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Chapter Eight, Part One: My Mind Rebels At Stagnation

"My mind rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram, or the most intricate analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere."


The Sign Of Four, Arthur Conan Doyle

It was pizza day at Arkham Asylum, and usually this put the patients in a good mood. This in turn put the staff in a good mood, and things got even better. Usually pizza day was by far the best day of the week at Arkham. Not so today.

It was probably, Crane reflected, because they were letting the Joker eat with the other inmates today.


Oh, Arkham Asylum, dost thy stupidity know no bounds?

Well... apparently not.

Crane fiddled with his spork distractedly, then abruptly forced himself to stop. He was a dignified man and dignified men did not fiddle with unsightly plastic cutlery.

He sat at a table alone, having scared away the serial rapist who attempted to sit next to him with nothing but a steely glare and an unsettling sneer. Why only the inmates of this accursed place, and not the staff, had the good sense to be frightened of him he'd never know.

He inspected his plate with the aura of a man about to go to the gallows. He squinted with almost scientific distaste at what he hoped was potatoes. He braced himself and began to eat slowly and meticulously, as he always did, doing his level best to ignore the largely unpalatable taste. He always save the pizza for last, it cleansed his palate of the frankly disgusting food that came before it, and meant he didn't have to go back to his cell and spend the night wondering was that really rice pudding?

Today had not been a good day, mental health wise.

Occasionally, Crane's brain would become so overloaded with information on information he was receiving from the outside world it made it difficult to function. Today was one of these days.

Usually, Crane's ability to notice things no one else would notice and retain huge amounts of such data was the root of his genius. It was not an unwise man who said that all genius truly is was the ability to retain massive amounts of information and utilise it in a new, and unique, way.

The fact that he was capable of noticing everything, all at once, (even people's deepest neuroses and which exotic chemicals would combust when exposed to the air and those that would make a mafia don sing like a little birdie), had made him a brilliant, if unconventional, psychiatrist. It also made him a social outcast, an awkward co-worker and a formidable criminal.

But today was one of those days where suddenly he knew everything, couldn't turn it off, and it was almost unbearable in its intensity.


This potato, if it is what it purports to be, has too much pepper. The ratio needs to be lessened to at least 100:1 potato:pepper.


The man behind me has fought with his cellmate again. There is no clear outward sign of this, except that they are not quite looking at each other when they speak. Likelihood of it being because Jasper wrote his name on every inch of the cell again, 16%, likelihood of it being because Tyler "freaked out" and tried to kill Jasper in a fit of schizoid paranoia, 37%, likelihood that one of them stole the other's socks again 47%.


Two of Jasper's fingers have splints and his posture suggests several of his ribs are broken. Likelihood of "freak out" now 87%.

The orderly by the door has missed his cigarette break again, he is overly twitchy and his breath does not smell of nicotine.


The air conditioning is likely to break within the next 5-6 hours judging by the sounds it is making.


The cough of the most sullen of the kitchen staff has an edge to it which suggest influenza, and given the hygiene of Arkham staff it is likely that she has spread it to at least three fifths of the patients currently in the room, as yesterday she will have still been in the incubation period.


The other orderly on duty forgot to tie his left shoe and his shirt is done up with the wrong buttons. Probability that rumours he is conducting a clandestine affair with the red-haired infirmary nurse has increased to 63%.

Things began to blur as it all became too much.


The Joker is sitting in front of me.


The Joker is sitting in front of me.


Ah.

Title is a famous quotation from a Sherlock Holmes novel. If you don't know who Sherlock Holmes is, I suggest you get off Fanfiction, the Internet, and possibly this mortal coil.

Jonathan's deductive powers are very loosely based on my own experiences and the "Sherlock Holmes" novels of Arthur Conan Doyle. I am dyspraxic, and as a consequence I occasionally have days where everything becomes "too much". Obviously I am not a genius, and thus I cannot process this information as well as Jonathan Crane. There in fact a medical condition called "low latent inhibition" where people are unable to block out stimuli, and it usually results in great creativity in those of high intelligence and can lead to psychosis in those of less than average intelligence.

The incubation period is the time between being exposed to a pathogen and its symptoms becoming apparent. For some communicable diseases this is when they are most contagious.

Thank you for reading!