That's the intern—the new girl I was telling you about—she's got a thing for Croc.
You're not serious?
I wish I wasn't! Apparently she's into cold-blooded sub-humans.
That's disgusting. She'll be after Great White next.
I agree, she's a stiff broad. I've talked to her on a few occasions but I can't get her to open up.
I heard she has a superiority complex.
You have no idea how right you are.
All around me I could feel the speculations as I reached for a ready-made salad from the snack bar. My embarrassment and humiliation were written all over my face; people were staring. And it wasn't just my imagination because I could hear people whispering. At check-out, I handed my credit card to the cashier and noticed the way she regarded me, as if I were some strand of plague. What was wrong?
"Is there a problem?" I snapped at her, raising my defenses.
She shrank back and swiped my card. "No."
"Good, have a nice day," I said when she handed my card back and completed the transaction.
I sat down at an unoccupied table for two and began to eat my salad, still aware of the scrutiny. And here I thought lunch would have a rejuvenating quality that would brighten the rest of my day. After this morning's session with Jones I had hoped that the afternoon sessions would be a breeze—something I could do in my sleep. But my current situation in the cafeteria was quickly diminishing any hopes of a quiet afternoon. While the constant, unwanted attention bred an even further foul mood on my part, the jeers coming from a few of the male nurses at the table next to me acted as a catalyst for disaster.
"Lookin' for company, darlin'?" I glared at the one who spoke. He seemed to be in his late thirties, dopey smile, rugged good-looks, abhorrent attitude.
"You mean you?"
A few of his table mates whistled and chuckled at my response. "You interested?"
"Do I look interested?" I supplied my retort with a bored expression and stared at him harshly for added menace.
"You're gonna have to look elsewhere, Nick," one of his friends quipped, "She only likes the homicidal maniac type."
I sighed and put my fork down. "Your blatant overconfidence and disgusting behavior—especially the ways in which you choose to address a lady—sheds a particularly bright light on your insecurities. For example, your Napoleon Complex."
I assumed I struck a nerve because the one referred to as 'Nick' got up from his seat and made a pathetic attempt at standing at his full height, bracing his shoulders to diminish any delusion that he was a tiny man.
I scoffed. "Napoleon's stature was not the only thing that was reported to be short. And, judging by the fact that you didn't know that's what I meant, your mental capacities appear to be in minimal supply as well." I smiled and gathered my things, prepared to leave. Nick and his friends watched me silently as I walked past them. "Have a nice day, gentlemen," I said happily.
The sound of a shrieking alarm stopped me dead in my tracks. "Warning, security breach. Lower corridor; inmate code black. Lock-down procedures initializing. Warning, security breach."
Waylon. I don't know why I would assume so immediately that it was him, but I knew that within the small span of time that passed he couldn't possibly be in his cell. Before the security doors could lock me into the cafeteria I dropped my lunch tray, spewing salad greens and croutons across the floor, and took off at a dead run for the exit.
"Stop! You can't do that, it isn't safe!" The male nurses who had previously been harassing me were desperately trying to get my attention.
"It doesn't matter!" I yelled back, not allowing myself the time to stop and think. What didn't matter? What the hell was going on? Is it Waylon? Who else is code black?
I slipped through the security gates just before they ground shut, tore my sleeve open in the process, and before I could discern what had happened I was winded and laying on the floor. Dazed, I looked up at my right arm still clinging to my purse strap—it was stuck in the bars of the gate. Without even thinking I jumped up, dropped the purse and took off flying through the corridors. I rounded a corner and ran smack into a security gate, its unforgiving bars tightly shut.
As endless streams of expletives shot around my head I calmly analyzed my options. Sit and wait for help to arrive, or for the security breach to be lifted.
"Not feasible," I said to myself, my voice echoing in the empty hallway. Frustrated for speaking to myself aloud, I slapped my forehead and began to pace. There wasn't anything I could do because of those stupid security gates. I was trapped like a dumb animal and I couldn't help anyone, let alone myself. I leaned against a wall and slunk to the floor. "Sit and wait for help it is," I mumbled as I picked at a piece of frayed carpet.
I may have been sitting for a mere thirty seconds when I felt the beginnings of a severe adrenaline rush. I couldn't just sit and wait for help because... I stopped picking the carpet and allowed my stomach to sink in a moment of sickening realization. They were going to kill him. For some reason unbeknownst to me, I knew they would kill him. He'd done something bad, something irrevocable.
I jumped up from the floor and stared intently at the security gate looking for some kind of weakness. My hopes began to deflate as I studied the thick, wrought iron bars that were linked together with impeccable craftsmanship. I wasn't going to get through them unless... My gaze shot to the floor and I looked at the six or so inches of space between the bars and the floor—there was no fitting underneath that. I looked up at the foot and a half of clearance between the bars and the ceiling. Without further thought I started to climb the gate with fervor, my thoughts dead-set on reaching the lower corridor before the Arkham guards.
Once on the floor I tore off my high heels and raced down the hallway, reaching the service lift and adjacent stairwell. No doubt the lift would be faster but during an emergency lock down it would be about as useful as a train ticket. In my hurry I pushed the doors open to the stairwell and embarked on what turned out to be a reckless, hasty stumble to the bottom landing; I paused for a short break and looked up at the ominous 'Sewer Entrance' sign that hung over the ancient rusted door.
Now or never. Still panting harshly, I gripped the lever and lifted until I heard the catch release and then I was in the sewer system. After the heavy door boomed shut I was left in an eerily quiet tunnel with carpenter lights strung across the ceiling. Just as I was about to curse myself for ending up in the wrong place, deep growls roared for the opposite end of the room.
For the first time since the lock down began I felt my blood turn to ice in my veins. It was dark in this cavernous dwelling, the walls and floor slick with perspiration from the free flow of water from the main water line that ran the length of the room. A faint odor of iron wafted around me and I shivered at a sudden breeze that hauntingly blew through my hair. I took a minute to assess the situation.
I had to be in the right area because I could barely make out the outlines of semi-fresh footprints: twin pairs of combat treads and another set of much larger, bare prints. That meant that not too long ago Smith, Ramirez, and Waylon had passed through this corridor on the way to his cell. They were in here somewhere.
Too frightened to say a single word, I practically tip-toed across the area until I reached another hallway that branched off of the one I was in. The growling noises grew louder and I could hear intermittent ripping noises, which meant... I gulped, trying to stifle an on-coming gag fit. In the darkness, my sense of smell was increased; the faint scent of iron I had previously noticed was much stronger now. Once again I started to gulp profusely in a vain attempt to keep myself from gagging, when I suddenly tripped. I planted my left hand on the wall instinctively to regain my balance and when I pulled it away there was a wet, sticky residue. I squinted through the darkness, desperately trying to categorize whatever substance was clinging to my fingers. The closer I brought my hand to my face the more pungent the smell of iron. Blood.
Before I could stop myself I began to cough and frantically wiped my hand on what I thought was a somewhat clean patch of wall. It wasn't. As I felt more blood stick to my fingers I started to choke and entered a full-on gagging fit all the while still grating my hands against the wall. Tears reached my eyes and I started to whimper, fearing the worst.
"There's blood," I cried to myself, "I need... I have to clean it. Its.. my hands.. I can't," I submerged myself into my hysterics, openly crying and wiping my hands to roughly that it became painful. I was sure I had torn my own skin and now it was my blood as well, but I couldn't shake my panic. Through my tearful gagging I began to try to calm my breathing. "You're fine, it's alright. It isn't even blood, okay? You're going to be fine. You've just gotten yourself worked up over nothing, Cassandra. Shhh, its alright."
Slowly, my tears dwindled and the shaking subsided. I was still freaking out but I knew I could manage movement so I started to walk further down the hallway in search of Waylon. At just about that moment, I took a step forward and heard the worst, most awful, squishing noise I had ever heard in my life. I froze and didn't dare look down. It could be anything. "Anything," I confirmed. I started shaking. And looked down at the floor.
The lighting was poor, I knew that. But for some reason my eyes chose this moment to give me a clear image of what I had just stepped on. Or in.
His head was missing, but I knew it was Ramirez because of the name tag still attached to his breast pocket. His left arm was missing from the elbow and wherever his legs had run off to was anyone's guess. By this point I was shaking like a leaf, the urge to vomit, scream, and cry all presenting itself at once. My gaze continued to locate my foot. It was buried in Ramirez's intestines.
I screamed.
As soon as she started screaming, I knew who it was. My first option was to ignore it but I was in the middle of lunch and it was fucking irritating. Certain noises just set me off and screaming happened to be one of them. I snarled and dropped Ramirez's femur in annoyance as I headed off to find Harker. Her reasoning better be-
"Waylon!" I stopped and listened more intently. "Waylon, help me!" She was sobbing like a person in pain. Like someone in complete agony. I knew what that sounded like; I'd been making people make those noises for a decade. "Waylon! Pl-please! Where am I?" What in the holy fuck?
I picked up the faint scent of her perfume, used her raucous screams for guidance, and started jogging through the corridors to find her. She had to be an idiot to come down here alone. I don't discriminate against genders when I kill.
The smell of blood was all over the corridors and I paid close attention to the mess I had made. Damn. There was blood all over the fucking walls and floors. I had cut the cord to the lighting because bright lights ruined my vision and gave me head-splitting migraines that lasted for hours. Ramirez was reduced to a pile of meat, and I wasn't sorry. I followed the trail of body parts down the hall and finally made it to Cassandra.
She was standing in a pile of Ramirez's intestines that had rolled out of his body cavity after I ripped his body in half. At first I found the scene amusing but then I noticed Cassandra's condition. She had been crying so furiously that her mascara lay in streaks down her face and she was hunched over, hugging herself. I'd seen people act like this a million times but for some reason her terror affected me.
Fuck, I was turning into a bitch. I shook my head and walked over to Harker's shaking form.
"W-Waylon.. th-th-there's blood, and-" As I neared her she reached out a hand towards me.
"Calm down," I said gruffly. Her hand rested on my forearm and I reached down to pick her up bridal style. Water. I needed to find some place suitable to wash the blood off of her or this mess wasn't going to improve itself.
"You're warm," she whispered as she ran a finger over the scales covering my pectorals.
"I can regulate my body temperature, you know," I ground out, using all of my resolve not to drop her and leave. In that instant all of the credit I had given her fell through the fucking floor. I was so fucking sick of this dehumanization bullshit. Even if I liked to do it to myself.
"I know that, I can hear your heart beat."
"That doesn't mean shit."
"It means you're human."
"Monsters have heart beats too."
"But not one as strong and gentle as yours."
Out of the corner of my eye I saw her look up at me and I pointedly looked away so I didn't have to meet her gaze. Of all the awkward, stupid fucking situations to get stuck in and this was it. All I wanted to do was go finish lunch.
"Why the fuck did you come down here in the first place?" Since I had removed her from Ramirez's puddle she seemed to be recovering. Her innocent comments that seemed natural for her to make were beginning to subside.
"Because they were going to kill you. I couldn't let that happen," her brows furrowed in contemplation.
I smirked, "Yes, you could."
She looked up at me with brazen concern. "Put me down."
I obliged immediately and let her down, less on the gentle side. "If we're done now, I'm going back to lunch," I growled at her. I didn't have the patience to wait and talk to her or even to listen to anything else she had to say so I turned and started to lumber away.
"Wait!" Of fucking course.
I didn't say anything and I kept my back to her, waiting for her to speak.
"I-I-I," I watched quietly as she fidgeted with her hands and tried to pick through her words. "I want to help you. That's why I ran down here... I knew the guards would try to kill you."
"Why didn't you let them?" My fucking turn to ask the questions. My sewers? My session. I turned around and walked closer to her, inches from her face.
"Because that's immoral."
"I've killed hundreds of people."
"That doesn't mean you deserve to die."
I laughed, "You're a fucking idiot." That's it, my patience was spent. I was out of there.
"You're the idiot."
"What the fuck do you want? I'm not a miracle case! I don't want any help and I'd rather you all went to hell." I was breathing heavily and I could feel my blood boiling.
"I just want to help you!"
"I told you I don't want your help! Leave!" I bellowed.
"Let me try!" She sounded close to tears again. "Let me save you," she whispered.
"There's nothing left to save. And there's nothing you can do about that. Get out of my sight."
I watched the muscles in his back flex as he slowly walked away, his footsteps crashing on the ground with the weight of his frame. Get out of my sight. His hate-filled words echoed around my head; I felt worse than I ever had. There's nothing left to save.
In who's opinion? In a flash of anger—completely atypical of my usual demeanor—I reached into my pocket, dug for the key and threw it at his back. I originally aimed for the back of his head but misjudged his height and it hit his right shoulder blade before clinking on the floor. He whipped around and glared daggers at me before his gaze shot to the floor. I watched angrily as he bent over, picked up the key and regarded it stoically.
"Then save yourself," I said as I stooped to the floor and began using the water flow to wash my hands and feet. The blood had stained my shirt and pants; I would have to buy new shoes. And visit my doctor for blood tests. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to claim workman's compensation because I ran down here after a campus lock down was set in place. If I had AIDS, it was my fault.
I heard Waylon as he stomped across the concrete floor but I didn't look up because I figured he was leaving, satisfied that he had what he wanted. The key fell to the floor next to my knee.
"If I wanted this collar off I wouldn't need the key," he said as he turned to leave.
"But-"
Just then the door that I had entered the sewer through burst open and 12 armed Arkham guards filed into the room, the laser pointers on their guns centered on Waylon's head and over his heart. I scrambled up from the floor and held my arms outstretched as I ran towards them.
"No!" I screamed frantically, "Don't shoot! Everything's under control! I have the situation-"
"Freeze!" Two of the guards shifted and pointed their guns at my heart this time. I stopped instantly and felt as my heart sank into my stomach.
"Wh-what? I'm not a patient, I'm Dr. Harker—Mr. Jones' psychiatrist," I explained, my arms in the air.
"Show us your ID."
I moved my left hand down and started patting my chest, in search of the lanyard with me ID on it. Where the... ? My purse. I had hid it in my purse upon reaching the cafeteria because I didn't want anyone to know who I was. It was an ignorant effort to thwart the teasing. And I was stupid for it.
"I left it in my purse, if I could just go get it-"
"Freeze!" Another guard pointed his gun at me when I went to move forward.
"Do I look like a patient, you moron? Where's the orange, hmm?!" I yelled at the guard who told me to freeze; my patience had worn so incredibly thin. My station as a doctor of Arkham was above his as hired muscle. When none of the men answered my question I allowed myself to take a deep breath. Perhaps I could get myself out of this.
"You're covered in blood. What happened?"
I didn't know what to say. My hopes of mending the situation vanished within seconds. It was around this time that I noticed how silent Waylon was, he was so silent I almost thought he had slipped away. But the steady sound of his breathing kept me aware of his presence. And it was weird, because I felt oddly protected just by the fact that he was here with me. If anything were to go wrong I had the clearest sensation that he would save me, even if he didn't let me save him.
"I-I," I stammered, trying to think of what to say. Panic set in. I broke out in a sweat; my knees started to tremble. I could hear everything. The sound of dripping water, the buzzing of the torn wires, the blood rushing through my head, the dull hum of the lasers on the guns as they pointed death at Waylon and me. It was too loud, I was losing my concentration. I was done for. I was going to get Waylon killed along with me.
Then, in a moment of abhorrent realization, his voice rumbled through the cavern and silenced everything.
"I was hungry, Ramirez offered."
"Where is he?"
"Where isn't he?" I dared to look over my shoulder at Waylon and saw his eyes. They were dangerous. Despite the fact he was glaring at them through narrowed lids, his eyes blazed a vibrant, poisonous yellow. I saw anger, provocation, strength. He was gearing to rip them to pieces; the laughter I saw glinted in his gaze told me the truth.
"What are you talking about?"
"He's dead, I killed him. She tried to perform CPR on him before I finished him off."
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-Soule