A trip to Brookhaven pt. 2 (3/21)
He wishes he could say something to make her feel better about it, but there really isn't anything to say. The U.V. lamps are the most likely thing they'll get, and even then he's pushing it.
They turn into a blue hallway and he stops in front of one of the doors. The way he's standing blocks the placard on the door next to the cell he's interested in. If they could see it, they'd be able to read Mears, W. He pulls out another keycard and Swipes it through the door, holding it open to allow Tara to move inside.
"Mr. Lynns, I hope you're having a pleasant day," he says, addressing the man in the cell. Ordinary bars separate him from Jonathan and Tara and where Ivy's walls were bare, his were covered. News clippings, posters, magazine articles, all cut out and taped to the wall. Every single one of them deals with a fire of some kind. Devastating wildfires, urban buildings ablaze, pillars of flame and ash covering all available wall space.
"Mr. Crane, how nice of you to visit," he says and his voice is soft, almost hypnotic, he turns to look at Tara, "and you brought a visitor. Hello," and he strains to see Tara's visitors pass, "Mrs. McCutcheon, a pleasure to meet you," he looks back at Jonathan, "I assume there is a specific reason you've brought me a visitor, right Mr. Crane?"
He was clearly an attractive man once. Brown hair, a pleasant shaped face, and brown eyes, that, when focused on a person, seemed almost kind. But there's nothing particularly lovely about him anymore. The left side of his face is badly burned, scarred heavily until the shiny scar tissue is almost omnipresent on his face. The burn continues down his neck and clearly into his clothes. His left arm also has a great deal of scar tissue, though it tapers off towards his hands.
An arsonist, perhaps? "Mr. Lynns," Tara greets him, her smile much more hesitant than it had been with Pamela. Neither is she going to invite him to call her by her first name - he has a name to call her, that's enough. He's polite, though, his voice oddly comforting, and she slowly relaxes, letting that voice distract her from his disturbing appearance. "I was hoping you'd spare me a few minutes to talk to me, actually? I, um... I'm doing a research project, of sorts, on evil, and I'm trying to get some different perspectives than the normal fare. Mr. Crane was nice enough to suggest that I might talk to you, and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind telling me what you think evil is?"
"Evil?" he asks, clearly a bit startled by the question, "I've been told exactly what evil is Mrs. McCutcheon. Evil is hypocrisy and indifference. Evil is a city, a country, a world that doesn't care about its poor. That allows poverty to choke the creativity, the passion, the life out of its people.
Because that's the way that poverty really kills Mrs. McCutcheon. Certainly people starve and people freeze to death, but its inside that dies first, long before the body realizes it."
"You're right," Tara replies, nodding as he speaks. She knows how it works, when you give up on life. Everything after that is just consequences, it's that moment where you realize that your life means nothing, that the world would not care or weep if you were gone that is the moment of change. "Except, um..." she doesn't want to offend him, but his phrasing intrigued her.”Except you said that you've been told what evil is. Is... is that what you think? Who told you?"
"It told me," he explains, "It speaks to me you see. When i look into the flames, the flames show me visions. And It told me, told me how to eradicate the evil. I looked into the flames and saw the truth. That's why I have this," and he indicates his face.
"Do you know the Bible at all? Recall the book of Exodus. Moses looked into the flames and God spoke to him. And when he came down from the mountain, he was changed, transformed so all would know he had been near the divine. Had spoken to it and been touched and changed deep inside. That is what this is. My visions, the visions I see in the flames, they're real.
And when It tells me what the greatest evil is, shows me like that... How can I do anything but believe?"
Only two people she's seen so far, but that's a common element - belief in personal contact with a divinity, who has given them special instructions. Tara can't help but wonder whether, if she had a less worldly psychiatrist than Jonathan Crane, she might be imprisoned here as well. What, after all, divides her from them, other than Plexiglas and strict security? ...And the fact that they've all killed a person and the only death she's ever caused wouldn't have been considered a 'person'. Killing a monster doesn't count, of course. "When God speaks, we listen," Tara replies, nodding. It's possible he's delusional, but it's also perfectly possible that he is a seer, that the visions he sees are real. "If I may ask, Mr. Lynns? What... what was it you did that landed you in here?"
"Have you ever heard of Gotham City Mrs. McCutcheon? Towering spires of concrete and glass, dirty alleys full of dealers and whores... Wealth so great and Poverty so sickening standing side by side. It's evil. A festering sore on the world. I was going to cleanse it. A holy fire, wiping it clean so that it could start anew," he explains, eyes losing their kindness when he speaks of the fire
"I was stopped of course, not even 2 percent of my goal accomplished. They were among the most evil of course, million dollar condos where low cost housing had once stood," he looks directly at her, "My punishment would have been smaller if it had been somewhere the homeless were squatting in, or some form of public housing. But because I dared try to end the hypocrisy, I was given the maximum punishment.
"Evil measured by dollars," Tara murmurs, her eyes sad. "I've never been to Gotham City, Mr. Lynns, but my son and my best friend both grew up there. But... but even when God cleansed Sodom and Gomorrah, the people who lived there were given the chance to escape. Did... I mean, were there people in the buildings you tried to burn?" There's minimal logic in his story. Burning down the homes of the wealthy doesn't make the homeless sleep any warmer.
"The plan wasn't for just a few to be burned. I saw an entire city, leveled to ashes by its own greed. That's what I was supposed to accomplish. The people... the people needed to have an end put to them as well. It isn't enough to end the result of all that corruption and hypocrisy. To accomplish anything you must get to the source, end it at the source. And sin begins in the mind," he explains looking at one of the urban fires on his wall. He then turns to look directly at her.
"They had to be cleansed as well, a message, a lesson. A pillar of salt to display the importance of the will of God."
His words make her profoundly uncomfortable, but she listens carefully. "Even the homeless? I mean, you were talking about it being for the sake of the poverty-stricken... people who don't have a lot guard what they have even more closely. You'd destroy them along with the rest?"
He looks at her, tilting his head, "The sickness had gotten inside them Mrs. McCutcheon. It was for their own good," he explains, soft, hypnotic voice never rising, "They had been affected so greatly by their situation, they didn't believe in anything better. They were all ready dead. I was just helping their bodies figure that out."
He steps to the wall, fingers caressing a picture of a building ablaze, "You have to destroy it all, rebuild from scratch, and build the new o the ashes of the old. So they can't forget, so they know the price of greed, of hypocrisy," he says and then turns to her, something disturbing still in his eyes from looking at the photo. It quickly goes away and his eyes are again an almost warm brown color, "The price of giving up. Indifference is death and I was going to make it impossible for anyone to be indifferent ever again."
"Do you think indifference is evil?" Tara asks him, trying to find a phrase that might link her understanding in to his. "I have a student who says that. That true evil are the sheep, who go about their daily lives without stopping to think about how accepting everything that comes their way is destroying them. Destroying society. Things they don't have to work for, the security blanket that everything will always be fixed for them..."
"A wise man," he says, "You can not improve things if you accept them as they are. If you allow yourself to become a part of the corrupt system, even in a passive way and capitulation is passive participation, then you are just as wrong as the system itself. And it is a false belief, that anything will be fixed for you, that system, the system, it doesn't care about people. It's concerned with money, with power... and those most in need have neither."
"Yes," he says nodding, "Indifference is evil. Both indifference to the situation of others and indifference to your own lot in life. If you allow yourself to be pushed down, then you must also be destroyed because you've succumbed, given in," another nod, "yes, indifference is evil."
"The system... it cares about the big picture." Like the Powers. "But the little people don't matter. And sometimes the big picture is, um... bigger than it ought to be." Indifference as evil isn't something that's widely held. Usually evil is something that's done, not something that's not done... and yet, people always say things like 'a friend doesn't stand by and listen as other people badmouth their friends'. Standing by and letting something happen is often considered as bad as actually doing it. She's not sure she believes that, though.
He smiles, nodding at what Tara says, "Precisely my point, there is no room for concern about those less fortunate, no time for the consideration of consequences. And when the 'little people' begin to believe that they aren't worth the consideration, they to are part of the problem. I'm pleased you understand my point of view Ms. McCutcheon."
He truly looks pleased, a smile lighting up his face, making the unburned portion look even more pleasant and the burned part look horrific.
"So you, um... it's like a cancer. You cut out the damaged flesh so it can't infect anything else, rather than trying to cure it?" Tara's trying hard to remain rational, following his train of thought and learning what she can from it, but there's something about him that turns her stomach, and it isn't the awful scarring on his face.
"Yes, though in this case, it's more like radiation therapy, burning away the affected area, so that the rest can be healthy. It pleases me that you understand so well Ms. McCutcheon. You see, most of the doctors here, even Mr. Crane himself, they don't understand, not really. It took them longer to grasp the concept, because for them, poverty is an abstract, a word, not a real, living, breathing thing. It makes me wonder Ms. McCutcheon, how it is you caught on so quickly," he leans forward, face almost touching the bars, "Are you a kindred spirit? Or just uniquely empathic?"
Tara shoots a glance to Jonathan, her lips tightening, a smile that is as much a grimace. "Empathic, maybe," she replies. "But, um... I've been there. Not homeless, but... but I know what it's like not to know if you can afford to eat that day and still pay rent. And you know, it's the people who have just as little who help. The people who have a lot, they look at someone in need and wonder where the scam is. They look at people in need and they don't see human beings, and when someone tells you over and over again you're not worthy and you're not human, you start to believe it."
Jonathan touches Tara's arm, as much to get her out of her memory as to get her attention. He glances at Lynns and shakes his head. Hoping she understands that she shouldn't share information like that.
"Please don't interrupt us, Mr. Crane," he says to Jonathan, "It isn't polite," he turns his gaze back to Tara, "Mr. Crane is an aristocrat; it's obvious in everything he does. I wonder sometimes whether it's Mr. or Mrs. Crane he's trying to anger by going into this kind of psychiatry, but it’s not really important. In the end, he's part of the problem.
You, my dear, you clearly see the problem; understand it for the monster it is. And it sounds like you were part of the problem as well at one time. Are you still? You clearly aren't destitute any longer, have you gone from one end to the other? Are you one of those who would look for the scam?"
Tara shakes her head, a lopsided smile gracing her face for a moment. "No, Mr. Lynns, I'm one of those who looks for the person. Like I'm looking for you. It's... it's what I do." She understands Jonathan's gesture, but she doesn't know how to talk to him without bringing a little of herself into the conversation.
"Surely there is a copy of my psychological profile on record here at Brookhaven; I see no reason why you'd need to speak to me to know who I am. And yet here you are, telling me who you are. Every word you say is full of who you are. Thank you Ms. McCutcheon, it's not often I get visitors.
My name is Garfield Lynns, I'm called Firefly. I'm an arsonist and I see visions in my flames. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"I'm not a psychologist, Mr. Lynns. I could read your profile, but I don't think it would tell me as much as talking to you, but..." That's a dismissal. "Thank you for, um... for sparing me your time. I really do appreciate it." She's not sure what she said that so offended him, but she's also not sure that she needs to speak with him any longer. She looks toward Jonathan, and nods her head slightly, indicating that she's ready to go.
Jonathan: He smiles to Tara because sometimes the patients were oddly sensitive and it hurt your feelings at first, but then you learned to not take it personally, "Yes Mr. Lynns, thank you for your time," he says to him before turning to open the door for Tara.
"Have a nice day Ms. McCutcheon, and really, thank you for your time. It's not often I get so unique a perspective," he says and again he smiles in hat way that makes his unburned flesh pleasant, and the burned part look horrific.
Once they're outside, with the door firmly closed behind them, Jonathan turns to Tara, "You didn't like him nearly as much as Isely," he says, stating the obvious
"Well, no," Tara replies, a wry twist of her lips - because it was obvious. "He was kind of insane. I don't know if you'd noticed it." She doesn't think of herself as a funny person, and usually her attempts at humour fall flat, but for her, this is a joke.
He laughs, "Perhaps I'll make a note of that on his chart Tara," he says, voice mock serious, "It could be just the breakthrough we've been looking for," he face gets a bit more serious, "He's due for his meds in a little under an hour, it's possible his morning dosage was wearing off faster than usual. He's usually very polite, a pleasure to speak to... once you get past the crazy"
"It took me a bit to get to the crazy," Tara says, looking back at the door. "It isn't that he wasn't polite... it's that life had so little meaning. Pamela... she gave meaning to life, it just wasn't human life. Mr. Lynns didn't value anything, except an ideal that can never be reached."
"What makes it worse is that it's a psychological manifestation of his trauma from being burned. He was an arsonist before then, but it was for money. Sure, he was a pyromaniac, but it wasn't until after he'd fallen into one of his own fires that he claimed to see visions in the flames."
He shakes his head, "His past is a common story in Gotham really. Father left when he was very young and his mother worked 3 jobs to make rent. She died of pneumonia during the Big Freeze back in '89. Most of Gotham lost power and there was almost no heat at all in the city. The poverty stricken, were obviously the hardest hit. He left school a little while later, started pulling small time jobs. Then he got a job with the Falcone Mob, insurance scams, protection rackets, your standard mob related activities. Then he almost dies in one of his own fires and suddenly it's like he's found religion.
It's a defense mechanism; he's attempting to create meaning out of causing his own downfall. We're trying to get through to him; he's just locked down awfully tight."
Tara's glance back to the door is much more sympathetic this time. "Dying - or even almost dying... yeah. It can do that to you. Although in this town, I wouldn't be so quick to assume he doesn't see visions. Not from God, from something. There are things that hover on the fringe of reality that can kind of, um... hitch a ride? Back with the person, when they return from the brink of death? I mean, it doesn't happen often, but it can happen. Has anyone, um... tested? To be sure they aren't real?"
He glances to the left and right to make sure no one else is around before turning his head to speak to Tara, "Tara, it's kind of hard to test for things like that, and... and most of the doctors here wouldn't believe in it anyway. To be honest, the only reason I believe is because I trust you and because I've seen it first hand."
He looks back to Lynns' room, "Is there any way for a mundane to test for it?" he asks. If there's something inside of Lynns, then he isn't actually crazy, and he might not really belong in here.
There has to be a way, there's always a way. It's just a matter of finding it. Nothing comes to mind, but... "I can look for something," she offers. "Do some research, and find a way?"
"If we can help him, I'm all for it Tara," he replies, stopping outside another door, "Ready for your last interview?" he asks. He'd been saving Harley for last specifically because she was so different from the other two.
"Ready," Tara replies, her mind already pouring over options, places to start researching as Jonathan opens the door. If he is possessed or influenced by a hitchhiker that still leaves him as an arsonist - but criminal, not insane. And she might be able to help, somehow. That feels... right. She can help Pamela, she can help Mr. Lynns. She can do something, and by her passing make the world a better place. How many people ever find that in their work?
((pre-played via IM locked for interaction, but please OOC to your heart's content))