“Well, it’s time to change when it’s time to change
Move by the time come along for the ride, don’t you see
When it’s time to change you’ve got to rearrange.”

- The Brady Bunch, Time For Change

“Mr. Walker.” A calm voice said as the tall man stepped inside the large, wooden doors at the front of the building. His eyes looked around before slowly shifting downward, locking his gaze with a small woman, probably in her twenties, like him. He smiled softly as he held out a hand to her.
“Please. Just call me River. You must be the head caretaker,” he replied, feeling her shake his hand. “Yes, I’ve seen your file, Miss Willow Corey. My father said you were a wonderful worker, getting along well with the patients.” 
This time, she smiled, looking down as she slipped her small hand from his larger one. He took in her short yet thin figure, tucking a hand into his pocket.
River did not look like the type of man to work in an insane asylum – with his chin-length ginger hair and his large sea green eyes. He looked more like a young child, save for being close to six feet tall.
Recently, the owner of the Walker Asylum – Richard B. Walker, who had taken over after his own father’s death – passed away, leaving his only son in charge. River had never been in the asylum before, but he knew what to do, having known he would take over some day.
“Mr. Wa-” The woman cleared her throat before looking at him again. “River. Why don’t I show you around?” A short nod was all she got for an answer as River straightened his black dress shirt as the woman spun around, her dirty-blonde curls bouncing as she walked. Due to her small form, she took small steps, which let River catch up to her in only a few strides.  
As they neared a large, metal door, she pulled a key ring off of her She unlocked the door and let him in before locking behind her.
“You will be receiving your own keys in a bit. To ensure safety, there are different keys for every cell and door. You’ll get used to which keys are which,” she finished with a small laugh. He smiled at the small sound but it soon disappeared when she held an arm in front of him, stopping him from moving. 
Loud shouts and screams reach his ear as a door is opened ahead to the left. River watched as a young girl – probably eighteen – was pulled from the room, two men holding each of her arms in tight grasps. She thrashed in their grasp, screaming at them to let her go. Her dark hair was clinging to her neck with sweat, as she looked around frantically. She screamed louder before she is pulled into another room. The door – obviously soundproofed – was closed and her screams were no longer heard.
“That’s patient 01127,” she said before he could ask. “She is diagnosed with hallucinatory schizophrenia.” She walked as she spoke; walking up to the door the girl had been dragged from. She placed a hand on the knob but he stopped her before she could enter.
“Do you just call them by their numbers?” He asked quietly, as if someone would hear him. 
“Yes, under your fathers instructions,” she replied, looking up at him. Her smoky eyes met his brighter ones as she frowned.
“That will be changed,” he said, stepping back again. “I want them to feel comfortable and calling them by a number will make them only feel more unstable than they really are. I want them to feel some form of normality.” 
She nodded quickly before opening to door, stepping inside. The room was large and had many different activities. It looked like some kind of playroom and he stepped further in, not only seeing a few patients.
“This is the common room. The patients are brought here to socialize if they wish. There are also different activities that will calm their minds,” she explained as he walked over to a patient that was sitting on the floor, putting together a puzzle. The puzzle – which was pure white – was being put together at an incredible speed, the girl’s hand seeming to have a mind of its own.
River smiled softly and knelt down next to her, feeling Willow’s eyes on his back as he tiled his head to look at the girl’s face, which was shrouded with her sun-kissed brown hair. 
“Hi, I’m River Walker –“
“That’s an amusing name,” the girl said, cutting him off. He nodded and laughed softly, causing her to look at him.
“I suppose it is.” He met her green-eyed gaze and slouched so his eyes were at the same level. “And what’s your name?” 
“Patient 01605.” It sounded rehearsed to him, as if she was asked it a lot. A frown took over his lips again as his eyebrows pulled together slightly.
“That’s not your name,” he said; smile returning to his lips as he looked at her. “What’s your name?” The look of surprise in her eyes was a bit worrying as he sat down next to her.
“I-I go by Joker,” she replied quietly. He wondered if a caretaker had ever asked her for her name. He smiled a bit wider at the slight progress he was making.
“And why do you go by that?” He asked, tilting his head slightly.
“No one says their real names here… I’m Joker,” she repeated as if he hadn’t heard her. She reached down and picked up the board the puzzle was on before flipping it upside down, letting the pieces fall to the floor, much to River’s surprise. He watched her place the board down and begin the puzzle over again.
“That looks like a complicated puzzle,” he stated, watching her put all the edge pieces on, not a single mistake made. “You’re really good at it,” he continued when she didn’t answer. “How many times have you solved it?” 
No answer came from her as she worked on the puzzle. River jumped slightly as a hand touched his shoulder. He turned his head to look up at Willow who seemed to look a bit worried. 
“Come now, River. We should continue,” she said quickly, pulling him to his feet. River walked with her to the door, frowning once again. This place was strange…
As the door was opened, there was a voice from behind them. River turned around to see Joker sitting calmly, her eyes looking up at him.
“Pardon, what did you say, Joker?” He asked, turning to face her. 
“I have solved this puzzle six hundred and ninety two times,” she repeated, a small smirk pulling onto her thin lips. “I like you, Jesus. And that’s a privilege.” 
He smiled widely, trying to brush off the crack about his name as he tipped his head slightly.
“Thank you,” was all he could manage before she looked back at her puzzle. He looked around to see a small patient sitting in the corner of the room, playing with some building blocks.
“Patient 02307,” Willow said quietly, pulling him from the room. She closed the door and began to walk again.
“Why don’t you call them by name?” River asked her, standing next to her.
“Because they don’t like being called by their real names and no one but the patients know their aliases,” she sighed, looking up at him. “I don’t know what you did to even get her to tell you.” 
“I asked,” he said simply, still walking. “And she likes me.” Willow followed next to him and quickly changed to topic as she tapped a finger on the soundproof door the men had brought the girl through. 
“This is where the patients are taken for any type of medical procedures. The patient that was brought there before probably didn’t take her medication. It happens sometimes,” she explained before continuing on. “I’ll show you in there when they aren’t working on anyone.”
“This is the padded cell.” She tapped on a door and River looked through the small window on the door, eyes widening as he saw a figure sitting in the middle of the room, legs spread in front of him, a straight-jacket on his torso. He had dark ginger hair that covered his eyes as he hung his head. His chest was heaving but other than that, he was sitting perfectly still. 
“Who is that? What happened?” River asked quietly, looking at Willow. He stepped away from the door, not feeling comfortable close to it.
“That’s patient 00503. He had a breakdown earlier today and to keep the others safe, we had to put him in here,” She said lowly, stepping away from the door. “Now let’s continue. I’ll take you to the patient rooms.” 
She walked over to where a metal gate was, unlocking it before stepping into the long hall of doors. His eyes widened, as he looked at all the rooms. 
“I’ll show you one room because they mostly look the same. Some of the patients will add their own touches to their rooms, but other than that, there’s no difference,” she said, unlocking a door. She poked her head in before a small sound left her.
“Oh, I thought you were outside for the hour,” she said to someone in the room. River touched her shoulder and smiled.
“May I?” He asked, smiling sweetly. She stepped back and watched him silently. River slowly slipped into the room and stood by the door, his eyes on a girl – probably smaller than Willow – who was sitting on the floor by her bed, a book in her lap. She lifted her head and looked at him with large, brown eyes.
“Hi, I’m new here and I was wondering if you would let me see your room. Help me get used to things?” He smiled sweetly as he crouched down in front of her. She nodded silently, closing her book. He stood up and watched her place the book on the small table beside her bed before pulling herself to her feet. 
River began to look around; leaning down to look at the books she had on a shelf. The room was small, but quite empty. The walls a dull grey with a few drawings on the paint and there were only a few things in the room – a bed, a dresser, a table and a few shelves on the wall. He turned back to her and noticed she was standing on her bed, reaching for a stuffed animal that was on the shelf above her head. She sat down again, holding the stuffed bulldog close. He moved over and crouched in front of her.
“What’s your number and alias?” He asked, knowing it would be useful to have both. She looked at him, shoulders hunched as she hugged the bulldog closer. She looked scared.
“Patient 01810,” she said. “Clown." He tipped his head as he watched her.
“Why do you call yourself that?” She shrugged and looked at him, not speaking. “Are you friends with Joker?” 
“I talk to her but she screams a lot. They don’t like it,” she said it like it was the most natural thing. 
“They? Who are they?” He leaned closer – but not too close as to scare her.
“The others,” as she said it, a finger tapped her temple. “The others come out when she screams. They don’t like it.”
He nodded as he began to understand her. She must have MPD. He stood up and smiled again before he walked toward the door.
“Thank you, Clown,” River said, seeing her nod. He waved before walking out, seeing Willow lock the door behind him. He sighed as he looked at her. “These kids don’t deserve this… They’re so sweet,” he said, his mind flashing back to the boy in the padded cell. I’m sure he’s nice too.
“I know,” was all she said as he continued walking down the hall. “Now, continuing on. We have security at the gates, in case they find a way to get out.” 
She reached the other end of the long hall and unlocked the gate, pulling it open. River stepped through and she followed behind him.
“In here, we have the kitchen,” she pointed to a door on the left. “And the dining hall.” She pointed to the opposite door. He stepped over to the door and looked at her. She opened it easily and looked at him. “This door doesn’t need to be locked,” she replied to his unasked question. He nodded and moved into the large room. There were tables in rows through the whole room. He looked at where he saw a couple patients.
“They come here just to sit sometimes. If they don’t feel like being in the common room,” she stood next to him as he looked around. “Those are patients 02005 and 01606.” 
The two boys talked quietly, one leaning on the table as the other leaned back, hands gripping the table. River nodded before stepping back out, looking at her. 
“That’s about all I have to show you. The rest can wait until tomorrow. I’m sure you want to see your office now.” He nodded in response and she pulled out her keys again. 
She led him back through the asylum, going to the main hall. She turned around a corner with River behind her. As they passed the padded cell, he flinched slightly, not knowing if he wanted to go near that patient for a while. 
When she stopped, she was standing in front of a door. It had his last name printed across a plaque above the door and he smiled. 
“Thank you, Willow,” he said, holding out his hand again. She shook his hand and smiled softly. 
“I know you’ll do great here. You seem to already have the patients liking you,” she stated. “Right now, there are only the seven you saw here and I know that you’ll have a great relationship with them. You see, your father didn’t want us to get attached to the patients in case they were to be put down.” He sighed before looking at her.
“I know, but that will change now,” he said quietly, lose in his own thoughts. When she pulled her hand away, he snapped back into reality and looked at her. “Again, thank you.”
He turned and stepped into the room, waving at her before closing the door. He saw her bow her head before turning and walking back down the hall. He sighed again and fell onto a chair behind an L shaped desk. He reached onto the desk and picked up the key ring, looking at it. He thought silently of how young the patients were and it bothered him a bit. He began to wonder how his father ran the asylum before. He didn’t sound like the person that River knew.
Something had to change.

2: Joker

“Free me now to give me place,
Keep me caged and free the beast
Fallin’ faster as time goes by,
Fear is not seen through these eyes.”

- 3 Doors Down, Life Of My Own

 

The room was much more lavish than River had expected.

Compared to the Walker Asylum patients’ rooms, River’s own room was large, and wastefully spacious, furnished with deep reds and mellow grays. Darkness shrouded the room like a blanket, and several times River either banged his head or stubbed his toe on a piece of furniture he hadn’t previously seen. His muffled curses seemed awfully loud in the formerly uninhabited room, and he flinched every time an echo reached him.

Finally making his way to the bed, which lay neatly made in an otherwise empty corner, the ginger-haired man sighed and dropped his small black duffel bag of clothes and books on the floor.

I’ll put it away tomorrow…was the last thought in River’s mind before he fell into an undisturbed sleep.

…

At first, River wasn’t sure if it was the scream or the bang that woke him. The former started about a second before the latter, and it pierced into River’s mind with an octave he hadn’t previously been aware was humanly possible.

As he floundered in his blankets, rapid footsteps pounded down the hallway, and frantic shouts rose over the still present screaming.

“Goddammit!” River finally threw off the suffocating duvet, gasping in some air, silently cursing the cover as he scrambled up and ran shaking fingers through his long hair. Only a moment later, he was out the door, melding into the stream of white-clad doctors and nurses and psychiatrists.

“What’s going on?” River managed to beeline his way to Willow’s blonde curls, and immediately noticed how the smoky-eyed girl’s lips were drawn into a thin line, her hands clenched into neat fists.

“Joker.” That was the only response River received, as they finally rounded the corner that led to the patient’s ward. Willow gave River a shove in between his shoulder blades, and he stumbled up to the gray steel door. The deadbolt on it was undone, and now River could hear – he could very, very clearly hear – that the screams were indeed originating from this room.

Swallowing and uselessly trying to smooth down his wrinkled black shirt, River gingerly pushed open the door with two fingers.

The sight he found almost moved him to tears.

Joker’s eyes were wild. Unfocused; feral. Her hair was lying in messy, damp layers over her forehead and cheeks, and her mouth was open, nonsensical screams pouring from between those pale lips. Her entire body bucked and thrashed, and the objects on her bedside table would have been knocked down had it not been for the two other patients on either side of her, holding down her arms.

Clown, her curly hair almost entirely covering her face, was trying to shout over Joker’s screams, eyebrows furrowed, looking intensely worried.

The girl that River had seen yesterday, the one with hallucinatory schizophrenia, was on the green-eyed girl’s other side, looking much more stable than she had been the previous day, lips pressed together and eyes narrowed. Joker’s feet and knees missed them by only inches, the tendons on her slender limbs standing out with exertion.

Then Joker’s eyes fixed on River.

He immediately felt dirty, like he was intruding. Like he shouldn’t have come into Joker’s room without her permission.

“No!” Joker’s voice was shrill, ear-splitting. “Get away! Monster!” River resisted the urge to cover his ears and slowly stepped closer, adding his voice to Clown’s.

“Joker, please! Calm down! No one is going to hurt you, I promise!” Reaching out, he tentatively touched the girl’s shoulder.

She immediately froze.

Joker stared up at him with wide eyes and her mouth agape, all of her muscles tense. River would have laughed at the comical expression had he not been afraid of losing his eyes if he did so. Both Clown and the other girl were also staring at River; only they were more or less…glowering.

“You really shouldn’t have done that.” The hallucinatory schizophrenic’s voice reached him a second before River felt cold hands around his throat. He lurched back, instinctively trying to get away, but Joker clung to him as though her life depended on it. And in her mind, it probably did.

There was a terrifyingly punishing force behind Joker’s grip on his throat, and River’s mind flooded with panic. He blindly reached out – one hand toward Clown, the other toward the door, where Willow’s disembodied voice reached him only seconds later. Joker’s screams had resumed, this time with a loud and high-pitched vengeance. “No! I won’t let you! You can’t do this to me!”

“Joker!” River’s vision started to blur, and his head felt like a balloon filled with damp sand.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, Joker’s strangling hold was gone. Slowly, very slowly, River’s senses came back to him, and he gazed around with still-bleary eyes.

“Night terrors.” Clown’s voice was matter-of-fact, her arms folded around Joker’s trembling frame as she stared at River. River realized that Willow and several other nurses had managed to pry Joker away from him, and the girl had immediately collapsed into Clown’s arms, sobbing.

River slumped back into the wooden chair that one of the doctors brought in, bringing a hand to his neck, feeling the inflamed skin and wincing.

“What do you mean, ‘night terrors’?” Frankly, he was shocked at how scratchy and harsh his own voice was. After a brief moment of mourning the temporary loss of his sweet-talking abilities, he finally lifted his sea green eyes to Clown and the other girl. A young, slender nurse with pale brown hair and warm, anxious amber eyes scuttled over to him, gently handing him a cold glass of water. He was thankful for the soothing familiarity of it.

“Joker has night terrors. She sees the worst kinds of things.” Clown’s eyes were warm and fond as she looked down at the taller girl who was cradled in her arms. “Demons, monsters, and all the sorts of death you could imagine.”

Now that River could see properly, he took the time to look around Joker’s room. Three of the four walls were a deep purple, and the other wall was of bright silver. Shelves lined the roof, covered with books and a plethora of stuffed animals. Little trinkets and papers littered the black and silver desk that lay in the corner opposite the desk, and River realized that Joker must have put a lot of work into making this room her own.

“She’s been here the longest out of all of us,” The other girl added in, her hands clasped behind her back, her already large eyes stretched wide in the wonder of it all. “Five years. And she hasn’t gotten any better.”

River’s eyebrows knitted together, as he looked down at Joker, who now seemed so…frail. Vulnerable.

Breakable.

Slowly, Joker lifted her head, and as if seeing everything for the first time, her jade orbs widened and her mouth fell open. Words came out, slowly, “What…the…hell are you doing in my room?!” Energy miraculously renewed, the small girl leapt to her feet, slipping easily out of Clown’s arms. “Get out!” She was staring at River, but this time her eyes weren’t wild. They weren’t feral with fear.

They were hard, cold, and certain. Warning him that if he didn’t leave, worse things would befall him than merely a sore throat and a scratchy voice.

Panicked, and shocked at this behavior that was so much different from what he had seen yesterday, River jumped to his feet, muttering scrambled apologies, before darting out.

Willow and the others had left, and the silence of the ward unnerved River more than the hissing and growling coming from Joker’s room. A couple seconds later, the dark-haired girl came scrambling out as well, sighing as Joker’s voice chased after her.

“She needs to be alone. Clown will be out soon as well,” the girl murmured, not even looking at River. “Joker is like our leader. She knows best. But she gets really violent, and scary.” She sighed again, tucking her head down before ambling off toward another room, the door ajar.

…

The next day, when the sun was high in the baby-blue sky, beating down with sweltering heat, the patients of the Walker Asylum were let outside, into the small, caged-off yard that lay behind the sprawling building.

They needed fresh air every now and again, and after all, what harm could they do with grass?

River’s eyes were trained on Joker’s back, and despite being behind her he was still irrationally worried that she would catch him staring. He wasn’t entirely sure that her head couldn’t do a one-eighty.

Once everyone was outside, River found himself tailing after one patient, and then another, trying to figure out how they interacted with one another. As far as he could tell, they were all friendly with each other…or, mostly.

Joker was avoiding one of them.

The boy River had seen in the straight-jacket yesterday, locked away in the soundproof room, had tried approaching Joker a couple of times, but every time Joker had avoided him, either simply walking away or snapping at him.

Now, he was slowly walking up to her, frowning – though River couldn’t tell if it was from worry, anxiety or anger. “Hey, Joker…” He reached out one hand, but before it could get anywhere near touching her, her fingers snapped around his frail wrist and her burning green eyes slanted toward him.

“Personal space, Smiles,” she bit out. Even River, even though he was a safe distance away (and shielded by a rosebush), was scared for the boy – “Smiles”.

Smiles slowly retracted his hand, and Clown, who was standing on Joker’s other side, was glancing back and forth between the two, either anticipating or fearing a fight.

“Sorry, Joker,” Smiles muttered, though he didn’t seem sorry at all. If anything, his eyes gleamed brighter when the lean girl berated him. “Why’re you so mean?”

At this, an odd, wicked smile curled both corners of Joker’s lips. River didn’t even notice the blood dribbling down his fingers from the rosebush’s thorns as he leaned closer, intent on this new turn of events.

“Smiles,” Joker tutted, her voice condescending, “we all know you’re not sorry. You can’t be sorry.” River pondered this for a moment. Sociopath, he mentally decided. “And trust me, that wasn’t me being mean. If I were being mean, you would be either bleeding or dead.” Her smile widened briefly before dropping completely, replaced by an intense scowl. “You disgust me,” she spat out, before turning sharply, grabbing Clown’s hand, and walking away.

…

“Joker?” The name was starting to sound sinister to River. It sounded like a monster, like something that had crawled straight out of the horror movies his parents had so adored. And the girl matching the name could very well be classified as that as well.

Currently, her burnt sienna-topped head lifted and her gaze narrowed when she realized who it was that was standing in front of her. Her white puzzle rested on her lap – she was sitting in the middle of the common room, along with the six other patients. They were all engaging each other somehow, save for Joker.

River could really understand why the dark-haired schizophrenic – Puppet, he had learned – had called Joker their “leader”. She had a commending presence, and despite being one of the younger patients she had been there the longest, and therefore knew more about the asylum than anyone. River himself still didn’t know where all of the passageways led.

“What’s up, Jesus?” The young girl had refused to call him by any other name; bemusedly stating that “Jesus” fit him best. River really didn’t see the logic behind her reasoning.

“Well…I was wondering if I’d be able to talk to you.” At her glowering look, he rushed on, “About last night.” The words did nothing but make her glare worse, and River shifted uncomfortably underneath the weight of that stare. “I want to know…exactly what it is you dream about.”

“They’re not dreams,” she stated with an icy calm, and her tone indicated that she thought that River should’ve known better. “If you call them dreams, that makes them sound good. And they’re anything but good.” With an air of this conversation bores me, so it’s over, she returned her focus to the puzzle in her lap, mindlessly snapping the pieces into place.

The voices of Smiles and another one of the male patients reached them, their tones loud and arrogant. It didn’t last long, however, after a sharp snap of, “Smiles! Scorch! That’s enough!” from Joker.

River slowly stood, unwilling and unwanting to push the girl any further, in fear of snapping some vital nerve or soft spot inside of her.

She is complicated was the best explanation River could formulate to explain Joker’s behavior, as he scribbled down notes into the small moleskin journal he had brought with him. And she needs more attention. Someone to talk to, someone who can help her get over whatever traumatic experience caused these nightmares. He frowned down at the neat handwriting, and sighed before snapping it shut and placing it wearily down on his bedside table – dragged across the room from where it had previously rested next to the wooden dresser.

Laying back, staring up at the ceiling that was almost lost in the darkness of the room, River’s last conscious thought was that these patients were going to be very hard to understand and help.

3: Clown

“I'm sorry, I'm leaving.
I'm sorry for seeing, the side of you that is oh-so deceiving
All I see, all the lies I believed in.
I'm sorry, I'm leaving.”

- The Veer Union, I’m Sorry

 

River had only been at the Walker Asylum for two days and he already had a sort of routine. He would spend the day doing the same things with the patients before retiring to his room and doing some paperwork after which, he would get some well needed rest.

He surprised to find that he was actually beginning to like it here. He got along well with everyone – mostly. After the incident with Joker in her room, he had been a bit scared to go near her, not sure of how she would react.

River rolled out of his bed and ran his hands over his face, a low groan leaving his lips before he turned off his alarm. He was most definitely not a morning person, but in order to get ready for the day, he had to wake up around seven. He dropped his hands and stood up, yelping as he tripped over a stack of books on the floor next to his bed.

Glaring at the books, he stood up, grabbing a change of clean clothes, and walked to the bathroom.

…

After getting ready for the day, River kicked the books under his bed before walking out of his room, going down to the dining hall. He fixed his black shirt and looked around, smiling as he made his way over to where he saw Willow.

“What happened?” She asked as soon as he reached her side. He looked around before turning back to her, a look of confusion in his eyes. “You have a red spot on your forehead.” He sighed and lifted a hand to his forehead.

“I tripped. Don’t worry about it,” he muttered before dropping his hand. She nodded slowly before looking back at the patients. He looked around and frowned as an odd feeling came over him. “Something’s not right…” He could tell she felt it too, but she actually knew what it was.

“Clown and Joker,” she said, having already gotten used to using the aliases instead of their numbers, just like the rest of the staff.

He looked at where he saw the patients sitting, frowning when he realized that Clown was sitting as far as she could from Joker.

“I talk to her but she screams a lot. They don’t like it.” The words ran through his head and he frowned. They seemed so close the other day.

He was snapped out of his thoughts as the patients stood, talking as they walked out of the dining hall, Willow behind them. River looked over and quickly rushed to her side, leaning closer to her.

“What happened to them?” He asked quietly, frowning as he kept his eyes on Clown who walked silently on the other side of Puppet. He looked over at Willow quickly to see her shrug.

“I don’t know, no one does,” she said simply before he had to go to the front of the group and unlock the door to the courtyard. He watched as they rushed out, obviously wanting to enjoy their time outside. Puppet, Joker and Clown sat down on the grass and two of the three talked, the other holding the puppy dog toy she usually had and looking at the ground. The others probably didn’t see it as strange but River wanted to know what was going on with her.

He shook his head before looking around the other patients, seeing Scorch chasing Caine around the courtyard. He was laughing In a high-pitched voice, arms stretched out in front of him. Turning his head a bit, River saw the small, blonde patient – Happy – sitting against the fence with Smiles next to him, taking in a low voice. Happy didn’t speak much, just nodded and shook his head. River liked the kids, their energy and somewhat kind personalities.

…

The hour was over quickly and River watched as the patients went inside, smiles on their lips. River smiled as he walked behind Scorch and Caine, silently wondering what was wrong with the two boys. From what he had seen, the boys hadn’t had any breakdowns or any strange behavior. He made a mental note to keep his eyes on the boys.

River had decided not to look at the patient files, wanting them to tell him about themselves instead. He watched as the four boys quickly went to the common room, the girls following behind them slowly, stilling talking. Once in the common room, River leaned against the wall, hair falling in his eyes.

“I know… It’s annoying,” Joker muttered, causing River to tune into the conversation.

“Actually, I think it’s kinda cute,” Puppet said quietly, frowning. As she said it, the blackette looked over her shoulder at the group of boys. “I mean, he tries to act sorry.”

“So he’s lying. How is that cute?” Joker said sharply, eyes narrowed.

“Just cause you don’t like him, doesn’t mean I can’t,” Puppet countered, crossing her arms stubbornly as she looked away. Joker sighed and looked at Clown.

“Do you agree?” She said, eyes narrowed as she looked at the smaller girl. A small “uh…” left the girls lips before she shrugged quickly.

“I don’t think they would be good together, but you can’t stop her,” Clown said quickly, looking at the puppy toy. She stood up as Joker looked back at Puppet, saying something about how she doesn’t like ‘him’ and that Puppet should stay away.

River jumped slightly as a hand pulled on his black shirt sleeve. He looked down at Clown, seeing her looking up at him.

“Can I go to my room?” She asked, blinking brown eyes at him. He thought for a moment before nodding, walking out of the room, the young girl walking behind him.

River knew he had to start to understand these kids one by one and he figured Clown would be a good start. She seemed open enough to talk to him.

When they reached her room, he unlocked the door and let her walk in before stepping in after her, closing the door. The small body whipped around to face him, eyes confused.

“Clown, is something wrong?” He asked slowly, choosing his next words carefully. “You and Joker seem to be… distant, now.”

He saw her shoulders fall as a sigh left her thin lips. Clown seated herself on her bed, leaving enough room so he could sit down. When he was settled next to her, he frowned, looking at her.

“I don’t want to hurt her…” she said softly, head turned away as she hugged the dog. As he looked at her, he tried to guess her age, figuring around sixteen or seventeen. “When she gets mad, something comes out… A different personality.”

River nodded, taking in the words that left the girls lips as she slouched slightly, pulling her knees up. He hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder, sighing quietly when she didn’t react.

“Why don’t you tell me from the beginning?” He suggested, receiving a nod.

“I got here three years ago. I was alone, I was ready to just give up. I was told that when I was ten, I started to get violent at school, hurting the other kids. When I was twelve, I stabbed a kid in the eye with a pen for taking my book. I don’t remember it, I was just told it happened by the teacher when I came back.”

“Came back from where? Where were you?” He questioned, feeling her move closer, as if the story was beginning to scare her.

“I don’t know… I felt unconscious but I was told that I was awake. They said I was screaming at him, but I was saying things like ‘she’ and ‘her’ even though I was talking about myself. That’s when they figured out what I had. They brought me here that week and locked me up. I remember losing control of my body for a few days. I was left in the darkness and them when I came back that time; I was in the padded cell. I remember being scared, I remember crying for a while before they gave me some medication then brought me to my room.

After a few days, I was let out of here and around the other patients. The first place I went was outside and I saw her sitting there, alone. She reminded me of myself. There were only a few other patients there then - none of the ones we have now. These ones were all put down. Where was I…? Oh, right. I walked over to her and told her my name and she said it wasn’t my name anymore. We talked for a while before she looked at me and said “I’m calling you Clown.” I liked it; it matched her alias.

We became good friends, told each other everything – she even gave me this puppy toy. But after a while, things started to get worse. She had her dream one night and when I went to help her, I lost control. My personalities didn’t like her screaming. They didn’t like her. When I came back, I was in the cell again. I had claw marks on my arms and cheek.  I stayed there until morning. Willow came and got me. She explained that my other personality had hurt Joker and she had hurt it back, that’s why I had all those cuts.

I never wanted to hurt her and to protect her, I had to keep my distance from her. But after her nightmares, she gets clingy – as you saw. I still need to protect her so when she’s feeling better, I’ll keep my distance again.” She looked at him as she finished, eyes sad. “She doesn’t know why I stay so distant.”

River felt a kind of victory as he accomplished understanding this patient but he soon cleared his throat, looking at her. While listening to the girls story, he had picked one thing out of it. Whether it was true or not was for the girl to tell.

“Clown… You love her, don’t you?” He said quietly, though he knew no one but her would hear him. Her eyes widened ever so slightly and she stood up, the puppy falling from her hands.

“You should leave,” she said lowly, her breath quickening. I stood up next to her and gently touched her arm, only to have it slapped away. “Leave!”

The look in her eyes was enough to have River backing out of the room, catching a glimpse of her rushing into the bathroom. He closed the door and locked it, looking at his shoes as he leaned against the wall, eyebrows pulled together.

He knew he was right but in figuring that out, he knew he had hurt the girl. 

4: Night Terrors

“No one but Ronan knew the terrors that lived in his mind.
Plagues and devils, conquerors and beasts.”

- Maggie Stiefvater, The Dream Thieves

 

He was like a ballerina, he thought, with the way he was walking. Trying to keep as silent as possible, on his toes if needed. River had almost completely memorized where all the creaking floorboards were in the long hallway that housed the rooms of the Walker Asylum patients, and now he was on his way to the very last door, trying to stay quiet, wincing every time he made the minutest noise.

The very last door was the door to Joker’s room. It had been two days since his talk with Clown, and next to nothing had changed in the asylum. It was like Clown was trying to forget all about the conversation.

Or maybe she really did forget.

Hell, would he ever know?

He could hear voices coming from Joker’s room, and the nearer he got, the more certain he became that one of the voices he was hearing belonged to a certain gray-eyed, blonde-haired woman. Why Willow would be in Joker’s room – Joker, of all people – escaped him.

“Alright, well, you know he won’t wait long.” Willow’s voice grew a little louder, and a moment later she came into view, opening the door, still facing into the room.

“Good,” Joker’s voice snapped, absolutely dripping with venom. “Tell him he doesn’t have to wait. I won’t be leaving this room until he’s gone.”

Willow looked, from where River was standing – or, really, more or less slouching – like she wanted to say something more. Then, with a rejected sigh, she pulled completely out of the room, muttering a brief apology before closing the door again.

River had discovered that all the patients’ doors were locked at night; some of them had tried to escape with the cover of darkness several times before. Willow had been taking River with her on her evening rounds to make sure the doors were locked – after all, he was the owner of this asylum now, and he should know how it worked.

That in itself seemed ironic to River, seeing as the only patient he really understood was Clown, and that was only because she had told him her story.

“River?” Startled out of his reverie, River simply stared at Willow for a few moments before clearing his throat and running his palms down the length of his shirt.

“Uh, hey.” Mentally, River was slapping himself silly for sounding like such an idiot, and he was tempted to imitate himself, just for the sake of letting her know that he was well aware of how stupid he sounded. On the outside, though, he simply blinked his large eyes at her, and tucked his hands into his pockets. “What were you talking to Joker about?” Willow sighed and scrubbed a hand over her forehead.

“There’s someone here to see Joker. They’re waiting in the Visitor’s Room, but she insists she won’t go see him.” She looked defeated, like Joker had completely drained her of whatever energy she had left. “Maybe you can convince her?” Hope renewed itself in Willow’s voice, and she blinked her almond-shaped eyes up at him.

“Um…yeah, maybe.” Although River could be extremely persuasive with words, he doubted that his sweet-talking would have any effect on Joker.

Giving him a grateful nod, Willow walked past him, clearly in a hurry to get back to whatever work she had previously been doing. Taking a deep breath and smoothing his shirt yet again, the tall man took feigningly confident strides down toward the door at the end of the hall.

“Joker?”

“Don’t even bother.” The girl in question was sprawled across her bed, a venomous glare fixed on the ceiling. “Willow already tried. I’m not going to see him.”

A sudden lump of what River perceived as fear at the sharpness of her words formed in his throat, and he swallowed thickly against it. “Who is he? Is he your father?” A wry smile curled up the corners of Joker’s mouth.

“I’d be surprised if it was. I’ve got daddy issues,” she murmured, the simper on her lips clearly translating into her voice. Deciding that this was another one of the topics about Joker that should remain in the shadows, River continued,

“Then who is it?” It was then that he noticed the small, handheld mirror that was lying on Joker’s black duvet next to her. It was rather simple, of a dim silver color, with obnoxiously red and blue stones adorning it. She caught his gaze on it and wrapped her fingers around the handle, lifting it into the light.

“My mother gave it to me.” This seemed odd to River, seeing as Joker was adamant in her avoidance of family, but he bit his tongue. “It was the last gift I got from her.” A bitter laugh slipped out of her lips.

It was in that moment that River was struck with how…sane Joker was. Sure, she had night terrors, but what normal teenager with family issues didn’t?

“Joker…” Suddenly overcome with the urge to comfort her, River stretched forward. “You really shouldn’t be locked up in a place like this. You don’t belong here.” His fingers brushed her shoulder, and immediately, she reacted.

Although, it wasn’t the reaction he expected.

Jerking her arms back, Joker lifted the mirror above her head and smashed it against the wall. The glass shivered and then exploded, falling in jagged pieces all around her. River was stunned enough to give her the time to select the largest piece and press it to River’s chest.

“You think I’m sane?” The same bitter laugh, only this time tinged with a note of desperation, slipped out of her lips. River’s mind was numb with fear, his breath harsh and rapid, his head and heart racing. He didn’t know what to do. “Touch me again and I’ll show you why I’m a patient here.”

With that, the glass dropped to the ground and Joker jerked her chin in the air before turning and walking out.

…

“You wanted to see me?” River’s ginger-topped head tilted up to stare at the slim girl in front of him when her grudging voice rang out in the otherwise empty office.

“Yes.” Flashing a bright smile, River gestured to the chair that rested on the opposite of his desk from his, and after a moment of hesitation, Joker strode over and plopped down. River winced a little – that chair had been fairly expensive. “So, um…Joker. I called you in here because I wanted to talk to you about something. I’m working on understanding each of you, and I wanted your advice on how to go about it.” Really, this wasn’t a complete lie.

A sharp bark of laughter – a single ha! that was all venom and pointy edges – was Joker’s only response. Surprised, River swiveled in his leather chair to look at her properly.

He had expected her to be glaring, or even smiling in derision, but what he didn’t anticipate was to find her with her head down, her pale hair – which danced a thousand shades of amber in the watery sunlight from the barred window – covering her thin face.

“You might know our stories,” she said lowly, the years of her pain in her voice almost tangible, “but you’ll never understand us.” Then, she looked up, and River was struck by the intensity of her gaze. Her eyes looked ancient, filled with unimaginable suffering.

When no response came from him, she clicked her tongue. “You want to know my story? Fine. I was raped. By a man hired by my father to capture me. Apparently this guy liked little girls.” She simpered drily. “He was wearing a mask. A mask of a twisted, smiling face with thin eyes. A joker mask.” A slight shiver went through her. “That’s what my nightmares stem from. I have a recurring dream about that face, that smiling face, hovering over me, and the pain…” Briefly, she looked down. “That’s why I named myself Joker. To remind myself of what happened. To remind myself that I have to be strong now.” Her gaze darted to him, and she stood, and just like that her monotone mask was back in plane. Her prickly barriers were raised again.

Long after she was gone, leaving behind the echo of a slammed door and the remnants of her words in River’s head, he still simply sat, his mind working fast.

Now, he thought, he could finally understand something about Joker.

Touch me again and I’ll show you why I’m a patient here.

No one save for Clown was allowed to touch Joker – and even in that instance it was rare. Everything about patient 01605 stemmed from her traumatic experience. Whether or not everything about Joker stemmed from that same experience was a mystery.

River sighed and let his head fall back against the chair’s headrest, the coolness of the leather making his skull ache. His hands lay folded atop his desk, his fingers loosely intertwined, as he absentmindedly rubbed one thumb over his knuckles.

I’ve got daddy issues.

River could still hear the smirk that had been on Joker’s lips when she had said this. Sure, he understood her nightmares and their origin, but her past was still shrouded in mystery.

Fortunately, he knew just the person to ask.

…

River had never thought it possible for someone with multiple personality disorder to look to scared of someone like him.

Clown was huddled down on her bed, the stuffed bulldog cradled in her bent arms, her eyes large and peering at him from under a bundle of reddish-brown curls.

“…Joker?” she asked gingerly, as if River hadn’t already repeated his question five times.

“Yes.” It was times like these that River thanked whomever that he had infinite patience. “What do you know about her past? It’s something I have to be aware of, and she won’t tell me anything.”

“…Oh.” Again, as she glanced off to the side, Clown seemed to feign as if River hadn’t been pestering her for the past ten minutes. “Well, I don’t know much…Joker rarely talks about it. It was…after one of her nightmares. Joker needs someone there to comfort her after her nightmares, and I was there. Anyway, I asked her why it was always the same man who came to visit her – and why she never went to see him.” River could very clearly hear his heart beating. “When Joker was nine years old, a year before the incident, her parents got divorced. She’d never liked her dad, but he was rich and very persuasive. He became her legal guardian, and she tolerated him, but…” Clown trailed off for a moment, squeezing the dog toy. “He got remarried. His new wife…was a total slut.” River was surprised by the venom in the girl’s words. “She was cheating on him – Joker saw it with her own eyes. She was always mean to Joker, but Joker’s dad never believed her when she told him.” Clown turned her head away. “Joker left. Ran away. She ended up finding her mother, and she lived there until…until the incident.”

River, as he silently nodded in understanding, made a mental note to; when he was talking to Joker, refer to what had happened as the incident.

“I see…” he murmured.

I’d be surprised if it was. I’ve got daddy issues.

“But he’s not the guy who always comes to see her.” River’s head jerked up. He had just been thinking the same thing; basing off of Joker’s words to him, her father never came to see her. “After a year of not seeing her, Joker’s dad hired someone to go get her. I’d heard of the guy – Joker’s dad didn’t know it, but he was some kind of whacked-up pedophile. When he got to the address Joker’s dad gave him and saw Joker…” She let out a hefty sigh. “Well, you know the story from there, I’m assuming…”

As River thanked her quietly and walked out, he recalled something his father had once told him about the Walker Asylum patients,

“I think you’ll find, son, that there is only one thing those kids want.” He had paused, as if for dramatic effect. “The perversity of freedom.”

When he had said it, River hadn’t understood what he had meant. Now, however, he found himself repeating that phrase over and over, thinking of bulldog toys and pencils in eyes and joker masks. Finally, he thought, he could understand what it was like to be truly insane.

5: Broken Mirror

“Accidents ambush the unsuspecting, often violently, just like love.”

-Andrew Davidson, The Gargoyle

 

“That’s gonna come back and bite me in the ass…” River had thought as he returned to his room after talking to Clown.

“We became good friends, told each other everything,” had been the words that the girl said to him two days earlier. He knew that Clown would tell Joker.

He just hadn’t been expecting it to be so soon.

…

The next day went by quickly and soon enough he was doing the door checks, whistling a small tune as he reached the last room. His whistling died slowly as he looked at Joker’s door, biting his lip. How could a girl so damaged seem so normal at times? She’s strong, was his only answer to that.

If it had been him, he would have probably ended up worse then her. She was much stronger than him and it was easy to tell.

He checked the door and jumped slightly as he heard a knock. He looked around before realizing it had been from the other side of Joker’s door.

“Jesus? Is that you?” Her voice was soft as she said it. He had to admit, the soft tone was eerie – very strange to hear from her.

“Um, yeah,” he said, pulling out his keys. He unlocked the door and opened it to find her standing right in front of him. “What’s wrong?’

She smiled slightly as she stepped closer to him. Well, smile wasn’t exactly correct. More of a sly grin, he supposed.

“Look, I know you want to know more about me,” with just that, he swallowed, looking at her. “But you can’t just go and ask Clown about me.”

He backed up slightly and scratched his arm, eyes still on hers. A dramatic sigh left her lips as she shook her head in what could be taken as disappointment.

“You know, I thought you knew better…” She lifted a hand and tapped her chin, as if in thought, before looking back at River, her face turning back to its normal, emotionless state.

In the matter of seconds, she had him pinned to the wall, stabbing something into his arm. A loud scream left his lips as he threw his head back, feeling warm blood run down his arm. The gate couldn’t be heard over his wails as she pushed it deeper into the limb.

When Joker’s weight – though it wasn’t much – was pulled off of River, he fell to the floor, back pressed to the wall. He sobbed quietly, a hand on his arm as his breath came out in heavy pants. He slowly lifted his eyes up to where Joker was being dragged into her room, loud shouts leaving her lips.

He lost sight of her as Willow knelt in front of him, taking his hand from his arm. Her eyes were worried as she helped him to his feet.

“Come on,” she said, leading him to the medical room, flicking on the light. He was sat down on a chair, still panting. His mind was racing and he struggled to process what was going on. Willow finally tipped his head up so their eyes met and she sighed.

His mind calmed slightly as he looked at her, looking into her smoky eyes. She pulled up a chair next to him and carefully pulled off his shirt, a small apology escaping her lips as he whimpered.

He felt her gently take his arm and he looked at her, heart slowly a bit more as he saw her examining his arm.

“Where did she get this…?” She whispered to herself before grasping the sharp object – which he had failed to realize was still in his arm – and gave it a small pull. A loud yelp left him and he lifted his other arm to cover his mouth. He watched her as he bit on his forearm, a single tear slipping from his eye. She looked his hand and looked at him.

“This is going to hurt,” she said soothingly, receiving a small nod. She nodded back before taking the object in her hand again, squeezing his hand as she pulled it out quickly. A muffled scream left him as he closed his eyes tightly.

When he calmed himself, she already cleaned the wound and was pulling out some thread to stitch it up. He winced slightly and pointed at the thread.

“Do you have to…?” He whimpered, watching as she nodded, threading the curved needle.

“If you want it to heal properly,” she answered, pressing the needle to his skin. “It’s a narrow cut so it should only be a few stitches.”

She had lied. What she classified as ‘a few’ turned out to be at least seven, but the pain didn’t last long. She was quickly about it and was soon wrapping gauze around his arm.

As she wrapped his arm, he picked up the weapon that Joker had used. After a moment of looking at his reflection in the object, he realized it was a shard of her mother’s mirror. He frowned and met his own green eyes in the reflection, wiping some blood off of it.

Willow stood up when she was finished, putting away all the supplies she had used. He stood as well, looking at her as he held the mirror piece. She smiled slightly as she opened the door, letting him walk out. They both walked to where his room was in silence, River gently running his thumb over the smooth glass.

He stopped at his room and looked at her with a soft smile.

“Thank you for, um… saving me,” he laughed slightly and scratched his head with is free hand. “I probably owe you my life.”

“Yeah, you do,” she said back, smiling as well. She paused a moment before speaking up again. “I know you’ve had a rough night, so why don’t we go and get some drinks? On me.”

He looked at her, a bit surprised. He thought she would be strictly against drinking but, even so, he couldn’t turn down a couple drinks.

“Sure,” he replied, opening his door. “I just need to get a shirt.” He turned and stepped into his room, pulling a loose, black v-neck out of his drawer, pulling it over his torso. The sleeves had always been a bit too long, reaching his knuckles, but it fit fine otherwise. He reached into his closet and pulled out his long, double breasted coat, pulling it on.

He walked back out to where Willow was, securing the buttons of his coat. She smiled at him and let out a small laugh as he held his arm out for her.

“You look nice for going to the bar,” she teased, wrapping her arms around his and walked next to him. He shrugged and looked down to meet her gaze.

“Well, I’m going out with you,” he replied, smiling slightly. Another laugh left her lips as they got to the front doors.

“Okay, let’s see if you can get drunk enough to lose your silver-tongue,” she said as he pushed open the door, walking out of the asylum.

“Alright, but you know that won’t happen,” he laughed softly as they walked down the cobblestone path, the sky dark above them.

There was a slight breeze that picked up, adding onto the already cold weather. He looked down at where Willow was, pressed closer to his arm, shaking slightly. All she had for the cold was a thin, grey cardigan that went down to her thighs. He stopped and pulled his arm from her grasp, unbuttoning his coat. She watched him pull it from his thin form and moving over to her, draping it over her shoulders. Her arms slipped into the large coat and pulled it tight around her.

“Is that better?” He asked softly, taking her shoulder and pulling her against him. She nodded against his side as they kept walking, soon reaching where the path reached the street. He brought her over to his black BMW, opening to the passenger door. She smiled at him as she slipped in, holding the jacket close. When he sat down and closed the door, she looked at him.

“Are you always this gentlemanly or do you have to work at it?” She said bluntly, smiling softly. He started the car and calmly reached to turn off the radio only to have his hand slapped away. He stopped and looked at Willow who looked surprised. “What is this?!”

The music was loud and was on a metal station, playing Dr. Feelgood. He turned it off quickly and looked at her.

“What? It’s not that weird…” He said, driving onto the road, frowning slightly as he looked ahead of him.

“Uh, yeah it is. You seem like the kind to listen to classical music,” she laughed. “And quietly.” He smiled at this and leaned back slightly.

“No, it always bores me.”

It didn’t take long to get to the bar down a few blocks down from the asylum. Willow had suggested it, saying they had the best drinks in town.

As they stepped from the car and into the small building, he looked around, seeing the nice set up. He jumped slightly as he heard a loud laugh in the almost empty bar.

“Willow!” The loud voice said as a man walked over, holding out his arms. He was wearing a white shirt and black apron around his waist. Probably the bartender… River thought as Willow smiled, hugging the tall man.

“Hey, Nichos,” she laughed, looking at him. “Look, my friend here has had a rough night. Get him something?” She smiled slightly. He laughed again and nodded.

“For you, of course,” he replied, walking back to the bar. River turned to Willow, walking next to her to the bar, he slid onto a stood.

“So… Nichos…?” He said quietly to her, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know him so well?”

“I came here for my 18th birthday and – when this place was a well known place – and I got really drunk… I did some stupid things that were caught of video.” She smiled and leaned on the counter, looking at him. “I had such a good time then that I came here with my friends a lot. I became friends with Nichos and dated him for a while. He owns the place,” she explained, somehow making River uneasy when she mentioned dating that guy. “I get drinks at a discount here cause I’m so well known. I don’t mind people knowing about what I did.”

“What did you do?” River couldn’t help but ask, the curiosity getting the better of him. She laughed a bit and pulled out her phone. As she looked through her pictures and video’s, there drinks were set down. He picked his up and looked at it before drinking a good portion of it, savoring the taste.

He felt a tap on his arm and set down the drink to see Willow holding out her phone. He leaned over and watched as she began to play a video.

There was a lot of shuffling and cheering before the camera stopped on what seemed to be a younger Willow, standing on a table, laughing as she held a drink above her head, a loud cheer leaving her lips, though it blended in with the cheer of the people around her.

She appeared to be wearing jeans and a large, white t-shirt, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail. She laughed before tipping her head back, letting the drink in her hand tip as well, the drink soaking her shirt and pressing it to her skin but also become transparent, her chest perfectly visible through the shirt. She laughed again, doing a few poses before dancing across the table.

River wanted to stop watching as soon as she tipped the glass but he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from the video of his co-worker. He moved a bit closer to watch a bit closer, hearing her laugh from next to him. When the screen turned black, he looked at her with wide eyes, seeing her put the phone away.

“That was you?!” He exclaimed, eyes wide as he grabbed his tall glass again, taking another drink.

“Yup. I told you, I did something stupid,” she laughed softly, taking her drink as well, downing the whole thing easily.

He still had half of his left.

…

Almost two hours later, River stumbled out of the bar, holding his head as he laughed loudly, tears falling from his eyes. What was so funny again? He thought, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to remember.

Willow walked out calmly after him, though she did have a small smile on her lips as she pulled out her phone to call a cab.

It didn’t take long for it to show up – long enough for River to calm his laughing, though giggles still left his lips. He slid in the back, Willow next to him.

“The Walker Asylum,” Willow said, smiling slightly at the driver. He looked at her like she was crazy and it only caused River to start laughing again, leaning against the window. He watched as the streetlights went by while they drove. He looked over at Willow and giggled again.

“Do you still look like that?” He asked, smiling widely.

“Look like what?” She replied, looking back at him as she smiled as well.

“You know!” He said before making a motion with his hand to indicate that he was talking about her body. “Are you still all sexy and… boobish!”

River knew that when he was drunk, his vocabulary shrunk and he was left with making up words. He had to admit, that wasn’t the best word he could have used, but it caused her to laugh as they reached the asylum.

“I don’t know!” She exclaimed before paying the driver and sliding out, River behind her. “Am I?”

It was meant to be a rhetorical question so she was quite surprised when he walked over and opened the jacket she wore, looking her over.

“Hmm…” He bit his lip before taking her hand and bringing her up the cobblestone path to the front doors.

When they were inside, he pulled off the jacket and pulled open her cardigan, looking her over again before lifting her shirt slightly, looking at her flat stomach.

“Yes you are,” he declared, lifting a finger. She laughed and pulled her shirt down again, looking at him.

“You cannot hold your liquor…” She laughed quietly before taking his hand, bringing him to his room. “Okay, you need sleep,” she said, patting him chest. “Go sleep.”

He nodded and hung his head, opening his door. He looked at her again and smiled, kissing her cheek gently.

“Thanks for taking me out,” he laughed slightly. “Now go to bed!” He slapped her rear and stepped into his room, ignoring the look of surprise she gave him.

A moment after he closed the door, he smiled to himself, thinking of that video of Willow. He made his way to his bed and without changing, fell onto the mattress, closing his eyes. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, still smiling to himself.

He really couldn’t believe that that girl in the video was the same person as his Willow.

6: The Room

“A cat bitten once by a snake dreads even rope.”

  - Arab Proverb

 

River had never really been hung-over before, but from what his friends had told him after their long nights of barhopping, it was not pleasant.

River could now attest to that fact.

His head was pounding, a relentless throbbing that blocked out thoughts, drowned out common sense and made him want to bang his head against something just to see if it would help clear it up any. His entire body felt slow and lethargic; it was a struggle just to sit up that morning. And after sitting up, he promptly bolted into the bathroom, keeled over the toilet, and emptied whatever substances had been left in his stomach.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a great day.

“Willoooooww…” River whined as he dragged his sorry self into the ward common room, arms dangling, feet leaving scuff marks on the otherwise impeccable floors. The girl in question looked up, and immediately her expression of dutiful attentiveness switched to blatant amusement.

“You really cannot hold you liquor,” she murmured drily, walking over and guiding him with a gentle hand on his arm over to one of the common room’s plush chairs. The one she just so happened to pick also just so happened to be Joker’s favorite, and River, with an uncanny burst of energy, practically leapt into the one neighboring it. Willow looked on with wide eyes.

“You haven’t noticed? That’s Joker’s favorite chair,” he breathed, his eyes stretched just as wide as hers, a shiver tracing the length of his spine.

Something flickered in Willow’s eyes, and she turned her head away. If River didn’t know better, he would’ve thought that Willow was hiding something. But River did know better – he didn’t have an IQ of 152 for nothing. And if he knew anything, it was that Willow didn’t hide things.

“You won’t need to worry about that for a while.” Willow offered up a half-smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because of her actions yesterday, Joker has been taken in for a rehabilitation treatment with our doctor.”

All River could do was blink. This was the first he was hearing of this ‘doctor’, despite being assured that he was in charge of the asylum now, that all the keys to everything lay in the palm of his hand.

“Doctor?” Even as the question left his lips, Willow was turning away, her gaze switching to the man who stood on the threshold. River peered around her shoulder, at the young man who stood in the doorway.

River had never seen him before, that much he was sure of immediately; he would’ve recognized him anywhere.

He was tall, at least six feet – if not more – and rather lanky, though not in a puppyish way. If anything, the longness of his body made him even more of a commending presence. A pure black suit with the occasional scarlet accent adorned his body, impeccable in every manner. His hair was fairly long, some curled strands brushing his jawline, and the soft locks were of flaming carmine. But, really, it was his eyes that River noticed first. They were partially shielded by thin, full-frame glasses, but that did nothing to hide their brilliant violet color. Framed by thick, dark lashes, they almost seemed to glow at River.

As River stared at him, a small part of his brain was saying: Who the hell is this?

But a much larger part of his brain was saying: PURPLE.

“Miss Corey.” Even his voice sent shivers down River’s spine. It was cold, calculating, with a malicious undertone that was almost – almost ­– hidden perfectly. Willow stood, clasping her hands behind her back. “Patient 01810 is not reacting well to the absence of Patient 01605.” A nerve in River’s mind twitched, and he shifted to sit straighter in his chair.

“Excuse me.” He made sure his voice was loud enough to carry across the room to this mystery man. His uncannily violet eyes shifted gracefully across the room to settle on River. “But I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to the patients by their numbers. They have names they go by.”

Just as the man’s eyes were narrowing, his pale lips parting to most likely give River a piece of his mind, Willow stammered out a laugh.

“River, Dr. Kronin. You two haven’t met yet, correct?” Willow stepped slightly to the side, so the two could see each other properly. Dr. Kronin held himself high, chin raised, his arms folded neatly behind his back. River rearranged himself to try and portray the same air of confidence, but that piercing gaze was keeping him pinned down. “River, this is our resident doctor. He has three triplet assistants, but it’s rare that you’ll see them, because they’re usually down a couple floors. Dr. Kronin, this is River Walker, our new boss. He’s taking over for Richard.”

At this, something sparkled in Dr. Kronin’s eyes, and his lips twitched.

Then, he took two long strides to cross the room and extended a hand toward River. A simper was curling his pallid lips, and his purple eyes glinted. “Hello, Mr. Walker,” he purred in a voice that was neither cold nor friendly. It was…lukewarm. “I apologize that I was not aware of who you are.” As he said this, River nodded slowly and took his hand, shaking it as loosely as he could without coming across as half-assed. “My name is Maksim Kronin. Please, just call me Maksim.”

With that, he straightened and brushed a palm over the front of his black suit, as if smoothing it down. Odd attire for a doctor, River silently mused as Maksim turned and walked back to the doorway. “Miss Corey, if you please…”

Hurriedly calling a goodbye to River, Willow scrambled after Maksim Kronin, and soon disappeared round the corner.

…

River had never liked people who snuck around and tried to get away with sticking to the shadows, but it seemed as though that had been all he was doing lately.

His black shoes made next to no noise on the ground, but all the same he flinched whenever he took a step. Down a couple of floors, Willow had said. More like seven floors.

River had descended many winding staircases into the dark bowels of the Walker Asylum, and had not come upon anything other than dark, empty hallways and equally devoid rooms. There was not a single light on, and that fact unnerved him more than the emptiness of it all. If the lights had been on, River would’ve been much more at ease – there were only seven patients here, so obviously there would’ve been at least one wing empty.

River peered around a corner, and immediately noticed that the hallway that stretched in front of him was different from all the others. It was empty, naturally, but there wasn’t the usual plethora of locked doors on either side of the hall. No, this one only had one door, right at the end, and it was wooden.

Wooden.

That was the fact that stuck in River’s brain as he slowly approached the door. Why was it wooden? There was something about it that oozed importance, but it was…wooden.

River tried the doorknob, and was shocked to find that it was unlocked. Slowly and carefully, he pushed it open, wincing as it emanated a slight creak.

It took him a few moments to absorb the scene in front of him.

The room he was now standing in was almost entirely white-walled, smooth and pristine, with no edges or corners. It was almost a sphere. Across from him was a bundle of colors, curled up against one of the curved walls, and across from that figure was a ceiling-to-floor mirror, framed by black wood.

River finally realized, after seven total seconds, that the form hunched on the floor was Joker.

She was curled into herself; damp sienna hair hanging loosely about her slim cheekbones. She was shaking violently, and as River neared he realized that incoherent mumbles were spilling from her lips. Her white patient’s clothes were torn, and blood seeped through them in many places. River found himself thinking that he really didn’t want to know what the source of the blood was.

“Joker…?” Her head snapped up, the murmurs stopping. She stared at him with wary eyes, but no fear, River noticed. There was not a trace of anything to indicate she was scared; she was simply cautious.

And for good reason, he soon realized.

The front of her baggy white shirt had been torn clean off, leaving her stomach exposed, and River winced when he noticed the way her chest heaved with each and every breath. There were long, deep gashes across her abdomen, and though only small rivulets of blood slithered down her pale skin now, he could tell – just based off of the stains around her – that it must have been much, much more before. A small trail of blood slipped from her lips, forced up by the damage to her stomach, River was sure.

“Oh, God…Joker.” He knelt down and took one of her arm gingerly. “Can you stand?” He gently tugged on her hand, and in a completely mindless movement she shifted to clamber to her feet. Before she could, however, she let out a wail and sank back down, clutching at her ankles and drawing them flush against her thighs.

The skin on the bottoms of her feet was an angry red, and her knees shook. Kneeling down further, River gently took one of her ankles from her and lifted it so he could see the base of her foot. It was burnt. There were slightly more distinct marks where a round object, no doubt scalding hot, had been pressed harshly to her porcelain skin. It had been done repeatedly, evidently, and bile rose in River’s throat.

Sliding one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, he lifted her, holding her against his chest tightly, though loosely enough as to not seem threatening.

“Come on, Joker,” he murmured, carrying her out of the room and down the hallway again, not bothering to close the door. “I’ll take you back to ward and to Clown’s room, alright?” At the mention of Clown’s name, Joker perked up slightly, though she seemed unable to form words right then.

Smiling softly despite the overwhelming urge to cry, River held her closer and made his way back to the ward.

Joker had gone through all of this just because she had stabbed him in the arm with a small mirror shard. He couldn’t even feel it anymore – it was a dull throbbing at worst. But he could tell that she would carry the scars from this for a long time.

As he walked, River’s mind wandered back to the mirror that had been across from Joker in the room. A mirror, of all things…

As soon as that thought flashed across his mind, he remembered what Joker had told him only a couple days ago.

“Why is your mirror painted black?” River was standing in Joker’s en suite bathroom, frowning at the obscured mirror. When he glanced back at her where she sat on her bed, she looked amused.

“Jesus, do you ever get that feeling where you stare at a word for such a long time that it start to not look like a word at all?” When River nodded, she continued, “Next time you look at yourself in a mirror, take some more time and look closer. Just stare for a bit. The same thing happens as when you stare at that word.

“You start to doubt yourself. You start to doubt who you are, whether or not what you’re looking at is really real.” Her gaze had turned faraway, and River knew he wouldn’t be getting any more information from her.

River shivered. Was it Maksim Kronin who had done this to Joker? He didn’t doubt it, based off of the man’s creepy disposition, but at the same time…

Joker was strong, so emotionally so that River doubted this had been the work of one person alone. Something was going on, and he had to figure out what.

7: Pain

“A man endures pain as an undeserved punishment;
A woman accepts it as a natural heritage."

-Anonymous

 

Clown’s eyes were wide as she looked at her friend who lay limp in River’s arms, hair messy and shrouding her face. She stepped back slowly and let River in.

“You have to take care of her…” He said softly, setting Joker on the bed. She shifted slightly, eyes opening slowly. Clown was by her side in an instant, holding her hand tightly.

“Joker… You’ll be alright,” Clown whispered, brushing the hair from the other girls face. Joker gave her hand a small squeeze and turned her head to look at Clown. “River…” Clown said quietly as she lowered her head slightly. “You have to stop him… I can’t see this happen to her again.”

“He’s done it before?” River asked, eyes narrowed as he looked out the door. When he turned back to Clown, she nodded, pulling Joker’s hand closer to her. River walked over to the weak girl and gently touched her cheek.

“I’ll stop him,” he said softly before quickly walking out. There was only one problem. River had no fighting experience and he had no idea where the doctor was. He let out a slow breath before locking Clown’s door and going to where the kitchen was. He stepped in and looked around before carefully taking a knife and sliding it into his belt, pulling his shirt over it. Who knows if he would need it?

As River stepped out, he found Willow standing in front of him, arms crossed. He jumped back and pressed against the wall.

“What are you doing?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to answer but had no response, figuring that “I was getting a knife” was not a good one.

“Well, I, um…” Before any more nonsense left his lips, he quickly ran from the room, down the hall and to the basement stairs. He heard Willow call after him, voice surprised, but it only caused him to rush down the stairs, a hand on the knife’s hilt.

When he stopped a few floors down to catch his breath, he heard someone moving quickly up the stairs. He stood up and held the knifes hilt tighter as he saw Maksim turn the corner, stopping.

They stood there for a moment, glaring at each other before Maksim walked closer, his steps slow and steady.

“Where. Is. She?” He said in time with his steps before he was right in front of River, violet eyes narrowed. River stood up straighter and looked at him.

“You can’t treat my patients like that,” River said lowly, looking at the taller man. He saw no emotion in the others eyes and he found it quite unsettling. “Now, you’re going to leave this asylum and never come back, got it?”

Maksim looked at him and a small smirk pulled at his lips.

“Or what?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. River considered pulling out the knife but thought better of it. Threats would work just fine.

“I’ll kill you if you come back,” River said simply, pulling out the knife and tapping the blade against Maksim’s chest. The man’s expression didn’t change as he took a small step back.

“You may be his son, but you’ll never meet up to his legacy. You’ll never be like him,” Maksim said before fixing his coat and stepping past River. “I’ll leave,” at this, River smirked in triumph. “But, this won’t be the last time you see me.”

River bit his lip and held the knife tighter, looking back at the man, only to catch a short glimpse of him before he was gone.

River stayed in place, looking at the floor until he heard footsteps coming toward him from the lower floor. Three pairs of feet walking in perfect sync neared him as three men came into view.

Each had messy black hair that reached there chins and hung in their eyes. They had blank expressions on their pale faces, their violet eyes dull.

Why do they all have purple eyes...? River wondered as the three walked past him in a perfect line. River shivered and looked over his shoulder at where they disappeared after Maksim. The triplet assistances.

River pushed the knife back into his belt and slowly turned toward the stairs, pushing his neat hair from his eyes. The only thing on his mind was Joker.

…

It wasn’t long until River was knocking on Clown’s door, the knife still on him. He didn’t want to go put it back, if fear that he would need it soon.

The door opened and Clown looked at him, frowning. The question was in her eyes as she let him in.

“He’s gone,” he said, kneeling next to the bed. He touched Joker’s hand and looked at her sleeping form. “How is she?”

“She’s fine… I don’t think she’s having a nightmare so that’s good,” Clown said, sitting on the foot of the bed, a hand on Joker’s knee. “She’s going to be okay, right?’

“Of course… She’ll never experience that again,” he reassured the small girl, looking up at her. She nodded slowly before laying down next to the other girl, gently running her fingers through Joker’s hair.

River looked at the two before slowly standing, straightening his shirt.

“Clown, I want you to call me when she wakes up,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Alright?” A small mumble left her lips, something that sounded like “sure.”

He stepped out of the room and instead of going to his own room, turned to Joker’s room. He knew it was wrong but he soon found himself pushing open Joker’s door, stepping into the room.

He took in the color of the walls as he looked at the quotes painted neatly on them. He ran his fingers gently over the silver paint, smiling softly. When he turned around, he saw the shattered mirror on the beside table. He sat on her bed and picked up the glass shards, looking at his reflection.

“You start to doubt yourself.”

He stared at those green eyes looking back at him and for the first time in his life, he did doubt himself. He felt what Joker did.

He swallowed before setting down the glass and looking up to see the edge of her blackened mirror. He stood up again and walked over to it, running his fingers over the paint, eyes sad. This girl was so damaged and no one could ever put her back together.

Suddenly, a nursery rhyme came to mind. “All the kings horses and all the kings men could not put Humpty back together again.”

He smiled slightly at the thought as he stepped away from the mirror, going back to her room. He knelt in front of the small book case, looking at the titles, seeing a lot of fiction books. He pulled one out and smiled, remembering it from when he was younger.

He turned his head slightly and caught sight of something under her bed. Quickly setting the book back in it’s place, he moved over to her bed and pulled the object out, finding it to be a large suitcase. It looked quite old and worn, not fitting at all in with her room.

He contemplated opening it for a bit before actually deciding to. He unlocked it and pushed off the top, looking inside. His eyes widened as a few letters fell out; not making a dent in the large pile of others that filled the large container. Looking closer, he saw them all to be unopened. He looked back at the door for a moment before pulling them out. He looked over all the envelopes, finding the oldest one to be from five years earlier, probably delivered right after she was committed. After running over all the dates – being from five years ago to only a few days ago – he looked at the names printed across them.

Two writing styles, two people. Many were from one name – Sam Phantom – and there were at least ten from another name. Dymtre Smithson.

 

His eyes narrowed as he looked over them, running his fingers gently over the neat writing of Sam. He knew one had to be her dad and the other was probably the pedophiliac but he couldn’t figure out who was who.

I could ask her, he thought at first before flinching at the thought of her finding out about him looking at the letters.

He looked over them again and stopped when hi caught a glimpse of one that was from a completely different name. It had slipped past him at first as there was only one from this name. Scarlet Jackson written in beautiful, cursive.

He picked it up to find that was the only letter that had been opened. He gently pulled out the paper and looked at the short letter.

 

Eve,

I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there to take care of you properly. I left you in the hands of that man and because of it, you were hurt and scarred. You don’t belong in that asylum and it’s my fault you are. If I had protected you on that day, none of this would have happened. I need you to know that I’m sorry and that I love you.

 

Sincerely,

     Scarlet

 

By reading that one paragraph, he knew already that he knew too much. He knew her name.

He put the letter back in its envelope and put it back in the suitcase, putting in all the others after it. Once it was back under her bed, just where he had found it, he rushed from her room, heart pounding. How could he ever act normal around her again, knowing her name? Her mother’s name? And the names of those two bastards?

He went to his office and walked over to the files. He had to know. He pulled out Joker’s folder and opened it to the first page, looking at the name’s for her parents.

Scarlet Jackson

Sam Phantom.

A loud cry left him as he threw the papers across the room. He panted quietly before slamming a fist against the wall.

“I’ll find that son of a bitch… I’ll find him and kill him for what he did.”

8: Scorch

“We must always think about things, and we must think about things as they are, not as they are said to be.”

- George Bernard Shaw

 

Out of all the Walker Asylum patients, save for maybe Joker or Clown when they were obediently taking their medication, the one who could qualify as the sanest would be Scorch. Of average height, with dusty brown hair and dark brown eyes, freckles littering the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, he was fairly normal, and didn’t stand out all that much. What made him stand out was his condition.

He was a pyromaniac.

It had been genetic, passed on down to him from his father. And it wasn’t something that he entirely resented either. His condition being as it was, Scorch enjoyed flames, dancing fire that ate away at everything it came across, and he wasn’t ashamed of it.

He had thought he had it under control, until an outburst a couple years ago. That’s when one of the caretakers for Walker Asylum – Richard B. Walker always seemed to immediately know where all the fucked-up kids were – had come to ‘collect’ Scorch.

Then, it had only been him, Joker, Clown, and Smiles and two others whose names he couldn’t remember. Those two died only a month later.

Before his incident, Scorch had been very outgoing and would engage the others around him constantly. But, after being brought the asylum, he secluded himself to the sidelines and contended himself with observing, though he still occasionally engaged in a heartfelt argument with Smiles every now and again.

There were many, many things that Scorch noticed while just watching.

And he had developed opinions. About each of the other patients. When developing these opinions, he disregarded their condition, as he himself knew better than anyone that a condition didn’t define a personality.

These were his opinions.

Joker: She was a leader. Levelheaded and brutally honest, she held nothing back, easily voicing her opinion. Granted, she could be a vicious bitch at times, mainly after her nightmares, but that was a part of her that was carefully tucked away.

Clown: The sun to Joker’s moon, Clown, to Scorch, was defined by her relationships with others. She could be timid and shy, but she had a warm and always kind heart. She was open to almost anyone or anything, except for when one of her other personalities took over.

Puppet: She definitely stood out. And it was obvious she went to great lengths to make sure she stood out, though in Scorch’s mind that made her seem very determined. And indeed she knew how to stand on her own two feet better than anyone, and wasn’t afraid to be herself.

Smiles: Freaking tall, that’s what he was. A bit of a klutz, and definitely more than a little screwed in the brain, Smiles was most well known for his powerfully weird views on various subjects. Because he was a sociopath, he had a much different outlook on things, and his views could be very…interesting.

Caine: Even more of a weirdo than Smiles(yes, that was possible) Caine was easily defined by his condition: bipolar. He would be all sunshine and rainbows one second, and the next he would be biting someone’s head off. To say the least, it wasn’t all that pleasant to be around him.

Happy: The one person Scorch spent the most time around, Happy was a generally quiet and somber boy, in contrast to his name. The reason for this was his PTSD – the origin of which is forever unknown. He was very interesting, if a little quirky at times, and an insanely good listener.

Scorch didn’t know what he thought of himself. A taciturn watcher, he rarely paused to give himself any thought, as that always inevitably lead back to the past. And the past wasn’t something that Scorch liked discussing.

Currently, he was seated on a worn out leather couch, legs crossed, hands on his knees. He was watching with intent brown eyes as Clown and the new head, River Walker, conversed in hushed voices on the other side of the room. They had been doing this a lot lately, and just basing off of the serious gleam in their eyes and the rapid hand gestures on River’s part, it was something fairly dire.

Scorch had no interest in dire matters.

But he did have an interest in everything to do with The Room. And he knew that’s where Joker had ended up after stabbing River when she had been in one of her mindless fits.

Scorch was slowly, slowly, figuring out exactly what was going on in the Walker Asylum, and he had a sneaking suspicion that not even their new in-charge knew exactly what it was.

In a way, Scorch felt bad for him. He didn’t know the smallest bit about this asylum. Hell, he hadn’t even known about Dr. Kronin until just the previous day. And Dr. Kronin was, in Scorch’s mind, all of the patients’ main antagonist in their life stories.

They all hated him and everything he did to them.

What did you do, Scorch?

He shivered as he recalled his head being forced into what he had first assumed to be water, but had turned out to be some kind of acid that made his eyes sting and his throat burn intensely. Maksim Kronin’s voice echoed relentlessly in his head, along with his own screams of defiance.

What did you do, Scorch?

I didn’t do anything! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Now stop it!

He knew that wasn’t the torture that Joker had been subjected to. If it had been that, she would be out here now. No, for Joker, it was always the worst punishments. Because, for some reason, Dr. Kronin seemed to harbor a weird hate for her. And it extended past the restraints of the normal punishments; the ones he dealt out for Clown, Puppet, Smiles, Caine, Happy and Scorch himself.

It was weird.

But that was hardly the point. The point was that Scorch wanted to know exactly what had crawled up Dr. Kronin’s ass and died. He was the one behind all of the punishments that went on in the asylum, and he was the one behind The Room. It had all been his idea, his plot, his way of getting into the patients’ mind, and remolding them into the patients he wanted them to be, rather than the patients that they were.

And Scorch thought he was getting close to figuring out why. That’s why he simply sat and watched Clown and River, trying his best to block out Smiles’ voice from next to him, rambling about one thing or another.

Joker was in Clown’s room, he had gathered from lip reading. Her feet were burnt, and she had some bad cuts on her abdomen. Stupid Maksim Kronin.

And that was about it. Not very much information, but enough. The burnt feet was new – normally Dr. Kronin would just tie them down in front of the mirror, make them stare. Sometimes he would tape their eyes open so they couldn’t close them. But this time he had burnt Joker’s feet. Kind of a good idea, if Scorch were to think from that sadist’s point of view. Surely he had gotten off on pressing the white-hot metal to Joker’s feet, listening to her screaming. True, Joker never showed fear, but pain was something that was perfectly plausible.

Just like all the other patients, Scorch harbored a deep, burning hatred for Dr. Kronin, the kind that just sort of sits in the pit of your stomach and simmers away, fueling hated glares and middle fingers stuck in certain directions. Maybe the occasional fuck off.

It had become a routine for Dr. Kronin to come into the ward and check on the patients for about three hours, sometimes making rounds and doing little therapy sessions with each of the patients. Every time he did, it was absolute torture, and it was a miracle none of the patients had killed themselves from it yet.

As soon as the doctor would leave, with his creepy triplets in tow, all seven of the patients would simultaneously burst out into loud, whining complaints about the doctor, all of a different nature.

Scorch was usually complaining about the weird antiseptic smell that always tailed the man. Clown was usually complaining about how goddamn tall he was. And Joker was usually complaining about his creepy stare. It was true; when unshielded by his glasses, his eyes became even more piercing, and they just seemed to probe into one’s mind and read everything there.

So it became a habit of Scorch’s to listen to every suspicious conversation, observe every little detail that he thought seemed out of place.

Those were his opinions.

And he knew that one day, his opinions would be enough to destroy this damn asylum.