Chapter OneA Chapter by Elise PehrsonOctober “You
haven’t touched your snack. You know, it’s important to go into these things
with a little food in the stomach.” The officer’s voice echoes in my head after
I process what he said. “What?
Oh no, I’m fine. Really.” The grumbling road lengthens and stretches along the
bumpy asphalt, making my stomach feel like its being stretched through a taffy
puller. As if my gut needed to feel even more uneasy. I
guess we sat in silence for a while, but I don’t notice. The wavering motions
of the cop car lulls me into some sort of trance. The cop takes a hand off the
steering wheel to adjust the radio before realizing that it’s been broken this
whole time. We
still in silence for a little while longer. “So
what made you want to become a criminal psychologist, Dr. Quinzell?” he
obviously couldn’t take the thick, airless silence anymore. I turn my head and
notice what he looks like for the first time: brawny, speckled with patches of hair
ranging from his head to his wrists, making a stop under his nose to create a
mustache that looked like the bottom of a shark’s tailfin. “My…father…”
my voice trails off. I flash back to a time when my father was still around"a
time before I realized what he did and what kind of person he was"a time when
parades of women conquered the house, leaving my mother weeping in her bedroom
for months at a time. I remember the strange-looking men bringing briefcases of
what looked like solid gold. I thought my daddy was fighting off the bad guys,
only to later realize that he was one. “Your
father…?” he repeated, snapping me back to the present. This man obviously has
no sense of boundaries. “My
father was a conman,” I say in the clearest, most professional tone I can
muster, “I want to figure out what make men like that tick. Their minds
intrigue me. Extreme minds intrigue
me.” I guess he wasn’t expecting that answer"or maybe it was the delivery"but
either way, it shut him up, and I was able to enjoy the rest of my relatively
complacent trip to Arkham Asylum. ·
This place is
enormous and gives off an odd mixture of feelings. I don’t know if I should
cower beneath my sheets or burst through every room and drill each patient with
questions. It’s all just so…riveting… I
approach an authoritative swarm of asylum workers and my eyes immediately drift
to the woman in the middle. Are they just recruiting women now? Am I just one
of their revamps? “Doctor
Harleen Quinzell?” The woman speaks over my thoughts. I
clear my throat, “Yes?” “Follow
me, please,” the woman says stalely. She turns around in a stiff sort of pivot
and ushers me down the hall. A few of the male workers follow us on all sides
with nightsticks and Tasers. Don’t they know that if we’re working here, as
women, we can defend ourselves just as fine as a man? My
inner rampage is interrupted by the hissing of a crazed man licking the screen
that lies as a barrier between the two of us. He’s mouthing something that I
can’t quite make out. “Please
try and keep up, Dr. Quinzell,” the woman that’s leading me grunts. I quicken
my pace and stare at the back of her swirled burgundy hair. It’s deep and dark
and looks like a cherry cordial. Her eyes bare no makeup, but her lips are
crimson and yelling at me like a siren. Oh, she’s talking to me. “Are
you even listening, Doctor?” “Um"I"sorry…What
did you say?” I ask, trying to hide my timidity"I’m in a nuthouse with the most
lethal of all lunatics and it’s this
woman who scares me more than death. She
grunts and rolls her eyes. “I said,” she reiterates, “Did you want to stop here
or would you like me to lead you to your quarters?” I look around and see that
we’re in the high intensity unit; I recognize almost every face behind each
glass veil. I stare at the one that blinds me with intense emerald light. I
step a little closer. I catch a glimmer of vermilion flames flicker out of
view. I walk up to the window and notice that the patch of fiery hair stands
like a beacon"no"like the only flower in a field of endless green. “Poison
Ivy,” I mutter. The notorious villainess has her back towards me; although, I
know she knows I’m here. I place my fingers on the glass and decide what I
would want to say to her, but an eerie cackle from behinds draws me into its signal
and I realize why I came in the first place. My
body feels heavy and I hear my heart beat in slow motion as the rest of me
turns into the call. I blink a couple times before processing who’s in front of
me. “Hey
doc,” he says after his laugh fades into blackness, “I’m ready for my checkup!” Joker. © 2013 Elise Pehrson |
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Added on October 31, 2013 Last Updated on October 31, 2013 AuthorElise PehrsonAbout"If you know what you are going to write when you're writing a poem, it's going to be average." --Derek Walcott My new book "Forever Fair" is available on Amazon and on demand at any store in the U.. more..Writing
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