Chapter 7

Ten years ago . . .

When Cassandra came to, she was greeted by a strange gray-haired man who sat watching her from across the room. His stare was as intent as a dieter eyeing cake. Needs a napkin for all the drool, she thought.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice raspy. She was thirsty. He got up from his chair and placed a plastic mug on the table beside her. It had a straw poking out of the top—the kind that was bendy. He answered her question with another one. "How do you feel?"

She considered it a moment and then said, "Sore. Pissed off. Concerned for my family. Where's my husband and son? Where are my rings? My necklace."

He leaned over the bedrail, checking her eyes with a small light and testing her pulse by placing two fingers on her inner wrist. "They interfered with surgery. They are in safe keeping."

"I want them back."

He offered her that same smug grin and turned to check the IV bag to which she was attached.

He was familiar. Cassandra recognized him. He was one of the men who had loaded her into the ambulance. He also happened to be the one who had caused her such agony and had treated her with glib indifference, putting her on display as if she were a sideshow spectacle. Oswald, I get it now. I understand your reference. Feeling like an attraction in a circus. "You cut me open," she stated flatly. She couldn't wait to kill him. Was even starting to feel better, as a matter of fact, just thinking about it.

"I saved your life," he informed her, corrected her rather, sounding like a condescending schoolmaster. She half expected him to pull out a ruler and smack her on the hand with it. Not that it would teach her a lesson. Instead, he reached for the mug and held it at an angle that allowed her sip through the straw, nudging her on her lips with it when she hesitated. "It's water. You need it."

Cassandra reluctantly sucked in the liquid and relaxed as the cold water chilled her body—she could actually feel it moving between her lungs to her stomach. It was like stepping into an air-conditioned room on a sweltering afternoon in August.

"Who are you?" she asked him, her voice clearer now, and tried to push herself up to sit. He smiled at her, and she was sure he would pat her on the top of her head at any moment.

Yep, she hated him.

"I am Dr. Dulmacher, and you are Cassandra Cobblepot? Is that correct?" In his hands he held a clipboard, which he then tucked under one armpit in order to raise the back of the bed to a more comfortable, upright position for her.

"Yes. Thank you. Where is my husband Oswald and my child?"

Dulmacher twiddled his fingers on the clipboard and offered that patronizing grin again before changing his expression to one of deepest sympathy.

"I am very sorry to tell you that they did not make it."

Cassandra felt her heart lodge in her throat. Her world had ended. It cannot be true. "I don't believe you." She could not live without them. Without Oswald. Without her little one.

"If there is anything I can do . . . wait, what are you doing? Where are you going? Stop." But she had already pulled the IV out of her arm and was trying to lower the bedrail so she could get out of bed. That's when she noticed the catheter.

"Get this thing out of me," she demanded.

"You didn't know it was there?" he asked.

Her bottom lip trembled. "Am I supposed to?"

He made a note on the clipboard and without looking up told her he would send in a female nurse to remove it, then walked out the door without any further explanations.

"I want my family!" she screamed at his exiting back. Her request was met with the sound of her door being locked.

I am not in a hospital, she thought as curled back up on the bed. Where am I? Where are THEY? Her body went stiff from panic, imagining all kinds of terrible things happening to Oswald and Boo and she not knowing where to start to even begin her search, as if she could. Her thoughts were interrupted by the jingling of keys and then the entrance of a nurse. She looked kindly enough, but even rabid puppies were rabid.

"Are you in any pain?" she asked. Cassandra studied her—she looked to be about the same age as she and was short, like herself, but her frame was smaller. But, even being near in age, she carried a bright-eyed air of naiveté with her. Very fair-skinned, blonde hair—but a lot of it—like a Texas prom queen, in giant ringlets, no less. She repeated her question and Cassandra slowly shook her head no.

"That's good to hear." She paused. "I understand there is a device that needs removing?" Her eyebrows shot up and her chin tilted down as she indicated Cassandra's lower region.

Cassandra nodded, adding, "And some items that need returning."

The nurse washed her hands and slid on some gloves, pulling and snapping them into place. "Very well. Seeing as how you are up and Adam, I doubt it will become an issue to remove the catheter. It will only take a second. Unfortunately, I cannot help you with your other request."

"Why not?" She did not answer Cassandra's question, instead turning her attention to the business at hand.

When she was finished, she threw the catheter and accompanying tubes into a red wastebasket. It had a lid on top and the words "bio-hazardous waste" was reassuringly emboldened in yellow across the top and sides. How comforting.

The nurse turned and gave Cassandra her most winning smile. "All done! And, when you need to, well . . . you know—you have your own private powder room. Right over here." She approached an extra door and opened it. Cassandra could see a mirror and sink.

"Where exactly is here?" She tried asking her, since she doubted any answers would be forthcoming from the doctor. Of course, she would be lucky to get any truth out of anyone in this place, she supposed.

"Father means well, he really does," she remarked, opening the front of Cassandra's gown to check on the stitches. Her eyebrows popped up again and she nodded, clearly impressed. This is making me uncomfortable, Cassandra thought, and she closed her gown. "That's extraordinary." The nurse went on. "What causes it, do you think? Your fast healing?"

"I have no clue. Never really paid attention to it. Just thought I was healthier than others."

The nurse laughed at her remark.

"By the way," she said. "I am the one who held your hand and asked Father to pump you full of meds again."

"He really listens to you," sneered Cassandra.

The nurse looked at her coldly. "He plans to keep you, you know."

"What. Do. You. Mean?"

"He's not going to give you up," she explained, or rather didn't. "The other one—he wants to take you away."

"The other one? You mean my husband? Well, then, you had better do as he says if you want to keep that pretty face of yours, otherwise you will be wearing a mask for the rest of your life."

"Well, we all wear a mask of some sort, don't we?" She patted Cassandra's arm. "It is not your husband—"

"Is he all right? Your father told me he was dead, and my son. Are they okay? Please tell me. Please. I'll do anything you ask."

The nurse smiled at her. "No need for that. I'll just tell you. They are both alive and well, although your 'son' . . ." She gave Cassandra a knowing look. ". . . was returned to his rightful kin. His real grandmother."

Cassandra swallowed the sob in her throat. "I want to see Oswald."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. You have been bought and paid for by another. Besides, even though you heal quickly—you are still healing. Father patched up your lung and intestines and part of your liver and removed a bullet that was dangerously close to your spine, so I guess you don't mind that he helped himself to some useless organs that you won't be needing in the future." When Cassandra did not answer her, she listed the items Cassandra could live without.

"A section of your liver—don't worry, it will regenerate, livers do that—your spleen, the appendix—temperamental little things, and your uterus. He also harvested a few eggs and took blood samples." Cassandra still could not find her voice. He might have well should have taken that too. The nurse approached her and took Cassandra's hands in her own. "I know it's a lot to take in, but think of it as being for the good of the people. Who knows what miraculous discoveries will emerge from your tissue, your blood, your DNA . . . how many people you may be able to help. You're a heroine, really. So be proud of that." Then she abruptly let go and walked towards the door. "I'll get you something to eat. Be back in a jiffy-roo!"

Cassandra glanced around the room for anything she could use as a weapon. The tray of medical torture devices was gone and the cabinets were locked. In the corner ceiling of the room, there was a tinted glass orb, which Cassandra knew was a camera—like the ones they have in department stores. She was being watched. Maybe she would try again at night when she could turn off the lights—although she would have to leave one on in the bathroom, which sort of defeated the purpose. They probably have night vision cameras anyway, she lamented and then chided herself for her negative attitude.

When the nurse returned a moment later, Cassandra asked her why she had told her all of this, considering that she would kill the lot of them when she was fully healed, and Oswald would help. The woman grinned and leaned her head to one side.

She certainly has inherited her father's patronizing demeanor, Cassandra noted as she tried to ignore the rumbling in her stomach brought on by the smell of cooked meat. She hoped it was from something that could be eaten legally.

"When I was little," the nurse began. "Father tested his theories, his . . . experiments . . . on animals. Sometimes mice, sometimes cats, sometimes dogs or birds. Sometimes, I would take the smaller ones and put them in my dollhouse—but Father did not like that. Said they might escape. So I had to leave them in his lab, and I would talk to them as they sat stuck in their barren metal cages, not going anywhere. It seemed to comfort them—the human voice. Even when I spoke lovingly to them about what Father had planned and that there was no chance of escape—they still wiggled their whiskers and wagged their tails. Someone caring for them until it was their turn . . . and every one of them had a 'their turn'. So will you. That's why I am not afraid to tell you anything."

Panic was building in Cassandra's chest. Play it cool. Play it cool. But her voice was shaky when she spoke.

"What can you tell me about this other person who has . . ." she nearly choked on the word, ". . . bought me?"

"Nothing."

Cassandra doubted her.

"No, really. Nothing. Although . . ." She came and sat on the bed, bringing the tray with her and placing it between them. "Rumor has it you are very valuable to them. I will admit, if they do happen to wrest you away from Father, I believe they are going to be rather angry about your missing organs. He was only supposed to take your blood." She touched Cassandra's arm as if to offer comfort. "Not all of it, mind you. Just some of it. Samples."

Not all of it. Gotcha. Good to know. Cassandra pressed her lips together. My nurse is a mental patient. Where the hell am I? Oh, please don't be Arkham. Cassandra watched her carefully. Her eyes had glazed over and she looked like she was somewhere far away. "Yes, Father may pay for that."

Be polite, this girl is a loon.

"I am very good at what I do," the blonde-haired woman said, suddenly snapping back into present time. Cassandra froze. Could she read minds?

"I am very good at what I do," she repeated. "I am very good with a knife." She smiled and lifted the lid on the platter. Cassandra was surprised at what she saw there—regular food. She had expected to see someone's head, or maybe a foot or a hand. Instead, there was a cheeseburger—plain, without the fixings, and unseasoned fries to boot. No utensils. How disappointing.

"I did not bring you a drink, since you already had your water." She indicated the mug on the bedside table. Cassandra glanced over her shoulder and grinned in her brain.

"Of course, water is better for me than, say, a soda anyway, right?" With lightning speed, she grabbed the straw, doubled it, and slashed the reinforced plastic corner across the nurse's neck, opening the skin. The woman was too stunned to react immediately, so Cassandra pushed her off the bed and stood. As the woman scrambled to her feet, Cassandra attacked again and opened up her cheek before trying to jam the straw into one of her eyes.

"You bitch!" the nurse screamed. Cassandra was not pleased when she felt her hair being yanked. It did not hurt, it was just annoying. Besides, she really liked her hair and did not want anyone messing with it. She managed to pull away a little bit and had to stretch to grab the cheeseburger before a valiant attempt at cramming it down the woman's throat. Cassandra laughed in victory when the nurse went from trying to make her bald to attempting to get ahold of Cassandra's hands, fighting against the lunch she was being force fed. While the nurse gagged and spit out the burger, Cassandra jumped up and grabbed the platter, taking a swing but missed her when she rolled away. When the nurse attempted to open the door to flee, Cassandra grabbed her from behind and slammed her forehead into the door a few times, rendering her caregiver unconscious and leaving behind a bloody splotch that turned into a streak as Cassandra watched her sink to the floor.

"I'm really good at what I do too, bitch."

She looked up and saw Dulmacher frowning at her from behind the small glass window in the door. He had to shove the door open since his daughter was lying in front of it. She moaned and tried to sit up, holding her forehead. There was a nice gash across it.

Dulmacher knelt to check on her, while two attendants entered the room behind him, blocking any chance of escape. He helped his daughter to her feet and sat her in a chair by the door, then turned to glare at Cassandra.

"Hold her," he said, as he held up a needle. Like, a really big needle. Like, one a veterinarian would use on a horse. "You obviously won't feel a thing, but you are going to go to sleep for a while now, dear." She kicked and screamed, but it did her no good. The last thing she remembered was the good doctor telling his daughter Matilda that this room was off limits to her. She was not allowed to be anywhere near it.

Cassandra whispered Oswald's name and passed out.