With Dr. Lang's rage two seconds away from erupting like a volcano, Jim began questioning all the staff and security who were on shift that previous night. But so far, he had no luck. The last staff member left to question before resorting to the long and draining hours of questioning every patient, was another security guard named Steven. "No, man, I got my keys right here," He answered, gesturing to the ones on his belt. But he looked rather bothered by Jim's questions and refused to make eye contact. "Look at me, Steven," Jim calmly spoke but with a hint of warning. "Look at me, tell me the truth,"
Steven slowly met Jim's eyes before asking him why he was being picked on after telling the truth. "There's five other guards with keys to this wing," Stephen reminded. "True, and you're the only one who looks and smells like a hunted animal," Jim pointed out. "Whoever fried Frogman had keys. Now, we've searched all the inmates' cells, no keys. But I know they're out there, and I need to know where. I'm backed up against the wall here, and I'm starting to lose my patience. Do you understand?"
Steven nodded. "That fight... during the play. Right after, I noticed my keys were gone," He admitted, making Jim close his eyes and shake his head at the irresponsibility. "You lose equipment, that's a big deal. They dock me a week's pay, so I tracked done a spare set!" Steven added. "Who took the keys then?" Jim questioned. "I don't know. Anyone could've taken them!" Steven answered. Jim could feel a wave of frustration and anger wash over him, and the last thing he needed was to unleash it on somebody, even if that person made the dumb mistake of losing track of their keys.
"Walk away," Jim warned. Steven tried to get closer and apologize, but Jim again told him to get away. Steven finally agreed and walked down one end of the hallway while Jim stormed off in the other direction. If only Dr. Lang let Harvey and the GCPD get involved with this investigation, maybe it wouldn't have been so stressful. But again, Jim was the only one who could fix this problem.
With this knowledge, Jim and the rest of security started questioning the inmates. As Jim sat at his desk, flipping through each of the present inmate's files, Dorothy stood next to him, and a few security guards blocked the door just in case. "Inmate 5075 Jack Gruber," Jim read, looking up at the balding man who appeared to be in his mid to late 30s and wore brown circular glasses. "Inmate Gruber, did you take Officer Wenger's keys?" Jim asked. "You're looking into the sad demise of the Frogman, aren't you?" Gruber countered with unblinking eyes and a creepy smile at the corner of his lips.
"The Frogman disrupted your play last night," Jim recalled. "You didn't like him very much, did you?" "Well, I had no opinion of him. He was called the Frogman because he believed a giant bullfrog lived inside his abdomen, controlling his thoughts," Gruber chuckled. "He was already dead. I don't waste psychic energy on the dead," Jim looked back at the file, going through the lengthy list of charges Gruber had accumulated over the years. "Rape, murder, you're no stranger to violence, Gruber. Your psych evals say you're a grade-A sociopath. Why should I take your word for anything?" Jim inquired.
"You shouldn't believe everything you read, Jim," Gruber said. "May I call you Jim?" Jim quickly grew tired of this charade and once again questioned Gruber if he had taken the keys. "Please, search my cell if you do not find me trustworthy, but, no, Jim, I did not take anyone's keys," Jim returned to his notepad and crossed Gruber's name off the list just as the sociopath called one of the guards to take him back to his cell. And that was just the beginning of a long day of interviews. One by one, each inmate was called in, but they weren't as "calm and collected" as Gruber had been. Some of them tried to lunge at Jim or swipe the files off his desk. Other inmates started pounding on the desk and started crying, causing the guards to escort them out of the room.
With the final inmate left to question, Jim met his gaze as he leaned back in his seat. "Keys?" The bald man named Aaron repeated. "Yes, keys. Did you take the guard's keys?" Jim nodded. "No, am I in trouble?" Aaron asked with a hint of worry. "No, Aaron, unless you're lying to me," Jim answered. Aaron's eyes widened as he stuttered like he never heard of the word lying before. "Aaron never lies, Mr. Gordon. He doesn't have the concept, poor peaceful soul that he is," Dorothy defended. "He killed his family with an axe," Jim squinted. "Isn't that what you did, Aaron?"
"Never harmed a fly before or since," Dorothy added. "I said sorry," Aaron pouted. "Okay, Aaron. You're free to go," Jim excused him. Jim called a guard over and, he took Aaron out of the interrogation room. Jim held back a sigh of exhaustion, seemingly arriving at a dead end.
~~~~~~~~~~
Out of all the investigations Jim had conducted during his time in Gotham, besides the ongoing search for the Wayne Killer, this was the most draining of all the cases. Yes, there were nights when he couldn't sleep because of his constant work mode, but this time, he felt like he was slowly melting into a puddle of exhaustion. As he flipped through the files for the dozenth time that day, Jim caved into exhaustion and passed out on the sofa, his hand still clutching a patient's file.
With all the patients locked in their cells for the night, he didn't have to worry about pulling two patients off each other and risk Dr. Lang yelling at his "lack of control," Well, at least that's what he thought. Not only after Jim had dozed off, he woke up to loud banging and went into the hall to see what was going on. The first thought was maybe it was a restless inmate, but as he looked down the hall towards the cell block, there was no noise. But as he looked to the other end of the hall, he saw someone banging their head against the metal gate.
"Royston, what are you doing out of your cell?" Jim called out and shined his flashlight, realizing upon closer inspection who it was. But Royston continued to bang his head, ignoring Jim's question. "Hey, cut it out!" Jim ordered as he turned Royston around. And to Jim's shock, he found that Royston had the same burn on either side of his head. But unlike Frogman, Royston started babbling Shakespeare. Some of them were the lines he recited the night of the play. "Full fathom five thy father lies of his bones are coral made," He repeated over and over like a mantra.
"Ah hell," Jim groaned. All the doctors in the medical ward had left for the night, meaning Jim would have to babysit the babbling Royston until dawn. "Come on, let's sit you down," Jim led Royston to the wall, helping him sit on the floor and watching him stare off into the distance. Jim figured that after a while, Royston would stop and start babbling something else, but to his dismay, the Shakespearean continued, and Jim could've sworn he felt it burn a hole into his head.
When the first rays of sunlight peered through the Asylum windows, Jim was relieved that this torture would soon be over. He helped Royston stand and walked him to the medical wing, where he found Lee at her desk, unpacking her bag. As she looked up to greet him, her face fell when she realized they had another victim with electrical burns. "Royston, is that your name?" She asked, examining her patient.
"Sea nymphs hourly ring his knell!" Royston responded. "Fascinating," Lee spoke sarcastically. "The poor man can walk and talk, but all he remembers are lines from the play. Same electroshock technique as Frogman but with slightly less drastic results," Lee shined a light in Royston's eyes as Jim mentioned whoever was doing this to the inmates must be improving their methods. "Or maybe their process is so haphazard," Lee reasoned. "They don't know what kind of outcome they're gonna get. One man ends up a vegetable, while the other one recites Shakespeare on a loop. I don't understand what an inmate gains from scrambling up another inmate,"
"You should stay on the female wing for a while," Jim advised. "There's no reason to put yourself in danger," But Lee insisted that she was perfectly capable of protecting herself, and she had patients who needed her. "There's gonna be some drama around here. The missing keys made me focus on the inmates, but I think it's a misdirection. I think I should be focusing on the staff," Jim explained. "Oh I see, there will be some drama," Lee nodded in agreement. "But wait, I'm staff. What if it's me?"
"It's not you," Jim quickly denied. "How can you tell?" Lee questioned. "You're not the type to do something like this," he answered. Lee smirked, saying he must've had great detective skills and could read people. "Some people," Jim clarified. As Jim turned around and left Lee to turn her work, he felt the slightest smile form. Any time he was around Lee, he felt like his entire life hadn't been turned upside and left in a clattered heap. She might be that extra bit of sunshine he needed right now.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Far away on the other side of Gotham, Barbara was lying in the hotel room bed she shared with Montoya, reflecting on everything she had left behind. Rather than focus on how she got to this point in her life, she focused on the one thing she was starting to miss the most. Holly. As much as it pained her to leave her daughter behind, Barbara knew she couldn't let her daughter witness all the trauma she was trying so hard to suppress.
She remembered life in the suburbs, they had the perfect mother-daughter bond every mother wants to have with their kids. During Jim's deployments, they'd make the most of the time together, visiting every theme park and going to the best places to eat. But the one memory Barbara couldn't get out of her mind was when they spent Christmas at her parent's house. As the only granddaughter in the family, Holly's grandparents never failed to spoil her, buying her expensive clothes and brand-new toys. Anything Holly wished for, they'd give it to her.
"Mama! Mama!" Holly's voice rang through the house as she ran to where Barbara was on the couch, sipping her hot cocoa. "See?" She held up a big square box wrapped in snowman wrapping paper. "Yes, I see it, sweetpea! What do you think it is?" Barbara asked. The then six-year-old plopped the present in her lap and immediately went to town unwrapping the present. The second the last piece had been ripped, Holly gasped as she turned over the present to see it was a massive paint set containing every single color a person could think of.
Barbara smiled as she could see the joy on her daughter's face. Holly had been painting since before she could talk, and Barbara couldn't have been happier to see her daughter follow in her footsteps in painting. "A little artist needs her paint set!" Grandma Kean commented. Holly grinned as she stepped over the bundles of wrapping paper and thanked her grandparents, embracing them tightly. Holly then turned around to her mother and didn't just embrace her, she jumped into Barbara's lap and wrapped her little hands around the back of her neck.
"Barbara, you need to wake up," Montoya gently shook her awake. Barbara slowly turned over and sat up to see Montoya sitting on the bed with two cups of coffee. "Good morning," Barbara smiled. Montoya handed her her cup, and Barbara took a sip, smiling as the piping hot drink woke up what was left of her sleeping nerves. "Mmm, extra sweet. You always remember," Montoya's upbeat expression turned into one of seriousness when she asked Barbara if she had been in contact with Jim at all.
"Why would I?" Barbara answered. "Renee, you don't have to be jealous of Jim. I'm over him," "What about your daughter?" Renee inquired. "When was the last time you spoke to her?" A wave of guilt formed on Barbara's face, she had been wanting to call Holly to check in and see how she was doing, but she was scared as to how Holly would react to her leaving without warning. Maybe she'd be too angry and hurt to speak with her, or maybe she'd be relieved to know she was okay. Regardless of the reason, Barbara felt guilty for not doing that sooner.
"Of course I still love her. She's my child," Barbara replied, trying to hide the guilt. "This was a mistake. I should have never let it go on for this long," Montoya exhaled. "I'm so sorry," Tears began to form in Barbara's eyes upon hearing this. She gave up being with Jim and Holly to be with her, and now Montoya was starting to have regrets? "I see how it is," Barbara mumbled before getting out of bed and searching for her things. "Look, Babs-" "No. No. I mean, you're you are absolutely right. This was a mistake," Barbara sighed. "This has been a really long process for me, and I've worked too hard to get right with myself," Montoya admitted. "I-I wanted this to be good, but I can't fall back now. The drinking, the drugs. We're toxic together, you and me,"
Barbara's eyes widened further at her words. Toxic together? So, I'm the toxic one? She contemplated. "Please, Renee, stop. There's no need to say another word. I am sorry that I interfered with your process," Barbara said as she changed into regular clothes. "Barbara, you need help I can't give you right now. Let me call Jim or Holly for you, please!" Montoya pleaded. "No!" Barbara shouted, looking all over the room for her purse.
Montoya shook her head and sighed, realizing she should've used something better than calling Babs toxic. "If anyone's the toxic one, it's me. I never should've taken you away from Holly. She needs you," Montoya reminded her. "She doesn't need me. I'm just a toxic person, right? Where's my damn purse?!" Barbara retorted. "Barbara, stop. Calm down, all right? I'll go. Please," Barbara turned around, her face turning red and tears streaming down her cheeks. "Fine, do what you want. Go,"
Montoya grabbed her things, apologizing again, but Barbara didn't want to hear it. Without another word, Montoya left, and the second that door locked behind her, the air that had been clogging Barbara's throat became unstuck, and a heartbroken sob broke past her lips.