whatever doesn't kill you simply makes you stranger [ general&ockeroid ]

[a feast for the seaweeds]

With a grim expression, Claire lowered the last cardboard box to the floor of her new office. The office – which was moderately larger than a broom closet – was her makeshift domicile inside Arkham Asylum until the renovations of the fifth floor were complete. It was no more habitable than the Republic of Maldives. The room was cramped with useless, outdated equipment, most of which was rusting or broken beyond repair, and the few books that were still legible were in their earliest editions. Her brown eyes scanned the room with disbelief as a wolf spider crawled across the dust-infested floor. “Is this Jeremiah’s idea of a joke?”



She spent an hour disinfecting the room until it reeked of an unknown antiseptic substance. The lack of windows in the office only increased the potent aroma. It was oddly comforting to her. The equipment and books remained where they were, for Claire had neither the time nor the strength to continue cleaning. It was already twenty-two minutes past three and she was supposed to have her first session with a new patient. She did, however, have enough time to search in one of her boxes until she found a familiar square object. She found a nail imbedded in the wall and hung the framed object for all to see.

Gotham University

This is to certify that

CLAIRE FROST, M.D.

has satisfied the requirements of the Board and is hereby certified as a Diplomat in the subspecialty of

MENTAL HEALTH PSYCHIATRY

April, 2001 – April, 2011​

The appropriate signatures followed the delicate script of her doctorate diploma. She was fresh meat, the newest addition to the staff at Arkham Asylum, though at the tender age of twenty-seven she was doing well for herself. She had enough clinical experience at a small mental health residence in New Jersey for Jeremiah Arkham to show interest, and her clinical experience had already paid off: she had been tasked with providing treatment for one of Arkham’s most notorious patients.

The patient, whom Claire dubbed Patient No. 0017983, was due to show up in her new establishment at any moment. With this in mind, she kicked the opened box under the table and began to tidy things up. It was pointless, considering how confined the room was, and when the door to her office opened she realized there was no way she could conduct therapy in this room.

“Doctor Frost?”

Claire furrowed her slender eyebrows, half-tempted to ask why this person did not knock before entering, but she resisted and turned to face the mysterious person. Some random secretary. Claire turned around and continued her pathetic attempt at sorting this room. “If this has anything to do with my new patie—“

“It does, Doctor Frost, that’s why I’ve come to find you.”

Perplexed, Claire stopped wiping the dust off an ancient copy of Freud’s dissertation. “Go on, then.”

The secretary looked at the note in her hand. “Well, Doctor Arkham arranged a new location for you in the cafeteria. He also wanted me to let you know that a guard will escort your patient there.”

Claire wanted to pull chunks of her blonde hair out.

“That is all, Doctor Frost.”

She grabbed a folder with the words “PATIENT NO. 0017983” scribbled in black ink. “Thank you,” she said to the secretary before she left her office. It was a relief to smell something other than bactericidal.



Claire arrived in the cafeteria with ten minutes to spare. She ordered a small coffee. The cafeteria was rather devoid of patients for this time of the day, and she could not help but to wonder if this had something to do with Jeremiah’s orders. She shrugged it off and found an empty table in the far right corner of the spacious room.

The folder was empty, unless you counted blank sheets of paper and an e-mail from Jeremiah, entailing Claire’s new role as the Joker’s psychiatrist. There had been difficulty finding old files – they existed somewhere in the building, Jeremiah was insistent to blame the lack of communication and sorting skills of the secretaries – so she had decided to start fresh. It seemed appropriate for his nth time in this hellhole.

She sipped her coffee, leaving a subtle shade of nude lipstick on the edge of the Styrofoam cup. Normally, she would have reviewed files as she waited for her patient to arrive, but such a thing proved impossible. Instead, she continued to sip her coffee, occasionally glancing up as the door to the cafeteria emitted someone who was not her patient, all the while praying that the caffeine would go easy on her bladder.