maskormenacelogs | if you could only see the beast you've made of me

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if you could only see the beast you've made of me

WHO: ABEL GIDEON and FREDERICK CHILTON
WHERE: Park.
WHEN: 1/28, evening
WHAT: Gideon decides to confront Chilton about a few inconsistencies in his memories, and Chilton has a near miss.
WARNINGS: Discussion/references to psychosis, murder, violence.

[ The game was running overlong now, and Abel Gideon was getting impatient. Frustrated. Angry. And most of all hopeless, that was the one most inescapable, humiliating, and omnipresent... the knowledge that Gideon had no control over which of his memories were real and which weren't, nor control over being aware of the distinction.

He might not have even considered this issue some months ago, when he was aware he had his moments of murkiness but still could follow a cohesive pattern of events and victims that he had presumed were his own organic, repressed recollections. Ever since Alana Bloom had suggested there may be more to it than that, his consciousness had been restless, troubled, and more confused than ever. It wasn't that he trusted Frederick Chilton especially, or wanted to. It was that they had been working together for so long and he had come to expect, if not a sense of trust, a mutual understanding. Dr. Chilton was supposed to help him, because Gideon was supposed to be crazy. Just how crazy he couldn't even be certain of anymore.

It wasn't betrayal he felt. The burning outrage in his chest was over being used, manipulated, having his mind turned upside-down and rearranged without him even suspecting it had happened. He didn't know the truth for certain -- though he believed Dr. Bloom, and he supposed he trusts her, too -- yet the fact he couldn't discern what the truth was now was part of the problem.

It could be true. Or it could not be. He had to know. Even if he couldn't guarantee Dr. Chilton would meet him here as Gideon had requested -- if not, Gideon had alternatives -- he had to know.

He sat on a bench staring forward at nothing in particular, turning his memories and thoughts over to look for flaws as the darkness of evening began to fall. ]

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I think I'll stand.

[Chilton, having been so recently abuse by Karkat (a child!) and Danger (a robot!), developed a novel twitch sense when it came to proximity and perceived threats. While Gideon had no reason to assault him (or at least, very little consciously realized reason), Chilton nevertheless succumbed to his flowing anxiety -- better safe than sorry, yes?

A motto soon to expire.]

What is it that was so important, then? [He slipped his hands into his pockets, frowning, as he leaned forward.] Are you having a relapse?

Nervous? Don't be.

[ That earned a sneer, mild and barely present but present nonetheless; Gideon remained seated for the moment, though his gaze rested unbroken on Chilton.

He continued in a quieter voice, but by no means subdued -- Gideon's voice was not without a predatory inflection when it lowered: ]

No relapses... just have questions. Which I'd think by now should come as no surprise.

It isn't nerves.

[Chilton balked at the phrase, his own anatomy stiffening in reaction to the accusation. It wouldn't do, to seem scared and weak before an infamous serial killer -- especially when Chilton was the only man left who knew the depth of Gideon's depravity.

The last loose end.]

Questions? Of what nature?

[ He watched Chilton for another moment without speaking, eyes curiously alight even in the growing darkness. Dusk, he supposed, but as it wasn't summer yet the sun didn't linger as long as it could. At least in Florida it made better use of its time while it was up there.

He stood. ]

Oh, I think you know. [ And he took a step. ] About the Chesapeake Ripper.

[Chilton looked down from Gideon's face, catching sight of the man's movement. The rise, the step forward. He held his ground, but with excess defiance: chin up, eyes skeptical, mouth small.]

You don't have to refer to yourself in third person, Abel. But aren't those psychological matters better suited to the ears of your current psychiatrist?

Oh wait.

[ Gideon's lips pursed tightly, making his own mouth small at least until he opened it again to speak. His eyebrows furrowed, wrinkling along his forehead. ]

I wasn't. [ His tone is something short of definite, nor is it outright accusatory. ] Didn't mean me. The Ripper himself. Independent of identity.

Because, Frederick, I can't be sure that I do remember the crimes with the same sort of clarity as I'd previously thought.

That's nonsense, Abel. [But he angled himself away, slightly, with thirty or forty degrees. He glanced to the corner back, as if searching from some evidence of anybody who could intervene.

The area was vacate, save for himself and his immediate company.]

You and I both know that your psychological analysis is accurate. You've killed people, and you cannot empathize with your victims -- is that incorrect? Or are you suffering from a craving to know guilt?

Edited 2014-02-10 18:41 (UTC)

[ Gideon narrowed his eyes minutely, tilting his chin upward both to challenge Chilton's assertion and acknowledge it. ]

How do we know that? You and I both know something... perhaps not the same something. [ He inclined his head, frowning. ] Wouldn't call it suffering, exactly. It isn't guilt I'm concerned with... guilt won't reanimate a corpse.

Maybe all the FBI inquiries have gotten to me.

[Chilton grimaced, turning away from Gideon once more.]

The FBI. You're still enamored with their harebrained theories? Oh, Abel. [Chilton shrugged his shoulders, watching the streets still.] Are you so easily influenced? What was it about Alana Bloom, hmm?

[And now he looked Abel in the eyes.]

Was her skin like your wife's?

[ Gideon looked back, still frowning though not defiant. He had to think about it, Chilton's question, but he also couldn't help the defensive swell in his chest when Chilton mentioned Alana Bloom. ]

Why her skin? I wouldn't know, [ he began, slowly ] without having touched it.

She happens to be very convincing. ... And only one side can be theory. Are you threatened?

I'm annoyed. [Chilton rolled his eyes, so that Gideon had the benefit of his fullblown annoyance manifested.] I'm annoyed that you would waste my time with twisted schemes and dissociating delusions.

[He turned to make his leave, thinking it would be best to exit the conversation before Gideon could latch onto something and dwell deeper.]

[ Narrowing his eyes, Gideon reached out and grabbed hold of Chilton's arm, impeding his getaway. Not yet. Not like this, definitely not. ]

Where are you going? We aren't finished talking. Just because I'm no longer your patient doesn't make you any less responsible for my mental well-being up to now.

More to the point -- if it turns out Dr. Bloom was right and you have been misleading me... well, I can't be held entirely responsible for what might happen to you.

Don't you threaten me.

[Chilton pivoted, colliding closely with Abel. He chose not to pull away, under this twinge of duress; he instead killed the space between them, minimizing any ambiguous room.]

Doctor Bloom used you, the FBI used you to their own purposes, can't you see that? Don't you threaten me, Abel, when only I have been a qualified friend to you.

[ Chilton's challenge didn't intimidate, but rather caused Gideon to tighten his grip more, eyes narrowing. He wasn't convinced entirely Chilton was guilty here, no, but he was impatient with how difficult it was to pull answers from him. Real ones. ]

Whatever it takes. [ Matter-of-fact. ] I only want the truth, Frederick. What should be so threatening about that?

It's not the truth itself. It's how you're going about it -- what you're suggesting, trying to attain what you think is the truth.

[Chilton grimaced, trying to yank away his arm from Gideon's steely grip.]

Look at you, Abel. Look what your paranoia is doing to you. Again.

Is it paranoia?

[ There was a challenging edge to the question, just a hint of accusation without fully committing. He stared at Chilton, trying to discern something from his expression -- trying to pry the truth out from it or perhaps to intimidate -- before he let go. His expression was unsettled, but there was nothing more he could do in the moment, no confirmation to be had. ]

So I am the Chespeake Ripper. [ His eyes didn't stray from Chilton's face. ] What you're telling me. I am he, no doubt about it.

[ ? ]

Abel.

[He kept his eyes trained on the other man, sincerity flooding them. Assurance tingled on his lips, confidence lingered in the corners of his smile. He wasn't pulling away any longer, wasn't fighting the flow of Abel Gideon's urgency.]

You are, without a doubt, the Chesapeake Ripper.

[ There was nothing Gideon could do to pinpoint truth from lie; as always, he had to rely upon what information he did have. What he did know. As much as he trusted Dr. Bloom, he had spent two years under Chilton's care. A supposition, no matter the source, could not undo that without more compelling confirmation.

Not that he was inclined to take Chilton at his word, either, but it left his mind once again in a stalemate. Gideon frowned, gaze falling away. Better, though, to let Chilton think he'd been convinced. ]

Without a doubt. Then... guess that nothing's really changed, has it? [ His mouth formed a tight-lipped smile. ] Though I don't really feel especially murderous these days.

The environment has changed.

[He frowned, glancing Abel up and down, minding his posture and poise. A patient never ought to see their doctor disheveled, after all, no matter the circumstance.]

And perhaps how you have indoctrinated that trauma related to why you haven't yet murdered anyone. [A beat.] Because if you really haven't, that is a good thing, Abel. Obviously. For the short term.

But you're really only repressing your urges, mark my words. You'll kill again, once you process your own eventful emotions.

Do you think environment makes a difference, Frederick?

[ The smile remained tight, though it grew a touch more sardonic. Gideon lidded his eyes partway in something akin to skepticism. ]

After all this time spent as your patient, I should have thought you might have more faith in my progress than that. Change of environment, change of stimulus. If that much is different, why might my own reactions not be as well?

Shock, mostly. Environment can encourage chemical reactions, especially when the stimulus is communicated in a psychological and emotional manner.

[The answer came out smooth and timely, and he offered a slight smile. This was his element, these were his smoke and mirrors.]

You witnessed a world perish, Abel, and you experienced it during a period of radical change already in motion. Two years spent under consistent treatment and medication and, what, suddenly nothing? It's bound to shock your system. You wouldn't be human if it didn't.

[He reached out, putting a hand on Gideon's shoulder.]

You may be sociopathic, but you're nevertheless still a human being. And humans adhere to their patterns, when all resorts to neutral.

[ Humans adhere to their patterns. Well, who could deny it? Whatever Gideon may have felt about Chilton in this moment, he knew the man wasn't wrong. Not about this. And if he was wrong about anything else it was less error and tactical deliberation.

For whatever purpose. ]

Me and a great many, many others witnessed it perish. Some of whom are no longer here with us today. If I'm in shock, can't be the only one.

[ It was more an elaboration than an argument. Gideon looked at the hand on his shoulder like it something wet had just dripped on him. ]

Don't worry about my system. Used to shock, anyway. And change. I'll be okay. [ Squints. ] I'd be worried about yourself.

Why need I be worried about myself?

[Chilton shot a quirked eyebrow like a bullet: quickly, and with intent to penetrate. The manner in which Gideon chose to wield his words -- it was disturbing, to say the least. Chilton found his former patient's behavior somewhat unnerving.]

Is there something you want to say, Abel?

[ Gideon allowed himself to respond at first with a peaceful yet taunting smile, one that suggested an upper-hand that was still more bluff than actuality. Still... it contented him. ]

The shock, Frederick. How are you handling it? Even psychiatrists have to take care of themselves... or no one else will. Because who else do you think might care?

Hah.

[Chilton's sarcastic chuckle rang dry, a thump like a bird flying into a glassy window. There was only a stinging darkness in the corners of his smile -- who do you think might care?]

You evidently care.

[Even as he said it, he winced. Gideon had weaponized his attention, patronized with it. There wasn't much in the way of authentic care, not from his lips.]

[ Gideon's lips parted slightly, allowing for a thin line of teeth to show between them. It wasn't quite a smile anymore, but something in the vein of a leer, or perhaps a snarl. ]

Simply calling it to your attention, Frederick. Seems like the right thing to do when you yourself are so wrapped up in my head. It would be a shame if you couldn't get back into your own.

[ But with a delicious twist of irony, Gideon would acknowledge to himself. ]

I don't suffer from dissociation, Abel. Unlike some people.

[He recognized the knife between Gideon's teeth, and called out the glint. Chilton's return might have been heavy-handed, but the man felt entitled to push his sway over his former patient. After all, he had been Abel's doctor for nearly two years -- he knew the other man intimately. He know what Abel was, and he knew what he had made Abel into.]

My influence isn't limited to your head.

Well, I don't know if that's what I'm suffering. Dissociation in of itself... doesn't hurt all that much.

[ At least it doesn't hurt him, specifically. Not in the literal sense. His expression, be it smile, leer, or snarl, grew a moment before Gideon's lips tightened again.

It was tempting to do more. They were here alone, after all. But if anything, Gideon suspected it might close Chilton off more from giving answers. He did step closer, squinting at Chilton with unveiled scrutiny, then grasped him by the collar to pull Chilton a step closer. ]

I'm curious. Plenty of ways a person can make their mark. But what else but the mind would you consider a canvas, Frederick?

[ He lets go. ]

... Or do you already have another?

Another... Patient?

[He shot the question, a bullet between his teeth. It was posed with a suspect air, the warmth of rising haughtiness.]

How would that be your concern, Abel? I have confidentiality to maintain.

[Which was not a denial, in fact, it was a wayward confirmation.]

You're focused on yourself.

Another patient, yes.

[ His smile was tight, just short of mocking, his expression a touch distant. Considerations forming, wheels turning, ideas being examined, but nothing committed to.

He wouldn't say he was concerned. Not yet, at any rate. What he was was curious... and the faint flicker of possession did stir somewhere in his chest, at the back of his head. The parts of him that still believed Chilton were unprepared to see him move on. ]

Not that I would accuse you of such. Or of anything... specific, not without evidence. You're welcome to your patients, Frederick. As many of them as you can handle. But don't assume they'll by able to approach my sort of of success.

[ There was the edge, the glass-sprinkled sentiment. He looked at Chilton with lidded eyes, but his jaw did clench. It was quickly becoming more obvious Gideon was going to have to find his own answers, and soon, if he could expect to make any progress with Chilton.

Whatever that ended up entailing. ]

[Entailing... or entrailing. As the case might be. Chilton, obscured to this possibility, merely shrugged in his defense -- he found his perspective faultless, his angles born not simply from greed and ambition, but a sincerely higher purpose.

Abel Gideon, he felt, had been too tainted by the likes of Alana Bloom. But the man would always be remembered as an invaluable patient; it was, in fact, upon Abel in which Chilton sharpened his manipulative technique. It's how he learned what suggestion could truly, viscerally wrought.]

True. They very well could surpass your success.

[They, he said, when he meant his use of them.]

If we're going by approximation.

Do you really think so?

[ It was spoken like an inquiry, but rang in the air more like a challenge. He raised his eyebrow in appraisal, in equal challenge, and he stepped close again just to look -- but he had surgeon's eyes, not psychiatrist's eyes, eyes that were drawn to facts and solutions and tangibility and found the recesses of the mind, the inner psyche, difficult to see through. To navigate. It was the pane of glass compared to a maze of mirrors. ]

I should try harder, then. If I'm ever to make their eventual acquaintance.

... Or maybe I have already.

[ Delivered almost as an afterthought, with a more pleasant smile. ]

You know, I wasn't actually expecting you to agree to meet me. Sometimes you do surprise me, Frederick.

Maybe you have.

[He said it with a jeer, his taunt palpable. There was something jagged about his playful tone, some acid embedded within his whimsy.]

But I can't allude to the fact, given that I maintain confidentiality with all my patients. [Or he does right now, anyway.] So -- if that will be all, Abel? I'm sure you have so many other things to attend to, aside from tormenting past doctors with your flights of delusion.

[ That response -- "Maybe you have" -- struck Gideon as probably true, but that didn't necessarily mean much. There were a lot of people that he knew, the imPort community wasn't terribly expansive.

He was curious, but he could find out in other ways. Asking Chilton directly wasn't the wise way; interrogating, perhaps, should no other opportunity bear fruit. He stayed close, inches away from Chilton, and reaches with his hand as if he might touch Chilton--

Though the hand simply hovered, fingers curling against his palm. ]

Wouldn't ask for names, I know how much pride you take in your integrity. [ The smile lingers, but it's fainter. ] I won't keep you. Think I've heard what I needed to hear.

[ For now. ]

Always nice catching up with you.

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if you could only see the beast you've made of me

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