ECHO (Jason Todd x reader)

Chapter 2 - Eat Me, Drink Me

"You are here bright and early. Quite meritorious." Forman rises from the seat at his desk, slowly walking towards the recruit. With each step he takes, the crisp sound of dress shoes hitting metal flooring penetrates her eardrums.

"Looks like my efforts to win you over are paying off," she remarks with a polite smile. Maybe if she keeps up the charm, he'll be more lenient with her.

Forman chuckles, which seems rather genuine than the day before. "Indeed. However, I do hope you won't slack off, my dear. There is much work to be done."

"Absolutely, I'm ready. Just point me in the right direction and I'll get started, Doctor."

From dawn till dusk, she found herself enveloped in a whirlwind of relentless tasks. Her day began with the rhythmic clatter of lab equipment as she meticulously set up the workspace, her hands deftly arranging glassware and calibrating machines, all executed under the watchful eye of Forman. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air, a constant reminder of the clinical environment she was now part of. Hours were consumed by endless data entry. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, inputting numbers and notes from ongoing experiments. The soft hum of computers and the flickering of fluorescent lights were her only companions as she navigated through spreadsheets and databases, each click a step deeper into the labyrinth of research. Taking a statistics class a year prior definitely paid off.

She moved from one task to the next with barely a moment's respite. Between monitoring the experiments, she scrubbed and sterilized equipment, the repetitive motion of cleaning becoming a grim dance that punctuated her fatigue. The lab's harsh fluorescent lights cast a relentless glare, making every surface gleam with the sheen of cleanliness.

"My, my. What truly exemplary work you've accomplished today." Forman's slender hand lands gentle pats on her head, instantly giving her a sense of achievement and pride. Just like a father. "You must be famished, dear."

"Oh, nothing I can't handle. I brought a sandwich with me, I'll eat it later."

"How silly!" His smile grows. "I have gone to the trouble of preparing a splendid feast for us. I do hope you wouldn't wish to upset this old man, would you?" His forehead tenses in an imploring way.

A feeling of guilt swims within her, any sense of reason flying out the window. He's clearly lonely and just wants to share a meal with someone. How can she refuse?

"In that case, I'd love to accompany you."

He offers her his arm, which she takes. She might have been too hasty to judge him. He is a gentleman; despite his looks, he seems to be well-mannered and considerate. Never judge a book by its cover, the saying rings in her head.

He takes her to a dining room just across the lab. She expected a high school canteen-like appearance, however, it was much fancier: the dining hall stretched out with an air of opulent grandeur, its high, vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate wooden beams and gilded moldings. Crystal chandeliers, dripping with shimmering prisms, cast a warm, inviting glow over the room. The walls were paneled in rich, dark mahogany, their surfaces polished to a lustrous sheen, while tapestries depicting scenes of pastoral elegance hung along the walls.

At the center of the room, an immense oak dining table commanded attention, its surface a work of art with elaborate carvings of mythical human-animal hybrids and swirling vines. The table was set with fine china and polished silverware, each place meticulously arranged with delicate crystal goblets catching the light. The chairs, upholstered in deep burgundy fabric, were as comfortable as they were elegant, their carved wooden frames adding a touch of reality. The air is rich with the aroma of sumptuous dishes, hints of roasting meats and vegetables, and freshly baked bread blending with the faint scent of aged wood and candle wax.

"Holy shit," she mumbles under her breath at the sight, forgetting in whose presence she is.

Forman either ignored it or simply didn't hear it. Either way, it worked in her favor.

"Sit, dear, sit." He guides her to the table, gently assisting her into the chair and then tucking it in with a courteous gesture. "Do avail yourself of whatever you desire," he offers with a gracious motion, pushing a glass of juice towards her. "Be sure to partake of this as well—it is rich in vitamins. We wouldn't want you to faint after all your diligent efforts, would we?"

He watches her intently as she lifts the cup to her lips, letting the juice pour into her mouth. A faint, approving smile plays at the corners of his mouth as he observes her actions.

"Excellent," he says, his tone both pleased and reassuring. "You see, a little nourishment goes a long way. We have so much to accomplish, and it's important that you're in the best of health."

The days melded together in a seamless routine. Each day she arrived at the lab to find her workspace prepared and waiting. Her days were filled with an array of tasks: sorting through data, preparing materials, and assisting with various aspects of the research. Despite the demanding schedule, she found herself becoming more adept and confident in her role.

Every meal was met with the same reassuring attentiveness from Malachi Forman. At breakfast, lunch, or dinner, depending on when she was planned to work, he would warmly insist she partake in the fare he had meticulously arranged. His smile was always kind, his demeanor ever courteous, as he encouraged her to sample each dish. The glass of juice became a familiar fixture at each meal, its presence subtly woven into their interactions. With every serving, he would casually remind her of its benefits. "Be sure to drink this," he'd say, pushing the glass towards her with a smile.

Yet, with each passing day, paranoia grew. She constantly glanced over her shoulder, catching fleeting shadows in her peripheral vision. Oddly enough, she began to notice her vision had improved, particularly when navigating the dim alleyways leading to her apartment building. By the week's end, those shadows had taken on a distinct shape of a person, lingering just out of sight.

She's losing her mind, she thinks to herself as she once again catches a glimpse of a person seemingly disappearing into thin air. Is she suffering from hallucinations? She could ask Forman for assistance, but that old man is already busy enough.

She enters her apartment, throwing her bag onto the small couch. Without bothering to turn on the lights, she plops down with the phone in her hand, searching for a specific contact. She hits the dial button and waits patiently.

"Look who decided to finally call," her mother's voice sounds from the phone.

"Yeah, yeah. You didn't call me either, mom. I'm not the only one guilty of that."

"Whatever. What do you want, baby? Do you need some money?" Her mom asks seriously.

"Mom, I told you, if I suddenly need money I'll tell you right away," she lies. "I'm fine in that department."

"Okay, okay. I know how much you hate asking for help, so I'm just checking. Your dad and I can't help but worry." The older woman admits.

She smiles, grateful to have such caring parents. "I know. I also hate when you guys worry, so if you could just, you know, not? That would be great."

"Ha, easier said than done, you little brat."

A beat of silence passes, which of course worries her mother. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

She is so tempted to tell her mother about the hallucinations, but decides not to. She wouldn't be of much help from so far away, and all that would do is worry her even more. To fill the silence and give her mother an answer, she proceeds to tell her all about her new internship.

A few scoldings and life lessons later, she cuts the call.

Her mother's voice is a deep source of comfort during this period of inner turmoil. She strangely doesn't feel like herself. She feels... wrong. Perhaps working in such an isolated place is taking a toll on her mental health, which may also be the cause of the shadows she appears to see. Or, she could just be tired.

However tired she may be, she remembers closing her bedroom door before leaving earlier today.

She silently rises from the couch and makes her way to the bedroom. Peering through the small gap in the doorway, her eyes scan the dark room—everything appears normal. Nothing out of place.

But what is that smell?