Scratching Close to the Itch
"Why would she do it?" I hear the asylum workers around me whisper. I frame a wall around me, pretending I don't hear them. What do they know? If there's a tape of me and the Joker from yesterday they wouldn't have access to it yet. . .
"Are they together?" I hear another say out loud. My face flushes red.
"I never thought so but. . . Maybe."
I'm walking right past them, I'm sure they see me. None of them have the gall to ask me these questions themselves? Typical. Suddenly a powerful urge pushes me to say something. If it's me they're talking about, I must be close to being fired anyhow. I spin on my heel, facing them all. "Maybe she's his partner in crime and maybe they're adorable together," I bark at the gossiping doctors. They laugh in unison.
"Ivy and Bane? Yeah okay, Harleen."
"Wha-?" I'm completely confused, yet relieved. How do they know about Bane?
"Did you not hear?" She says, handing me the newspaper. As promised, a picture of Bane and Ivy stands on the front page, with as many details on the escape they could scrounge up. "Right after Ivy ditched this place she sprung ol' Bane out too. Know one is sure why."
"Hmmm," I say, trying to sound just as confused as them. I can see them tinkering with ideas within their heads. Maybe some of them even have to do with me. The only thing they're missing is the facts. The fact that they'd be right if only there was something to point their fingers at. Their statements aren't false but they're empty.
I know a special guard in the asylum who more than likely caught the early bird's worm. I need to know if I've been narrowed down any further. Sucking in a courageous breath, I silently leave the gathering and creep my way to the elevator.
It's oddly quiet on this floor, in a sickly way that forces my stealthy foot to become even softer and quick. I tiptoe my way past each door, peeking at the names, searching for the right one. The one who will have it all figured out.
I stop at Rick's small space, pondering how much time I have. I'll come back for him another time.
"Finally," I whisper to myself, standing in front of Zack's open door. A guard as clever and as cautious as himself wouldn't leave his room for peeks. He must be nearby- I have to be fast.
Fluttering my anxious fingers along his desk drawers, fumbling around, I'm dismissing charts and paperwork that have no affiliation with me or my team of the criminally insane. My tongue independently greets my dry, cracked lips in anticipation of the one folder with the answers I need. My eyes I feel beady, plump and round to the surface, attentive for any significant clues or information. "Damn it."
A dimly lit volume of conversation ignites itself, the social flame burning bright, tumbling quickly down the hall. It's just outside the door now. My brain shuts down entirely by the over-powering level of anxiety that sends my body into a deep freeze. A panicked hand abruptly stops on a drawer handle, my eyes darting to the edge of the doorway. An empty lot, ready for entry. My stomach drops to my feet. It would be smart to take action. Find a window, possibly wedge my way out before I'm spotted.
I would try any of these things, but it's the voice that sends my brain such odd waves of information. That repulsive, low voice of dark, so called "justice." The symbol of Gotham. Of course it was the city's night and shining armor. ". . . they must be in a partnership," I hear Gotham's beloved bat say. His grave voice covers the room and I know they must be a footstep or two outside. Just a couple strides, a push of the heavy wooden curtain- and I'm done for.
Quickly, I spot a small supply closet. Dropping my detective eye, I now search for ways to squeeze my body into this cramping area. My flesh is being rudely poked and jabbed by objects and property owners of this closet that remain unknown to me. The soft field of my side is being scraped by something metal and unpleasant.
I agingly suffocate in the filed space, quietly nosing around for oxygen. Multitasking, I press close to what I think is the surface of the door. The men have now gathered in Zack's office, their mumbling voices just barely traveling to my waiting ear. Holding my breath and focusing on controlling the beat of my heart helps. Gradually, the guard's voice finds me. "But what sort of motive would bring Pamela and Bane together?"
"I'm not sure," admits the Dark Knight. "But his venom was injected into a rose she had, causing it to grow so large, it broke through the flooring, helping her escape."
"How did she get the venom?" Zack asks.
"I haven't quite figured that out yet, but I will. They must both have a mutual parter they trust within this facility. I have strong feeling about Dr. Quinzel."
"She is currently my prime suspect but I have no evidence."
My stomach churns and acids boil. Numbess coils over my being. I think my hands are excessively secreting and trembling under the hardening clamp of fear. The hold that has only seemed to increase the depth it's teeth proceed to sink into my cold brain. A tool that is currently shutting down on me. I convulse with raw terror, like a child facing the monster under their bed within the dark hour.
The door shuts after both sets of feet twist out into the hallway. The sound pulsates and twists to my ear canal slowly. It takes a minute to register I'm once again alone in this stanger's office. Sharp confusing surges of reds, greens, and blues bloom in lively clusters, causing my head to pound as they cloud my vision. The rattling spikes from my temples to my eyes until the rattle descends to my living bowl of acids. An unsettling jounce perturbs me as the straw in my body works backwards.
Lifting from my knees, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. My clean one weakly grasps at the knob, turning it and finally setting me free with a soft theatrical push. I awkwardly dance over the spill of retch, avoiding any and all contact. It's closed behind the door without a second glance.
I reavaluate myself in a lake of reflection placed on one of Zack's walls.
I look sickly, but smile almost at the site. I'm as pale as a silkworm and my cotton candy blues are more black around the edges than holes dug to the deepest soil. I blink strangely when I see Puddin's reflection next to mine, his grin big also. "Quite the improvements, toots," I see him say. "It needs a little pep to it though, don't you think? Add a little Harley to it, hm?"
I squint at this dark woman I see before me. Thoughtless hands tug at one half of her hair, securing it high with an elastic. She mirrors the style on the other half. His reflection becomes fainter, but I hear his commands clear before he disappears. "Harley- the monster isn't under your bed. It's inside you." He giggles cruely before my mind sends him off.
"You're right Puddin'. . . You're absolutely right." I smile at the creation that stands before me. "Let's take down the bat."
A/N: Sorry for another short and delayed chapter!