I.
It was cold, gray and rainy, just about everything she had expected. New England weather this time of year was often miserable, and it made the looming facility seem as if it was some type of Lovecraftian monster, rising up from the sea. The city behind her was equally imposing, the skyscrapers casting the streets in perpetual gloom. Brigid clutched her slicker around her, and tried glancing through the few papers she had crisply placed in a folder while she waited. The cab had left her outside of the gates a few minutes ago, they weren't allowed inside the secure gate that lined the property, and the outer guard had let her in, informing her it may be a few minutes before she could enter the building.
Brigid was trying to wait patiently, but she had left directly from the airport and at this point she wanted this day to end so she could get some rest.
After an eternity of waiting, static buzzed out of the intercom. "Ms. Bridget Grey?"
Brigid winced. Unsurprisingly, the owner of the nasally voice on the other end had mispronounced her name. She held back the urge to say, 'Yes it is I, Ms. 'Brig-id' Grey- and instead cleared her throat, raising her identification so it was visible.
"One moment, a guard is unlocking the door now and will take you through the security proceedings."
She dropped the badge, tucked the file under her arm and tugged on the beige rain slicker to adjust it quickly while they opened the door. The guards, unsurprisingly looked rather nonplussed and motioned her in. They explained, in board flat tones while they looked through her jackets and briefcase, that all visitors must confiscate any dangerous items, including but not limited to-
Blah, blah blah. She thought as they continued droning on. Well, at least they're following protocol. Brigid had been briefed only three days ago about her new assignment, after someone made an anonymous tip that had referenced a case where a thirteen year old girl had been wrongly imprisoned in a mental institution in, of all places, an adult men's ward. And that anonymous tip had somehow made its way all the way up to the State Department of Child Welfare, and was then handed off to its federal division-which had seen fit to move Brigid from the mild winter State of Louisiana north to miserable, freezing, damp, New England.
The case in question had happened a little over ten years ago-however, it was only handled at a state level; a fact that afterwards cost a few state senators their jobs and made newspapers across the country an obscene amount of money. New laws were rightly created to prevent it from happening in the future, however, they were never truly enforced, and even more seldom investigated. The tip-off must have lit a few fires under the right asses though, I wish I knew who made it…
"Your bag," The guard said, handing it back to her.
"Thanks," Brigid replied, eyeing her two jackets that were still laying on a small table in the corner. The guard caught her staring and gave her a look that said, go ahead, ask me if you can have them back, and as soon as you do, I'll get aggressive because I do this all day every day lady, and you're not gonna get me fired.
She turned towards the door. It was cold, places like this were always cold, but hopefully she could at least get in and out quickly today and back to the apartment. She hadn't even seen it yet, and God only knew if the airport was going to actually deliver her suitcase to the right apartment.
"Dr. Crane should be there in a moment- past there," he gestured at the door, "Your things will be returned to you when you check out."
"Right," She nodded, taking a deep breath and stepping in after hearing the tell-tale buzz of the door unlocking. Unsurprisingly the door clicked, locking automatically once it shut, giving Brigid an unsettling feeling. She glanced around, trying to get her eyes to acclimate to the fluorescent light glaring off the tiles and the stale air. She was standing in some kind of commons area with hallways running off it.
A tall man approached from a hallway to her left, and she noticed that other than the two of them, this area had no guards. Weird but, not breaking any rules I can think of, she reasoned, I suppose the guards outside would stop anyone from breaking in or out.
Brigid smiled politely, sticking out her hand as the man reached her, "Dr. Crane, is it? I'm Brigid Grey," she said, shaking his hand. He was rather tall, and like most of the doctors she had met, was coolly neutral, neither smiling or frowning as she spoke. He had sharp blue eyes that peered down at her from behind glasses. Well, he certainly could be a Washington Irving character, though he definitely doesn't resemble his namesake.
"Ms. Grey, I was told you had been informed of your work here, I assume you have as well," He replied crisply.
"Mhmm," She replied vaguely, looking past the doctor down the hallways. Ruffled some feathers, did we? Then Brigid turned her gaze back on him, "You became the head doctor of this facility how many years ago?"
Dr. Crane did frown then, though Brigid was lucky she had caught it before he composed himself. "Four years ago, actually. I submitted this information to the State's medical board already, three weeks ago in fact."
Brigid winked, trying to break the uncomfortable mood, "Of course I knew that. I was just checking to be sure you did."
Her lame attempt at a joke did not lighten the mood.
"If you could please accompany me, I'll give you a tour of the facility. I was told that you officially would be starting tomorrow, but since you're here anyway-"
"Yes, sorry about that," Brigid interrupted smoothly. She had been prepared for this, though she had a sneaking suspicion that Crane wasn't really surprised by her early arrival. "I got here today and figured, why not get an early start. Hope it's not too much trouble."
Dr. Crane replied, in the same cordial voice, "Of course not. Ahead of us is the high security ward men's ward, maximum sentence of forty years. All legal adults, same gender."
She peered through the glass around the double doors in front of them. "Well, I'd hope so. I'll have to do regular checks- weekly. One of the job conditions. I won't be bothering you much here, I really just am supposed to focus on working with minors in their ward." Doing things like; protecting their right to communicate with relatives, reporting abuse, making sure nothing illegal is happening, she finished mentally.
Dr. Crane smiled, leaning against the door on the other side to look down the hall with her. "Of course. Much of the time I, and my predecessor, have spent here, was invested in improving conditions and treatments for the patients." He looked at her over his glasses, suddenly friendlier than he had been before, "It should be an easy position for you."
"One would hope so," Brigid said vaguely, shifting away from the glass. She didn't like to think of her work that way, either institutions like this were doing what they were supposed to, or they weren't. It was her job to determine that without any bias.
They continued past the door, taking moments to greet guards and nurses that passed as they navigated the elevators and wards. The place was so large it became a bit confusing, and when they finally got to the children's ward, it was bleak and undecorated. Boys and girls had wards on different floors, something that made Brigid internally groan once she realized it. This place was confusing enough without having to navigate multiple floors. But the wards seemed to be well staffed, with male and female orderlies and guards were well mixed throughout both, which gave Brigid some hope.
In her experience, directors in facilities as large as these either were so out of touch with their staff, abuse would happen without them ever knowing. Or worse, they did know and allowed it to continue. Being well staffed with both men and women on every shift was something many facilities did, as it helped ensure patients would be less likely to suffer sexual or physical abuse.
Finally, after what seemed like traveling through endless hallways and elevators, Dr. Crane announced they had seen all the wards and met all of the day shift staff- save around twenty-five or so people that happened to be off today.
"Thank you again-" Brigid started, glad their tour was over so she could dial a cab and start on her notes.
"We'll go up to my office now so you'll know where to go for meetings," Dr. Crane interrupted, sliding a key into the elevator to unlock it, and pushing the button for the top floor.
Of course, she mentally slapped herself. The weekly meetings she had pushed to the back of her mind and forgotten about. "Right."
She would honestly be glad to get away from Dr. Crane as well, his strangely cold, then friendly demeanor was off putting. Her direct supervisor had let her know that bizarre caveat before she had boarded the plane earlier. Weekly meetings to discuss any instances of employee violations. In a way, she supposed it made sense. This institution was larger, and housed more local patients, than any other facility she had been to before. There were more employees working here to compensate for the population, something that could slow down the investigation. Her supervisor had told her that after the initial inquiry had been filed, the judge had stipulated that the facility (due to its size) be allowed to deal with issues in house before being escalated.
The top floor of the building was older, and the doors they passed held rooms that were empty and dark.
"So, no other doctors have offices up here?" Brigid asked, looking around as they walked.
"No, their offices are on the lower floor, closer to the wards they're assigned to." He answered, unlocking his office at the end.
His office was large, and filled with numerous bookshelves, the necessary desk and chairs, with a large window at the end that showed the Gotham skyline. The light that entered the room from the wintery sky was bleak, and gave the room a gloomy cold feel. Brigid rubbed her hands together looking around. It was freezing, she'd have to wear warmer clothes tomorrow.
"Nice view." She commented while Dr. Crane sat down at his desk, taking off his glasses. Brigid didn't want to walk further into the room, and the fact that the doctor's eyes seemed to be taking in her discomfort just increased her desire to leave. She tried smiling again, "I appreciate your time today, I'll be here again tomorrow morning and officially get started."
"Would you like me to call you a cab?" Dr. Crane asked, his analytical gaze never breaking from hers.
Brigid pulled a phone from her pocket, "Thanks but-"
"Cell phones don't work in the building. I was told it had something to do with the old wiring."
"Oh. Well, then yes-thanks." Brigid shifted from foot to foot before walking to sit down at the front of the desk. She flipped through the file on the desk, finding the address she had been given. She didn't like the feeling that she couldn't call when she needed to, but some intuition, or maybe it was that unsettling look the doctor had, told her not to actually check to see if she had service or not. Typically, doctors were so busy they were rushing her about, they wouldn't have bothered taking the time for polite little gestures like this.
"How did you end up getting picked for this job?" Crane asked.
Brigid shrugged. "Patient privacy is important. In instances of abuse in criminal mental institutions, oftentimes patients- minors especially- are often victimized afterwards by the media, which can make transitioning back into society difficult once their sentence ends. My primary focus has always been ensuring the safety of those who are most vulnerable." She rubbed her hands together again to warm them. "Gotham has always been…infamous to say the least when it comes to the rate of criminally insane. I looked at a newspaper on the way over from the airport, and it doesn't appear the media has become any kinder since Ms. Kyle's case broke the news."
Crane leaned back, smiling slightly. "One could say you're good at keeping secrets. They faxed me your basic credentials when the inquiry was first opened, you certainly had an interesting education." His eyes wandered down to her hands briefly, observing them for a moment.
Brigid didn't really like where this conversation was going, she certainly didn't appreciate the 'we're thick as thieves' tone when he mentioned keeping secrets. But she smiled, trying to keep things amiable; at least for the moment.
"Well, I suppose you could argue I'm not good at keeping secrets at all." She answered again, keeping her tone friendly and light. His staring was starting to make her skin crawl, so she cleared her throat and continued, "So, have you always lived in Gotham?"
"Yes. It's surprising though, your job must have you moving around a lot, it must be difficult to have any sense of consistency in your life."
Brigid took a moment to look at her watch pointedly and laughed softly. "I guess it is in a way. Don't sell yourself short though, it's starting to seem like you're giving me a free session. At least give me a moment to get out my insurance cards."
Crane smiled, but something about his eyes made Brigid feel that there was nothing kind in it, which was unsurprising. Her joke, at best, had fallen flat for the second time. The ringing of the phone broke the uncomfortable silence. Thank god. After answering it, and uttering a quick 'thank you' Dr. Crane hung up.
"Your cab is here. I look forward to working with you. Oh, and-" he said, standing up and placing the keys back into his pocket. "We don't have a set of keys for you for the elevator yet. You'll have to ask one of the nurses tomorrow. There are some areas of the facility that faculty aren't permitted to go, they don't have patients of course," he added. "This is an old building, some places are still under maintenance and not safe."
"Right." Brigid answered, though the idea of not having a key in a place like this did nothing for her nerves. They took the elevator down, and thankfully it was a quiet ride, devoid of any painful small talk. The silence was a relief, as was finally getting her jackets back and getting into the warm cab.
The drive to her apartment revealed two things. One, that this city was like many others and was consumed with poverty that was covered up by the smattering of richer areas. Two, that her apartment was not only located in a poor area right by the docks, but also that the airline had delivered her luggage- and was kind enough to leave it on the curb in the rain.
She paid the driver, quickly retrieved the bags (which she was surprised to realize hadn't been stolen) and struggled inside. The building was as decrepit on the outside as it was on the inside, complete with flickering lights that probably hadn't been changed in thirty years. She struggled to the ancient elevator and finally after what had been an exhausting day, finally got home.
I.
Jonathan had not only expected her to show up early that day, he had also anticipated that she would want to look around. Social workers always did. The person who had been stupid enough to make a tip to the police and social services had already been dealt with- thankfully. Now all they had to do was wait out this farce of an inquiry, and then his work could continue.
Leaning back in his chair to pull files out of a drawer, he took a long breath. It'd give him time to study the long term effects of this serum anyway. The trick was, controlling her access to the basement floors. From her file, he had seen, she had studied psychiatry, child psychology and other various things that had no doubt made her eligible for her particular line of work, but had only a basic understanding of medical terminology. This at least would make it easy for him to disguise the extra sedatives and the serum. From his understanding, and from the confession they had gotten out of the idiot before Falcone had him killed, Ms. Grey would be investigating any instances of abuse. After about a week, Falcone could probably lean on the senators in his pocket, have her removed.
He would just have to be careful. Keep her busy, occupied and the patients that have had the serum would need to be sedated. The staff knew better than to speak to her about anything, he had noticed her trying to be charming and build a rapport with them. She was small, unintimidating, and had a charming face with dark hair and eyes. He had not expected that, not at first anyways. The tour was enough time to get a sense of her character.
If she did find something, she wouldn't keep it quiet. She was experienced, and took the time to steer conversation away from any opinions she might have so as not to tip him off. Jonathan could see she was an idealist, as much as she pretended to be unbiased, these jobs were personal for her. An idealist. If she did find something, they would have to deal with her. He'd have to table that idea for later, if it did indeed come to that.
Crane smiled in the gloom of his office, tapping the papers where her information was listed. It would be hard for her to find anything without an elevator key, and she seemed to believe the excuse about the basement floors.
I.
Brigid sat on the threadbare sofa, drinking wine out of her coffee cup and reviewing her notes. She would have to fax them in tomorrow afternoon, but so far the patients had no noticeable bruises or out of character reactions to any of the staff. Their faces, while mostly dulled by medication, weren't lean. That, at least, was good.
She'd have to get a more in-depth report of the juvenile patients tomorrow to get a sense of what was going on. Brigid set down the papers, rubbing her temples in thought. If only she had known who had made the tip. Was it a doctor? A relative maybe? Certainly not a patient, as the number would have at least given that away.
Brigid really didn't like that Dr. Crane seemed a bit too prepared for her impromptu visit. That wasn't a good sign, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything. From her tally, they had seen all the patients and the number of staff members seemed to line up with the records of employment kept with the state. The personal questions seemed odd to her as well, but she'd just have to keep avoiding saying that would show she was suspicious.
In the past, doctors were either short with her or overly friendly. The strange back and forth conversations she had with him were different, she half believed he had watched her every move, trying to see if she would tip her hand. Give something away.
Brigid took another sip from the mug. Either I'm getting better at this, or worse, she thought. There had been false alarms she had seen in the past, and conversely there had been cases of unbearable cruelty. Doctors and nurses and janitors lying- covering things up for one reason or another; and she had always caught them. But she couldn't allow past cases to affect her bias, that was always the struggle. Circumstantial opinions wouldn't even get a case in the door of the courthouse; you had to follow the rules, even if your opponents didn't.
She sighed, shuffling her notes back into its folder and turning out the lights. It'd just be something she'd have to sleep on, think about it more tomorrow. I'll only have to do this for a few weeks anyway, no one can keep secrets for too long…
I.
The week was insightful, and Brigid was able to learn a lot. As far as she had seen (being accompanied by a guard) the adults were not being abused-on the surface anyway. Many of them were violent, sure, but their behavior matched up with patterns and police reports dating back years. Orderlies and nurses were not overly forceful, and appeared to be well trained, which was a plus.
The juvenile patients though seemed mostly despondent, which was understandable given their circumstances. Many were so heavily medicated they, like the adults, didn't speak so much as grumble unintelligibly. By law many of them would be up for parole when they turned eighteen, but that would be weighed against a doctor's testimony in front of a board- not a judge. She had taken the week to question the two doctors of each respective ward as to their treatment plans. This weekend, she'd have to take extra time to call medical experts and cross reference the statements with current practice. She had been given the contact number of a behavior specialist in the FBI, and would more than likely have to contact them as well as the local police department.
She was standing alone in the hallway outside the girls ward, waiting for a nurse to appear so she could use the elevator. Brigid checked her watch again, and shifted foot to foot impatiently. Crane better have a copy of that damn key for me. I'm allowed to have access to all wards and floors of the hospital. That I haven't been given one yet is ridiculous, she fumed internally.
After nearly an eternity of standing around, an orderly finally appeared, and let her into the elevator. Somehow, she hid her extreme irritation when she asked him to please call Crane and let him know she was heading up to the top floor and would then attend the meeting post haste.
The elevator 'dinged' and Brigid took the time to look at the buttons. Her eyes caught on the dark B that indicated the basement floor. Her mind wandered and she rested her fingers on that button for a long moment, thinking about what Dr. Crane had said. Unsafe for faculty.
Patient records had indicated that no other people were being kept outside of the wards, but it tugged at her anyway. There was no logical reason for her to be standing here, in an elevator, staring at that damn button. None, she told herself firmly. Yet here she was, wasting time, staring at it. Finally, she shook herself, and hit the button for the fifth floor. The elevator whirled into life, and she rubbed her temples to try and clear her head.
It had been a long week. That was it. Brigid wanted to get this stupid meeting with Crane over, it was a farce anyway, and get back to work. She had so much to do, she didn't need to chase imaginary fancies around like Nancy Drew.
I.