A Serious House on Serious Earth

A few days later, I found myself sitting on the floor of my apartment, flipping through case files of insane people. We have a plan. I reassured myself very few minutes. Just stick to the plan. The plan was to pass me off as an insane person who killed a random man. Gordon’s people were already in the mist of rewriting my past, or at least the last three years of it. Basically, there were removing all the good things and adding in a bunch of paranoid, psychotic things. They had even let me choose my own specific disorder.

Insular paranoia was simple paranoia added with strong anti-social and avoidant behaviors. I picked insular paranoia because I was already a bit passive-aggressive as it was. Though the therapist who I talked said I could bend the rules a little. The fact that there was no real checklist for insanity would be my one saving grace since the doctors at Arkham Asylum wouldn’t even know that I was an imposter. I had been given numerous case studies of paranoid people. Even a few taped interviews. I didn’t know what to expect when I watched those so I rented a few Hollywood movies so I could still sleep at night.

My fabricated past stated that I continued my life of crime in even after my release from the hospital. Only that I had grown more violent until I eventually killed a man for no apparent reason. So in order to play the part of a deranged lunatic, I dyed my hair. I just went to the store and brought the oddest colors. Navy blue, hunter green, crimson red, black. Nothing too bright. I emptied all the bottles in my hair with little care. The outcome didn’t look too bad, considering it looked like a five-year-old scribbled crayons all over my head.

It was a little past midnight when I lifted myself off the floor and head to the kitchen to make another cup of coffee. The entire afternoon and night, I had been switching between a cup of coffee and a glass of wine. The coffee was to keep me awake and the wine was for my nerves. Nevertheless, I was a little inebriated by the time I decided just to stick with coffee. Even though I had stumbled on my way to the kitchen, I did notice the shadow in the corner. “I thought I locked the window.” I said, slurring my words a bit.

“You did.” I turned just as Batman stepped out of the shadow of the doorway. It was odd seeing the Batman, standing in all his glory, in the middle of my kitchen.

“You know, it’s not very polite to climb though people’s windows without their permission.” I had to resist the urge to offer him a cup of coffee because I was sure it the wine talking. “What do you want?”

“How are you?” He didn’t move at all. The Batman just stood in my kitchen as if it was an everyday event.

A loud sigh escaped my lips. I thought about telling him about how scared I was. I wanted to tell him about every little worry and concern that had appeared in my head of the past few days. I even wanted to address the anxiety and discomforts from my previous dance with insanity. But I didn’t. “I’m fine. For now.” I lied.

“Do you know how exceptionally brave you are?” Again with another question and no answer.

“I hate it when people call me brave. I’m scared shitless.” I said before taking a seat on top of counter. I folded my feet under me and wrapped my hands around my cup of coffee.

“Fear sometimes makes people act in fearless ways.” I traced the rim of the cup with my finger as silence filled the room between us.

“Did you come here for a reason or is just a slow night?” I asked when the silence became unbearable. I looked up from my coffee but the kitchen was empty. The Batman was gone. I was alone. I left the files on the floor and inspected every window before carrying myself to bed.



Wednesday morning I found myself in the back of a police car. It was rather uncomfortable sitting on the leather seat with my hands handcuffed behind me. I was wearing an especially ugly orange uniform. The only make-up I had on was a week’s worth of eyeliner, which was smudged and smeared around my eyes. It made me look even paler. My hair was a ratty mess and I didn’t bother worrying about it.

As we got closer to Arkham Asylum, my heart began to beat faster. Gordon, who was driving and the only other person in the car, spent the entire trip giving me words of encouragement. I ignored him and endured the trip in silence. I hadn’t talked to Bruce since the fateful morning and I was beginning to wish I had called him. But I pushed him from my mind as the car passed under the Arkham Asylum sign.

Arkham rested on the top of a hill just outside the city. The old Arkham home was still used but numerous additions had been made to the original building. The lawn was neatly mowed but there was little landscape other than a large oak tree which grew to the right of the house. It was planted too close and the limbs scratched the side of the building. The once red brick had turned a grimly brown color and dense ivy covered the majority of the north side of the building.

As the car rolled to a stop in front of the large oak doors three orderlies dressed in white scrubs walked out to greet me. “Disregard anything I say or do from now on.” I said to Gordon quietly while keeping my head down. Gordon just nodded before getting out and opening my door. When it was obvious that I wasn’t going to get out of the car voluntarily, the orderlies decided to drag me out. This ended in the first orderly being kicked in the face. After about five minutes of struggling, I was forced from the car and though the Asylum doors.

I decided to give up my struggle as I was processed into their records. Gordon gave me a sympathetic smile, which I greeted with a blank stare. I then watched as Gordon turned around and walked out the door. That was the last I saw of him.