AN: There. All better! He quit, though. What a shame. I could've just gassed him, you know. That was not the point. I can take care of myself.
Emmalynn-I am not made of hugs. Yes you are. You are made of hugs and murder! Mostly murder, I assure you. I think it's about half and half. Ignore her.
Johanna Crane-That's what I tell him. He tells me I have a terrible sense of humor. You do. I am offended! Good.
"That bastard!"
"What?"
"He had the gall to suggest that I was brainwashed. Me! One of these days, so help me…"
"Want me to have a talk with him?"
"No. Fucking…grah!" She stabbed her spoon into the cereal. "Soggy."
"So. Brainwashed?"
"Humph." She shoved the bowl away and slumped over the table with a low growl. "Sexist prig."
"Huh?"
"Never mind."
"Hullo, Doctor Drew."
Oww. God, what a headache. What had happened? He'd been staying late in his office…
Something light but hard smacks his hand and he yelps.
"That's better. I wondered if maybe I'd used too much chloroform…want some light? I forget most people aren't used to the dark."
Click.
Oww.
He's in a dark room with a lone bulb swinging from the ceiling. It's cold and damp and it looks almost familiar…
Oh, shit.
He's in Arkham's basement.
"You're not sulking, are you? I didn't hit you that hard. Nothing's broken."
And he is not alone. His patient-well, one of them-has broken out.
Help.
Cold metal-an aluminum bat?-touches his chin and forces his head up.
"There you are! Don't worry, I'm not going to hit you. This is just in case you get out of that chair."
He realizes that he's tied to a crappy swivel chair, probably stolen from the security booth. No one's ever in there…
"I wasn't too pleased when you told me I was brainwashed." she says, letting the bat drop with a hollow ping. "I don't mind so much if you say I'm barking mad, but…" She chews her lip. "Do I look like Harley Quinn to you, Dr. Drew?"
He shakes his head.
"N-no."
"That's right. Shame you had to open your big mouth, though. But I can't have people thinking I'm some pathetic…well. I'm going to paint your nails now, okay? So don't squirm."
She's got pliers. Why does she have pliers? And how tightly is he restrained…very tightly. Great. Shit.
"Go ahead and scream. No one ever hears what goes on down here."
The jaws of the pliers close around his left thumbnail and begin to pull. There's a strange feeling, like his nail is being stretched, and then a soft riiiip.
PAIN.
MOTHER FUCKER.
His nail bed, raw and pink like uncooked hamburger, stares up at him. The air hurts and he tries instinctively to curl it under his palm for protection.
"Look at that. Came right out. This won't take too long, then."
The pliers close around another nail and begin to pull.
She lets him keep his right pinky nail, but she doesn't seem to be finished. She's circling him, muttering to herself, when the light swings back and catches someone else, leaning against the far wall.
"Help!"
The figure moves away from the wall and a cold whisper reaches his ears.
"Do you take me for a lunatic?" Crane chuckles. "I know better."
"Please!"
The bat hits his head and he lurches forward, gasping.
"Shut up!"
Ow…
Christ…
He tries to sit up, his fingers and head throbbing.
"I'm going to let you go now. They'll grow back, don't worry. But, sweetie…" She bends over, makes him lift his head with cool fingers. "Next time, it'll be your teeth. Be good."
This time the bat hits him in the face, repeatedly, until the dimly-lit basement disappears.
THE END