Who: Jasper Truman and Amber Kelly What: Boy psycho meets girl psycho: a romantic comedy in three (bloody) parts. Where: Trenton Psychiatric Hospital, NJ When: Late Thursday night, February 14th, 2013. Warnings: Lol, with these two? Expect the worst.
Trenton Psychiatric was no Arkham. Almost a shame, really; whether it was breaking in or breaking out, Arkham was always a challenge. Not so here. The complacency, though convenient, was astounding, and it only confirmed what he already knew.
Home, sweet home this was not, and nothing of his belonged here. Especially not her.
He didn't particularly care for her real name, but he used it to get past the guards. Between the lab coat, the red carnation in his lapel, and the winning smile on his face, they didn't doubt the validity of the name tag that pronounced him a Dr. Laughton, that he was a guest of Dr. Whoever, and no, he didn't have an appointment, but could he possibly see Miss Kelly anyway? He even thanked them and gave them a few candy hearts he'd just remembered were in his pocket. The two guards thanked him back and popped one each into their mouths as they led him down the corridor and through the doors, familiar even though they weren't the same. He counted the seconds and watched the keys, still smiling.
They started laughing after forty-seven seconds, and he laughed with them. The hearts had said, To Die For. They weren't kidding.
"Ahh," he sighed, swiping the keys, grinning, biting back a fit of giggles. "I kill me."
Whistling his way past the nice padded rooms, he pulled a detonator from his other pocket and pushed the button. With a hiss, the sprinklers started going off, drizzling what looked like water over anyone who happened to be caught underneath them. The mad, desperate laughter echoing nightmarishly throughout the building was like music to his ears, and after a moment or two, he found the cell he was looking for. He paused, stopped whistling, and grinned.
"Knock, knock, puddin'," he said, tapping his knuckles on the glass. "Guess who?"