound like you admire her." Bateman grinned.
"Only as a fellow botanist. Ah, that's one of the specimens we got from her labs. Conium Maculatum." Trista looked closer, studying the leaves and stems.
"Hemlock." She said, plucking a leaf and holding it up to study it.
"We found most of the specimens from Ivy's lab to be quite poisonous. Hemlock contains coniine, a powerful neurotoxin that disrupts the neuromuscular functions, causing ascending paralysis. It was used to execute prisoners in ancient Greece. The specimens we retrieved from Ivy's lab contain 3 times the normal levels of coniine and grow at a much faster rate. Ingesting 3 to 4 leaves of this specimen would kill a healthy adult." Trista pocketed the leaf and went over to a small tree covered in bright pink flowers.
"Nerium Oleander, correct?"
"We're thinking of renaming this genus Ivium Oleander. It normally requires one to ingest quite a bit before the effects of the cardiac glycosides can be felt. This genus however contains a more powerful strain of the toxin and its leaves are not as bitter. If you were to ingest the leaves of this plant you would suffer irregular heartbeats and severe abdominal problems until full cardiac arrest." Trista looked at the beautiful tree, unable to believe it could be so deadly.
"Was she genetically modifying these plants? Trying to make more deadly poisons?" Bateman shook his head, looking at the flower of the oleander carefully.
"There are plenty of poisons in the world. It looked to me, and this is just in my opinion, that she wanted to make more poisonous plants. Maybe it was to develop better poisons or maybe just to change the way those poisons are made or transported. I don't know. But if you look at this specimen." He walks over to a spiky reddish plant with thorny seed pods at the top. The plant was behind a protective plastic sheet.
"This is what appears to be a Ricinus Communis, a Castor Oil plant. 4 to 8 seeds of a typical Ricinus contain enough ricin to kill a man. This breed was recovered from her labs and contains just as much ricin, but it excretes the oil through the leaves, like poison ivy. That means simply touching one of these without protection can deliver ricin through the skin, killing you within a few hours." Trista stared at the plant, astonished.
"Jesus."
"The only reason for such a plant to be made is if you wanted to kill someone at random. Anyone who came into contact with it would become terminally ill. I imagine her motives were not unlike the Tylenol poisonings. Random. Or maybe more than that, take a look at this." He lead her over to an enclosed glass case, like an exhibit at a zoo. Inside was what seemed like an apple tree. The apples were bright red and covered the ground around the roots of the tree.
"This is a new speciese of plant recovered from her labs. At first glance it appears to be a mackintosh apple tree. It is actually a hybrid of a common apple tree and the Hippomane Macinella. The sap of the manchineel tree contains phorbol, which causes violent allergic reactions when exposed to the skin. The manchineel was used by the natives of Mexico and south America to torture captured enemies by tying them to the base during a rain storm. Even the water from the leaves was enough to cause severe burns. The apples of the tree contain physostignmine, a toxin that caused severe internal bleeding and pain before death. This is a manchineel tree which has been bred to look like an ordinary apple tree." Trista looked at bright red apples and shook her head.
"But why?" Bateman looked at the tree with a frown.
"I have no idea. This is beyond me. There are others, of course. We recovered supplies from her lab for genetic modification, though they seemed relatively new, thank god. I can't imagine the things she might have been capable of breeding with that technology. If the seeds of this tree or any of the others we recovered were to spread into the wild, it could cause countless deaths and injuries, no only to people but the natural environment. If she hadn't been stopped and her specimens either destroyed or contained, there is o telling the damage she could have caused. The things we have here aren't even the worst of them. The really bad stuff was seized by the government. God knows what they will do with them. The things Ivy was making, they scare the hell out of me." Trista looked at the silent green of the leaves, the quiet threat they contained.
"Do we know if she had spread them? If any made it into the wild? How would we know?" Bateman shook his head and looked down.
"We wouldn't know until people started dying. She could have been spreading them around here, shipping them to other countries as misidentified seeds, mixing them in with crops or seed depositories. She had years to do this. All we can do is figure out how to identify and counter them, and hope its not already too late."

3

Blake Fincher lived in a run down apartment complex on the north side of the Bowery. He had been an orderly at Arkham for years until he quit a year ago. They were sitting on the small patio attached to his apartment, about 3 stories up, the balcony above them dripped sedately from the morning's rain. He offered her a beer which Trista declined. She had never understood the appeal of beer. It tasted like fermented piss and wouldn't give you a good buzz until you'd choked down half a dozen. He lit a smoke and looked Trista over appreciatively. Blake looked like the bumbling dad from a cheesy sitcom, slightly overweight, balding, just enough smarts to know he wasn't all that smart.
"I haven't been to Arkham in over a year, I dunno what ya think I can tell ya." Trista sat back in her flimsy plastic patio chair, faded and gritty from exposure to the elements.
"You worked as an orderly there, you had experience with some of the super criminals there. I'm just gathering references about Poison Ivy now, did you have an interactions with her?" Blake took a swig and wiped his mouth.
"I aint never touched her, alright. Not me." Trista turned on the recorder casually.
"So some of the other guards did?" Blake looked at the red eye of the recorder watching him and shifted nervously.
"Yeah, sure. Some of them did. Could you blame em? Most of em got busted or quit, you know. But I aint never touched her." Trista watched him finish off his cigarette and flick it into the alley below.
"Anybody who did her, they all changed." Trista sat up a bit.
"Changed?" She leaned forward in her chair.
"Yeah, like, I don't know. Its like when someone starts doin smack and they change. They don't say nothin, but you can tell." Blake seemed to realize Trista wasn't following him so far and he fumbled with another cigarette while he figured out how to explain.

"So there was this guy who used to work with us at Arkham. Rick Morris. He was one a those tough guy macho types. Picks fights in bars, rips on you for bein a sissy, a real asshole. He was rough with the patients and I seen him go into the women's ward at night a few times. Nobody never said nothing because we knew he'd beat the shit out of us if we did but mostly because when you work in a place like that, you need someone like him watching your back. Most of the crazies in there are harmless but I seen one go into a fit and throw a guy twice his size out a window. Then there's the other ones, Croc and Joker and Zasaz, those types. I wouldn't even go into their area without Rick or one of the other big guys with me. So we put up with his bullshit and looked the other way when he went to break himself off a piece, as he called it. So when they bring in Ivy we all saw her and our jaws just about hit the floor. She looked even better in person somehow. We all wanted her on our rounds that night but Rick claimed her and no one fought it. After that he was all smiles, told us it was the best lay he'd ever had. He looked like a teenager who'd just gotten laid for the first time. After that we all wanted a taste and most of them got one, but Rick got the most. He would go on and on about it. What she did to him, what she let him do to her, how tight she was, all that. He was goin to her every other night, then it was every night, then it was twice a day. We all knew if he kept it up he'd get us all caught but he wouldn't listen. That was when I started noticing the changes in him. He wasn't joking around with us or bragging anymore. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping much and he'd go off on us for no reason. I could tell he'd lost weight. He looked drained. Like she was sucking the life out of him. The others changed too.
One of the guys, Pete Townsend, used to be a quiet loner, we used to rip on him because he'd only ever had sex with his wife. After he went with her he said he'd never wanted sex more in his life. His wife had started to cut him off and he'd have to masturbate two or three times a day just to satisfy himself. He got mean, started bullshitting us the way Rick used to. Told us he'd started going down to the red light district because his wife wouldn't do it for him anymore. Last I heard his wife left him and took the kids and he'd gotten thrown in jail or raping a teenager on a subway car. One of the other guys, Wicks Sullivan, he just stopped coming to work afterward. Last I'd heard he'd left town, even though his ex and the kids were still here and he never got it the worst though. He looked like a junkie, clothes loose and dirty, eyes sunken, hair falling out. When he was inevitably caught, Adams called us all into her office and gave us the third degree. We all got a weeks suspension since she couldn't prove we'd done anything, but Rick got the boot right then and he threw himself on the floor, crawling over to Adams' feet. We all stared at him like it was a prank or maybe it wasn't Rick at all. His back arched up and down as he sobbed. It was the ugliest sound I'd ever heard. He begged her on his knees, saying how his wife left him because he couldn't get it up anymore. That just about floored us. He was always going on about that, how he gave it to his woman every night like clockwork and how he jacked off twice a day every day since he was 15. He said she was the only way he could get it off anymore, she was the only one. Snot was running down his cheeks and Adams looked like she was ready to beat him back with her clipboard or turn and run. She screamed at him to get out and we all flinched at that but Rick just crawled over to her feet and rested his head on the tips of her shoes as she backed into the bookcase to get away. She screamed for one of us to get him away from her and when no one else made a move I stepped forward. He was still shaking with sobs on the floor and I could see the trail of snot and tears he'd left behind him like a slug. He must have heard me coming because he wheeled around, flinging a glob of snot that hit the desk side trash can with a soft thunk. When I saw his eyes I knew he was crazy. He jumped up like someone had hit him with a Taser and he whirled around, looking from one person to the other. We all stood like ranch hands in a pen with a wild bronco, hands out and shifting with his movements. I saw something like a light burning out behind his eyes then and he stopped, hands at his side. He went for something in his pocket and my first thought was gun so I jumped at him. He pulled out a pill bottle and had dumped about half the bottle down his throat when I hit him. It was a muscle relaxer and if Toby hadn't brought out his ipecac, everyone was required to have one in case a patient swallowed something poisonous or tried to OD, and made Rick vomit the rest out all over Dr. Adams' office he would have died before the EMTs would have gotten there."

Blake finished off his beer and tossed the bottle over the side of the patio, it made a faint crash down below and a dog barked somewhere in response.
"He's a patient there now, still on suicide watch." Trista sat back and looked out at Gotham, grey and black after the rain like the remains of a campfire.
"Why did you quit?" She asked. He sighed, resignedly.
"I sometimes wish I hadn't. No other job pays that well and the benefits were excellent. But when I was assigned to her ward one night and I saw her in her cell, naked on her cot and looking right at me, and she told me to come over, I almost did. Even after everything I'd seen, I almost walked right into her and let her use whatever black magic she used on the others to destroy their lives. I came so close. If Adams hadn't assigned a woman to guard Ivy with whatever guy was there, if she hadn't snapped me out of it, I would have. After that I couldn't stay there." He tossed his cigarette over the side and looked out at the city.
"Looking back I think maybe I could have stayed, maybe I could have even handled it. Maybe I wouldn't go crazy like the others and I could have enjoyed her the way it happened in my fantasies. But all I have to do is think about that thunk sound of Rick's snot hitting Dr. Adams' trashcan as he turned on me with those crazy eyes and know I made the right decision."

4

Finding Willow Blossom was a terrible hassle. After the cult was raided, most of the kids who were under 12 were sent into the foster system, the ones who were old enough to convict were sent to juvenile detention centers or rehab clinics. Willow was 14 when her parents were killed and her little sister, Ivy Belladonna, a.k.a. Poison Ivy, was taken into protective custody. After that Trista tracked her to a rehab clinic in Jersey where she stayed until she was 18. After that she changed her name and disappeared. This was a fairly common path for the children of the Heros Karabazmos Cult to take. A lot of them ended up in prison, the men mostly, the others had been picked up for prostitution or drug trafficking. The one everyone knows about, who had been known as Moon Terra at the time, eventually cashed in on her past and wrote several unreadable memoirs about her experiences and how she found salvation through Jesus. Trista found Blossom because she was the only one, besides Ivy, to take her old name again. Blossom was now working the red light district on the lower side of the Bowery and was something of a celebrity there. Not because she had been in the infamous cult, but because she was the most sought after sex worker in Gotham. Her clients had to book months in advance and she never had to step foot in the street to get a john. She was the envy of all the other girls on the street and the pride and joy of her pimp. Trista booked an appointment with her, getting herself further up the waiting list by giving her press credentials, and had to shell out 2 grand of the magazine's money just to get an hour with her. God alone knew what she charged for a whole evening. Blossom arranged to meet Trista at the hotel bar of the Luxury Inn near the river. It was nicer than Trista's own hotel, more high class. The bar was a classic Gotham city classy joint. Clean art deco design, people in nice suits enjoying martinis in quiet booths. You almost expected to hear a lounge band playing "Night and Day" sedately in the corner. Blossom was wearing a simple black dress with high boots and a black fur jacket, large round sunglasses hid her eyes behind black mirrors like the eyes of a moth. She was thin, pale, and very pretty, her short dark hair having a messy quality that came off as aloof but deliberate. She smiled and looked Trista over approvingly.
"You sure you're just here to talk?" She said and gave Trista a flirty dark lipped smile.

They ordered drinks and Blossom lit a cigarette while the bartender had his back turned.
"They don't let people smoke in here anymore but they make an exception for me and my clients, so feel free." Trista declined politely and Blossom took off her large glasses. Here eyes were large and clear, a bright hazel, and there was age in them, maybe a bit too much. They got their drinks and Trista got out her recorder.
"So is this about Gotham's Sirens or just a piece on the whole prostitute culture here?" Blossom asked with a bored dowager tone. Trista found herself liking the woman already.
"Actually, its about your sister, Ivy." A look of genuine surprise flashed for a moment, replaced by false boredom.
"I don't have a sister. Sorry." She took a drink and looked at Trista in the mirror over the bar, studying her.
"Not officially, no, but you do have one. Several actually. I know who you are, Willow." She seemed ready to deny it again but her face softened and resignation won out with a cold grin.
"You are good. Lets finish these and go to the room to talk about this in private." Trista agreed and she finished her martini and followed Blossom to the room, a trail of smoke behind her like a thin white tail.

The room was much larger than Trista's. It was divided by glass double doors, the large queen bed and shower on one side, a tasteful sitting room and parlor on the other. The windows went floor to ceiling and showed a spectacular view of the Gotham's night sky. As Blossom drew the shades Trista thought she saw a spot light shining a black shape on the low hanging smog of the Gotham night. They sat in a sunken couch with minibars at either end.
"So where do you want to start?" Blossom asked, crossing her legs neatly.
"What do you remember about life on the compound?" She leaned back on the couch and looked at the ceiling with a sigh, collecting her thoughts.
"Firstly, we didn't call it a compound. We called it a commune. Its hard to remember it without the bias and outrage everyone attributed to it. It was like leaving home and finding yourself in a foreign country where everything you thought was normal was illegal and everyone treated you like a freak. Being raised there and then suddenly thrown into the world with everyone telling me I was wrong and weird and sick in the head. People think the other kids that killed themselves afterward did it because they couldn't take the guilt of what they'd been forced to do, but any of the survivors will tell you it was culture shock. I guess I handled it better than most of us, but I have scars from those days too. I guess you know about Moon and her 'amazing transformation'. That's nature's way. Assimilate or die. Some of the others assimilated, some of them didn't, yet most of them still ended up in jail or rehab." Trista looked at Blossom's arms, searching for needle scars or any signs of self harm.
"How did Ivy handle it?" Blossom half smiled and shook her head.
"She never had a problem adapting to anything. She was mommy and daddy's golden girl. A prodigy. They sent her to a foster home because they assumed she wasn't indoctrinated as severely as the older kids, but they were wrong. She knew better than any of us. I feel bad for what ever poor family got stuck with her. I'll bet she did a number on them." Trista raised her eye brows at that. She was still trying to find out where she was sent after the raid. She made a mental note to check into it further.
"So she took to the teachings of the cult? What were those teachings?" Blossom shrugged.
"Foraging, medicinal herbs, survivalist skill, rituals and spells, but mostly sex. As soon as we showed any sexual interest we began our training. Most of us started at 6 or 7. Ivy was 4 and she was a natural. We learned how to stimulate ourselves first, then others using fingers, mouths, objects. We learned about sensitive nerve clusters and how to reach them. We practiced on each other, on adults, and ourselves. It was never painful or scary. They treated it like teaching a kid how to ride a bike or catch a ball. It all seemed normal to me, even fun. It was only the people outside who called it monstrous and cruel." Trista studied her but Blossom showed no distress at the memory. "And how do you feel about it?" Blossom looked out the window, watching the city.
"I had everyone telling me how to feel about it for so long I can't remember how it really was. I guess I don't feel any way about it. I don't think they were abusing us, but I do think they were exploiting us. I lost my virginity at 9 to a hymen hunter, that's what they called clients who only wanted virgins. He was nice to me. I think he was elected governor recently. That was the real reason for all of it, I think." "The money?" Trista asked.
"I think it was more about getting leverage with the men who ran the world. Mom and Dad were old school anti-establishment in their prime. Sticking it to the man and keeping them away from their life was what it was all about. So they trained their kids to be sex gods, had them service the rich and powerful, gather info and evidence, and finally let the governors and congressmen know they were under new ownership. That's why it took so long for the FBI to come down on them like they did. If the Batman hadn't lead the charge I think we'd still be there."

Trista got out a bottle of white wine and offered some to Blossom. As she filled the glasses Blossom looked Trista over.
"Why a psychology mag? You want to be a head shrinker some day?" Trista handed her the glass with a smirk.
"I guess. I just find psychology interesting. People have always frightened me. Understanding how they think is a way to make them seem more real, less intimidating." Blossom nodded.
"I can see that. I've started looking into it myself recently. Being a whore is like being a priest, therapist, and physical trainer all at once. Learning how to anticipate a client's needs, to know to come on hard or to be timid, it enhances the whole experience for them. You can't imagine how many men just want to be listened to. So many people are just as lost as we are, some hopelessly lost. I try to help with that in some ways because I remember being lost too. Maybe I try too hard. I could just bend over and let em take it like a lot of girls do. The money is just for permission. I guess I can't help it sometimes." Blossom rolled her eyes and took a drink, looking out the window again. Trista couldn't help smiling at her. She had been with girls before in college but it was no more interesting than with boys. She took another drink and put it out of her mind.

"Do you have any kind of relationship with Ivy?"
"None at all." She said indifferently, looking down at her glass.
"We've crossed paths in the upper circles of Gotham but she never gave me more than a warning glare. She was a whore of a different game. Everyone plays the silent auction sex game. Girls don't give it up unless a guy gives them enough attention, offerings, and fun. Maybe that's why hookers get such a bad rap. Because we offer a set price with no hidden fees or commitments. Guys look down on us because they don't get the conquest, the thrill of the hunt. Girls hate us because we put a set price on something they think should go to the highest bidder. Ivy was like that. She slept with men, but not for money. With her it was just like with Mom and Dad. Power. She used her skills and knowledge to completely control the highest of the Gotham elite. Even among my circles, the stories about her exploits and influence would make us all green with envy. She got the best of everything and everyone wanted her. She was like a goddess. Gotham's own Aphrodite. I knew what she was doing, how she was controlling these men, and she knew I knew so she made sure I knew to keep away. She terrifies me, even now." They both sat in silence for a moment before Trista asked,
"Did you know anything about what she did to get put in Arkham? About the bio-terrorism?"
"To be honest," Blossom said as she shifted her legs up onto the couch and leaning to the side.
"That whole thing took me by complete surprise. I thought she would be content to stay a goddess in Gotham, using up men and throwing them away until she was too old to play the game anymore. I had no idea what her true intentions were. We learned about plants and poisons from Mom and Dad, but that always seemed to come second to the sex thing. I think that was a creation of her own. Mom and Dad were anti-establishment non-conformists but they weren't terrorists. They sabotaged germ labs and animal testing facilities but they never did anything on the scale Ivy did. Maybe she was just taking our parent's ideology to the next level, sabotaging civilizations and freeing the world from mankind's control. Or maybe she got to the top of our human ladder and looked down to see the squirming bugs we all don't realize we are. Maybe she thought we didn't deserve to be on top anymore and decided to give nature back the advantage it used to have over us."

Trista finished off her wine and looked at the empty glass.
"Sounds almost like you agree with her." Blossom sighed and looked at Trista with eyes that wouldn't have looked out of place in a woman twice her age.
"We all have those moments when we root for the villain. When I think about all those people forcing their beliefs on me, telling me I was disgusting and wrong, the men who treated me like garbage and the women who agreed with them. But I know that's just anger and misanthropy. Human beings are evolving and learning. We've come a long way since the dark ages and we've gotten a lot better. It can be hard to see when you're down on the front lines of it, but we're far more enlightened and powerful than at any other time in history. We've got a long way to go, but We've come a long way too. Maybe we expect too much from everyone, but that's part of being human; expecting something better." Trista finished her wine and set the glass on the mini bar. She could hardly believe it but she'd met a real life hooker with a heart of gold. She clicked off the recorder and gathered up her things while Blossom watched with a small smile.
"I'm sorry if we went over the time limit." Blossom smiled warmly and shook her head.
"No charge, my dear. Its been a lovely evening." As Trista turned to leave Blossom called from the couch.
"You sure you don't want to fuck?" Trista considered it a moment.
"Sure, why not?"

5

Ivy was sent to live with a middle aged married couple named Edward and Sheryl Anderson. They had been unable to conceive and so were next in line of the adoption list. They were not told about Ivy's connection with the cult in the hopes she could be given a fresh start. They were quiet, religious, and by all accounts perfect citizens. They gave Ivy the name Pamela Anderson and fell in love with her at first sight. She was enrolled at the school in the small town of Roosevelt about 10 miles outside of Gotham. Trista was only able to find this out by contacting the adoption agency that took her in after the raid and, after no small amount of effort, found out the town she had been sent to. Roosevelt was a typical New England town , the kind you'd buy postcards of or read about in a Robert Frost poem. Trista tracked the Andersons to a small cottage on the edge of a forest of pines but they had apparently died many years ago. According to the obituaries in the local paper, Edward had taken his own life by hanging himself and then his wife followed a few years later by sleeping pills. When she asked some of the locals about their daughter and what happened to her, they either acted as though the Andersons never had a daughter, or they'd just get quiet and change the subject. It was Father Michaels, the priest of the local catholic church, who had agreed to talk about the Andersons' girl.

"I never believed in evil before I met Pamela." He started, leaning forward onto his wide oak desk. They were in a small office behind the main congregation area. There were various plaques and awards on the walls, as well as the obligatory crosses and images of saints. Trista noted the small office golf set in the corner, a putter and a rolled up green. Father Michaels was an old man, his spidery white hair combed neatly to one side. His face seemed too heavy for his head and hung down like that cartoon dog, Droopy. He folded his gnarled fingers together and Trista could see the liver spots and varicose veins on the small white wrists.
"You may find that strange for a man of the cloth to say, but its true. Oh sure, the bible talks about evil, we're told about it, told to believe in it. But I never knew evil beyond the theoretical until I saw that girl and the things she did to her poor family. Folks around here won't talk about it, unless you ask them right. I'm only talking about it now because I've been waiting to tell someone about it. Maybe saying it in words to another will take some of the weight off my mind." He grabbed at the rosary hanging on his chest and kissed it lightly.
"I'd known Edward since he was 2 years old, when his folks moved here from Missouri. I've been in this town going on 52 years now. He was always a good kid, a little slow maybe but good hearted. I married him and Sheryl myself right here in this very church. That must have been 37 years ago now. Got married at 18, fresh out of high school. You never saw a more loving couple. It broke my heart to see them struggle to conceive. Consoling Sheryl after each miscarriage. I was the one to suggest they adopt, God forgive me. They brought Pamela to church the Sunday after they brought her home. She looked like an angel and they went on and on about how perfect she was. She had a bright smile and lovely eyes that seemed to dance with light, but I could see something in them. It was only a glimpse here or there. I can't rightly describe it. It was like there was something going on behind her eyes, some capering, maliciousness. I didn't take no notice of it at the time though. She was inducted into the faith and she made no trouble for anyone. She made friends fast and her teachers said she was a bright pupil. The sisters would talk about how she spent most of the time walking in the woods, sometimes alone and sometimes with her friends. The kids in town talked about it sometimes, how she would show them plants and tell them which ones you could eat and which ones were poisonous. They said she knew more about the forest than the teachers did. For a while everything seemed to be working well for the Andersons. Pamela fit right in and was loved by parents and kids alike. It was 2 years after she arrived that strange things started happening. One day the Madsen boy came running to Sheriff Grisham crying, saying he saw Pamela in the forest with a naked man who he'd said was hurting her. The sheriff followed the boy to her and sure enough there was a man having carnal relations with little Pamela. Sheriff Grisham flew into a rage and beat the man nearly to death before he came to his senses. The man turned out to be the son of a local farmer, later when he was well enough to talk he told the sheriff he'd been walking along the forest path and Pamela came out of the forest naked and laughing. He said she seduced him, made him eat some plant that made him feel lightheaded like he'd been drinking and took him into the woods to have sex. Well you can see how the sheriff might not have believed such a story, after all Pamela was only 11 at the time. They locked that poor boy up for 15 years because of it. He was only the first life she would destroy that year. A few months went by and Mrs. Ferruli, who was the school teacher then, started to hear stories about Pamela, the things she would do in the forest, the things she would show them, teach them.. It was a sort of shared secret between all the children, but you know how kids are about keeping secrets."

"Around this time I notice Ed Anderson acting strange. He was withdrawn and pale. As a man of the cloth, I know the symptoms of sin when they show themselves. He had done something terrible, or knew something terrible. When I asked him about it he just about burst into tears. I managed to help him into the confession booth so he could tell me in confidence. Now you know the things said in confession are absolutely confidential. I won't tell you what he said, only that after I felt like I might vomit or faint dead away. Of course I doubted Pamela's guilt at first. That such sins could be attributed to a girl of 11 was unthinkable at the time. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered the strange way Pamela acted, that mischievous look that seemed too old for a child to have. I went to Sheriff Grisham right away but when I'd gotten there Mrs. Ferruli had beaten me to it. She was telling him what the little Parker boy told her about Pamela. He had followed her into the woods many times, and each time he said she touched him down there and tickled him until it felt good. She and the other children would run around naked and tickle each other with their privates and Pamela would show them what to do and give them mushrooms or leaves that would make them feel happy. The things the parker boy described became so depraved Mrs. Ferruli had to excuse herself so she could vomit into a trash can. I told the sheriff about what Ed had told me, though not directly, only that it had many similarities with the Parker boy's story. We talked it around, the three of us. How should we handle something like this? The girl was so young, yet the things she'd done were serious sins, if not crimes. We talked all day until finally we decided the issue had to be addressed. Mrs. Ferruli agreed to talk with all the children about what they had been doing and explain the seriousness of it. The sherif agreed to talk with Pamela and I agreed to talk with the Andersons."

"I decided to speak with them separately at first. When I called Mrs. Anderson into my office after the service I told her we needed to talk about Pamela. That was when she burst into hysterical tears. She was sobbing and begging forgiveness. When I finally calmed her down she told me that Pamela had been sneaking into her room at night for the past year and….doing things to her. I was completely dumb struck. She told me how it started small, a touch, a grab here and there. She insisted on showering with her and asked all sorts of inappropriate questions. It was only after she drank some of the tea Pamela had made for her that she lost all control and gave in to her depravity. She began sobbing uncontrollably again and I simply sat in silence. Ed heard the sobbing and came in to console her and soon he was sobbing too. I counseled them as best I could and sent them home. I called the sherif and told him to keep Pamela there over night, at least until we could sort this out. He agreed rather quickly and I called the Andersons to tell them about it."

"Over the next week, the situation grew steadily worse. After Mrs. Ferruli had her talk with the children, many of them told their parents who became understandably outraged. There was talk of arresting Pamela, of locking her up, there were even whispers of killing her. I went to talk with Pamela myself and to see what the Sheriff had found out from her. But when I came into his office he wasn't there. I went to the holding cell they had converted into a room for Pamela and walked in to find the sheriff with his pants down and Pamela down at his crotch. The sheriff was looking up and moaning and Pamela stopped to look back at me, and she grinned. That was when I lost control. I grabbed her off of Grisham and threw her down on the floor. Grisham jumped up and backed away, looking surprised at first until the severity of the situation dawned on him and he looked down, gathering his pants and running from the cell. Pamela sat looking at me, still grinning. Just seeing that grin made you want to scream. She offered to pleasure me as well, she said horrible things until I screamed at her to shut up or I'd strike her down. I asked what was wrong with her, why she did these terrible things. She laughed at me. It wasn't the laughter of a child, there was no innocence in it. She crawled over to me like an animal and she kept describing sex acts she would do for me. When she offered to wear chior boy vestments and let me 'put it up my ass' as she put it, I couldn't take it anymore and I struck her. She cried out and laughed again, pawing at my pants. I hit her again and again but she wouldn't relent. It was when my fist was raised again for another blow that the deputies ran in. As soon as they did she burst into tears, begging me not to make her do it again, she didn't want to put the smelly worm in her mouth again. I was completely numb with terror. I didn't even feel it when the deputies tackled me to the floor."

Father Michaels looked ashamed and tired, he looked about 120. "They took me back to my house and told me not to leave town. I felt like my life was crumbling around me. I stayed up all night and just prayed, I prayed she would be taken away, would just go and be gone from my life. The next morning the Sheriff knocked at my door. He told me no charges were being filed and that Pamela was being sent to an all girls boarding school until she was 18. My prayers had been answered." Father Michaels rubbed his temples solemnly. "I don't know what that girl was. Possessed or just evil. I only hope I never have to see such a thing again. I pray to God that where ever she is, she can't hurt anyone else."

6

Dr. Adams refused to allow Trista to interview Ivy privately. She managed to talk Adams into allowing their interview to take place outside in the garden area, provided Ivy stay within a portable Plexiglas containment cell. It was the first sunny day in Gotham since she'd arrived and Trista felt confident Ivy would appreciate it even more. Adams arranged for all the usual guards to be denied access to the area and all cameras would be turned off. The only witnesses would be Ivy's usual eunuch orderlies, Francis, a large black man with a constant expression of blank stupidity, and Eugene, a slight, pale man with a feminine demeanor. When they brought Ivy out she was wearing a simple white under shirt and prison style white drawstring pants. As soon as the sun touched her she stopped and lifted her face to it, closing her eyes and taking a long breath. When she opened them again she was looking at Trista, her eyes were vivid green and seemed to catch the sun like a cat's eyes. She smiled and allowed them to lead her into her temporary cell. The cell sat on the grass and had no bottom allowing Ivy to feel the ground. She immediately threw off her cloth prison shoes and wriggled her toes between the blades. She let out a sigh and her shoulders lowered as she exhaled. The sun lit her shirt like a florescent bulb, revealing the curved outlines of her breasts and the darker pink of her areolas. Trista slipped off her own shoes, feeling the grass tickle the soles of her feet, the spongy, cool grip of the soil beneath. Ivy looked at Trista and smiled brightly.
"It has been so long." She said, her voice high and pretty, like the voice of a teenager, though her file said she was only a few years younger than Trista.

"You don't mind if I get comfortable do you?" She asked and began to undress before Trista had a chance to answer. She pulled the thin undershirt over her head, shaking out her shoulder length red hair, making her breasts bounce the slightest bit. She loosened the drawstring of her pants and let them fall to the grass, stepping out of them gingerly. She was completely nude now and she reached her arms out to the sun like the leaves of a plant, taking it in. Trista glanced at the guards who only watched Ivy with disinterest.
"They won't mind, they've seen it all before." Ivy was watching her with a mischievous grin. Trista felt her cheeks begin to warm and a faint tingle down below. She hoped Ivy wouldn't notice but she was almost certain she would. Ivy lowered herself and lay on the grass, spreading her arms out and crossing her legs primly. She moaned quietly and moved her arms up and down and she slid her feet back and forth, arching her back as though she were wrapped in the finest silks. Hearing the stories about her, the terrible things she'd done to men and women alike, and even Trista's own mild indifference to her bisexual experiences, she never believed she could find this woman attractive until this moment, seeing her naked to the world, pawing the grass in ecstasy, the soft swell of her breasts in the sun, her nipples hard and pink as pencil erasers, her curves clean and perfect as any sculpture, her bottom round and plump, blades of grass clinging to it, pale and soft as baking bread. Trista was losing herself in her. She had to look away, to reorient herself.
"My name is Trista Martin, I'm with Cognition magazine. I'm researching for an article about you." She said all this to the gray stone wall of the asylum, more to herself than to Ivy. When she looked back at Ivy she was laying with her face in her hands, her feet kicking the air lazily, watching her with those green eyes and smiling girlishly. Trista could still see the perfect heart shaped swell of her bottom over her bright hair and forced herself to focus on her eyes.
"We can talk if you want, if that's all you want." She added this last part with the slightest arch of her left brow and Trista pulled out her tape recorder, setting it up on the grass before sitting cross-legged in front of the Plexiglas barrier. Ivy watched her closely, studying the curves of her face, the lay of her golden hair, and the curves of her body, stifled within all those clothes.

Trista tried to think of the crime scene photos, of the hospital transcripts describing the crippling rashes and atrophied limbs this woman had inflicted. She felt the warmth start to fade.
"I met your older sister." Trista said, looking back into Ivy's green eyes.
"I can smell her on you, did you enjoy having her? Do you enjoy sex with women? Women are always so much more accommodating, more sensitive. When a man goes down on you, you can almost hear him counting the licks, keeping track of how much pleasure he gives and later expects you to give back two fold. With a woman, they take their time because they know it takes time to pleasure a woman. Do you find that's true?" Trista shrugged.
"Maybe for some women." Ivy grinned and Trista remembered what the priest had told her about it. She could see the capering menace behind it.
"Do you remember any of your family?" Trista tried to keep the questions she wanted to ask in her mind. She cursed herself for forgetting to bring notes. "
They weren't really my family you know. Bendis and Sabazios, Willow and Moon. Bendis had a habit of snatching children from hospitals or parks, liberating them as she would say." Trista raised her eyebrows at that.
"Do you ever wonder who your real parents are?" Ivy rolled over and crossed her legs, folding her hands behind her head and looking up at the sky.
"My true parents are here. The earth my mother, the sun my father. Nature is my family." Trista found her eyes drawn to the dip of her belly button, the smooth decent into the perfect triangle of red pubic hair. She shook her head and tried to think of her next question. Ivy was looking up at her up-side down, her smile looking like a frown.
"I want to see you naked." Ivy said simply. Trista shook her head as if she didn't understand what had been said.
"You what?" Ivy rolled over and pushed herself up on her hands, her hair falling to one side of her face.
"You are beautiful, I want to see all of you." It was such a bold request given in such an innocent way that threw Trista off. She felt the heat rising within her again. Trista stammered and looked at the eunuch guards who only watched them sedately.
"No one's watching and they won't care. Come on. It'll be fun." Ivy looked at Trista with wide innocent eyes, innocent yet knowing. Trista still didn't know what to say. Ivy crawled to the edge of the cell and sat cross-legged like Trista. Trista could see the pale lips within the red pubic hair and a sliver of the moist flower within. She felt the heat rising dangerously within.

"How about this?" Ivy said seriously.
"I won't answer any question until you take something off. One piece of clothing, one question. Fair?" Trista felt suddenly vulnerable. Her passions pushed her one way, her cautions and reasoning only barely holding it back. She had to remember the article, she had to remember where she was. She was in Arkham Asylum, in Gotham City. This woman is a murderer and a destroyer of lives. She is a monster. Trista felt some of her control returning. This was wrong. She'd never felt so consumed by passion like this, not even in the helter-skelter days of her teenage years. Maybe Ivy really was a witch. Or maybe it was something else. Something about each time her control returned. Ivy leaned back on her hands, exposing herself and looking at Trista with a patient, lusty smile. Trista felt herself slipping again, looking at the perfect mound of her breast, tipped by a perfect pink nipple within a perfect circle of areola. She wanted to touch it, to taste it. Trista had seen women in magazines, in movies, in her own bed, but they were only women. Ivy was sex incarnate. She was warm envelopment, salty, vulnerable, soft, like a sea of warm milk in which Trista would gladly drown. Trista felt the breeze against her neck and her control seemed to return momentarily. She had it. She had her question.
"Pheremones. That's how you control people, isn't it?" Ivy grinned and waited to answer. Trista unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off, exposing her simple white bra and the two moderate sized breasts held within. Ivy looked her over and smiled excitedly.
"Lovely." She reached down and plucked a few blades of grass, holding them up to her nose.
"That smell we all know, the smell of fresh cut grass, its actually alarm pheromones released by the plant to warn nearby plants it is being attacked. That smell we all love, that's the smell of grass screaming." She dropped the blades through one of the half-dollar sized holes in the Plexiglas.
"The silent language of nature. Trees will release alarm pheromones when being eaten by pests, alerting other trees in the area to produce foul tasting enzymes to repel them. Certain plants can release an attracting pheromone designed specifically to attract the type of insect that eats the pest bothering it. People with their words and gestures and phonetic gibberish, they forgot how to speak the language of nature. Only those who pay attention can hear it. Words mean nothing. Even among people, the majority of our communication is non-verbal. Gestures, body language, pheromones, intonation. Once you learn the language of nature, you can learn to speak it too." Trista was surprised by this. This was something she herself had studied and learned. The sales techniques of con artists and the manipulations of effective people. The cold reading employed by phony psychics. Was this the explanation for telepathy, psychic sensitivity? People who can sense changes in body language, pheromones. It was amazing to think there was a whole world of communication going on that we are unaware of consciously. A language we speak without realizing and understand without knowing.

"Is that what you learned in the cult? From your parents?" Ivy sat back on her knees and folded her hands primly in her lap, squeezing her breasts together with her arms, waiting. Trista felt a flutter of fear but stood and unzipped the side of her skirt, sliding it off and revealing her matching white panties before sitting down in the same manner as Ivy. Ivy smiled warmly and leaned over on one arm, her eyes on Trista's crotch.
"Not at all. Sabazios was only interested in sexual techniques and Bendis only knew basic herbs and botany. I had already learned all I could from them before he came for them. The Batman. You should have seen them squirm when they heard he was coming for them. The power he had over them, it gets me wet just thinking about it. I have moved beyond the teachings of my guardians, their plagiarized paganism, their juvenile rebellion against authority. Like all parents and teachers, they provide the path, not the destiny." Trista could see the guards fidgeting, looking irritated.
"If you have these gifts and power over others, why not use it to get rich and retire to a private island? Why turn to crime?" Ivy's smile darkened and Trista could see that frightening glee move closer to the surface. Ivy looked at Trista's bra and waited. Trista was blushing hard and she felt her mouth becoming dry. She took another look at the guards who only regarded her with irritated boredom. I guess if anyone is watching, they'll be getting their eye full today. Trista reached around her back and fumbled with the clasps, feeling the pressure across her chest loosen. She held her bra a moment before letting it fall. The sun was warm on her breasts and the breeze cooled her erect nipples. Ivy smiled appreciatively. "
You have beautiful breasts, my dear." She said, admiring them.
"Nice shape, average size but firm with youth. I'd love to play with them." Trista looked up and took a deep breath, trying to quiet her heart pounding in her ears. Ivy was still admiring her breasts when Trista crossed her arms over them and looked at her, waiting.
"Sorry, lost my train of thought." Ivy leaned back on her hands and crossed her ankles, wiggling her feet back and forth like a little kid. "Haven't you ever heard the phrase, 'the best things in life are free'? Being rich is boring. Getting men to give up everything to me is only fun for so long. My true passion has always been plants. Gardening, growing, creating life, cultivating it. It must be what motherhood feels like. Plants are so much more interesting than people. As for crime, crime is a human invention. There are no crimes in nature. There is death, sex, pain, cruelty, and fear; but no crimes. All living things fight to survive, to make their own way. Human nature is no different than any other nature. Its all about what you can do to get what you want and how you can keep others from taking what you have. I operate outside the illusions of law and society." Trista shook her head.
"So that's it? You're just bored and doing what you want for fun?" Ivy's eyes widened and she looked at Trista's panties excitedly. Trista tensed and crossed her legs defensively.
"Wait, that's not the question. Hang on." Trista thought furiously. This was it, her last question. Was she really going to do it? Expose herself to a psychopath like this? All at once Trista hated Ivy, hated her for putting Trista in this embarrassing situation. God, if Adams came out here, or Hillerman. Trista clenched her fists and quieted herself down, trying to think.
"God, would you hurry it up, bitch?!" A shout from behind Trista. It was the effeminate guard, his face twisted with frustration. The bigger guy was glaring at her too. Trista glared back at them, how dare they interrupt her just because they were a little bored. They're doing what they're paid to do, Trista was making something important. She spun around back at Ivy who was up against the glass now, pressing her hands and her breasts against it and grinning darkly at her. She was doing this. She was making them angry, aggravating them with some chemical signal. Trista could feel it too but they must be more sensitive to it. Ivy's been working on this. Trista realized she might be I danger. So be it. She needed answers.

"What do you want? Why create those poisonous plants and spread them into the wild? Why damage the environment you love so much?" Trista didn't hesitate this time. She stood and thumbed the edges of her panties, pulling them down to her ankles with one quick motion. She stood exposed and waited for Ivy to answer. Ivy looked across her naked form and drank it in.
"Gorgeous" She said simply, tweaking her left nipple lightly and beginning to breathe heavily.
"You can't damage the environment, you can only change it. Those eco-freaks think the environment has to be protected and cherished because they think humanity is above it, beyond it. They think we should pity the environment. Can you imagine the kind of arrogance these people harbor? What I want is to bring us down. I want to make our environment more hostile towards humanity. That's all. We've been in control for so long we think we're special, above nature. I've seen the men who control the world, the ones who can wipe out whole ecosystems with a signature, the bleeding hearts who fight to protect environments that would consume them without mercy the moment they step in them. They were all petty and ignorant. We don't deserve to dominate this world. By some fluke we managed to get ahead of the natural order and we've been coasting on that windfall ever since. I want to take that away from us. I want us to hunt deer with sticks and rocks through the ruins of Wayne Tower, to wear utilitarian clothes with no fashion sense that will last us a lifetime instead of a season. I want us to have to lock ourselves in cages at night to protect ourselves from the wolves and lions. I want us to see the stars again, to look down from massive trees allowed to grow as large as the ruins of our society and see for miles with no smog where tiny figures grind wheat and lay strips of meat to dry on a crumbling highway, four lanes wide and scorching hot for a thousand miles. I want the world to be green again." Ivy was grinding herself against the Plexiglas now and the guards were shouting at Trista to be finished. Trista stepped toward the cell and Ivy licked at the half-dollar sized hole.
"You don't have anymore clothes to take off, but if you come closer, if you let me taste you, I'll tell you when it will begin, when the seeds will be sewn to grow my vision of the future." Trista was breathing heavy now, the guards behind her were coming closer, their eyes wide with rage. Ivy pressed her breast against the hole, pushing her nipple out of the cell the slightest bit. Trista lost herself. She rushed forward and pressed her face to the Plexiglas, licking at Ivy's nipple, tasting the sweat and feeling the soft flesh on her tongue. It was intoxicating. She lifted her leg and pressed herself against the lower hole as the guards rushed at her, shouting. Ivy knelt and sniffed at the warmth radiating from Trista's groin and managed to dart a tongue in and out before the guards tackled Trista to the ground, throwing her hard and pinning her arms painfully behind her. Trista screamed in pain but they were both lost in their fury. The idea that they might kill her came into her mind like a cold wind and she screamed even louder. Being pinned beneath two large men, naked and exposed, even though they were eunuchs and wouldn't have any interest in her that way, it still terrified her more than anything in her life. She felt hot tears running down her cheeks and she looked back at Ivy who was watching with a wide smile and fingering herself vigorously. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, shouting,
"Its already begun! The seeds of humanity's downfall are already beginning to sprout!" Something snapped in her arm like a stick in a wet towel and white pain filled her world, sending her into unconsciousness.

7

Trista awoke in the infirmary of Arkham, her arm was stiff inside a temporary cast and hung from a sling. She saw her clothes in a bag beside her table and looked down to see a simple hospital gown covering her. She felt her face redden as she thought about who must have rescued her from the eunuch guards, what they must have thought. Maybe it was Adams. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes tight. She was still uncontrollably horny, even after everything and the dull throb of her arm. She had never been affected like this by anyone before. She began to move her hand to her crotch, feeling the tingle within, the desire to feel. She was in a private room in the infirmary. Maybe she could take care of this before a nurse or- At that moment Dr. Hillerman walked in looking worried and surprised. Trista let out a resigned sigh and thought what amazing luck this man had before standing and letting her hospital gown fall to the floor. Hillerman looked at her in shock and looked away as though Trista had exposed herself by accident. She strode over to him deliberately and threw her good arm around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss, forcing her tongue into his mouth, tasting him. . She needed something inside her and she needed to get it over with. She was fumbling with his belt when he tried to ask about her arm. Trista just pulled his belt free and said
"Shut up and fuck me."

After the deed was done, Trista sat up and started taking her clothes out of her bag. Hillerman sat up as well and looked to see where his clothes had been scattered in the mayhem.
"I don't even remember what I came in here for." He said with a chuckle. Trista smiled and pulled on her panties.
"I guess you want to know what happened with Ivy." Hillerman smacked his forehead.
"That's right. I'd heard you were interviewing her and I knew she has strange effect on people. I wanted to know what you thought about it." Trista looked at him as smirked.
"So you knew I'd been to see Ivy and that I might be a little wound up from the experience. Dumb luck my ass, you clever dick." He looked away sheepishly.
"Honestly, I only wanted to make sure you were okay, and to make some some orderly or male nurse wasn't taking advantage of what ever state you were in." Trista chortled.
"So you could make sure it was YOU who took advantage, eh?" Hillerman blushed furiously and went to get his pants which had found their way onto the hanging lamp.
"Well better me than some of these other types in here." Trista pulled on her skirt, shaking her head at him with a smile.
"I know how guys can get, despite what everyone expects, I hope you don't think this meant anything. Now that you've had me, I don't expect to become 'your woman'." Hillerman pulled his pants on and looked at her with a grin.
"I learned my lesson on ownership from my last wife. This was nice, spectacular actually-" Trista smiled and looked at him darkly.
"But it was just a moment. I won't make things different if you won't." Trista nodded appreciatively. He might be worth another go some time.

The door handle jiggled and they both spun to look as it swung open. The head nurse poked her head in and looked first to Trista and then to Hillerman, her expression switching to a disapproving mother.
"Dr. Adams is on her way to talk with her, you had better not be in here when she does, young man." She shook her head at him and left with a tsk tsk of her tongue. Hillerman laughed and began searching for his shirt.
"I saw my career flash before my eyes. Thank god for Beth." He grabbed his jacket after pulling his shirt over his head, most of the buttons had been ripped off in their passion, and peeked out the door to see if Adams was on her way. He shut the door fast and whispered a curse before searching franticly for a place to hide. There was a privacy curtain in one corner on wheels like a clothes rack and he pulled it around himself as Trista finished dressing herself. She spotted a few of Hillerman's buttons on the floor and kicked them beneath the bed and slid his shoes as far back as they would go. She could still see Hillerman's feet under the curtains and hoped Adams wouldn't spot them. She was trying not to laugh about it but the whole situation was absurd, as though she were a teenager hiding a boy in her room before her mom walked in.

Dr. Adams did walk in not two seconds later and regarded Trista who was sitting on the edge of her bed, dressed and smiling.
"You seem to be in good spirits for someone who had just been assaulted." Trista made her smile go away and she tried to look more ashamed of herself.
"It doesn't hurt so bad anymore." Adams looked at her with contempt.
"You're playing a very dangerous game with these people, you know. Next time you might not be smiling." Trista clenched her teeth and tried hard not to roll her eyes at the old hard-ass. Until that moment Trista had been ready to explain to Adams about Ivy's use of pheromones and manipulation as a way of affecting her guards so she might be ready for it in the future, but after seeing the contempt in her face, she decided the old bitch could just figure it out on her own.
"I'd like to hear you explain how this happened." She said coldly. Trista took a breath and turned to her, her eyes intense.
"I'd like to hear YOU explain how two of your employees lost control of themselves and assaulted a member of the press interviewing a patient. That might make a better story." Adams glowered at her.
"We at Arkham extend our sincerest apologies for the conduct of our orderlies, they have both been repremanded and relieved of duty. If you wish to press charges against them, I can provide you with their information." Trista nodded curtly.
"I'm glad to hear it." Trista could see the cords of her neck stand out.
"We spoke with Ivy about the incident and she claims they were the ones who undressed you during the assault, is that true?" Trista was surprised that Ivy would cover for her.
"Yes, they seemed to be acting strangely because of Ivy. They didn't molest me but only because of their condition. It seems we both underestimated the effect Ivy has on people." She smiled a bit at this and Adams looked like a bad taste had come into her mouth.
"Indeed. Well Ms. Martin, I do hope you will recover swiftly. I look forward to your absence as you do. If you need anything else from us at Arkham, please do not hesitate-"
"Actually I do want something." Trista cut in. Adams looked flustered.
"I want access to the patient files here. I feel like we've worked together long enough for you to know I can be trusted not to publish anything confidential." Adams looked at her coldly but there was something approaching respect there, Trista could have sworn it.
"I will consider it, Ms. Martin. Good day." She turned sharply and left the room. Hillerman peeked out from behind the curtain.
"Well done." He said with admiration.
"I think you might just be getting on her good side, if she has one." Trista winked at him and kicked his shoes across to him.
"Just make sure she doesn't catch you sneaking out of here."