9: The Past is Gone

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“Alright, I’m in this little box now. What do you need?” I sighed, sitting across from Gordon, wearing my brown wig. I was in the interrogation room at the Police Department, three days after Batman and Gordon arrived at my doorstep.
“We would like some finger prints from you.” 
“Alright, but I don’t have the clearest of prints. They made me work in Arkham, you know. And I’m not so good with the stove, burnt my fingers several times.” I held out my hands, he examined them. “Wait, did Caerulea leave prints?”
Gordon sighed. “No, she wears some sort of gloves that seem to stick on and move to her rhythm; similar to the Joker’s.”
Gordon shone a light into my eyes, I gasped and shut them quickly.
“We’re gonna do a drug test on you, you always seem high. Do you smoke marijuana?”
I nearly laughed at how he asked that question.
“Nope, I don’t smoke Mary J. Check me out! Shall I go pee in a cup, your majesty?” my eyes were teasing, mouth slightly curved into a smile. Gordon stared, then sighed.
“Yes, go-“
“But I don’t have to yet, so finish with the questioning, and then I’ll go.”
“Alright,” he sighed. “We looked at your records. We didn’t know you went to Harvard on a full ride. That’s the second best college in the world. We checked again, and you were also offered a full ride at the University of Cambridge, the number one college in the world as of today’s statistics. Why aren’t you out working with what your college taught you? I don’t have the full information here, but you took some sort of writing and science courses and you have degrees in both.”
I looked at him, eyes hard. I hated this question; I’ve tried my best to forget that life. “No one is willing to hire someone who’s been in Arkham Asylum for four years.”
“We can test you to check if you are, indeed insane. It says you are a paranoid schizophrenic, and some minor things I haven’t even seen. You don’t seem like it.”
“Want to know why, Gordon?” I questioned, he got me in a serious mood, and he could tell. He was listening intently, knowing he must have said something to make me like this. He was now absorbing every word, so I had to be careful.
“Arkham Asylum is a sham; it used to be a very good Asylum, but do you know why not a lot of people get out unless they escape? They’re either beaten to death, or all the emotional and mental abuse laid upon them by the staff makes them even more insane. That’s why the staff is always changed; they are always murdered, but you, oh you hear the side of the story that points a stiff, accusing finger to the patient. But we weren’t crazy. No, you see, the workers at Arkham got so lazy, they didn’t care what pills to give their patients. The pills they gave me didn’t even have any relevance to my “condition”, or so they put it, and so it did a reverse effect. Instead of curing the disease, it gave it to me. It’s like ADHD pills, if you don’t have ADHD and you take the pills, it will give you the personality of someone with ADHD, and then they diagnose you with it. Do you know how many books I read, how long I kept to myself and how insane I got sitting in a little cage?”
I didn’t finish, seeing how my last sentence was one to raise suspicion.
“I felt amazing when Joker let me out, call me crazy, but I hadn’t seen an ounce of sunlight since I walked into Arkham. That is why I didn’t search for authorities, they would put me back in there. I had gotten so depressed in Arkham, they would shove unnecessary pills down my throat, they are the reason I was ever crazy, and me being out of there, I feel new. I feel relieved. I feel like a new person! Even though they took all my rights, respect and dignity as a human being, I trudge on. And now I’m sitting here, because you think I am crazy enough to run around with a little outfit calling myself Caerulea, and being allies with Joker?” I laughed darkly. “Joker is not in my life, he used me to get out. Why would he keep me around? He’s a sociopath who grows no bond with people.”
Gordon was silent, absorbing every word. He looked away, sighing, hesitating. I patiently waited, my blood was boiling, I was remembering Arkham. They had taken me away just a month after I got my dream job. And I was at the top of the food chain.
“How did you get into Arkham?” Gordon questioned. “Your first file isn’t here...” he was looking at the papers he did have, though.
“My family died. All of them. They burned to death in front of my eyes. My parents, my brother, my aunt, uncle. I was fine, I just needed a little time to heal, and I did. They didn’t believe me, and threw me into Arkham. Once they tested me, they did find I had slight paranoia, and never let me go.” I looked down, hands balling up into fists.
“You may go give a urine sample now.” Gordon looked like he was holding back something.
I nodded, then walked over to the bathroom, a nurse handed me a container with a green lid. I took it, and walked into the room. When I got out, I handed her the sample.
“You may leave now, sorry to waste your time.” Gordon said, looking away.
I didn’t answer, I just glanced at him. I walked past him, and when I got to the main room, all of the cops were looking at me. Some with sympathetic faces, others with skeptic faces. I ignored all of them, and walked out.
Before Arkham, my life was perfect.
I started to walk down memory lane...

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