Shattered (Black Cat Chronicles, Book Two)

12. Solitary

Every day in Arkham was routine: wake up calls and first medication rounds at 8 am, breakfast from 8:30 to 9:30, hobby time from 10 to noon, lunch from noon to 1, second medication rounds around 1:30, therapy sessions from 1:30 to nearly 5 pm (this depended on how much got achieved in individual sessions since there were only so many psychiatrists available), dinner around 5:30 to 6:30, hobby time again from 7 pm to 9 pm, final medication rounds at 9:30, and lights out at 10 pm. One thing I had to admit about Arkham was that my sleep schedule was finally starting to fix itself thanks to the new routine. Every eating period I met up with Shiva and Cheshire, learning everything I could about Arkham. Harley was on board with my plan, as expected, feeding me information about the blueprints and different guard schedules. One thing she warned me about being near Joker was that he knew how to get into your head. He knew how to take the things that you hated about yourself and your life and turn them into your utter destruction. Basically, that meant he would have a lot of ammo to use against me.

It wasn't until nearly a week had passed that I would start putting my plan into effect. Every time we were in group therapy (we being me, Freeze, Penguin, Cheshire, Shiva, and Scarecrow, seeing as we were some of the more sane patients in the eyes of the psychiatrists), I was gathering information that I could use to my advantage. I needed to find the perfect target, someone that was around my build and not vicious enough that they'd leave me critically injured, but I couldn't find anyone like that yet. Strange thrived in our sessions, always digging for more and more information. I, of course, didn't give him anything real, but I also couldn't just use my fake backstory like I did for the group. I had to create yet another backstory, but one that was just boring enough that Strange wouldn't think too much of it.

Everytime Harley was in the chair, we put more thought into the plan. We needed to perfect it just to ensure that whatever we could control would be controlled, and anything else could be dealt with accordingly. Honestly, this was probably one of the more thought out things that I've done since becoming a villain, everything else going based on instinct and vague plans that could go wrong at any moment. I knew that my window of opportunity would be closing soon. If I spent too long playing the good prisoner role, then I ran the risk of not actually achieving the outcome I wanted to. Everything just had to come together very precisely or I could screw everything up.

It wasn't until I'd been in Arkham for nearly a week that everything fell into place for my plan to go into action. Harley was running comms, I'd managed to sneak a butter knife into my cell, and that nurse guy was spending way too long in my cell after giving me my midday meds. It was like someone wrote the scene perfectly for me, and with the guard right outside of my cell, I knew it was now or never. "You know, I've been told that your interactions with Shiva and Jade have been helping you in your therapy sessions," John told me, leaning against the wall. Do it. Now. No. Wait, until he's in a better position.

"Oh, really? I wasn't aware that my therapy was any of your business," I said, sitting on my bed with my back against the wall. John laughed, and I arched a brow. "I'm sorry, did I say something funny?"

"No, I'm not laughing at you," John told me. "I'm just glad to see you acting like more of a person."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked. John just shook his head and sat on the bed next to me. I immediately began inching my hand towards my pillow, the butter knife just underneath it.

"I think you should do it soon, kid," Harley spoke in my ear. "Just know that there's no goin' back afterwards." I nodded even though she couldn't see me.

"You're calmer than you were when you first came in," John told me, a stupid smile on his face. I almost felt bad for what I was about to do to him. Almost. John was saying something else, but I wasn't listening. My hand wrapped around the butter knife, and I was just watching the juncture of his neck. I couldn't go too high or too low, then I ran the risk of actually killing him. There was a small area that I could hit and not actually hurt him too badly, and I just needed him to stop moving around so much so I could hit it. I didn't even hold anything against John (other than the fact that he talked so much), he seemed like a nice enough guy, he was just a convenient target.