CHAPTER 1

MIRANDA WARNING

❝ We're all killers.

We've all killed parts of ourselves to survive.

We've all got blood on our hands.

Something somewhere had to die 

so we could stay alive. ❞

Eleanor Tadman didn't know why she was there. She didn't know what she had done, or even why or how. It wasn't the first time her mind went blank and she found herself in a different place from where she last remembered to be, but this time, she had blood on her hands. And the worst part was she didn't care. Not even when the police sirens forced her to close her eyes, the bright lights dancing behind her eyelids as she felt her arms being pulled forcefully behind her back.

"Eleanor Tadman, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Stephen Jones. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," there was a policeman behind her shouting above the sirens while handcuffing her wrists, but his words came to her muffled and distorted, as if Eleanor was hearing them from the other side of a mirror. She hated this sensation. Of being a foreigner in her own mind, as if she was watching her body from the outside. As if she was just a puppet being pulled by someone else's strings. "You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?"

Eleanor didn't understand anything. There were policemen all around her, delimiting a security perimeter and preventing citizens and journalists from getting closer. The night was cold and uninviting, and crimes happened all the time in Gotham. Eleanor didn't understand the sudden interest of the population for this crime in specific. Maybe it was because once her family had been a respectable one, and there was nothing the people of Gotham loved more than witnessing somebody's downfall.

Behind the circle of people she could see the body of someone being taken to the ambulance, and while she couldn't see if he was dead or alive, from the policeman's words, she hadn't killed him. But she had tried. And all Eleanor could see and taste and feel was blood, hers and that of another's. No fear. Just blood. And the thirst for it.

"Do you understand the rights I have just told you?" The policeman asked again, tightening his grip around her bruised wrists.

"Yes," Eleanor heard herself saying, her throat dry and her lips chapped, "I understand."

The policeman pushed her forward harshly, and it was only when he stuck her head inside the police car that Eleanor realized she was still holding a fragment of shattered glass in her hands.

***

Like all places in Gotham, the Gotham City Police Department was a desolating place, gloomy and dark and deceitful, and just a tad bit cleaner. The interrogation room Eleanor was being held in was no better, and the only sound heard on it was the tapping of her fingers on the table in front of her. She didn't even know why she was there; it was clear the attorney sitting across from her nervously shifting his papers had come straight out of Law School. She was going to prison, and once again, she didn't care. She couldn't find it in her to do so.

"I am going to be honest with you, Miss Tadman," the attorney said as he lifted his eyes from the papers to her and then quickly looked away. In some deep, lost part of herself, Eleanor felt sorry for him. He wasn't going to last a day. If he was this nervous with her, Eleanor could only imagine what Gotham's worst criminals would do to him, "the odds are not in your favor. You were found with the murder weapon in your hands, a shard of glass, as you surely recall."

I don't, she thought. Her mind was still empty, leaving her with nothing but hazy shreds of vague memories to haunt her. The worst part of not remembering was that her imagination started filling in the blanks for her, and that was even worse. Her imagination was just another crime scene.

"There's witnesses who saw you in the crime scene, standing over the victim. Mr. Jones is in the hospital, in critical condition. If he dies, you will be accused of second degree murder. We're talking about fifteen years minimum, to life imprisonment at worst."

"Well, but he's not dead yet, is he?" Eleanor asked, and the attorney raised his eyebrows, surprised by her tone. The lucidity in it.

"No, he isn't. That's why as of right now you're being charged with second degree attempted murder. Which means five to twenty years in prison. It doesn't help that the victim is an innocent man with no record."

Eleanor felt a pang of something somewhere inside her, something akin to guilt. If only she could still feel that.

"Now there's some things we can do to reduce your sentence. The impossibility and renunciation defenses are out of the question, since from all the evidences gathered, you actually tried to commit the murder, but there are a few mitigating factors we can work with. If you were provoked in any way or acted in self-defense, we—"

"I wasn't. I wasn't provoked, and I didn't act in self-defense."

The young man in front of her pursed his lips and sighed.

"Showing genuine remorse and fully cooperating with the authorities can help you get a reduced sentence. Or... you could plead insanity."

Eleanor tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing as one side of her lips curled up. "Do I look insane to you, sir?"

The attorney pursed his lips again, blinking rapidly as he observed her.

"I... I wouldn't be able to tell. But a psychiatrist would and—"

"Or I can go with a guilty plea," Eleanor interrupted. "Because I am guilty. But I'm not insane."

"I'm not saying you're insane, just that there might be something in your head... a mental disorder or illness that compelled you to do what you did. An evaluation from a psychiatrist wouldn't harm you and could in fact help you."

Eleanor snickered. Of course there was something in her head. But it wasn't any kind of disease doctors had discovered and could diagnose and treat.

"A psychiatrist can't help me, and with all due respect, sir, neither can you."

"Miss Tadman, I am here to help you. You need to be able to trust me, and the system and—"

"The system?" Eleanor snorted. "Are you kidding me? The system is rotten all over the country, but in no place more than here. Criminals walk the streets freely in the daylight while people cower in their houses, afraid to come out. This city has done nothing for me and I assure you, it will do nothing for you too. If you want my advice, the best you can do is leave while you can and become an attorney in some place where people actually give a damn about the law and about what's right and wrong. You won't find that here. All that matters is power, and money, and what it takes to get both."

The attorney finally stopped shuffling with his papers and set them down, staring at her in the eye for the first time.

"No, Miss Tadman," he ended up saying. "You do not look insane to me."

***

Eleanor had lost count of the number of hours she had been in that same white, dull room. The brightness of the lights and walls was giving her a headache, and the lengthy, worthless conversation she had just had with a police officer named Gordon hadn't helped. Commissioner Gordon seemed to be one of the few people in Gotham that was decent and reliable, but Eleanor knew better. Having to learn how to take care of herself from a young age had taught her some of the cruelest truths of life in the harshest of ways, and after years of living alone, she knew not to trust anyone. The city had taught her as much. Everyone was either corrupt, insane, or both. And the ones who didn't show it on the surface were the worst.

Eleanor was hungry and tired, and she just wanted to go home, even if that meant a prison cell in Gotham State Penitentiary. Her eyes were stuck on her hands, now cleaned of every droplet of blood. She knew she was being watched from the other side of the mirror, but she didn't dare looking at it. She couldn't stand looking at mirrors, not anymore. She was always terrified of what she might find. Ever since that day she never saw anything good in them.

When the door clicked open for the third time that night, Eleanor didn't look up. Whoever it was, it couldn't be there to help her. She had given up on that hope long ago.

"Miss Tadman, good night," a quiet, polite voice said from the door. It was a man's voice, calm and hoarse, and Eleanor fought the sudden urge to look at its owner, keeping her eyes on her hands instead. "I apologize for keeping you waiting for so long, it's been a crazy night," the man continued, moving from the door to the table and sitting in front of her. "I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane. I'm a psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum."

Unintentionally, Eleanor's head snapped at those words and she felt her breath hitch in her throat as her eyes clashed with his. She didn't know what or who she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. Across from her was a man around her age with pale skin, ruffled brown hair and the most translucent eyes she had ever seen behind a pair of glasses. Oh no, she thought. His eyes were so clear she could see herself in them. Like two mirrors she couldn't escape from.

"If you're a psychiatrist," Eleanor said slowly, "you know the effects starvation has on the human psyche. Any chance I can get something to eat before we start this doctor-patient thing?"

Eleanor tried not to shiver under Dr. Crane's enigmatic glance as he observed her. There was something magnetic about it and she hated it. It was like he was able to read her mind and flip through her soul with just one stare. But he'd find nothing there – just emptiness, and the horror of it.

"They haven't brought you anything yet?" Jonathan asked, his forehead wrinkled, more out of annoyance than out of surprise.

"It's Gotham, were you expecting them to give a five-course meal to their inmates?"

"Wait here, please," Jonathan asked before getting up.

"Yeah, as if I can go anywhere with this on!" Eleanor let out sarcastically, gesturing towards her chained wrists on the table and watching as the doctor opened the door and peeked into the hall.

"Excuse me," he said to one of the policemen outside, "my patients still have rights. And I don't want them to be starving when I'm conducting their evaluation. Make sure you bring Miss Tadman something to eat, quick."

Eleanor raised a brow when Dr. Crane closed the door and sat across from her again. She knew he wasn't doing this out of kindness. No one did.

"I'm sorry you're being treated this way," he stated, his voice neutral, trained. He didn't sound sorry at all; just like someone who had learn to fake it. "Now, if it's okay with you, I'd like to ask you some questions. You're not obliged to answer them, of course, it's just to see if—"

"I'm insane? Yeah, I know how it works," Eleanor drummed her fingers on the table again, analyzing the doctor. He didn't squirm under her stare like the attorney had done; he just returned it with an even more scrutinizing one. "You're not going to have any luck here, doc."

"From what I know, you were found at the crime scene with the murder weapon," the doctor said, ignoring her comment and opening up her file. "Do you know how you got there?"

The question took her aback. Out of the million things she had been asked about that day, no one had made her this question, not like this. But he was a psychiatrist. He lived and thrived inside other people's minds, perhaps even more than in his own.

"Probably by foot, I'd say," she replied. The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the door opened and a policeman entered with a plastic cup with water and a bag of bagels. He dropped it on the table carelessly and looked at Dr. Crane before fishing a key out of his pocket.

"It's okay," Jonathan nodded, and the officer freed Eleanor's hands before giving both her and Jonathan a death glare and leaving the room.

"Trust me, I can't stand them anymore than you can," Dr. Crane declared, and it was the first time since he had first spoken that Eleanor actually believed him.

"You don't mind if I eat at the same time we do this, do you?" Eleanor asked, reaching for the bag of bagels eagerly.

"Not at all," the doctor replied, a hint of amusement hidden in his tone as he watched her. Eleanor felt uneasy under his stare, it was too analytical. She knew he was trying to enter her mind, but Eleanor would never let anyone inside it. Not that he would find anything in there anyway. "But I can't help but notice you diverted from my question."

"And I can't help but notice that I don't care," she answered, before taking a bite of the bagel and scrunching up her nose. "What did they do this with, concrete? These bagels are harder than a freaking rock."

"What were you expecting, a five-course meal?" Dr. Crane retorted, the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips. He looked very handsome when he smiled. Then again, he looked handsome when he didn't too.

"No, but some cupcakes would have been nice," Eleanor joked. "You want some?"

"No, thank you. I'd like to talk about the weapon you used. A shard of glass from your bathroom's mirror. I'm intrigued. Many times murder weapons have a special meaning to the perpetrator, a connection. They symbolize something and are chosen very carefully."

I don't like where this is going, Eleanor thought. He's already figured me out more in five minutes than most people do in years.

"So my question is, why a glass? From your bathroom's mirror, in particular? Why not a gun, which would have completed the job far more easily? We do live in a country where it's easier to buy a gun than to have free health access, after all. You wouldn't have problems in getting one."

Maybe I didn't want to complete the job, the thought crossed her mind like a lightning, but Eleanor caught it, nonetheless. It happened a lot with her, having thoughts that didn't come from her. Or from this side of her, at least.

"Maybe I'm obsessed with mirrors. I blame my mother. She always used to read me Snow White when I was a child. I hated that tale. The queen was dumb. She could ask anything to the mirror and all she asked was if she was pretty. Seriously, what are we teaching kids these days?"

Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and closed the file, adjusting his glasses before looking at her again.

"You like to use humor, I see. To avoid questions, perhaps to cope with the pain of the answers."

"What pain? I don't need anything to help me cope with pain, doctor. If anything, I need something to help me cope with the absence of it."

"So you don't feel?" Jonathan asked, his voice more interested now. "Anything?"

"On the contrary, I do. But everything is so jumbled I can't distinguish one emotion from the other," especially when I'm feeling for two people, she avoided adding. "Anyway, the queen pissed me off in that tale. I don't like dumb people."

"Neither do I," Jonathan agreed. For the first time that day Eleanor felt like she was having a normal conversation with someone, and yet she knew Dr. Crane was leading the conversation to a more informal register just so she would open up to him. "What would have you asked, if you could? To the mirror?"

Eleanor swallowed hard. His questions were too intrusive and too right for her liking. He was insightful and shrewd and Eleanor needed to be careful. She had heard rumors about him, but then again, there were rumors about everyone in Gotham, and many of them turned out not to be true.

"I would have asked why couldn't I see myself in it."

Jonathan's curious eyes narrowed as he studied her. Her answer seemed to have pleased him, and that was the opposite of her intention.

"Why Mr. Jones, in particular? His record was impeccable. He was an exemplary man."

"Are there still those in Gotham?" Eleanor scoffed. "I'm sure he had some dirt too. We all do. I bet even you do, doctor."

"As far as we know, you had never had any contact with him before," Jonathan ignored her comment again. "It's as if you grabbed a random stranger on the street and stabbed him with the glass."

"Why him, you ask me?" Eleanor shrugged. "Maybe because I wanted to."

"Miss Tadman, I'm sure you know of this already, but if you want a reduced sentence, you're going to have to collaborate with me, since you've already refused to do so with the authorities. I think it would be in your best interest to—"

"No," Eleanor cut him off, "I'm not pleading insanity. I'm pleading guilty."

"That's insane," Jonathan shook his head. He sounded almost offended, as if this was personal to him.

"Curious of a psychiatrist to say that."

"You'll be in there for years. The Gotham Penitentiary isn't for the faint of heart, you wouldn't last a day in it. If you pled insanity, you'd be taken to my secure wing at Arkham, where you could have privacy, and much better conditions than in prison."

"Careful, doctor, it almost sounds like you're concerned about me. You're not starting to care for me, are you?" Eleanor mocked. He was right. This was her way to deal with reality. By denying it the seriousness it demanded.

"I care about the wellbeing of all my patients."

"I'm not your patient."

"Miss Tadman, only a competent attorney with great grasp on the law and years of experience in criminal investigations and in the court could help you in this case. That kid they assigned as your lawyer, it's clear he doesn't have it. People like you don't matter to the system. But they matter to me."

Eleanor kept quiet. The doctor didn't seem like he was going to back down from this, and that would interfere with her plans.

"I understand that you must be tired, and you need time to think. I'd like you to sleep on this and make up your mind when your thoughts are clearer."

My thoughts will never be clear, not while she's in them.

Eleanor watched as Dr. Crane got up from his chair and walked to the door. He looked over his shoulder to her, his eyes digging into her soul.

"We're not done yet, Eleanor. I'll be back."

"Can't wait," she said as he opened the door. She knew she wouldn't be able to forget those eyes anytime soon. She would see them as soon as she closed hers. "And make sure to bring me those cupcakes next time!"

author's note.

I hope you liked this chapter! Please vote and comment if you did, feedback is always welcome and much appreciated <3

Also, in no way am I an expert in Law, so please forgive me for any inaccuracies, and feel free to tell me if you spot one!