The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

October 29th| Arkham Asylum

After Doctor Crane's initial consultation, he poked a syringe into my neck and without a hint of amusement; wished me 'sweet dreams.'

I was washed away then, into another dreamless, chemically induced sleep- a state that always feels like you're not there at all. In this case, I liked it. To pretend that the monstrosity that has become my life  was nothing, that I was nothing, was ridiculously relieving. The dreamlessness was welcomed as well, it ensured that I wouldn't have visions of my traitorous mother or this treacherous Doctor who used sedation every chance he got.

When I finally woke, the restraints hung loosely from my  bed. With the size and height of the stretcher, I was quite surprised I didn't fall in the middle of the night; or is this day?

As I woke, a real hospital bed with metal railings was being wheeled into my room by the not-so-friendly woman in scrubs.

That is my bed. I'm here to stay.

The woman situates my bed quietly, with her back facing me.

I sit up, rubbing my wrists and admiring the strap's indents- before locking my gaze onto the busy nurse once more. If I step off this gurney would I be met with another jab of tranquilizer? I feel like a caged animal, weighing my options. I feel like a dangerous animal, something the nurse may fear. This is something I could use to my advantage.

Keeping my eyes on the woman, she pulls a thin sheet over my new mattress. I step off carefully, a small creak ringing out into the open air. I wince, lowering my bare toes to the cold tile ground.  Out of the corner of my eye, something glimmers.

Oh silly Doctor, you left one of your toys out.
I can't help but smile. A needle full of tonic lays on the abandoned cart.

The nurse reaches down behind the side of the bed and brings up a white pillow, fluffing it mindlessly; unaware of my grand escape.

I tiptoe to the cart, holding my breath, before noiselessly picking up the syringe and hiding it behind my back.

It would be silly to use this on her, it would be a waste. If I could  sneak out of this room, a million Arkham guards would greet me with the tips of their steely guns. I'll have to ration it for them. It's an ambitious plan but what do I have to lose?

Even our lawyer told me my case was going to be hard to prove. Ryan and I were alone. Completely. His blood was on my clothes.

I had never considered myself a pessimist but sometimes you find yourself cornered. Idealism doesn't survive in a corner.

It's escape, if I could manage it, and then the inevitable 'Raven Alcott, Arkham Asylum Patient at large?" Blaring on every tv in Gotham. Or, it's the rotting away in this dimly lit, asbestos ridden hospital- or worse, Blackgate Penitentiary.

I can't even believe I'm a part of this world; I can't even believe I'm having a single thought relating me to a penitentiary.

I step sideways, gauging when the nurse might turn around, my fingers feeling the metallic pump of the needle. 

"Goodmorning Miss Alcott,"
A deep voice says coolly.

Turning the corner, into my open doorway, stalks Doctor Crane. A chill runs down my spine, I half expect a needle prick and a coming daze; truly like a conditioned animal. His face is just as cold as when he 'tucked me in' last night, was that last night?

I thought that doctors were supposed to help you, not just obsessively drug you. He looks pleased as I shy away from him, like he enjoys this power, this fear.

The doctor eyes me up for a moment, and I tuck the syringe against my wrist- pushing it between fingers and making a tight fist. I prop my fist against my hip and hope it's hidden; the tip of the needle pricks my side and I stifle a gasp.

By the time I look back up, he has another clipboard in hand, his rectangular glasses propped on his nose as his gunmetal eyes scan the document in hand.

I let out a small breath and hope he doesn't notice.

"So, it's normal activity today. Are you going to behave or should we strap you to a chair?"
He asks, his voice filled with condescension.

Before I can say a word, he tucks his clipboard under his arm and speaks.

"I have a feeling we'll need a chair, adjustment can be difficult,"

He slips out of the room for a moment, returning with a loudly creaking wheel chair.

"Take a seat Miss Alcott."