4 years of my life, dedicated to this place. Days spent at a college full of future villains of the week, nights spent watching over and caring for the people that would, and could, kill me if their mood ever shifted when they had the chance. I lost my girlfriend. My friends stopped talking to me.
And I didn't hold it against a single one of them. I didn't resent them, I still don't. Maybe I should have. Maybe I do. Not like it'd change anything.
Four. Years. I worked hard. I kept my head down, I did my part. And then, finally, I got the interview. A chance to become a proper doctor here, rather then just the orderly. I talked with the Good Doctor, he was impressed by my resume, he knew the time I spent here. He said I'd be in consideration, with a wink and a grin. I left, sure it was mine. I didn't even register the man sitting outside the office, waiting for his interview. I went out that night, I celebrated. And then, I come to work the next day, THE NEXT DAY, and what do I see but the night shift staff, all gathered in the break room, welcoming.. him. Doctor Jonathan Crane.
I still remember the look Roger gave me. Some halfway mix between empathy and apathy. Like he knew it was inevitable. I didn't stay long. I said my bit, and I went to clock in. I didn't even register it, until I got to my locker, and found the letter thanking me for my time, with a paper weight and all. Pitch black, smooth like a beach stone, with the Arkham Asylum logo in white on it, proudly displayed, like having it was a privilege. Like having it was supposed to be enough.
I almost quit then and there. I drifted through out work for the next 2 days, I stopped making conversation, even with Roger. It was clock in, rounds, clock out. On that 3rd day though, that was what would have been the straw to break the camels back. It was late, early morning you could say, I think maybe 5 AM. I knew I'd be too tired to cook by the time I got home, but I wanted breakfast. Important meal. So I went to the kitchen, where we prepare the patients food. I didn't hear the shouting, at first. Then, there he was, panting, crying, panicking. That poor man. Leonard Schmitz, good guy, brain chemistry was permanently damaged after an accident in ACE chemicals. He liked me. I liked him. I'd usually help ground him out of his spirals.. but this was different. He was asking me about the wolves, about the bears yelling at him.. he was delirious. I figured Roger would find me soon, so I did my best to talk Leonard down.
It almost worked. I saw it, in his eyes, that clarity he got when I asked him about the lilacs. His mother loved them, grew them all over the garden when he was a child. I heard Roger down the hall, getting closer, I looked to the door for just.. a second.
And then, his mood shifted.
Ripped open one of the drawers, grabbed the first thing he could get a hand on, a meat cleaver, and threw it with all his might. Last thing I saw was a flash of stainless stained steel on fluorescent light, before everything went.. hot. Pitch black, wet, searing hotness in my face. Roger screamed when he saw me, tackled Leonard. I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I didn't even register it, until we were on our way to the hospital. The eye socket was too damaged to repair on my plan, Arkham wasn't covering it.
Leonard didn't want to hurt me. He didn't want to be there. He was panicking. He was scared. Not naturally.
And then the reports came in, of the abnormalities found in his respiratory and blood, Blue Poppies. All recorded and submitted.. by Doctor Jonathan Crane. The Scarecrow.
