Must Love Hyenas

03: New Arrival

Harleen was frustrated. It had been nearly three weeks since she'd begun working at Arkham. The patients assigned to her featured hallucinations, clinical depression and dementia. None of the criminal cases were transferred to her care, and it made her feel like she was less a contributing member of the Asylum staff and more of a flunky the higher-ups used to offload their unwanted workload. Between sessions, she continued looking through the files of the various patients not assigned to her in the hopes of finding something worthwhile, but her optimism diminished with each passing day.

A single knock at her office door sounded before Dr. Abernathy Cook, current head of operations at the Asylum, walked in.

"Miss Quinzel?" he asked, straightening the black plastic rims of his glasses before continuing. "You've been doing good work here; a new patient has arrived in the Asylum, so I was wondering if you wanted to have a look."

"I suppose," Harleen answered warily, slowly closing the folder on her desk. "What's the condition of the patient?"

"Catatonia," Cook replied. "He stares straight ahead and doesn't respond to anything."

Harleen sighed deeply. It seemed another unwanted case had been shoved her way. She wondered if she was ever going to be anything other than receptacle for the discards of other doctors.

"Alright," she accepted.  Trying to at least look professional, she pulled her blonde hair back and twisted it into a bun as she stood from the desk.  "Let's go see the newcomer."

***

The medical staff wheeled in a gurney with a man strapped down to it. Harleen took instant notice the man's skin was nearly the same white color as the pillowcase under his head. A sharp nose and sunken eye sockets exaggerated the gaunt look of his long face. Even though the eyes were open, they stared at nothing, unmoving, unblinking.

"Here you are," Cook announced. He handed her a clipboard with a stack of papers for her to sign before taking over the man's care.

Harleen scribbled her signature the various papers on the clipboard, sometimes multiple times per page. When everything was finished, she instructed the orderlies to take him to her office.

***

Harleen locked the door behind the orderlies as they left, leaving her alone with her new patient. She pulled up a chair and sat down near the man, studying him carefully. Her eyes followed every line and curve of his features, looking for the slightest sign of life from within. She noticed the man actually did blink, but the delay between them had made her miss seeing it before.

"I'm Harleen Quinzel," she introduced. "I'm overseeing your stay her at Arkham Asylum. Can you hear me?"

No response.

She looked throughthe medical file she'd been given. He'dbeen found in his current condition with no clue as to what had happened tohim. No wallet had been found on hisperson. His fingerprints, dentalimpressions, and DNA weren't in any database, so as long as he persisted insilence, his true identity remained secret. The hospital where he'd been first examined tagged him John Doe before sending him to Arkham for long termcare.

Harleen closed the file and stared at her patient again, wondering what the man had gone through and what might still be inside. Trauma often caused the human mind to retreat like a turtle pulling into its shell. His pale skin made her wonder if he'd been exposed to some kind of chemical or had simply locked away from daylight all his life. Treatment would be more effective if she knew the cause of his condition. She crossed her arms, absently drumming her fingers on her opposing arm while considering the possibilities.

Taking the file off her lap and transferring it to the seat of her chair as she stood, Harleen moved over to the man's side. Kneeling down, she pulled back the sheet to reach his hand. Taking his hand between both of hers, she tried not to notice the icy cold touch of the man's pale skin. Holding his hand securely, Harleen whispered in his ear.

"You're not alone," she told him. "No matter what horrible things happened in your past, you survived. Your problems aren't here, but you are. You have the strength to endure and prevail, and I'm here to ensure that you will."

The man blinked slowly in one of the few times he showed any life beyond breathing. When his eyes opened again, they had turned to look in Harleen's direction. She inhaled sharply when she suddenly noticed him focused on her, but she didn't flinch or let go of him. The instant the surprise wore off, she smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner.

The man didn't respond with words, and when he blinked again, his eyes returned to staring at nothing. Harleen felt both elated and disappointed. Truthfully, she didn't know what she was supposed to be feeling. Her patient had acknowledged her, something he'd done for no one else, but he'd also slumped back into his catatonic state. It was possible progress, but it remained to be seen if it was anything significant or repeatable.

She squeezed his hand gently.

"You're safe here," she went on. "Life, especially here in Gotham, can weigh a person down, but if you can find a way to laugh, the weight can become lighter. I have a pair of very young hyenas. They're my babies, and they always bring a smile to my face. Perhaps they might bring one to yours. Maybe when you feel up to it, I could introduce you to them. I'm sure they'd like you."

Harleen felt something unexpected. The man's hand had curled slightly to tighten on hers. It was the barest of movements, but it meant a great deal to Harleen. She decided to take the gesture as permission to bring her babies to see him the following day in the hopes of bringing him further out of his insulated state. It remained to be seen what would become of him if his mind ever let him come back to the real world.