Patchwork

The feeling in Sarah’s face came back slowly, bringing pain with it when it did. The heavy dose of drugs floating through her system combined with the sobering effect of pain to calm her down. She was beginning to regret pulling out her stitches not just once, but twice. Her face now hurt worse than it had when she’d first been cut.

She desperately wanted to touch her face, to check the damage she’d done. Flexing her arms, she strained against the padded restraints that constricted her arms. They held fast, firmly attached to the bed frame. She strained her wrists at an awkward angle, trying to reach the fasteners, but had no luck.

Contemplating the restraints rekindled her anger, though she kept it under control. She knew it was due to her rage that she’d ended up in these restraints in the first place, but it didn’t really matter. Her fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. She would not lose control of her anger again.

But oh, how she wanted to. She wanted to hurt these stupid fools. She wanted to show the people that had left her too long with the Joker what pain was. She knew that the only reason she was alive was because the Joker had been in a strange mood, and that knowledge didn’t make her any more inclined to forgive everyone for leaving her with that freak for that long.

She licked her lips, tasting traces of blood. There was a knife in the pocket of her jeans, she remembered. The Joker had put it there. It was almost like he had known what she’d be thinking.


--


“She is restrained to the bed,” the doctor said, guiding Gordon down the hallway by the elbow. “So you’ll be in no danger if she has another mental break.”

Gordon nodded, unwilling to speak. It hardly seemed possible that the girl on the tape, so innocent and afraid, could have come to this. Though, considering that she’d been alone with the Joker with for at least three days, he supposed they were lucky she had only had a psychiatric episode. A memory of Harvey Dent flitted across his mind, but he pushed it away. There were things to do.

Together, he and the doctor stopped outside room 8-G. There was no sound from inside, which Gordon took as a good sign. The doctor opened the door for him and waited until he went in. Closing it again, he left Gordon and Sarah alone, just as requested.


--


Sarah heard the door open and close, though it was hidden behind the pale yellow curtain. There was the sound of a deep breath being exhaled, and footsteps approached the curtain. Sarah’s muscles twitched involuntarily.

The curtain was pulled slowly aside. Behind it stood a man in his mid forties or so, with brown hair and wearing glasses. She knew him from someone’s description, she was sure. It took her a moment to place him, and when she did, her eyes narrowed.

“Commissioner,” she said, her voice slightly scratchy from her earlier yells.

“Miss Parker,” he replied. Some of the tension that had been in his shoulders and neck eased. He gave her a very small smile, which she did not return. Sarah just watched silently as he looked around for a chair, found one, and pulled it near her bed. She hit one of the buttons on the bed rail right next to her hand and the bed folded up, drawing her into a more sitting position.

“Miss Parker, I would like to talk to you about what happened to you.”

Sarah dropped her eyes, though they lost none of their coldness. She knew immediately that she didn’t want to talk with this man about her time with the Joker. Glaring icily at the sheets over her lap, she said nothing.

As she had expected, he did not give up so easily. He slid his chair a few inches closer to her bed, and asked, “Can you tell me the first thing you remember?”

Her gaze returned to his face, frostily contemplative. Her tongue ran over the stitches on the inside of her lip several times while she thought. Coming up with an idea, the corners of her mouth twitched into a hint of a smile.

“Waking up,” she replied nonchalantly.

“Was the Joker there with you?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“Things,” she said simply. Leaning slightly in his direction, she elaborated, her voice adding a manipulative edge. “Lots of things. Important things. Useful to your investigation things.”

Gordon’s eyes grew wary as he caught on to her angle. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her as she eyed him.

“What is it you want, Sarah?”

Sarah’s smile grew, pulling painfully at the stitches above her lip. “I want out of these restraints. And then, I’ll tell you everything.”

He shook his head, more out of sadness than anything. More than reports from the doctors and nurses, her behavior now convinced him that something was wrong with her. He’d dealt with victims before, and usually all they wanted was a sympathetic ear. He’d come in to her room hoping to find her like them, ready to deal with Sarah Parker the victim. Instead, he got the Sarah Parker who acted like a criminal, wanting something in return for whatever she gave.

But what could he expect, really? She was tied to a hospital bed for god’s sake. If she was being treated like a criminal, what could he expect but for her to act like one? Before the thoughts were even completely formed in his mind, he was loosening the straps on the restraints.

Sarah felt her muscles relax slightly; she hadn’t even realized they were tense. She flexed her arms briefly, then brought them up to her face. Running careful fingers over her cheeks, she forgot about the commissioner for a moment, focusing on the state of her face.

Gordon’s voice cut into her reverie. “Why did you pull your stitches out, Sarah?”

Her hands froze on her face. Lowering them slowly, she looked him straight in the eyes. His question had surprised the coldness from them, leaving only contemplation.

“I was angry.”

When this comment was met with expectant silence, she elaborated.

“You people left me with him for three days,” she said, rage beginning to seep into her voice.

“We were trying to find you the entire time, it just-”

“It just took too damn long,” Sarah snapped. She ran a hand over the cuts on her chest. Breathing deeply, she tried to rein in her temper. “Look at what that freak did to me. These, and more all over. Do you know what he-” her voice cracked. “Do you know what he almost did to me? Do you?” Somehow her voice had gotten louder, almost hysterical.

Gordon opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak. “I went through that because you took your sweet time finding me. And the only reason, the ONLY reason I’m alive is because that maniac decided not to kill me!” Her voice truly was hysterical now, filled with fury and cracked with sobs. “And you! You came too late!”

Gordon seized her hands, dragging them away from her body. Sarah looked down, only to realize that she’d been pulling stitches out of the cuts on her chest without even realizing it. Then she looked at Gordon’s hands on her wrists, her eyes traveling frostily up to his face.

Her whole body went cold. She blinked, catching the brief image of another pair of hands on her wrists. Her arms spasmed, trying to pull away, and the commissioner let them. She pressed her palms to her chest, cradling the bleeding gashes.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know,” she said calmly, the ice in her veins cooling her emotions to a distant buzz. “But only so you know all the things I intend to pay you and your incompetent people back for.”