MidKnight: The Asylum [FINISHED]

Chapter 1: Dr. Jeanette

For almost an entire year, he'd been away from home. For some of that time, he was locked in a straitjacket, a cell, and tied to an operating table. Once the cycle started, it never stopped. There was no escape. This year was the most vulnerable he'd been in his life, even before the robe. He woke up in the asylum with little recollection of what happened prior to his falling out of comission. Just before that, though, before he was locked away, he had protection, identity concealment, weapons and his sanity, he was safe and secure and strong. That all changed when the Mayor of Blackstone City, his home, showed hidden true colors while they were alone together. Mayor Thompson killed MidKnight that day. But, to his amazement, he came to wake in a cell among cells, surrounded by gigantic cries and indistinct shouts. Now, he was alone in an asylum. He had no weapons, he had no security, he had no friends. He was just left in hospital scrubs, trapped in a cell for trying to do good, and nobody in Blackstone had even known where he'd been shipped off to.
The first person he'd talked to after waking up from death, who knows how far from home, was a shrink who worked at the Asylum. Dr. Jeanette. She was a lovely woman, Early 20's, kind-hearted and soft-voiced. As for initial character judgment? Dr. Jeanette seemed very patient with everybody, and she looked very authoritative. Long blonde hair tied back behind her head with fairly large glasses. He, the former dead man, also sensed a secret insecurity in the back or the doctor's mind. And yes, he did have to admit, she was indeed very beautiful.
    Dr. Jeanette waited for the security guard that escorted her to the cell to open up the cage doors and allow her to enter. MidKnight sat at the foot of his bed, readjusting the knee area of the scrubs, too tight on the knees.
"Mr. Harold Marcus?" she asked, stepping over to him, heels clacking on the cold concrete floor of the cell. The security guard brought in a steel chair, set it next to the bed and Dr. Jeanette sat down as he left. "You tell me." he mumbled out. That was not his name, not even close, but he intended to adopt it to more easily observe his environment.
"That's what they have you down as." she mentioned. She lifted the front paper of the clipboard to double check.
"Well, then, looks like you've got your answer." he remarked. The shrink smirked. "I'm Dr. Jeanette, I'll be your therapist while you're here. It's nice to meet you Mr. Marcus." she held a hand out. He shook it, as anyone would, but it seemed as if it satisfied her, in a way that made it seem like she didn't expect him to.
"Nice to meet you." he told her. He was still staring into the nothingness on the ground in front of him.
"So, you're here for arson?" she asked him, getting into the interview part of the session where all the backstory comes out.
"Arson." he repeated, putting his mind to wor. He began taking in his surroundings, searching his mind for what got him into this box, and recalled everthing he encountered so far. With all of these things in mind, he could start piecing a fabricated story together to fit whatever was on his sheet. But, as the thought of fabricated information entered his mind, he couldn't help but wonder: why, of all things, would The Mayor put him here and choose arson as a reason to place him in an insane asylum? Surely he hadn't pegged this building incorrectly, between the psychotics' screams from their cells and the bright white walls and hallways. But, of course, what sealed the deal was the constant:
"Nurse! Nurse! I need those meds again! Nurse!"
"Hey! Hey, Officer Mason! That clown is in here again! Arrest him for me?!"
"Where did that lil piglet go? I was just holding it a minute ago!"
This was no prison, it was an old-fashioned/modern mental hospital hybrid.
"Is that incorrect? The Director said that's why you came, setting a full church on fire. Is that not correct?" she asked. What was weird was, she actually sounded like she cared, like she wanted to know and do something about it, not just to get into his head, like the others.
"No, no, that's right." he told her. She nodded and jotted something down on the clipboard.
"Well, Mr. Marcus--"
"Call me Harold, please." he interrupted.
"Sure. Can you tell me why you set fire to the building?" she asked. Here we go: story time.
"I just...like to see things burn. The bright flame is brilliant when attached to a wooden surface. It makes me feel good." he lied.
"'Makes you feel good' how?" she asked.
"I'm not sure, my heart just feels warm whenever I start a flame successfully. Kind of like being happy because you did something, accomplishing a task you once had trouble performing." he rambled on. He continued adding little hints and tiny details at the end of every lie to get her to ask another question, reeling her in, giving her the illusion that she's getting a real story from a real arsonist named Harold Marcus.
"Can you tell me more about that last part?"
"What do you mean?"
"You said something that-- Did you use to have trouble starting fires?"
"Yeah."
"Can you give me more detail? When did you start setting things on fire?"
"Oh, well, my uncle and I went camping one time, I think I was about 10 years old. He got angry at me because I couldn't get the fire to start. I tried, but I couldn't do it right." he stammered.
Harold thought back to how Jeanette mentioned the Director, whoever he was, supposedly telling her that "Mr. Marcus" was here for arson. He had to be in on whatever sick game the Mayor had put in motion. He had to be part of the reason he was here.
"What did he do when he got angry?"
"He hit me. A lot." his voice shook, trying to show fake trauma.
"I'm sorry." she told him.
"You are?" he asked. That wasn't the response he anticipated.
"Yes, I am."
"No, no. It's just, all the other shrinks I've been to before never said anything like that." He gazed up at her. God, her eyes were absolutely stunning. She possessed a pair of those bright and rare grey ones. He looked back down to his feet. She stopped scribbling notes onto her board and looked up at him. "Like what?" he sensed worry from the way she asked. He looked her straight in the eyes, as awkward as it made him feel. "Sincere." They held a gaze for about 10 seconds, silence filled the room.
    The guard tapped on one of the cell bars. "Time's up, doc." She looked down at her notes for a split second before holding them to her chest, the way you do when you're trying to hide something, in this case, what was written on the paper. She cleared her throat and stood, lifting the chair. She struggled to carry everything out, her clipboard slipping out. He managed to catch a glimpse of the notes. All he was able to read from what showed was, "his eyes", "arson", "friendly".
    "Got it all?" he asked. She giggled again and readjusted everything in her arms to more easily carry everything out. "Yep, we'll get back at this tomorrow, Mr. Mar--Harold." she looked back at him before the guard opened the door. The kind of last look you see in movies when they both look back after a dramatic goodbye. Then, she left and Harold went to sleep. He failed to gather answers, but he managed to get some info and a potential ally. He could rest now.