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Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 3: New Friends

“Wakey wakey, sunshine.”

The guard from earlier pounds on the door and rustles me awake from a restless sleep. All night I've been fighting invisible demons. They're not real but that doesn't mean the toxin leaves no impression. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious and no clue at all to what time it is.

“First you shower. Then breakfast. Then group therapy.”

“Can I at least talk to a lawyer?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

“Afraid not, princess.”

“It’s Prentiss,” I snarl sharply.

“Whatever. Get up before I drag you outta that bed myself.”

I do as I’m told and walk ahead into the hallway in the direction of the shower room-

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” The guard asks.

“I’m going to the shower room,” I reply simply.

After getting a closer look I see the guy’s name tag reads “Baxton.” He gives me a funny expression.

“How do you-?”

“Arkham’s blueprints are available to any other mental facility,” I remark as I continue, my shoes squeaking against the clean tiles. “My position in Metropolis encouraged me to study significant documents so I memorized Arkham’s basic files. The shower room is down the hall to the right and then twenty paces north.”

“B- But I can’t-” Baxton sputters.

“I’m not allowed anywhere without supervision,” I finish for him. “I’m well aware of the rules. I promise not to cause a fuss until my patience is worn out.”

“How long-?”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out.” I shrug and slam the shower room door shut, locking me in with Lord-knows how many other maniacs. All I have left to defend myself with is my wits. I take a look around the room and see only a few other female inmates. They’re quiet… for now.

I do quick work to bathe and refresh myself, dressing in clean clothes laid out on the counter. I go back to the door to find Baxton waiting with an irked look.

“The cafeteria is thirty paces north. No need to show the way,” I say nonchalantly and strut down the hall. Every once in a while an inmate catcalls me or shouts for me to talk to him but every one of their shrill cries rolls off like rainwater. I’ve dealt with numerous lunatics. What’s a few more?

The cafeteria looks similar to the one in Metropolis except that this one has one important difference: there’s bars between the inmates and the kitchen staff.

“This is where I leave ya, princess,” Baxton says and walks away, twirling his baton.

I cringe. “It’s Prentiss.”

“You’ll get used to it,” a woman’s voice says.

The voice’s source is a lone inmate sitting at a corner table with a potted plant. At first I have to do a double-take to make sure I’m not seeing things. But it’s confirmed. This woman is green. Literally green. She’s woven multiple different plants into her prison uniform and even into her red hair. And her skin. Her skin is green. Is she feeling sick?

“Before you ask, no, I’m not seasick. It’s the plant and animal-based toxins into my bloodstream.” The woman holds out a hand and I shake cautiously. “Dr. Pamela Isley. Well, not doctor anymore. I lost that when I was admitted here.”

“How did you qualify for Arkham?” I ask carefully, not wanting to sound rude. “You seem level-headed.”

The woman chuckles. “You’re not too bad yourself. I’m here because my last scheme was ‘overly inhumane,’ if you call wanting to fill Gotham City Hall with venus fly traps inhumane.”

“Um, that’s not exactly a reasonable plan. What do you think is the problem from your perspective?”

Isley’s eyes flash. “That sounds like therapy talk. Did Quinzel send you in?”

Her sudden hostility makes me go stiff. “No, not at all. I am- was a psychiatrist, but now I’m locked up here because they couldn’t keep me quiet.”

Isley calms. “A whistleblower, huh? You’re right. They would lock someone up for something like that. Sit down, sit down!” She waves me over and I join her at the wobbling table.

I notice her lack of a food tray. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Isley snorts. “The food here is far from being considered edible. I get most of my energy from the sun lamps and my babies provide me with all the nutrients I need.”

Her babies? Don’t question it, Calico. Just go with it.

“You mentioned someone named Quinzel. That wouldn’t happen to be Harleen Quinzel, would it? I met her at a convention in Central City.”

Isley nods. “She’s one of the youngest doctors here. Just started last year. You’ll meet her later. Has Crane come to see you yet?”

The name is a slap in the face that refreshes my memory of last night’s events. So far there haven’t been any more hallucinations, leading me to believe the toxin has left my system.

“He did last night. Mask and all.”

“Ah yes, the mask.” Isley rolls her eyes. “Did he try to get you to say your worst fear?”

“If you don’t mind I’d rather not talk about it. I know my fear and don’t want to reminisce over it. I’ve been doing that for the past year.” I look up to face Isley directly. “Have you been dosed yet?”

She snickers and lazily waves it off. “Honey no poison or toxin works on me. Crane doesn’t even bother to test it on me anymore. You’re saying it didn’t work much on you either? That would explain why he’s been in a sour mood all morning.”

Scree! Scree!

An alarm flashes throughout the room and the guards start gathering everyone up.

“Chow time is over, people! Get back to your cells! The rest of you get to group therapy!”

Already? Time must pass differently when you’re in prison. Isley gets up and starts walking to the back door.

“You’re probably in group therapy with me.”

“I don’t need therapy. I need a lawyer.”

She shakes her head slowly. “Ah, I get it. You think you don’t belong in here either. Well here’s the bad news: nobody cares. All anyone cares about is that they get paid and we stay quiet.”

It’s worse than I thought. It’s one thing for wealthy officials to be corrupted but it’s deeper than that. If anything, each and every person in Gotham is under someone else’s thumb.

“Do we go see Crane now?” I ask Isley. “Does he conduct group therapy?”

“Heavens, no. Crane only does personal consultations with patients he finds interesting. He’s sulking in his office right now.”

Baxton has returned. He ushers Isley and me to the door. I follow her down a drafty narrow passage into a small room with fluorescent lights. A circle of chairs has been arranged in front of a whiteboard. We’re not the first ones here. A man wearing glasses is muttering to himself and when he sees me his eyes go wide with delight.

“A new face! Perfect! Riddle me this: I have billions of eyes, yet I live in darkness. I have millions of ears, yet only four lobes. I have no muscle, yet I rule two hemispheres. What am I?”

“Can it, Nigma,” Isley pushes him. “You don’t need to freak the newbie out on the first day with your childish-”

“The human brain.”

Both Isley and the riddle man look at me with open-jawed surprise. Before they can respond the door opens and an older woman wearing a white lab coat enters. Her bob cut and soft eyes allow me to relax a tad. This is my chance to talk my way out!

“Good morning everyone. Allow me to introduce myself to our newest arrival. I’m Dr. Joan Leland. What’s your name?”

This is it.

“I’m Dr. Calico Prentiss, from Hell’s Gate Psychiatric Institution in Metropolis. Please ma’am, you have to let me speak to a lawyer. There is no proof of me ever having poor mental health.”

Dr. Leland sits back with an attentive expression but makes no move to approve my request.

“Thank you for sharing, Calico. Would anyone else like to introduce themselves?”

“B- But what about-?”

“Nobody cares, Callie,” Isley reminds me. “She’ll just sit here with a cheap smile plastered on her face until the hour’s over.”

The riddle man laughs. “I am unpredictable, but you still rely on me. My installments give you the experience of life for free. I offer no refunds, returns, or exchanges. What am I?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s time. Can we get back to the subject?”

But we don’t. Instead Leland makes us write down our regrets. I do what’s expected and write the usual BS- I wish I was more social, I wish I accomplished more goals, blah blah blah. The whole time Isley keeps stroking the potted plant in her lap and the riddle guy keeps asking me questions. At the end of the session Leland has us all play Minecraft, a game that’s incredibly overrated and gives me a splitting headache.

“How are video games group therapy?” I ask, frustrated after getting stuck underground.

“It shows how you can handle anger.”

Definitely a new therapeutic technique. The surprisingly tense game goes on for another ten minutes until Leland ends the session. Once she’s gone Isley pats me on the back.

“Not bad for your first day.”

“Why aren’t there more inmates in the group?” I ask.

“Croc’s in solitary and Tetch is in the hospital wing for food poisoning,” the man with the glasses informs me.

Ivy clears her throat. “Now it’s time for proper introductions, since you’ve earned my trust. My friends call me Poison Ivy.”

Poison Ivy. That’s why she looks familiar. The green skin, the plants, everything. About a year ago there was a news story about a botanist who surrounded the Gotham waste facility with thorns and vines. I should count my blessings. Out of all the Gotham criminals I could run into, Ivy seems like a potential ally.

“My name is Nigma, Edward Nigma,” the riddle man gives my hand a shake.

“Calls himself the Riddler,” Ivy explains. “For obvious reasons.”

“What belongs to you, but others will use it?”

“Nigma, really?” Ivy drones.

“It’s your name,” I reply in an even voice.

Nigma’s smile widens. “Exactly! Bravo, princess!”

Another cringe jerks through my body and I flash a warning look. “It’s Prentiss.”

The man gets an ‘a-ha’ moment. “Ah, I see. The use of pet names must trigger unpleasant memories for you. Perhaps abuse? Rape? Neglectful childhood-? Christ!”

Nigma’s guessing is cut off when my fist collides with his nose. I’m almost as surprised as Ivy. Why am I letting this man’s taunting curiosity get to me? I’ve dealt with tougher jabs than this. Crane’s toxin must have taken a bigger toll than I thought.

Nigma holds his nose and patches it up while Ivy can’t stop smiling.

“You had it coming, Nigma.” Ivy shrugs. “She just has the guts to do what we’ve been wanting to do since day 1.”

Nigma rolls his eyes. “It’s not my fault life’s full of questions, Ms. Isley. Apologies, Calico.” He blots the blood off his jumpsuit. “At least this new Batman character seems like a worthy opponent. I shall concoct a glorious cornucopia of riddles for when I escape.”

Batman? What’s he talking about? What kind of lunatic…?

“When?” Ivy interrupts my train of thought. “Don’t you mean if?”

“I know what I said, Isley. It’s only a matter of time.”

She huffs. “No chance you’ll let us in on your little crime spree?”

Nigma doesn’t answer right away. He seems to be deep in thought and after a while he jumps up to scribble something on a scrap piece of paper with a small pen. We’re not allowed utensils so he must have smuggled it in.

“What say you, Prentiss? Ready to get out?”

Don’t hold a grudge, Calico. Remember you’re in a mental asylum. Edward’s just being nice, in his own weird way.

“To quote from Ivy, I’ve been ready since day 1. But I have more personal and sane means of escape.” I stand up and walk back to lean against the wall, my eyes glaring through Nigma’s skull. “Watch your back, Nigma. Pry into my psychosis again and I’ll make your life a living nightmare.”

“Isn’t that Crane’s job?”

I shrug casually. “Who’s to say a few doses of fear toxin won’t go missing and end up in your cologne bottle?”

“While I do appreciate the motive,” the professor of fear himself walks into the room and I feel my heart rate double. “And am honored that you would use my toxin for revenge, I must require that you ask for it nicely, Ms. Prentiss.”

Crane and I lock in a cold stare that goes uninterrupted until Nigma claps his hands with fake enthusiasm.

“Oh, look. Dr. Lunatic is back.”

Crane sighs and looks down at Nigma with annoyment. Clearly a silent battle of brains is brewing between the two. Ivy seems to know it as well.

“Admit it, John. You’re just as sick as the rest of us.”

The lanky doctor pinches the bridge of his nose and goes on to look through the clipboard he’s carrying. “Correction, I use my own unique genius to my advantage instead of creating mindless riddles.”

Edward puts a hand to his heart. “Ouch. What’s got you riled up, sack-head?”

“Have you seen the news?” Crane sees my confused expression and gets a wicked smirk. “Oh, right. No outside sources. Well, there’s a new face in Gotham. A masked vigilante the reporters are calling Batman.”

I set my jaw straight. He can belittle me with my outdated information all he wants. “Another mask? Sounds like your type.”

My comment flies over his head. Ivy and Nigma both share the same muffled chuckle. I’m beginning to take a liking to these inmates. Yes their ideas are insane to say the least but their laid-back take on life in Arkham makes up for it.