An Expected Appointment [Jeremiah]

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Victor had been here for a while. The world looked so different when you just changed your perspective a little. In his cramped cell he was the barrier between two walls, like a bridge connecting them both. He had held himself in this position for over thirty minutes now. He would have to stop soon as he knew and important meeting was coming up. Dr. Arkham’s weekly session with him was marked on his calendar.

He decided to end it early, and with a snap motion his feet planted on the floor. He stayed crouched on the ground for a long moment, letting his body adjust to its new found momentum. As he recovered he slowly stood and loosened his shoulder with a few rolls. Carefully he walked to his calendar on the wall and ran his finger along the week of X’s. The one he stopped on was today, marked with a circle and Dr. Arkham’s name. He was happy that it was today, it had felt like an eternity since they last spoke. His relationship with Dr. Arkham wasn’t bad like many others seemed to be.

He heard bad rumors about the man from zombies and sheep. The animals did like to stalk and the zombies did like to gossip. They were just trying to find purpose in a world that would only bring them pain. There was only one way out from that pain. Sometimes you had to cut deep to find it. His free hand ran over his arm and picked at one of his scars.

They didn’t allow him an sharp objects in his room, they said it was for safety and therapy. He was inclined to believe them, they were the doctors after all. Victor thought more of Dr. Arkham as someone that would listen to him, someone that would hear his story as to why he was who he was. Why he needed to do what he did and how it all had a reason and a purpose. Why did people want to continue to suffer? Because they weren’t people.

He walked to his cot and sat down. It was only a matter of time before Dr. Arkham would either come to his cell or he’d be escorted down the hall. Lately, they had been doing less of that, too many escape attempts recently. But Victor never had an real plans of going anywhere, when the opportunity present itself….It was a sign to take it. It often had….

He looked up from his bed as a glimmer of shine caught his eye. He squinted and crawled off his caught onto the floor to the corner of his cell. There was a small crack under his door, what was this? Slowly his hands pulled out a short spine of metal…..A shiv, shoved under his door.

[Jeremiah Arkham - Black Mask]

Jeremiah had watched the metal object be pulled out of sight and he couldn’t help but smile as he entered the code to the cell and swiped his ID card. Jeremiah had been here since the beginning of this asylum, then it had been new and untarnished. Since it had gone through security upgrades, riots, attempts at mass exoduses—those stories were told on the walls. Every crack and questionable stain that remained no matter the scrubbing told the tales of those who had come and gone down these halls: inmates, staffs, unfortunate visitors. Jeremiah knew them all just as he knew every single sound these doors could make. Now he listened to the slide of locks and mechanisms before the light on the code box turned green and the door slid open before him.

The shiv Victor held in his hands caught the light from outside and Jeremiah stepped inside. Any other would have feared to cross into the room when this man had anything he slice with, but Jeremiah had been his doctor from his first day here. Of course, back then they’d kept him in a contraption that resembled an iron maiden without the spears within. They’d debated Descartes, spoke of philosophy and though Zsasz was not cured, that little mattered. All those years had been a success in rapport. That is why Jeremiah had nothing to fear as the door shut behind him.

He held out his hand for the weapon. “It has not ceased to amaze me just how materials like these are still to be found and crafted. More so at the resourcefulness of all housed here. That was confiscated from the pod on the next hallway during a surprise inspection. You know I’ll have to ask for it back,” he told Victor conversationally as he took the shiv and wrapped it in a handkerchief. He slid it in his pocket. “It fell as I bent to enter the code to your door.”

Victor’s bed was a reinforced cot on a slab of concrete. There had been no choice. He couldn’t have a frame to his bed because of the springs and screws. As for the other decorations in his room, Jeremiah’s eyes loomed on the makeshift desk. He had spent a few hours gluing the milk crates and wood that constructed it. He’d made many of the decorations here, all up to code and mindful of Victor’s restrictions.

“I hope I didn’t interrupt your daily endurance exercises. I hope they’re coming along as much as I hope you are doing well, Victor.” He moved to pull the stool from the desk and took a seat. “Let’s talk about perceptions today, would you like that?”

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Victor only held the shiv in his hands alone for a few seconds, but those few seconds opened up a world of possibility to him. He looked at his arms, seeing each mark, each cut, another life fallen to his mercy. There were so many things he could do with this shiv in his hands. But before he could go over all the things the door to his cell opened and in walked Jeremiah Arkham.

He saw his hand extend and Victor didn’t give it a second thought before he gave it to him. He explained that it was his shiv anyway, for him. He hadn’t intended to take it away from him in the first place, but if he wanted it. If victor wanted it he knew that no one could have been able to take it from him. But Dr. Arkham wasn’t one of the people that would take it from him for no reason. He listened and understood what he was saying. He was trying to…lead him somewhere.

Victor didn’t quite know what that was about. He’d made it clear why he did the things that he did, but society seemed to think he should be in a place like this. The sheep didn’t want their flock disturbed, a sacrifice to save their sins. The only way their pain could be washed away was in blood. Dr. Arkham understood this, but only he could let him out of here. He was keeping here to help him, he’d been told that before and as far as he had treated him he was inclined to believe it.

But sometimes the things he said didn’t make sense.

“No” He said softly, almost as if coming out of a daze. There were so many possibilities that were just taken out of his hand. “I was just standing here, waiting for our meeting.” He responded before listening to what he wanted to talk about today.

Perception.

What was perception exactly? How one see’s the world? How he sees it or how other’s do? He’d imagine that the sheep see the world as others want it to be seen. The zombies don’t see the world at all. But how does Dr. Arkham see the world? The question puzzled him. “Who’s perception?” He asked curiously.