Fear Itself

Friday, September 25th, 2009 - Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, Pennsylvania.

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

The insanely happy voice sliced through Rebecca's head, and she answered with a low growl, burying her head further into the sheets.

"Time for your medication, honey! Up you get!"

"Bite me."

"Now now, come along, now."

She groaned, and then, reluctantly, forced herself upright. She tried to focus for a second and then gave up, pressing her palms against her closed eyelids, seeing sparks.

"That's the spirit, here you are, darling."

Sweetheart, honey, darling... what was next, babe? Rebecca forced herself to concentrate, and the familiar grey tray was perched on the edge of her bed, with the even more annoyingly familiar nurse standing over her, smiling, brightly, "And how are you feeling today, Becky?"

She gritted her teeth, "I've told you. It's Rebecca." She glanced around her, "And this god-awful hour sure as hell can't be called 'day'."

She was being deliberately snarky, and she knew it. But, truth be told, she couldn't help it. This forever-smiling bitch seemed to bring out the crazy in her.

Nurse Cheerful's smile didn't flicker, "Your tablets, honey."

Sweetheart, honey, darling, sweetheart, honey, darling, I am not your fucking dog! For the love of sweet Jesus, woman, go get yourself fucked and stop hanging off of me!

Rebecca suppressed the thought, easily. Her eyes moved around the small room, catching automatically onto the door, which was open, but locked with a sort of elastic bolt, leaving plenty of room to see light, but not enough for someone to escape through. This was a necessity for the staff more than it was for Rebecca - no-one wanted to be between her and a shut door.

A small shot of familiar disappointment slid through her as she saw the lock firmly in place. Damn. She kept praying that, one day, Nurse Whatever-Her-Name-Was would get sloppy. But not today, it seemed.

"Your tablets, Becky." She repeated, and this time a touch of warning echoed in her voice.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, playing for time. This wet thing in front of her did danger like a drug-crazed rhino did subtlety.

Her eyes moved onto the tray on her bed. She reached out, and took hold of the two cups - one containing water, the other containing two small, white tablets.

"Take them all, there's a good girl." The Nurse said again, tension flickering through her tone.

The 'girl' nodded, slowly, and knocked back the pills, followed closely by the small glass of water. She winced at the taste, as she always did, but she didn't complain. She always took her pills. Because if she didn't, she knew they would make her.

Why? Because the pills she was taking were Clozapine, and Rebecca Lauren Wells was a schizophrenic.

"Open."

Rebecca opened her mouth, obediently, lifting her tongue so the nurse could see she hadn't hidden the tablets underneath it. Not that that was likely. The foul taste would have made her spit it out in seconds.

The nurse gave a small, overly-cheery smile, "There's a good girl."

Rebecca rolled her eyes again, but didn't comment.

"Now, you better get some rest. Big day tomorrow."

"Why, is it a Sunday?" she asked, sarcastically. Everyone knew she hated the night nurses and their chipper, happy-go-lucky attitude that matched the chirpy yellow walls, and she made no effort to counteract that image. A mental hospital like this had enough problems without trying to convince the patients they wanted to be here.

"What, you don't know? Tomorrow is the twenty-sixth, Becky! The twenty-sixth of September!"

She raised a bored eyebrow, "And that's important how?"

She shook her head, incredulously, "It's your transfer date!"

Oh. Of course. Now she remembered. A couple of months ago, one of the nurses she could stand talking for more than five minutes without wanting to kill her had sat her down and told her about this other hospital. This other bigger hospital, one down in Gotham. She'd seen Gotham once before, when she was younger, and had to admit she wasn't overly impressed. More than anything... it scared her.

But this hospital... apparently it was the best. Apparently there they'd be able to do more for her. Figure out the right medication; figure out a way to give her that few more precious hours of silence. Maybe figure out what was wrong with her. How to fix her.

Like a fucking totalled car.

"Oh," she grunted, realising Nurse Whoever-The-Fuck-She-Was was waiting for a response, "Fantastic."

The nurse tutted at her from behind her clipboard, "What, you're not excited? Somewhere new, new people, new surroundings?"

She shrugged, indifferently, "Why should I care, it's just another locked room in another locked corridor. Doesn't make any difference to me."

"Now now, Becky, don't be like that. Don't you at least want to know your new Doctor's name?"

She looked at the nurse for a second, and then sighed, "Okay. Fine. What's the unlucky feller's name."

"Doctor Crane. Doctor Jonathan Crane."