Chapter Text
Click. Click. Click. Sofia gritted her teeth as she watched the woman opposite her repeatedly click that pen. Digging her nails into her palm to distract from the noise, she glanced around the room to focus on anything but the eyes trained on her. The clock loomed over the table, and the soft ticking noise added to her stress—she’d only been there for five minutes. The psychologist’s eyes wouldn’t leave her, starting to unsettle her; she knew what the woman was trying to do. She was trying to read Sofia, find out why she’d killed all those girls. Little did she know that the cops had hanged the wrong man for these crimes.
“Sofia, I want you to remember, this is your session. You chose where we go,” the psychologist softly reminded her, biting her bottom lip. Sofia could tell that she needed—craved—this. Sitting in a room, psycho analysing every small movement to work out her ticks. Still, she remained quiet, refusing to give her what she desperately wanted. Her eyes flickered to the woman’s name badge again, Dr Victoria Moretti—an Italian last name. Sofia smirked, knowing that at least her father would be proud of that. But she doubted he even thought about her, let alone care about where her psychologists came from.
Softly, Victoria sighed and leaned back into her chair. Her pen slammed against the notepad, as she watched Sofia watch her. Debating whether it would be easier to elicit a conversation from her or end the session there, she glanced at the clock. Great. Ten minutes and she still isn’t talking.
Arkham Asylum was incredibly different from the places she used to work at. Dirty hallways, abusive guards, negligent doctors. . . criminally insane patients rather than your typical, run-of-the-mill patients suffering from trauma. These patients didn’t want her help, no matter how desperately they needed it.
Victoria was happily working at Tommy Elliot Memorial—until she suffered a psychotic break and was suspended without pay. Then, she broke that suspension to try and get revenge on the co-worker she was convinced wanted to kill her. . . only for the board to not believe her; she was fired on the spot. It’s a miracle she kept her licence, but they must have taken pity on her. After all, it’s not a regular occurrence that well-renowned psychologists randomly suffer a psychotic break and turn on their co-workers. Hey, at least she hadn’t fallen in love with one of her patients.
Now, Arkham was the only place desperate enough to hire her—and she was desperate enough to ignore their reputation. . . and turnover rate. She’d been there two months, and. . . It was immediately clear how she got this job.
Glancing at the clock again, she cursed herself, realising another ten minutes passed away. She was too lost in her head when she should be focusing on Sofia’s. “Your brother’s sweet. Not many family members visit patients here—let alone every week,” Victoria stated, trying to draw something out of Sofia.
“Yeah, that’s Al,” she replied, refusing to elaborate further. It was a start.
“Do you hear much from your dad? What’s your relationship like with him?” Victoria asked, watching her face darken. Her dark brown eyes stare into the doctor's deeply, as Victoria felt a chill run up her spine. She made a mental note to steer clear of bringing up Carmine Falcone.
There was a moment of silence, as Sofia’s gaze slipped to Victoria’s lips—which she had bitten raw—before she breathed out softly. “I don’t wanna talk about him,” she mumbled, facing the door. “Sorry, is this mandatory? Do I have to be here?”
“Yes, Sofia. You need to complete five hours of court-mandated therapy per week,” Victoria replied, sighing as she rubbed her temples. “I understand this is awkward, but we can talk about anything you like.”
She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment before Victoria swore she saw something flicker in her eyes. “When I was five years old, a bird flew into my window. Naturally, I ran outside to see if I could help it, but it’s just laid on the ground, oddly stiff. I start tearin’ up because there’s just nothin’ I can do for this creature when my dad walks over—he’d seen me run downstairs. I may have forgotten most of this story, but I’ll never forget what he said next. He tells me, very softly, very gently, ‘Sofia, don’t cry for the bird. If you cried for every dead thing, you’d have no time to live your life.’ And so I wiped away my tears and he seemed pleased. I was always his tough little girl. That night, it’s late, I should be in bed, but the kitchen lights on. I’m a curious kid, so I go to investigate. My mum’s in the dining room, ballin’ her eyes out, head in hands. There’s my father, ravin’ at her, ‘Isabella. Don’t cry about it, the bitch is lyin’. If you cry every time something like this happens, you’ll drown this family with your tears.’ He’s so loud, that everyone in the house could hear him. Not Al, that boy could sleep through a flood warnin’,“ She paused her story, and Victoria leaned in; Sofia’s face had changed—no longer stone cold. . . More like, morose.
“Anyways, a week later, I overhear a conversation of him tellin’ someone ‘she’d been dealt with’ and he caught me. He called me into his office, and I sat on his lap. Then he went, ‘remember that bird last week? Well, I got my own bird giving me grief—giving your mum grief. And do you remember what I told you?’ and I nod, replying to him, ‘yeah. don’t cry for the bird,’ and he goes, ‘if you cried for every dead thing, you’d have no time to live your life.’ “ It’s oddly quiet, as Victoria quickly began to understand what she was saying, “And that’s when I learnt what kind of man my father was. ‘Course, I forgot about that story for years. But that’s the thing about Arkham, isn’t it? It always makes you remember things you wish you hadn’t,” she finally finished.
Victoria let out a deep breath, “That’s quite a story, Sofia,” she replied, not sure how to properly respond. Had she just confided that her father was a murderer? Or was she trying to manipulate Victoria into thinking she was innocent? “Is that why you hurt those women? Were they birds giving you grief?”
“They weren’t my birds,” she mumbled.
As Victoria was about to press for more details, the guards came bursting through the door. “Sorry, doc. Hours up,” they explained.
Victoria got up, gathering her materials. “Same time, tomorrow. We need to explore this avenue some more, Sofia,” she reminded, hoping to at least get a goodbye. Sofia remained silent, complying with the guards, so they wouldn’t be as rough with her as they were with the other patients.
Closing the door behind her, Victoria’s high heels made a distinctive clack clack clack as she headed back to her office. Sofia turned around for a split second, watching the slight sway of her hips as she walked in the opposite direction—she grinned to herself. Her doctor had a cute butt, she had to admit.
Victoria’s supervisor, David, closed the door to the observation room, rushing to catch up. “Hey, Victoria, good job today. She’s usually so quiet with everyone else, I wonder how you got her talking,” he praised. The blonde shrugged, clinging onto her notes closely.
“She was still pretty quiet for most of the session,” she replied, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.
David stopped her, putting his arms on her shoulders, and getting too close for comfort. “Trust me. Sofia Falcone doesn’t talk. At least, not to everyone else,” he said, his face inches from Victoria’s. She leaned back a bit and gave him a saccharine smile that she knew would placate him for a minute, in the hopes he’d leave her alone. This works, as they both part ways—with him bidding her goodbye and heading to the penitentiary.
Once inside the sanctuary of her office, Victoria slid down her door and let out the loudest sigh of her life. Between Sofia barely cooperating, the new job and the new apartment, she could feel the grip she had on her sanity slip away. Fuck, she needed a drink.
Her shift ended in an hour, then she could drink her anxieties away at the bar. . . A loud knock at the door distracted her, causing her to shake that thought away—the last thing she needed at the moment was an alcohol addiction—and open it up.
It was one of the interns, whose name Victoria had completely forgotten. She’d started a week after she did—she was one of the only interns who’d made it this far. Ten interns had quickly spiralled to four after two months, but who could blame them? Victoria was sure it’d be a matter of time before four turned into one.
“Hiya, you forgot your recording,” she explained, handing it over to Victoria. Her accent was quite strong, but the dirty blonde couldn’t place it—her high school best friend’s parents were Welsh and sounded just like her, so it couldn’t be that far off.
Victoria smiled back widely, “Ah, thanks. . .”
“Cathy. Cathy Morgan,” She finished for the dirty blonde. Victoria cursed herself for forgetting and she laughed it off, “It’s fine. It’s a forgettable name,” she seemed cheerful—a stark contrast to this place and all the people in it. “I can’t believe you’re Sofia Falcone’s new therapist; I read her file, and after all the men that looked after her before you, I think it’s tidy they’re choosing a more. . . feminine touch,” Victoria tapped the recording impatiently, hoping Cathy would leave sooner or later without having to tell her—confrontation, despite being a psychologist, was never Victoria’s strong suit (unless she suffered from another psychological break—but that’s different). The platinum blonde noticed her quiet demeanour, and sighed, “I’m annoying ya, aren’t I? Tha’s okay, I’ll just leave—”
“No, no,” Victoria interrupted. “I—you’re right. Sofia. . . confuses me. That’s all. I’m worried about what she said during the session, so I need to go over it and add to my notes,” giving Cathy a tight-lipped smile, she hoped sooner or later she’d have enough time to ponder over her session’s notes in privacy. Victoria still didn’t want to come off as rude, after all, she just saved her ass with the recording.
Cathy, finally taking the hint, nodded in understanding. “I’ll leaves you to it, then,” she replied, closing the door silently as she left. Victoria cursed herself for being rude to her—but also for stupidly forgetting the tapes back in the room and prompting this conversation in the first place.
“And that’s when I learnt what kind of man my father was. ‘Course, I forgot about that story for years. But that’s the thing about Arkham, isn’t it? It always makes you remember things you wish you hadn’t,” Sofia’s crackly voice echoed around her office before rewinding the tapes. “And that’s when I learnt what kind of man my father was—” Victoria groaned in frustration, slamming the pause button as she tried to wrap her head around what Sofia was confiding in her.
Yawning, while she scanned through her records, Victoria could feel her confusion escalating. It was all, more or less, the same analysis. Clinically insane. Unable to stand trial. No improvement. But it felt like she could see through her, there was a woman in there begging to be seen—what were her past doctors trying to hide? She was lucid, at least to Victoria—even after several rounds of shock therapy, which could cause even the strongest of people to spiral into insanity. It was a miracle she could remember her name.
The office door swung open, shocking Victoria so violently that she jumped out of her seat. “Sorry, Miss. Thought everyone had gone home for the night,” the janitor explained, pushing the mop bucket into the room.
“Home?” Victoria’s eyes glanced towards the clock that said 11:30. Shit. She’d accidentally stayed in her office for an extra two hours. “Oh, that’s why I’m so tired. Sorry Carl, see you tomorrow,” she replied, covering her mouth as she yawned and tidied her stuff away.
Leaving Arkham at night was always a horrible experience. Walking back to her car in the pitch-black night was unnerving, the howls and moans of patients sent chills down her spine, and worst of all there was only one other person who would stay back this late.
“Hey, why’re you staying so late?” David asked, putting his arm around Victoria’s shoulders. She fought back the urge to bite him, “You know the warden hates it when people work overtime, but this can be our little secret,” he laughed at his terrible joke, making her want to gag then and there.
She kept up the façade, knowing he was the only person standing between her and unemployment. “I lost track of time—you know, I was listening to what Sofia said during our session, and it honestly sounds like her previous diagnoses are incorrect. I think they must have locked up the wrong person because I can’t see the woman they claim—”
David’s face dropped, and he interrupted her before she had a chance to finish, “Then start seeing it,” his abruptness shocked Victoria. “If he says she’s crazy, she’s crazy. Disrupting her time here at Arkham will only make you a powerful enemy.”
Victoria’s eyebrow lifted as an amused expression spread across her face. “Warden Sharp? I think I can deal with him,” she snorted, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.
David shook his head and sighed, scanning the area before replying, “Carmine Falcone,” he looked around once more, checking that they were alone, “Don’t go digging. Not if you want to keep this job, and more importantly,” he leaned in, whispering into the blonde’s ear, “Your life,” he quickly tried to gage her reaction, and sighed when he only saw confusion etched across her face. “Falcone owns Arkham, so he owns us. Owns the warden. If he wants Sofia locked up, trust me when I say she’s staying locked up. Goodnight,” David practically sprinted to his car, leaving her with more questions than he answered.
What had Victoria gotten herself into?