Chapter Text
Dr. Jonathan Crane always had a feeling that one of these days he would end up locked up within the confines of the very same asylum he had been working at for over two years now. He had hoped that day was coming soon. He had hoped that day had already come to pass. It hadn’t. Instead, he was walking into the building’s tall gates once again for another day filled with the screams and incomprehensible gibbering of Arkham’s criminally insane. Which, in a way, was an accurate representation of how he was feeling.
It’s not that he hated his job - on the contrary, he found it a satisfying role to perform. His shifts usually involved meeting many of his patients, either to diagnose them, assign them treatment, or assess their (most often lack of) progress. He didn’t mind the more difficult patients. If anything, they at least made his job a little more interesting. There was only so many cases of suicidal depressives and paranoid schizophrenics he could take before they all blended together. It was a blessing if they could form a coherent sentence for more than one minute.
The unique thing about Arkham, compared to most institutions, was that their standards were a little lower than one might expect, in terms of how their patients were treated. This meant that Crane was given a degree of freedom as to what he wanted to label whoever was forced to sit in front of him in his office. He did try to be accurate most days, but on others it was difficult to resist labelling one or two particularly grating individuals in need of more extreme methods. Sometimes he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. These were all criminals, after all, and they all had to be dealt with one way or another. Sometimes, the only solution was a permanent solution.
Arkham looked like a nightmare, a creation of bleached white walls and grey tones that only added to the layers of dust and dirt that stained the tiled floors. Television screens in the corner blared informative videos about the facility’s many features, in between scheduled shows that were as dull as possible to prevent any undesired reactions. The place only barely passed the Health Code. It was like they were trying to see how much they could get away with here.
As Crane made his way through one of Arkham’s cell blocks and passed the rows of bolted doors, he caught the sound of a certain patient who was overdue for one of those permanent solutions he often fantasised about.
“Hey Doc! Can’t wait for our session today,” A hoarse voice sneered in his direction. “I’m gonna really enjoy shoving your face in my-“
The rest of the sentence was tuned out by the blood pumping through Crane’s ears as he tightened his jaw in irritation. He had almost forgotten that Markus Greene was scheduled for this afternoon. He wished it had stayed that way. He was not looking forward to another hour of perverted threats and disgusting insults that made him feel the need for a cold shower afterwards.
His head told him to ignore him for now, and deal with his insolence later, but despite this he found himself turning around and striding towards Greene’s cell.
Greene guffawed an ugly sound as Crane approached, his rough face peeking through the rectangular window in the door, “Ooh, am I in trouble? You gonna teach me a lesson?”
Crane drew close to the opening, staring coldly into Greene’s eyes. It was moments like this where he often thought of strangling the life out of patients like him, watching the fear and panic possess their face as they choked and struggled to escape. It served as a comforting reminder that every human being, no matter how threatening they may seem, would always succumb to their own instinctual responses. No criminal was immune from fear. They were all slaves to it.
As fortune would have it, Crane knew exactly what Greene was afraid of. The thing that gripped him at night and forced him awake in screaming terror and cold sweats. And so Crane knew exactly what to say in response.
With impassive insincerity, he said, “I’m not going to punish you, Markus. That’s not my job, remember? You’ll just have to wait until your mother comes. I’ve already given her a call. She should be here any minute now.”
If he could have taken a photograph of the brief moment of genuine terror that elapsed Greene’s face, he would have placed it in a frame. The fear that filled his eyes filled Crane’s heart with sadistic joy. And then it was immediately contorted into an expression of pure rage, Greene frothing at the mouth in violent indignation.
“YOU FUCKER!” Greene hollered at him as Crane walked away, chuckling to himself, “I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”
He knew that was an empty promise. The guards would incapacitate him the moment he tried.
It was a horrible thing, what he just did, and he knew it. But Markus was a horrible person, and Crane was a doctor. And at Arkham, the Doctor could do no wrong.
He soon made his way towards his office, where he noticed a file awaiting him on the desk. He was aware that he was meeting with a newly assigned patient today, someone who had escaped from Arkham two months ago. Apparently, he had been captured by the vigilante Batman and brought right back to the asylum’s doors. How thoughtful of him.
He would love to sit down with that caped crusader one day, and see what lurked in his mind. It took a certain kind of disturbed to parole the streets of Gotham at night dressed as a giant bat looking for criminals to beat the crap out of. The only thing separating him from the rest of the lunatics held within Arkham’s walls was his values.
Sitting down in his leather chair, Crane picked up the case file, wondering what tortured soul had been unceremoniously dropped onto his feet for him to deal with for the next God-knows-how-many months. Perhaps it would be another anxious wreck who would retreat to the corner of his room every time the light flickered. Or maybe he’d be forced to sit through another manic spiel about how Gotham’s elite were secretly lizards planning to take over the world. If he was lucky, perhaps a particularly aggressive patient would hold a knife to his throat that they had stolen from the seized items box in storage, and he’d be granted a merciful two days off work. But that was wishful thinking.
When he opened the file, and he looked at the file photo of his patient, his eyes gleamed with excitement, and a grin stretched across his face. Perhaps fate had decided to smile upon him, after all.
So this was Jervis Tetch, he thought to himself. Crane had a feeling this was going to be a very interesting interview indeed.
The Mad Hatter. Another rogue in the ever-growing gallery of Gotham’s criminal freaks. According to his files, he identified with the character from the children’s book, and dressed the part - even reciting its various quotes from memory. This obsession of his proved fatal when he tried to model his spouse, Alice, into her fictional counterpart. Being a professional hypnotist, he hypnotised her to obey his every command, until she broke out of her trance and managed to escape. He used the GCPD to find her, and almost succeeded. Until she committed suicide in front of him. This was most likely his breaking point, and what spurred him into a life of crime.
Despite being admitted for a few years now, little progress seemed to have been made on him. A diagnosis of Delusional Disorder and Schizotypal Personality was achieved, as well as being classified as criminally insane. Besides that, nothing else. No concrete evaluation or treatment plan. Crane hadn’t even been allowed to listen to previous interview tapes. In fact, there was a note in his file warning doctors to be especially careful recording Tetch for interviews.
The reason for this was found within the file notes as Crane read on. Tetch was reportedly difficult to treat, as his hypnosis skills made it easy for him to get what he wanted out of anyone. All he needed was a consistent ticking sound and a slither of your attention, before you were opening up his cell and handing him the keys to your car. No wonder they hadn’t made much progress on him.
This case would certainly be a challenge, but a welcome one for Crane. He had handled these more interesting patients before, having particularly enjoyed being assigned Edward Nygma for a period of time until he, too, managed to escape Arkham. They seriously needed better security around here.
If Tetch was anything like those similar to his style of insanity, then Crane was hopefully going to have a good time. He allowed himself to have somewhat optimistic expectations for this first interview.
At around quarter to one, two guards finally brought Jervis Tetch to his office, manhandling him into the chair across from Crane’s desk. Right away, Crane noticed the white mask obscuring his mouth, most likely put in place to prevent him from speaking. The top hat made out of newspaper was also an unusual sight, though the craftsmanship was pretty impressive.
The Hatter was complicit, putting up no fight as he sat down. One of the guards, Officer Lane, hastily unfastened the mask and tugged it away from Tetch’s face, before putting on ear muffs and standing post near the door.
“For safety purposes, one of us has to remain in the room at all times. This fucker does freaky things to your head if you ain’t careful, Doc,” The other guard, Officer Stone, informed him. Crane nodded, a little annoyed he wouldn’t be getting the privacy he usually preferred, but understanding nonetheless. As Stone left the room and closed the door, Crane turned his attention to his new subject.
The Hatter certainly looked the part of his namesake, with messy dark hair that reached his shoulders and curled out in different places, and a thin mustache and goatee that was reminiscent of a magician. His most striking feature was his eyes, for they were wide and black, the browns of his iris only supporting the illusion of his overblown pupils. The bags underneath them furthered his uneasy gaze, which currently were fixated directly onto Crane. They didn’t falter, never moved, never blinked. He possessed an intense focus which Crane almost couldn’t tear himself away from. No wonder he went into hypnotism. Those eyes could put you into a trance without him having to even say a word.
Crane cleared his throat as he recognised his thoughts straying a little too far, and he opened up his desk drawer to retrieve a notepad and pencil. Flipping to an empty page, he wrote a title at the top of the paper, before turning his attention to his patient.
“Good afternoon, Jervis,” He greeted him. “I am Dr. Crane. I will be taking onboard your psychiatric evaluation and assessment for the next few months.”
Tetch spoke with a polite, yet wavering intonation, that seemed to bounce and jump after every other syllable, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” He paused, before smiling somewhat sheepishly, and said, “Forgive me for being so forward, but I must say that you possess some charming scars upon your face. They really do compliment your features.”
The surprisingly sincere comment caught Crane off-guard, and at first he did not know how to respond. Most people did not care for the many small scars that littered his face and arms. In fact, it was probably his unnerving profile that had gotten him a job at Arkham in the first place, seeing as how most professions weren’t too keen on hiring someone who saw no issue with using a loaded gun as a psychology lecture demonstration. To hear someone compliment them for a change conjured the strangest warmth inside him, and the smallest smile broke into one corner of his lips.
Only for a moment, though. And then it was back to business.
“Thank you,” He muttered, before pressing the ‘Record’ button on the tape recorder beside him. It was necessary to record every patient interview, for both safety and archival purposes. It did mean some patients were less likely to be honest, but he had already gotten himself in trouble in the past for not using the machine, and so he would have to settle for whatever information Tetch was willing to part with.
If his files were any indication though, there was nothing he loved more than hearing his own voice on tape. He doubted honesty would be an issue here. No, the real problem would be whether or not Crane could even keep the tape after the interview, lest he accidentally record Tetch’s hypnotism.
The recorder whirred into life, the circles of the cassette spinning slowly. Crane placed the machine into the centre of the table, between him and Tetch. Upon this placement, Tetch’s gaze immediately dropped towards it.
“Patient interview one,” Crane announced, making sure to talk loudly and clearly. “Patient’s name is Jervis Tetch, AKA Mad Hatter. After numerous counts of crimes involving hypnosis and mind control, he was committed to Arkham and declared criminally insane. While previous diagnoses have been made, the patient has been referred to me for a full psychological evaluation and assessment, along with the intention of developing a plan of treatment. August 18th, 12:46pm.”
Jervis waited patiently for Crane to finish before speaking, “That is a fine tape recorder you have there, Doctor Crane. I don’t suppose you’d let me borrow it for my own gain?”
The files had mentioned Tetch’s tendency to rhyme, a compulsion that may have formed for numerous reasons, such as comfort, or proof of just how attached he was to his fictional identity. It may have also just been something Tetch liked to do. The simplest explanation was often the correct one, in most cases.
He made a note of it, but he would be pushing it aside for the time being. Right now, he was more focused on not enabling Tetch’s crimes.
“What for?” Crane asked him, “To record a few messages of your own?”
Tetch clasped his hands together with glee, “Why, of course! A lullaby for my lonely nights, a song to ease my weary plights. Can’t you grant me one simple grace?”
Crane scoffed, “And have you hypnotise the entire ward? I’d rather have an easy shift today.”
A slight smirk crossed Tetch’s face, and he leaned over the desk, his demeanour shifting to something more deliberate. “Oh, but you see, easy it would be! There’s nothing more relaxing than surrendering to me. For I can make all your worries melt away, as you fall into a blanket of comfortable disarray,” He crooned, gentle and inviting.
Crane picked up on what the Hatter was trying to do fairly quickly. He wasted no time considering his words, saying, “Comfort has no place in my life.”
He had intended on using that as a segue into the interview questions, but Tetch sunk his teeth into that small sentence with curiosity. “Oh? Why is that so, dear Doctor?”
Crane briefly wondered if the affectionate language was a common pattern for Tetch, or if perhaps he was already warming up to him. Not that it really mattered.
He knew not to give away personal information when with a patient. That was rule number one in the book of professionalism, right next to Florence Nightingale Syndrome. But it didn’t say anything about philosophy.
“Comfort is for those who believe in the illusion of safety. I prefer to be vigilant,” he answered.
This seemed to appease Tetch, as he hummed thoughtfully. “Curious and curioser…” He whispered, before continuing, “You are not like the other doctors I’ve met.”
“I’m not? How so?” said Crane.
“There’s something about you. That, I can see,” His head tilted slightly as he continued. “If only you’d show what you’re hiding from me.”
Crane blinked in surprise at Tetch’s accuracy. He had a knack for reading people, that the doctor could admit.
He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, before saying, “Why don’t we get back on track and start with the interview questions?”
Tetch sighed disappointingly, and said, “Must we return to the boring old tracks? Besides, a derailed train is one no longer confined, it goes to wherever it seeks to find. Isn’t that what you’d prefer?”
“What do you mean?” Crane asked, finding it a little difficult to decipher the Hatter’s words.
“I’ve heard the questions all before, and answering them is such a bore! If it is something new and meaningful you seek, then it is within your own mind you should take a peek.”
Crane wasn’t one to take suggestions from patients, but he was interested in where the Hatter was going with this. “Are you suggesting I forgo the usual questions, and instead ask my own for these interviews?” Crane inquired, seeking clarification.
“If that is what the voices say, then that is what you should relay,” Tetch replied. He leaned back into his chair, now gazing more intently at the doctor. “Tell me, what do they say?”
Crane stated bluntly, “That you seem to enjoy using our valuable time to ask more questions than you answer.”
The Hatter smiled in both apology and amusement, gesturing a hand towards Crane in politeness, “But of course! Where are my manners? Please, Doctor, do go on.”
Deciding to satisfy Tetch only slightly, Crane opted for a more direct question, “Tell me about the book Alice in Wonderland. You’re very clearly attached to its story. Why is it so important to you?”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve told them before,” Tetch began, “My childhood was filled with sadness and scorn. I could never fit in with the children my age, for they thought that I was too different and strange. One day I read the story alone, and Wonderland made me feel right at home. My only comfort in those lonely years was the book that granted me an escape from my fears.”
As the last word left his lips, Crane ceased his note-taking, his hand freezing over the recognition of the one constant in his life.
He didn’t even need to think about what to say next. He spoke before he even knew he was speaking, “And what did you fear, Mr Tetch?”
He thought about this for a moment, before saying, “I think, most of all, what I couldn’t bear to see, was the thought of being alone in my insanity. That’s why I do what I do, you see. So that all of Gotham can attend the tea party!”
“Interesting,” Crane whispered to himself, jotting down the response. “But that’s not the only reason for your crimes, is it? What else keeps you awake at night? What pushes you to do the things you do?”
Tetch did not immediately respond, instead taking a moment to observe the doctor’s sudden fixation on the topic. “You seem to assume it is fear that’s to blame, but my motives are based in a different pain. For I have already seen my nightmares come true,” His voice lowered, losing its melodic intonation for just a moment. “Fear is for those still with something to lose.”
It was a bold claim, and one Crane didn’t believe was entirely true. Perhaps Tetch had no obvious phobias or insecurities, but he was still a human being. A human who was wired to fear any threats to its survival. That could be abused very easily. But that wasn’t what Crane was looking for.
“You can’t possibly tell me that there is nothing you are afraid of?” He said.
“Why should I be? It’s never done much good for me. No, Doctor, I have no fears to bear. Except for that dreaded bat, I dread to think of where he’s at.” Tetch added onto the end, more of an afterthought.
Crane smiled at the mention of the vigilante, who had already made such an impression on Gotham’s underworld in the last year or so. “Well, I think many of your associates share your feelings on Batman. He’s been quite the nuisance for you, hasn’t he?”
“I think my colleagues would agree, he’s a looming shadow over this city! I can’t complete a single scheme when he knows every place I’ll be,” said Tetch, sinking into his chair as he crossed his arms and huffed.
“It may help to remind yourself that behind the costume, there is a man underneath, just as vulnerable and fragile as any other human being. I’m sure he, too, has fears of his own,” The doctor suggested, and Tetch hummed in thought.
“You enjoy this topic, don’t you, Doctor?”
“I can admit, it is an area of interest for me,” Crane replied. “But if it is not fear that is the culprit, then what is your motivation? Anger? Pain? …Revenge?”
Tetch snickered, low and menacing, “Patience, doctor. This is, after all, just the first of our sessions. If I gave everything up so soon, then the fun would be ruined! Besides, I’m not keen to let you win for free. A price must be paid when you play with me.”
Crane cocked a brow quizzically, “You see this as a game?”
“You don’t?”
“...What’s the game?”
“You let me inside your brain, and I’ll let you do the same.”
This didn’t sound good. This sounded like a trap. But Crane was too far into this rabbit hole to fold now. He was just going to have to double down.
He asked the Hatter, “What are you looking for?”
“What you seem so keen to hide,” Tetch replied coolly.
“And let me guess, you won’t comply any other way?”
Tetch grinned with delight, “Now you’re getting it right away!”
When dealing with Arkham patients, you had to be very careful when it came to bargaining with them. If you weren’t careful, and they were smart enough, you’d just end up giving them exactly what they wanted (usually freedom), which was often at the cost of your integrity and image. If you played your cards right, however, they would end up telling you everything you wanted to know, often without them even realising. A psychologist had to be a master of mind games. It was the only way to get to the more interesting aspects of a patient’s mind. Perhaps he was qualified for this job, after all.
Then again, this was Jervis Tetch he was dealing with, and from what their first interview had already proved, he was just as proficient in that front. Perhaps even better than Crane himself.
Accepting his terms would be a very risky gamble. But if he refused, then the interviews would just become another fruitless time-waster in his schedule of difficult patients. And he was getting very, very bored of his patients.
“I’ll… consider your offer,” Crane told him, glancing at his watch and noticing the hour. “For now, though, we’re out of time.”
“Oh? Is it six O’clock already?” Tetch looked around the room, supposedly for a clock to check. It was the early afternoon, far from evening. Something Crane suspected he already knew.
Crane couldn’t resist teasing him on that front, “Unless you’ve angered time again, teatime isn’t for another five hours.”
In hindsight, the comment may have sounded slightly taunting and mean-spirited, but Tetch just beamed at him with delight. “I like you, Doctor Crane,” He told him, “I have a feeling you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”
“Well, we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?” Crane said, pressing stop on the tape recorder. He called the guards in, and they took Tetch away, his wide eyes gazing almost affectionately at the doctor as he was taken out into the hallway.
Crane wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but he had a feeling this was, indeed, going to be very entertaining.
-
He had about half an hour before his next appointment, which was enough time for him to grab lunch, a strong coffee, and mentally prepare himself for the rest of his arduous day. But his head was in an entirely different place, the conversation he had with Jervis playing over and over. He was reminded of his interviews with Nygma, and his endless riddles and opinions on the “lesser-minded” residents of Gotham. Very little often did he get to talk to patients who had something intriguing to offer about them, a mind that proposed such unique interpretations of the world and challenged the grand scheme of things, even if they were based in pure delusion. And it was even better if they had the gall to act out on these beliefs, causing a considerable amount of chaos and, yes, fear into the hearts of Gotham’s citizens.
And it was people like Tetch who made Crane recognise that he felt something when he was with them, something strong and vicious that wanted to scream out to them and say, ’Let me come with you!’ And he didn’t know if it was simply numbing boredom over his predictable routine that made him seek a far more exciting life, or if, maybe…
There was a trend within the so-called “supervillains” of Gotham. A past of pain and suffering from those they believed and trusted in. A desire, at one point, to do good, to belong in this world and live like the ‘sane’ and ‘normal’. A vendetta against those who betrayed them, the world that betrayed them. It was something he could understand, hell, even empathise with. Because he felt the exact same way.
And it was times like this where he almost came to terms with the fact that, deep down, he felt he had more in common with these rogues than any other person in his life. That, if he just took that one little step, they’d welcome him with open arms. Or they’d kill him the moment they got the chance. These people were insane, after all.
And yet, there was something about Tetch that could convince him otherwise. His demeanour, the way he seemed to enjoy their conversation, and how there was a degree of comfort in his presentation, as if he had never felt more at home than in Crane’s office. The way his eyes had lit up at Crane’s recognition of his references. The fascination, and curiosity he exhibited. His smile…
Maybe he did just want to drag Crane with him into the rabbit hole of insanity. It was very likely that he just wanted to use him for his own entertainment, or to perhaps escape the asylum. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was planning to attempt to hypnotise him at some point.
Or maybe there was acceptance in those eyes. Acceptance, and something genuine.
Florence Nightingale is laughing at you, his mind whispered sternly, and he shook himself out of his slightly embarrassing musings. He was not about to be dragged into a cell anytime soon, or beaten up by a man in a ridiculous bat costume. He quite preferred the life of freedom.
There was one thing that Tetch had said that he could at least agree with completely, and it wouldn’t render him absolutely out of his mind.
‘If it is something new and meaningful you seek, then it is within your own mind you should take a peek.’
Perhaps Tetch was onto something with that suggestion. He had been wanting to continue his personal research, and there were a lot of patients in Arkham who were growing to become a nuisance, refusing any and all current attempts at treatment.
Yes, perhaps it was time for a new, alternative method. And he knew just the perfect test subject.
-
Markus Greene was his last patient for the day, which had given him plenty of time to prepare what he had planned. The rest of the interviews had passed by uneventfully, and he couldn’t even recall much of the details, all of them blending together in insipidity.
He knew Greene was not going to follow that trend. He wasn’t going to be any ounce of enlightening as Tetch either. He was just going to be downright unpleasant. At least, only for the first five minutes of the interview this time. Afterwards, he was going to be very interesting.
The guards brought him in as he hollered salacious remarks about intercourse and a myriad of threats, lovingly topped with a plethora of colourful insults. Crane’s mind was elsewhere, too occupied with what he was about to try for the first time. The guards wouldn’t be in the room, as Greene was always restrained to the chair and so posed very little threat. That would leave the doctor to his own liberties.
He wasn’t worried about the consequences of his first trial going awry. Markus was responsible for a series of rapes and murders, and the only reason he was put in Arkham was because he wouldn’t stop screaming his head off the moment he was arrested, nevermind trying to drag him into court. He highly doubted anyone was going to bat an eye over the unfortunate loss of a patient. Especially one like him.
Besides, Crane had a theory that his batch of toxin was only lethal in large amounts, and dependent on the animal. Rats were much smaller creatures, so there was a good chance human beings would have a higher tolerance. Enough to survive, anyway. What would remain of their mind was another story. One he was about to read the first chapter of.
It was the grating sound of Markus’ voice that broke Crane’s musings, only hearing half of what he was currently threatening him with.
“…Hope you’re prepared for the longest session of your life, Doc. I’m gonna make you regret coming in today,” He said.
Apparently, while Crane was in a world of his own, the guards had already strapped Markus into the seat and left to stand post outside the office. His unshaven, blocky face grinned smugly, looking very sure of himself. It was all a facade, obviously, but one he was too stubborn to give up.
Crane stared at him nonchalantly, saying, “I don’t need you to regret my life choices. But I’m feeling optimistic today. In fact, this might be the shortest session we’ll ever have.” Markus looked at him with confusion as Crane continued, “I’m going to try something different with you this session. A new form of treatment that I believe may be far more effective than what we’ve done previously.”
“Oh yeah? What is it? You as my personal punching bag?” Markus taunted.
Rather than entertaining a response, Crane picked up his bag from the floor and took out his apparatus - a single small can of the latest batch of his affectionately named ‘Fear Toxin’, and a Halloween mask he had made when he was eighteen. The face of a scarecrow. He could have used any mask for this experiment, but this one felt right. It meant something, and although he wasn’t much of a believer in superstition, he couldn’t help but feel like this mask was going to have a greater deal of significance for him in the future. It already had, in the past.
Crane held up the mask with one hand, showing it to Markus. “Now, would I be correct to assume that, when you look at this mask, you don’t feel very afraid of it?”
“Why the hell would I be scared of a shitty Halloween mask?” Markus replied.
“Oh, you’ll soon find out,” Crane growled under his breath.
“What’d you say?”
“I said, we’ll see how you feel in just a moment. Now…”
He quickly glanced over at the door, seeing if the guards were facing the room through the window. Seeing they weren’t, he put the mask over his head, the can of toxin ready in his hand.
“I want you to close your eyes for me, Markus,” Crane instructed. He knew he’d follow his orders. Enough interviews had passed for him to predict his response to just about anything.
Markus titled his head a little in confusion, before his mind reacted for him, and he smiled in amusement, “Oh? Let me guess, I open my mouth and close my eyes, and you’re gonna give me a big surprise? I was beginning to think you’d never ask! Well, go right ahead Doc. Teach me a lesson.”
Markus closed his eyes, and for added effect, opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, circling it around in a gross display of his sheer depravity. Crane supposed he could also make a few notes on how his toxin tasted, too.
He wasted no time aiming the can at Markus’ face, the only warning before he pressed down on the nozzle being a very clear, “Breathe in.”
It took Markus a second to react to the substance, coughing and covering his nose and eyes as he choked on the spray of gas. “What the fuck did you just-!” Was all he was able to spit out before the toxin began to enact its purpose.
The moment he opened his eyes, it was as if he had been electrocuted, his eyes bulging wide and his jaw opening wide, staring at Crane like he had just put a bullet through his chest. His mouth tried to form a word, but no sound came from his throat.
“Tell me. What do you see?” Crane asked, no longer concerned about keeping appearances and playing dumb. All that mattered were the results, and so far, they were very promising.
When Markus eventually did respond, it was in the form of a jarring scream as he pushed back into his chair, attempting to get as far away from Crane as he could. His limited movement only caused the chair to topple backwards, and Markus’ head hit the floor, momentarily silencing him.
As Crane stood up and leaned over his desk to see where Markus had gone, he could just about hear him muttering in between frightened whimpers.
“No…no, please…” He sputtered out, “I’ll be good, Mommy…”
It was an extraordinary sight. Here was a patient who was one of Arkham’s toughest to control, cowering in fear and curling inside himself as he relived his worst phobias. In this instance, of his abusive mother.
Crane immediately dug into the pockets of his blazer to retrieve his pocket tape recorder, documenting his findings, “Patient seems to be exhibiting symptoms of hallucinations and extreme fear response after a dose of the toxin. Fascinating.”
He caught movement from the corner of his eye then, turning towards the door and seeing that the guards were attempting to look through the window pane. He quickly put away the recorder and tugged the mask from his head, putting on his best authoritative tone.
“Guards!” He called, and immediately one of them slammed open the door, ready to act.
“Take him back to his cell and restrain him to his bed. I’ll have Nurse Thorndike sedate him shortly,” Crane instructed the guard, and he nodded, releasing Markus from his chair as he struggled and cried out in fear. He didn’t put up much of a fight, however, and soon enough he was being dragged out of the room.
Officer Lane then walked in, presumably to make sure Crane hadn’t been attacked or injured. “You good, Doc?” He asked.
“I’m fine,” Crane reassured him, “Mr. Greene seemed to have suffered some kind of flashback during our conversation. It happens from time to time with those repressing extreme trauma.”
Officer Lane accepted his response, tutting, “You gotta be careful with some of these guys. Littlest things can set them off. I do not wanna know what he went through to end up like that. Almost makes you feel bad. Almost.”
“Unfortunately, tragedy tends to bring both the best and worst in people. Greene is an example of the latter,” Said Crane.
Officer Lane grunted in agreement, before walking out into the hall to help his colleague with Markus.
Once he was left alone, he breathed an uneasy sigh of relief, letting out a shaky laugh. He quickly put the mask and can back into his bag before sitting down, a thousand new ideas circling around in his mind.
The fear toxin was incredibly effective. He would have to wait until tomorrow to see the long-term side effects, and hopefully between then Markus wouldn’t snitch about what Crane had done. He doubted that would be a problem, however. In fact, he doubted Markus would be able to speak a coherent sentence for a good while. But the main point was that it worked. He had harnessed fear and turned it into a weapon.
As he began packing his things to leave for the day, a small longing to tell someone of his discovery wormed its way into his mind. An insignificant want, and one that would not lead him towards anything good. But it lingered there, annoying and persistent, even as he locked up his office for the day and walked through the many halls of the asylum and out the double doors. He soon got into his car, rolling up the sleeves of his coat to check the time. His watch said six o’clock.
Time for tea, a faint voice echoed in his memory. Despite himself, he felt the corners of his lips tug upwards. He supposed there was someone he could tell. Someone who, for a very peculiar reason, he felt would keep his secret nice and safe.
Perhaps he would take up the Hatter’s offer, after all.