The People Said, a Weed

It was an appropriately gloomy night.

Security officer Frank Heywood took a long drag of his cigarette. He took his time watching the waves crash and smack against the rocks of the island below him, letting the smoke linger and dance against his tongue for a long while before exhaling a deep, tired sigh. Fifteen years to retirement, he reminded himself. He felt exhausted deep into his bones - or perhaps that was the October chill getting to him. He took another inhale of smoke.

Arkham Asylum stood behind him, sturdy and intimidating and entirely unphased by the storm brewing around it - or the one that was about to begin inside it. Frank checked the time on his watch - 5:46pm. He was a minute late returning on his break, but he wasn’t really needed until 6:00pm, when the new inmate - or patient, technically - was set to arrive.

He could already see the black car making its way up the steep incline towards the main doors, driving slowly and safely on the wet dirt roads. Little droplets of rain smacked against the windshield of the two worried, upper-class people in the driver and passenger seats. Frank wondered what was going through their minds, arriving at Arkham for a self-surrender. He dropped his cigarette, still lit, into Gotham Bay and headed back inside.

The intercom was already broadcasting when the heavy metal doors smacked closed behind him. All available staff to patient intake. All available staff, please proceed to patient intake. In Frank’s opinion, it was a whole big fuss over nothing. How dangerous could a five year old - even that five year old - possibly be? Certainly not enough to warrant Arkham-wide anxiety and near-panic. Nonetheless, he hung his coat, checked his belt for all his things, and began the long walk over to the receiving doors.

-

“You swear he’ll be safe?” The woman was medium-height and thin, with a long straight nose and unruly ringlets of copper-brown hair. She was leaning over the processing counter, clutching her handbag, eyebrows furrowed in stress and worry. “You’re sure?” She glanced around nervously at the two dozen guards that had come to greet her.

“Miss Pengrove, this is a first class facility.” The receptionist smiled her most welcoming smile, gently reaching out and patting the woman on the hand. “Everyone here wants the best for J. He’ll be cared for in every possible way - and he’ll be far away from the other patients.”

Frank gently shuffled between his coworkers, edging himself closer to the front of the mob. Maria Pengrove’s husband spoke up, moving to stand beside his wife. “When can we visit? And how often? We’re worried - he’s never been away from us before, not even for the night.”

“We suggest letting him adjust here before you visit. We’ll set up an appointment for you for next week. How about…next Thursday, hmm?” Donna took her hand away from the worried woman and turned back to her computer, starting to type again, processing forms littering the surface of the counter. Frank gently shuffled one of the female guards over to make room for him at the front of the line, his curiosity trumping politeness.

J Quinzel sat quietly on the ground behind Maria and Jack Pengrove, seemingly unconcerned with the sounds of distress they were making. Wearing a beige turtleneck sweater and soft brown cotton pants, the child seemed remarkably unthreatening to Frank. Still, he felt…a little uneasy, being around the unfortunate kid. Thin blonde hair fell every which way, sticking up in the air, puffing out to the sides. He was appropriately chubby for such a small thing, but his arms and legs were proportionately a little too long for his torso, already showing signs of future lankiness. And when the five year old finally looked up at the mass of guards waiting to take him away from his foster parents, Frank nearly took a step backward at the sight of his eyes. One crystal blue, one incredibly pale green - just like the boy’s father. Poor little bastard.

The guards froze. Frank felt Officer Arnolds beside him straighten a little, her elbow bumping against his as she positioned her hand closer to her weapon, ready to reach for it at a moment’s notice. He considered knocking into the woman on purpose, irritated. It was one thing to be wary, and another entirely to be prepared to fire on a baby.

J stared at the guards for a long moment, mismatched eyes unblinking and curious. His expression was inquisitive, studying the group of people before him with a focus that Frank had never before seen in a child that young. The guards stared back. The Pengroves turned to watch, looking back and forth between the boy they’d fostered for five years and the staff of the institution that was meant to foster him for the rest of his life.

Nobody spoke for a long moment, all parties uncertain, until Maria Pengrove cleared her throat awkwardly. She took a deep breath and stepped towards the young boy, shifting to her knees beside him. She did not seem to mind that her long fur coat swept against the floor as she lowered herself to the child’s level, nor did she remove her silk gloves before placing one hand on the dusty surface in front of him, the other hand moving to J’s back.

“J, honey?” She took a breath, trying to steady herself. Frank could tell that despite the brave face, the poor woman was terrified - whether of the child, or of the guards, he could not tell. Her voice quavered slightly underneath the firm tone she was trying to maintain. “These nice people are going to look after you, okay? I’ll visit soon. I promise. As soon as I can.” She took his hand and squeezed gently, holding eye contact with the boy for a long few seconds before leaning in and planting a red-lipsticked kiss onto his pale forehead. He scrunched his nose for a moment and pulled away from the kiss, and Frank watched Maria Pengrove’s face collapse.

Jack put a firm hand on his wife’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “C’mon, Maria,” he said, glancing warily down at the boy. “He’s going to be fine. He might not even notice we’re gone, really.” The man frowned a little at the child, contemplative. He glanced over at the receptionist. “We’ve had a hard time…really connecting with him,” he explained, almost apologetic. “We’ve tried, and of course we love him, but I’m not sure he’s ever really recognized that. He doesn’t seem to notice when we’re around, or when we’re not - not emotionally, at least.”

“That’s not true,” Maria said quietly, distressed and aching, voice tight. “He’s happier when we’re in the room.” She did not turn to glance at her husband, watching J intently, as if memorizing every detail of his chubby-cheeked face.

Jack tilted his head to the side as if surprised. “How can you tell?”

Frank cleared his throat. They were running late - in twenty minutes, the bell would sound for dinner, and the hallways of Arkham Asylum would erupt with noise. Screaming and complaining and mad cackling - the senior officer was not about to parade a child through that kind of chaos. “Not t’be rude, Mr and Mrs Pengrove, but we’d better get movin’ along before the dinner bell.”

Jack pulled his wife gently to her feet, away from the child they had raised. She allowed him to guide her, not resisting, but not looking away from the child either. “God, please keep him safe,” she said quietly to nobody in particular. J looked up at her, watching silently as she was pulled away from him. “Be good, J,” she said, hands gripping at her handbang once more, handed to her by her husband. “Be good. We’ll see you soon. I promise, we’ll see you soon.” Her quiet, desperate assurances followed the Pengroves out the heavy door; the silence that filled the room after it closed behind them felt empty and wrong.

Frank looked to his right, and then to his left, at the group of unmoving guards beside him. J stared at the door his foster guardians had just left through with that strange intensity, unmoving. Frank raised an eyebrow, waited ten seconds, and then sighed and stepped forward towards the child. “Hey, kid,” he called quietly, almost groaning as he shifted into a squat. His old bones protested and creaked. J jerked slightly and turned quickly to face the officer in front of him, startled by the noise.

“When will Jack and Maria come back?” The boy spoke for the first time, voice softer than Frank had expected. When he had imagined the child previously, he had given the five year old the same high-pitched, grating drawl his father had used to antagonize the guards every night, full of attitude and hatred and superiority. His child sounded…well. Like a child. Surprising.

Frank paused, unsure how to proceed. “Well, kid, I’m… not sure. They said Thursday, I think. Do you know what day it is now?”

“Wednesday,” J said with the slightest edge of whine. “I have to stay all night?” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed.

Another pause. “Yeah, kid,” Frank said finally. “You gotta stay all night. Didn’t they tell you what was going to happen today?”

The boy paused. “I thought they were joking. I can’t tell when people are joking. They left? They really left?” He turned back to face the door, alarmed. He started scrambling, awkward and gangly already, back to his feet. The guards moved for their weapons.

“Woah, kid.” Frank reached forward and gently took the child by the shoulder. “They’ll be back. For now, let’s get you some food or somethin’, yeah?” He paused before looking over his shoulder at his coworkers. “Someone get the kid a cookie, Christ almighty! He’s a goddamn five year old, people, not a pipe bomb.”

The Arkham staff shuffled uncomfortably, guiltily - some defensive, some ashamed. J turned toward Frank again, multi-colored eyes wide, arms pulling defensively into his chest, making himself small and unassuming. Officer Heywood, still on one knee in front of the boy, smiled a tired smile.

“C’mon. Follow me, we’ll get you settled in. Where are your bags? Johnson. Take his bags downstairs, will you?” It felt strange to be barking orders within earshot of the warden, but god damn it, he wasn’t okay with letting the entire rest of the guard stand around and stare. They could write him up for his attitude later. “I’m not gonna pick you up, kid, ’n’ i’m not gonna touch your hand, but you’ve gotta follow me now.”

J stared at him for a long moment before nodding stiffly. Frank couldn’t help but notice the hints of Joker in the boy’s facial structure - the slightly curved nose and long jawline. The texture of his hair. But there was a softness to him that his father had never ever shown - big round cheeks, rounder profile in general. Harleen Quinzel had given her son just as much of his looks as had her criminal lunatic boyfriend. Frank wondered how much of each of them would shape the boy’s personality.

The boy followed.

The security officer led the child down through the wet, musty stone hallway. No matter the weather, the old building always smelled a little like mold; the rain outside only amplified the unpleasant aroma. J Quinzel barely made a sound as he followed behind, his tiny footsteps drowned out by the heavy boots of the guards that blocked his exit from behind. Ten of them had been assigned to escort the child to his new home, the rest returning to their usual duties with the other inmates.

The fastest way through to the basements was directly past the inmates’ cells - Frank shuddered to think of how the rogues gallery locked among them would react to this new addition to their ranks. Brilliant goddamn idea, he thought to himself. They’ll tear him apart the first chance they get. He won’t survive the first mass breakout. He looked back at J, checking in. I suppose there haven’t been many of those since Joker died, though.

Arkham’s smallest resident did not complain once on the way down to his room. His cell. J watched everything they passed with his quiet focus, actively and carefully taking everything in - not the wandering attention Frank had seen in his own kids, at the same age. Down the two sets of stairs, through the kitchens and the appropriately named Wreck Room, until they were far enough away from dinner that they could no longer hear the noise and chaos it created. Down the hall, to the left, and…

“Here you go, kid.” Frank carefully jiggled a door open - a proper solid door, not bars - and opened it to reveal the child’s new room. Larger by far than the other Arkham cells, and a little bit livelier despite being underground. They had laid down a carpet in the middle of the room, covering some of the hard stone floors, reasonably full bookshelves and toy chests resting on either side. There was no television, nor a computer, and the blankets were regulation grey and itchy. With no windows, the only light was supplied by obnoxious fluorescents, and the grey walls had no decoration. Depressing.

Frank gestured for J to enter, and the child followed. The preschooler had both arms firmly wrapped around his own waist, having pulled his sweater sleeves over his hands. He tucked his head and pulled his limbs all into himself, making himself even smaller - not that he needed any help being tiny, poor thing.

The child paused in the doorway before slowly reaching down to his shoes and carefully removing each one, and then his socks, folding the socks into his sneakers and setting the whole package beside the doorway. Frank winced a little - the floors looked dry enough, surprisingly, but he knew they were certainly going to be freezing. Winter was going to be absolute hell down here.

J did not flinch at the chill of the stone below his toes, very slowly stepping into the cell. He stood a little oddly, heels raised a bit, resting his weight on the balls of his feet. With the way he cautiously moved to explore his new domain, the boy reminded Frank vaguely of a housecat.

“What do you think?” the officer asked gently. J turned to face him, swallowing a little.

“I want to go home. I want Maria and Jack.” He looked up at the officer with wide eyes, fidgeting his fingers and squirming.

“I know, kid,” Frank responded. “I wish I could let you go home.”

J considered this for a moment, and looked around his cell. He registered the heavy-duty locks on the doors, the thick stone walls, the lack of windows. Frank watched the boy’s face carefully as the reality of the situation sunk in. The five year old looked back at the officer, shame and confusion all over his chubby face. “What did I do wrong?”

The older man’s heart nearly skipped a beat. He opened his mouth, sharply closed it, and looked over his shoulder at the officers behind him for assistance. What the hell was he supposed to tell the kid? He searched his coworkers for advice and found nothing but uncomfortable, uncertain stares back. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and turned back to face the boy. He shifted onto one knee in front of J.

“…you haven’t done nothin’ wrong, J,” he said quietly. “You’re not…you’re not in trouble.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to explain. “We’re gonna be here to keep you safe, and comfy, okay? And…and looked after. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Except exist. “But you’ll be happy here. As much as we can manage.”

J did not move for a long moment, eerily still, watching Frank carefully. Studying his face, trying to interpret the tone of the older man’s voice. Eventually, he responded with one curt little nod.

Frank tried to smile, and failed. He sighed instead, closed his eyes, and hung his head.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”