Chapter 3: Puzzles and Self-Hatred

I don't believe in Gotham. I don't believe in its promises.

These walls are suffocating my mind worse with every day that passes. Shh… just breathe. It's not working anymore. The thoughts are gripping my throat. Asphyxiating on my own failures. Did I fail Gotham? Was my crusade for the truth enough? My judgement was tested and proved so wrong. I trusted him. I believed in him. He was just like the rest of them.

Pacing and pacing and pacing. Writing it all down and doing the same thing tomorrow. Eventually I'll run out of paper. Will they give me more? Will I have to get upset again? Can I use my own mind as a ledger to write down my thoughts? Maybe the walls? Maybe I'll hold the pillow over my face till the thoughts finally die. What else do I have to live for? I did my task. I ripped the shawl from this city and exposed the rats. I navigated through their sewers and preyed on them. I sent them howling to hell. They deserved it, all of them. Yet, I'm in here. A prisoner. They call me 'insane'. They think what I did was evil. Sheep. All of them. Even him.

He left me here to rot away. Called me a 'psychopath' just because I exposed their lies. Nomore lies. Didn't he see how I immortalized myself because of him? He showed me the path I needed to take for justice, he showed me the violence and fear. He was my shining light in a world of corpses, telling me that I could live. Then he leaves me. We were supposed to leave this place together. We were going to make a new Gotham— free of lies! We were supposed to crumble the corruption into soil. Planting the seeds for a better city. A better life. He fights for justice and cripples the corrupt, then turns his back on me and fights for them?! The broken and imbedding? How could he not see it? I gave him so much credit. The strength he gave me was the lie. Yet again, I was rejected. Forgotten. Abandoned! Now I sit in this box with the rest of the crazies waiting for death. 5 years? 10 years? 25 years? How long before I finally rot away and escape this torture? Escape these terrible thoughts? I can't take the screaming anymore. So loud but so lonely. This place is only a fragment of my suffering these thirty-one years. I will die in here. Unwanted. Unloved. Unfinished.

"Nashton!"

I sit up on my cot to my cell door being opened again. Radio chatter and chains. What the fuck does he want now?

"Let's go. You got your session with your doctor."

Oh, not again. She is relentless. Dr. Quinzel's conquest for my secrets. She wants my childhood more than anyone could. If I could give it to her and be free of it, I would. The guard is waiting in the doorway like a monster. He sees so much disgust in me. I can't blame him. I don't speak, I just get up. I keep my eyes down and away from his. Even looking the guards in the eyes is reason for a beating. I hold my wrists up so he can shackle them in iron. Nearly seven feet and hair sprouting from his knuckles like some kind of ape. He stepped to the side of the door. Is he going to leave so I can follow him to her office?

"After you, sweetheart. Move it."

Oh. He wants me to go first. I walk past him trying not to trip on my own gait. I can feel his eyes down on me, but I keep mine away. This one is aggressive. Vengeful. Still bitter I flooded his cesspool city. I killed his mayor. His commissioner. His district attorney. I killed his blissful ignorance, actually. He would snap me like a twig and use me to pick his teeth if he could. He just wants control of me. Because he's scared of me. He's terrified of what I did. How else could you defeat fear if not control it? These officers make a hobby of it because deep down, they are all so scared. So small. I revealed the truth, and it terrifies them.

I try to ignore the revulsion passing cells. The banging on the windows, pecking and jibes from the other crazies. Their faces pressed against the glass so they could get their bout of entertainment in a place so isolating.

"Hey, Four-eyes! You're looking cute today!"

"There goes that fucking freak!"

"Don't flood the toilets, Nashton!"

'Go play outside with the other children, Edward.'

No. No, I don't want to. I wanted to stay in with my books. My riddles and puzzles. My only friends. The eyes of the inmates were like the eyes of the other kids in the orphanage. All of us stuck in this dreadful institution. So hateful from where we are that we take it out on each other.

Hands slam on a door window we pass, and a voice screams.

"Young man! Do not tell them! Do not tell them of the dollotrons! They cannot see it! I will sing until they see it!"

The guard behind me yelled out (startling me), "Get back from the door, Valentin!"

Valentin. Some people call him Pig. I don't know why. All I know is he's absolutely batshit crazy. He does belong in here. A day doesn't go by when I don't have to listen to him singing opera. He's got a fair voice but it's pointless in a place like this. I wonder what he did to end up in here? Was it senseless or did he have a cause? Like me. As we walk out the main doors, I swear I can hear him singing Ave Maria. Why is he singing that song? Just after seeing me too, that can't be a coincidence.

I try not to think on it long. Besides, coming out of High-Risk and under the fluorescent lights in the hallway was startling enough. Compared to the bleakness of my cell for hours a day, it takes a while for my eyes to adjust. We were coming up to the elevator, and the guard grabbed me by the arm.

"Wait."

He pressed the button and the elevator doors slid open. He gestured for me to go inside, and I did, then clicked the button inside for main floor.

"Get much sleep last night, Nashton?"

Is this guard trying to make small talk with me?

"Well? I know you're not a mute."

"No."

"No, you're not a mute or no you didn't get much sleep."

"No sleep."

"Hmph. Good. Losing sleep after what you did. Maybe you have a conscience after all."

Dick. I lose sleep because of far worse than what I did.

Elevator doors opened to a white hall and lab coats passing by. I was used to the glares I'd receive when taken from my cell. They couldn't continue on their day if they didn't do it at least once. In some circles I was loved and feared, in this place, I am so indulgently hated. Unfortunately for them, their disdain doesn't affect me too much. It's been the theme of my life. I'm so used to it that anything other than a scowl is startling.

The guard walked ahead of me to Dr. Quinzel's office and tapped the door.

"Come in!"

Opening the door to Dr. Quinzel's office is always a mixture of emotions. There's a scent of floral perfume that seeps out as soon as the door cracks. The windows along the wall beaming sunshine— I don't think she ever uses the shutters. It's blinding and distracting. Perfume and light. It's all so alien to me.

She sits at the desk looking immaculate. It must be so exhausting to do all of that every morning. She always smiles. Is she really that happy to see me or is she just doing her job? Psychologists are the masters of manipulation. All they want is to see what threads I'm made of. Dr. Quinzel was more persistent than the rest. Her approach was different. She was trying so hard to be my friend. But I don't have any friends.

"Hello, Edward! It's good to see you again. You can leave us, Bolton."

I walked ahead like it was a chore to do so. The door closed behind us. I kept still with my mouth tight.

"Come sit. Don't be shy."

I released a deep exhale from my nose in an attempt to calm my nerves. Every step I took was chiming in chain. I sat down in the chair. Almost the same chair I used to have at KTMJ. Should I focus on the numbers again or dissociate? I'm good at doing both. Quinzel didn't bother in wasting time.

"How are you feeling today, Edward? Last time we left off at… or should I say 'I' left off at the orphanage. These meetings will go so much better when you open up to me. Not for me, but for you. Did you want to tell me a bit about it? I know it couldn't have been easy."

I'm sure everything comes easy for you, Miss Quinzel. Beautiful young psychologist. 100K salary. I've never known the word easy.

"According to your file, you were quite the little genius. Spooked your caretakers with your grasp of mathematics and chemistry. I'm sure the other kids had some resentments to that."

Ian's voice blared in my head like this hospital's intercom, 'What the fuck do you want, freak?'

"Clearly you're an intelligent man, Edward. Can you be pragmatic with me and understand I'm only here to help you? Someone with your brain shouldn't be locked inside a cell for the rest of your life. You open up with me, I'll see to it that changes."

That sparked an interest, "What do you mean?"

"I'm currently assessing patients to be enrolled in my program. A clinical trial."

She wants to experiment on me like a rat?

She caught wind of the shift in my demeanour almost instantly. It was so slight, too. No doubt she's trained in understanding even the smallest mannerisms.

"Nothing scary! It's a positive approach. Look, you're a smart guy and I feel like I can say this freely to you so you understand. You are someone who values honesty and transparency, and I don't want to hide things from you, Edward. You've dealt with that enough."

I'm listening.

"How would you like being out of that cell for 2 hours a day, included with the shower, airing and our sessions? Except, you're in a room with books and puzzles of your interest? It'll be comfortable and somewhere you can go to just clear your head and get away from the confines of HRS for a while. You won't be alone, I'll be choosing three others for the trial, so you can make some friends! Sounds great, right?"

"Who else would be there?"

"I haven't chosen yet. You're the first one I've chosen to assess for the criteria."

Me being chosen first? That… I'm not used to that.

"So far you meet a lot of it. You're not behavioural, you're cognitive, and you have promise— academically speaking. There is no reason why you can't have a positive influence on the world from behind bars. You are capable, Edward. You matter."

This feels like déjà vu. I don't think I should trust it.

"The only thing keeping me from recommending you is your withdrawal from speaking. I understand you're a shy guy and these memories may be frightening to visit, but one of the boxes to tick is transparency in therapy. You know, something I can actually write down during our sessions to show to the administrators."

'What is never behind you but always in front of you?' Thomas Wayne. Get out of my head. Lies. Lies.

I furthered my curiosity, "What's the point of this trial? Why put me in a room with books and puzzles and the criminally insane? What purpose does it serve?"

"There we go! You're speaking to me, Edward! You have every right to ask questions and I'm more than happy to answer them. In my approach, I want to fix what was broken a long time ago. Long before you were the Riddler or the forensic accountant. I want to fix what was broken when you were a child. I believe through intensive therapy, positive interactions, meaningful relationships that you can remember who you are. You're not the Riddler, you're Edward Nashton. That intelligent and curious little boy is still in there and he hasn't grown up yet. With this treatment, I'm very confident he will. But first, you need to tell me what started this. What really made the Riddler?"

I went silent again. A lot of what she said was digging at me like rat teeth. The Riddler is me. He's what I've always been. I was always meant to do what I did. Edward Nashton is the lie and shame, the pathetic cloak I had to wear before finding who I really was. What does she mean I haven't grown? I'm not a boy. How does sitting around reading and doing puzzles supposed to make me grow? Does she even know what she's talking about? Is she even a psychologist? Is this a ruse?

"This doesn't sound productive."

I shook as I said it. Quinzel did not bite at the comment. If anything, her eyes softened. Like she felt bad for me.

"I know, it's daunting and confusing. Because it's something you've never really gotten the chance to have. But I can promise you that this trial will do great things for you, Edward. Have you ever been given psychiatric help before you came here?"

I didn't think I needed it, "No."

"So, it's something you don't know much about, yet. You're someone who loves to learn. Why not learn more about yourself? Give me an insight so I can treat you."

"I already know who I am."

"Do you? Do you know who you are in relationships? Your own morals and objections? Do you know what truly makes you productive in a positive way?"

"I don't have relationships."

"I know, and you've chosen that for yourself. Not because no one wants to be your friend, Edward. Because you've built these walls so high and strong that no one even dares to knock. There is a… demeanour about you. It's very closed off and has been for a long time. I want to change that so you can welcome people into your life. We can start with me. I'd like to be your friend, Edward."

Of course you do. You're my shrink. That's your bribe to get me talking. I'm not sure I'm ready to bring down the wall. It keeps me safe.

"When was a time you truly were happy?"

"Five months ago. When I revealed the truth."

Quinzel let out an exasperated sigh. "Okay. Well, we can both agree that wasn't happiness, Edward. It was excitement. But it wasn't happiness. True happiness is a lot deeper than that."

"Explain happiness to me then. In your words."

Quinzel folded her hands together and looked up with a sigh. She was computing a response. A portrayal. Manipulation?

"Happiness is fulfillment. When you killed those people, you thought you were fulfilling something, but you weren't. You got your fifteen minutes of fame and were forgotten."

My fists began to clench. My teeth gritted. I looked down to the floor as her words were beginning to ignite.

"And it's good you were forgotten."

Shut up.

"Because you are capable of so much better."

… What?

"Happiness is the fulfillment in not just yourself; but in others, and what others can provide to you. You are human, Edward, you're just as dependant on social interactions as any of us. You may have a hard time in social queues and that may be why you feel like you are not worthy of it, but you are. You have been lonely your entire life. I'm going to tell you right now that you didn't deserve any of that shit so why take it on and act it out in violence? In my trial you won't just be sitting around doing puzzles, you'll be with others you can talk to. Positive interactions is what shapes our world and grows us into better people. You weren't given enough of that. I want to change that. Whatever you're comfortable with and it can grow."

"You want me to be friends with these people?"

"Yes, because they are people just like you. They did some terrible things, just like you. They will be given the same avenues to grow, as well. Who knows? Those positive interactions heal the brain. Someone as inquisitive as you, I feel like you'd want to at least give it a try."

"And it starts with my childhood?"

"I need to know where to heal and how. So yes, it starts with your childhood. So what do you say? We only have thirty minutes left, and I only need a few notes to go ahead with the enrolment. Are you going to open up to me, Edward?"

Is that you again, hope? You've been fickle in the past. You represent yourself as a perky blonde doctor with supportive kitten posters in her office. Should I trust in you again one last time? Is there anything worse than sitting in my cell for the rest of my days with nothing else to look forward to? I can make friends. Maybe not. Talking to people scares me. At least I could find a retreat in puzzles and books again. What's the harm in speaking about my nightmares when I have to relive them all the time anyway. She said she only needs a few notes. I don't need to revisit all of it.

"Where do you want me to start?"

I had never seen Dr. Quinzel shine such an ebullient smile at me. I swore I could see tears swelling behind her lenses. I almost smiled back. Speaking about my shitty life was definitely gratifying for her. Strangely enough, it was nice to see her so happy. Because of me.

"Thank you, Edward. I'd like to start in the orphanage. What was it like there? Paint me a picture first."

Persistent. Very persistent. She could see me shift into discomfort.

"I know, I know. You've been avoiding that topic for weeks. I keep applying salt to the wound."

Let's just get this over with. "Crowded yet isolating. So many kids I blended in like I was invisible. Cold. Dark. Vivid dread, all the time. We were all used to suffering as early as a toddler. Or I was."

"Did you have any friends?"

"No. No one really noticed me. Unless they wanted to torment me."

"What does 'torment' look like?"

A memory came back as present as when it happened.

'Hey Four-Eyes! Come over here and break this turtle's shell. We wanna see how strong it is! What's wrong? You still don't speak?'

"Like… torment. How else would I describe it?"

"Are we talking about bullying? Was there physical abuse or emotional? All of the above?"

"All. Everyday."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Edward. Truly. Did you have anyone to go to during that time? Or anything that helped?"

"My puzzles. My riddles. My books. Not anyone. There was a brief time I thought I did find someone who actually cared but…"

"But what?"

"They died. Taking the truth with them."

"May I ask who this was?"

"You may ask."

"It's okay. Remember, I'm here to help."

The more I opened up to Quinzel and just kept talking, the easier the words came. The more comfortable I felt. Like I wasn't really speaking to someone who would judge, but a ledger of my own.

"It all started where it began. With Thomas Wayne. You want to know how the Riddler was born?"

I could see Dr. Quinzel twirl her pen in her hand in excitement. Her face didn't show it, but it didn't need to.

I made eye-contact with Quinzel, and it wasn't daunting. She was steady. She wasn't afraid of the truth. Perhaps she would understand why I did it if I told her.

"Thomas Wayne made those promises for Renewal, do you remember that?"

"Yes."

"I was there when it happened. I was part of the boy's choir. He sparked something in me that I hadn't known till then. I didn't know the feeling then but I know it now. Hope."

"What did he tell you?"

"He promised me a future in a school I could truly grow in. A future to succeed from the orphanage. Where my strengths would be relevant with other kids like me."

Quinzel smiled but still keeping pitiful eyes, "For a little boy in such turmoil, that promise must have meant the world to you."

"It was everything to me. It stuck with me. I was so excited to be part of something true."

"And surely to make friends with other kids who shared your interests?"

"Yeah… sure. I wanted to be heard. He heard me in that short time. Like he really cared. But then he died. My application was denied because Renewal was no longer Renewal. It was a foundry for dirty money. We became collateral. Bruce Wayne was the priority. Hope was dead."

"This was your breaking point?"

I startled at the question, "… what?"

"We can only take so much before a psychosis begins to develop. Before we begin to lose grasp of reality. Would you say it was this moment when you let go of Edward?"

"No… that came much later."

"Let me rephrase. Was this the moment when you gave up on yourself? When your spirit broke?"

I leaned forward, looking down at the chains. I was fully engaged in the theory. Maybe there was still spirit in me back then. I'm convinced it was dead the day I was born.

"Doctor. Have you ever had an out of body experience?"

"Yeah. A few times. Did it feel like that?"

"Like I was ripping myself apart from the inside out. There was no one there to save me. It was so hopeless… that maybe you're right. But this experience was for years. Until I was an adult. I feel like I've been having an out of body experience my entire life."

"You know, this is all something I'd expect from your trauma, Edward. You're not alone in this feeling, either. I feel you may suffer from a dissociation disorder. Depersonalization Disorder to be specific. You ever feel like you are going days in time and can't account for any of it? Like you're watching your own movie? No consequence or reality in your emotions and actions?"

"Yes… but not all the time. But sometimes it feels like I'm still dreaming. Or having a nightmare. Reality slips constantly for me."

"It usually comes in bouts. But they are powerful. Kind of like an earthquake. If one occurs, you'll have breaks of them for days after. You experienced years of abuse and trauma at the orphanage, prolonged amounts of time in survival mode. The brain can only take so much stress. After a while it can feel like you're on autopilot, your own mind's way of protecting itself."

"Seems resourceful."

"It can distance you from your own experiences, Edward. The possibility of making friendships is extremely challenging with a dissociation disorder. I'm glad you've opened up to me, because now we can treat it. For now, when you feel like your out of your body, try taking off your shoes and socks and just feel the ground under your feet. There are a few breathing exercises I can show you, too. We will practice them next session, okay?"

I nearly chuckled at the suggestion, "Being barefooted helps?"

"It's grounding. It reminds you that you are real and in your body. That the world reacts to your actions. In the middle of a stressful episode, it could bring you back to reality."

"I'll try it."

"Good! For now, I think you benefit from cognitive behavioural and psychodynamic therapy. Which is much like we are doing now. Just so happens this approach is ideal for dissociation disorders. So, we're on the right path. Now, leaving the orphanage and going into the world as a young man must have been challenging. I seen you went to community college, though. Which is great! How was the college, socially speaking."

"Uh. I was mostly focused on my work."

"Did you have much of a life out of college? Like any friends? You go to any parties? Girlfriends?"

"No. No parties or girlfriends for me."

"Well, that must have been dejecting, college is usually the time for many to branch out socially. Did you want to connect with anyone?"

"Many saw me as I appeared. Unimpressive, quiet, uninteresting. I focused on my work. Proved to my professors that I was worth something that way. That's how I got the job at KTMJ."

"The accounting firm. Right. Where everything really began."

"That it did."

"You worked there for over five years. Repeatedly passed over for promotions. But your work was stellar. According to their documents you were the most capable accountant in that building. A human calculator. But rarely ever appreciated. Even documented, a lot of your work was stolen or ignored. That must have taken a toll on your self-esteem."

"There was a reason for that. It was hidden under my feet. I found it and dissected it. Now I know my effort was pointless there."

"Why did you go to such lengths to figure out where the money went? Most accountants would have just walked away, but not you."

"Because they said I made a mistake. I don't make mistakes."

"So, it wasn't an idealist motive. You didn't want to be wrong."

"Like any idealist wouldn't want to be."

Quinzel smirked, "Suppose so. But once you found out you were right, you kept digging. Why is that?"

"Once I start a puzzle, it's very hard for me to put it down. I sniffed dirty money, and I was right. Then found so much more. The reason for everything, my suffering. It was meant to be that I would find it."

"Not just a coincidence?"

"I don't believe in coincidences."

"So, you found out KTMJ was involved in laundering money from Renewal fund, which had been usurped by the mob. You tied it all together with Mitchell, Savage and Colson. That's why they were your victims. I have to admit it, Edward. Despite the the route you took in the end, it was amazing work. You put those energies towards something positive I'm sure you could do great things."

The first person who ever gave a compliment to me where it was due.

"But… where does Batman come into all of this? You clearly admired him. Why?"

"I thought he was the only one in this city with my ideals. He stood up to the corruption and crime. I saw it for myself. I wanted to do that. A little bit of fear and focused violence and I got my point across. He was the inspiration. Yet, he's free and I'm in here."

"Not that I'm condoning a masked vigilante but… he has never killed, Edward. Perhaps there are lines that should never be crossed. Maybe your vengeance was masquerading as justice. You were hurt and wanted other people to hurt so the pain lessened. Murder is never the answer. Not even violence. If that masked vigilante was sitting in my patient chair now, I'd tell him the same."

"The cops weren't listening. The politicians were in on it. Batman couldn't be reached. I was on my own, so I handled it on my own."

Quinzel's voice grew sharper, "You wanted revenge, Edward. Not just any revenge, but you wanted to mirror your own childhood in those murders. You wanted them to suffer exactly how you did. I see that clearly. You let revenge win, and it took your psyche down with it."

"They deserved it." She doesn't understand me.

"No one deserves that, Edward. Just like how you didn't deserve what was done to you. You have to remember that your actions have consequences. You took fathers from children, husbands from wives. The people you fought to protect were caught in the crossfire when you flooded the city."

"No." I don't like this.

"Yes, you did. This obsession ate away at you till there was nothing left. The real you got lost."

"Shut up!" I hissed it under my breath.

"It's okay to get angry at me, Edward. You bottle it in. You take all of that shit and hide it till it finally bursts. When it does burst, it's catastrophic to everyone. Even yourself. You are worth more than that. You matter."

"Stop saying that!"

The chains whipped to my lap as I thrashed my fists down.

"I won't, because you do. You are worthy of acceptance and love and peace. You were birthed into chaos but you don't have to join it. Even after everything you've done you can still find your second chance."

"I never had a chance!" My voice broke into a yelp. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

"Well now you do!" Quinzel slapped her hand to her desk. I stuttered and huffed, then chose to keep my words behind my teeth. She had wide eyes with no movement— glaring at me. "Your life doesn't end here. You're still breathing, still articulating the world around you, and you will begin to understand the emotional gravity of your crimes in time. But only when you improve upon yourself. That's why you're here screaming at me. It's good. You're in denial. That's the first stage. I know more about this Edward than in the weeks I've known him, and he's promising. He doesn't deserve to hurt anymore. So, stop hurting him, Edward. Stop."

I was shaking but not crying, even though I felt like I would. I looked away from Quinzel and to my shackled hands. Hands that once sat on my lap freely before I was the Riddler. When I was Edward Nashton. The low life that never fought for anything.

"How do I do that?" My voice sunk into itself.

"We need to heal that little boy that was never given a chance, Edward. You need to comfort him the way he should have been. I can help you do that. But first, you need to forgive. Not just those who wronged you, but yourself. The real you. The one you don't want to be, because he's the one you need to be. You're Edward Nashton. You're sweet, kind, smart and strong. Not the Riddler. Do you think you can bring yourself to do that?"

"I've never forgiven anyone in my life."

"Well…" Quinzel's alarm went off on her phone, but all she did was silence it as she kept looking at me, "It's never too late to start."