Work Text:
The receptionist got eerily nervous as Heinrich Kramer specifically asked for the name Mia Holl.
“Currently, she– she isn’t capable of receiving visitors. I… Especially after–” his stuttering was irritating. Heinrich couldn’t stop himself from interrupting.
“Yes, I am perfectly capable of reading the news, as you may know I’m in them more often than not.” Heinrich was aware of his tone being slightly too agitated if he still wanted to actually get to Ms Holl. Yet halfway through the conversation he had impulsively decided to make the receptionist squirm.
Acting on impulse was rarely his strategy, he was more prone to contemplate every word. However, his day had been painfully long – arguing all morning for their surprisingly see-through Method and spreading their propaganda, just to come home to children fighting and throwing tantrums, although his wife currently wasn’t much better with her underlying grudge at his workaholic tendencies.
Heinrich schooled his expression, gulping down his temper.
“Yes, I do– I do know. Still, Ms Mia Holl–” Unfortunately, Heinrich’s patience could take no more.
“You misunderstood. I am not here as a private individual. I am here as a representative of the Method. Ms Holl’s case concerns public trust in the integrity of our system,” Heinrich’s voice was back to its usual customary calm.
“Oh? Er, I still can’t–” Oddly enough, the receptionist almost resembled a pursued antelope. Heinrich could already feel him relenting.
“Of course, if the institution prefers to deny access to an official inquiry, I will need the name of her supervising physician. I am certain we can resolve this efficiently,” Heinrich offered, lending the flustered receptionist a deliberate smile, who predictably had lost hold on his speech for a moment.
“Uhm. In that case, I–” he continued his distressing stutter – kindly as ever, Heinrich let him. “Well, I still can’t authorize– even if…” He rummaged through the papers on his desk for any argument at all, seeming to have been unsuccessful in his mind.
Heinrich gave a polite smile. “Would you mind showing me to her?” Despite his wording choice, it wasn’t really an honest question rather a nudge for the receptionist into the right direction.
“Uh,” he looked up, unsure.
“If you don’t mind, of course.” This seemed to do the trick – hastily he scribbled down Heinrich’s name onto the sheet labeled ‘Authorized Visitors’.
The walk toward Ms Holl was unconventionally long and after a short waiting period the door of a visitor room opened, a woman exiting – brown hair strapped into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. “Mr Heinrich, Mia Holl is ready.”
Heinrich stood, straightening his jacket.
“I’m afraid you’ll only get fifteen minutes with her,” her voice of void anything resembling empathy. “In case Mia does anything, I will be standing just outside the door – call for me at any time.” Her voice was clinical, straight to the point, yet she was using Ms Holl’s first name – her personal doctor perhaps? “Is there anything else you’d like to know about Mia’s condition beforehand or our security measures?”
Heinrich already knew the majority of information from the news and he was curious to find out from the source herself. Regarding safety measures, he was confident enough to defend himself against Ms Holl if anything would happen. “No, thank you.”
She signaled for him to enter, he did.
Except for a table and two chairs opposite each other, the room was empty. Ms Holl was seated in one of the chairs, her gaze lost ahead. Her arms were secured in a straitjacket, her light brown hair falling freely over her shoulders.
“Do not hand her anything that may harm you or her,” was the last the woman with the tight bun said, before the door fell closed behind him.
Heinrich stepped forward. Still, Holl’s gaze remained ahead, if anything she sank deeper into her chair, like she wanted to hide behind the curtain that was her hair.
“Ms Holl,” he greeted her, his voice level. Her nose wrinkled at his voice, eyes roaming over the empty chair like he was already sitting.
Heinrich found her passive reaction amusing. It was obviously a tactic, predictably. But ineffective with her expressive face.
“It is good to see you again.” That was no lie, despite the nature of what often left his mouth.
She stayed silent. Nothing about her composure gave her thoughts away, although he knew her enough to tell that she was more or less affected.
Heinrich approached the second chair, wetting his lips. Purposefully, he sat down in his chair and as though it were something to behold her gaze snapped up.
Anger seeped through her facade. The wrinkle he knew too well formed between her brows as she narrowed her eyes at him. He took her expression as a question, what are you doing here?
The gentleman he was, he answered right away. “I was informed that you sought the same resolution your brother chose?”
Holl looked down, assessing the hands he had intertwined on the tabletop, obviously refusing an answer. Mia Holl from before would already have her mouth gaping open with sly sarcastic retorts.
She had never been this dismissive of him. And here he had been so foolish to assume the worst of the day was over.
“I would have expected more intellectual consistency from you, Ms Holl,” Heinrich probed her further. He was more or less prepared for it to get messy, especially if she would decline answering for much longer. But perhaps patience was key?
She bit her lower lip. Heinrich could practically see the gears turning in her head.
Holl looked so out of place here. The room with the lone stools was too plain for her. Heinrich associated Holl with sophisticated talking – quick thinking and sly arguments. For him, she symbolised chaos, unpredictability. This wasn’t her.
Perhaps this was what he had always imagined her brother like. Dreamy and sort of faraway.
“You don’t get to narrate this,” she eventually muttered, her eyes fixing onto his suit – his tie? Or his jacket pocket? She had never had such a hard time making eye contact with him. Unfortunate.
He let her statement, which he took more as a suggestion, sit in the air for a moment.
“I’m merely assessing, I am not an author–” To his surprise, she didn’t let him speak further. He felt the same excitement he last felt talking to her.
“That is precisely what you are, Kramer,” she snapped, her eyes momentarily finding his before the table top suddenly caught her interest. “You are assessing, sure. But your assessments are not what you tell. So call it whatever you like – author, writer, reporter, journalist – but you narrate,” her voice was low, almost predatory in its manner. She was angry, and he felt it vibrating through the air. But he knew better than to take it as a thread – after all, that was their thing, arguing until their tongues got sore.
Holl sank back into her seat, a predator retreating into their den. Strands of hair fell over her shoulder, covering her further.
“You call it narration because it relieves you of responsibility. If I am the author, then you are only a character. That is convenient.” There was truth to his words. But he wasn’t as naive as to believe his own words.
Heinrich knew the truth about her brother. He was aware of The Method and all its flaws, but to him there were less flaws than just facts.
Heinrich was a rationalist. He knew what was best for his sanity – he would stay emotionally unattached. It was a decision not done lightly, but Holl would know that.
Her jaw clenched, but her mouth stayed firmly shut. He wished to know what she would reply if she wasn’t that unsatisfyingly set on ignoring him. Well, he would just have to make her slip again.
“You supplied the facts, I drew conclusions.” Her upper lip twitched, so he continued. “That is not narration, but structure.” That got her attention, her eyes snapped to the neckline of his suit. His lips thinned, but she still stayed silent.
“If my articulation displeases you, that does not transform it into fiction. I deal in structure, not drama.” He was satisfied with himself – if she wouldn’t answer now, then she simply couldn’t be the Mia Holl he knew.
A hollow laugh escaped her facade. “You arrange people until they fit.” Her eyes hovered over his face, analysing his reaction.
He stayed unbothered. In fact, he blatantly ignored her statement. “If anything, you are the one who romanticizes the story. Martyrdom is a far more seductive genre than compliance.” That was true, although its specific appeal depended on the observer. But such trivialities were of little interest to him.
Heinrich leaned forward, probing his weight on his forearms. “But it is intellectually careless to assume that absence generates resistance. Silence rarely inspires revolt. It is interpreted. Categorized. Absorbed.”
He could see Holl catch on, her hands moving beneath the constrictions of her jacket. Her gaze traveled over his suit.
“You accuse me of arranging narratives, Ms Holl. Then why assist me by supplying a conclusion?” Her intelligent eyes found his. “If you object to the ending, don’t aid it further.” It wasn’t a challenge, it was purely theoretical.
“Dying is not defiance.”
Her jaw clenched, but a sparkle of amusement flashed through her eyes. He could practically see the way words formed in her head. She took great offence to his suggestion.
“I see,” Holl hummed, adjusting her seat – sitting taller. Her eyes narrowed. Then, she smiled, as if she had found something of utmost importance in his expression, something that gained her advantage. “You are not as detached as you pretend.”
Heinrich knew she would catch on, but it was eerie how accurately she understood him.
He had hoped for compliance – appreciation for opening up, perhaps questions as to why or anything about an escape – the hope had been mild but there. Yet Holl had never been one to follow expectations.
So instead of compliance he was faced with the severity of an observation.
He had known what to expect, yet still it stung. He had to breathe properly before reacting. Calmly, he pulled his hands from the desk, placing them into his lap, as if it would hide him – protect him.
“Surely, you know better than that, Ms Holl,” Heinrich answered, slowly, diplomatically.
Holl barely reacted – her gaze stayed fixed, her eerie smile in place, only her head tipped to the side. She was calculating him, assessing.
Her voice was colder than before, more controlled, not out of emotion but calculation. “Oh, do I?” She didn’t believe him, she – in fact – knew better. “You came personally,” she explained herself. “This is not politics – you care.”
Victory spread over her face. It was a punch into his guts and she knew.
This was nonsense, pure, utter nonsense. Heinrich didn’t care, at least not in the ridiculous way she implied – after all he wasn’t a completely unempathetic man. But it was not about her per se. It was about the grand scheme of things, about her brother and her influence on the citizens.
But her words had just hit. Suddenly, too. A hollow laugh escaped him at the irony. He clenched his fingers beneath the desk, his gaze dropping momentarily, before he regained his control.
“Yes, Ms Holl, I care,” he announced proudly, although his insides felt nothing but ashamed and somehow lacking.
Her eyebrows raised. He couldn’t decipher whether it was in astonishment or ridicule, the rest of her face was too impassive to tell.
But he could tell that she knew he was about to use her words against her. Yet her composure remained eerily calm. She didn’t brace herself for impact, instead interest washed over her face. She tipped her head in curiosity, urging him to continue.
“I am not as uncharitable as you like to think of me – I care about the safety of the Method – our democracy – and its citizens,” Heinrich’s voice remained calm, honest. It slipped from his tongue as if rehearsed, which he couldn’t deny per se considering the amount of years telling the same story over and over again.
Holl scoffed at the word democracy like he had just told her a mildly funny joke.
Heinrich leaned back in his chair. “You, however, stand a threat to both. Therefore, I care about what happens to you, or rather, what you choose to become.
“I am not here personally, that would be a ruse. I am here to confirm the story in the papers, and, to tell you, as a representative of the Method, that we only want the best for you, it’s not too late.”
Her facial expression morphed into one of disgust, her eyes sizing him up and down judgingly. She clicked her tongue. “You even narrate yourself, Heinrich.”
There was a kind of revulsion inside her voice that he hadn’t yet had the pleasure of hearing, although it made him feel oppressed rather than amused. He licked his lips to concentrate on her words.
“Your presence, for once, is not in favor of the Method – not today here with me.” She paused her lecture, a visible exhale – a display of her exhaustion.
“I pity you.”
His mouth felt dry. He had nothing to counter with, his mind fell blank. He had no idea how they had come to this moment, but he made a note to reflect on their exchange – obviously his method of arguing had gone bollocks somewhere along their conversation and there was a serious problem with the way her words had such a big impact on him.
He shook his discomfort with the continuation of his monologue – a task he felt confident doing. He smiled, like he still owned their argument. “I assure you, there are other things that demand your attention more pressingly. For one, your resocialization –”
She interrupted immediately. “We’re done here, Kramer.”
Her gaze fell back onto the table, away from him – a confirmation of their conversation’s ending. And with the blink of an eye he saw that her mind was gone.
Mia couldn’t think.
She had a headache, it felt as if her mind was on fire and nothing seemed to help. Her fingers were digging into her scalp, chasing the momentary relief of the cold pain of her sharp nails.
No, that wasn’t it, Mia couldn’t stop thinking. It was what made her head hurt so bad. So many thoughts, and there didn’t seem to be an end to it.
There was no escape from this, from everything.
Kramer was there. She saw him behind the dark red of her eyelids. He wouldn’t go away – his insufferable voice pestering her, shrilling in her ears. Her head felt like it was vibrating under the constant pressure of his words.
If you object to the ending, don’t aid it further. Yes, Ms Holl, I care. Loud, ruthless, so many feelings. But he wasn’t even there? And still, his voice screamed against the confines of her own head. I care about what happens to you! Care, I care.
She pressed her head against the cool surface of the back of her hand – it heated up in under a second. So instead, she sought the hard surface of the wall next to her, to just ease some of the pain away. Why wouldn’t it go?
Mia felt desperate. An uncontrolled whimper escaped her lips. Kramer was looking at her, his eyebrows raised – not in accusation or formal interest, but in something with feeling. Why? Mia felt utterly discontent.
Kramer was a Method supporter. He had destroyed Mia’s reputation, her honor. But that wasn’t what had made her world fall apart. He had destroyed her brother’s honor, and helped make his death happen. This was something that never left her conscience.
So, how could that man care? And it was not about what he said. He wasn’t there because of the Method, least of all for the citizens. He was there because of her. Mia knew.
In a moment of weakness, it had shone through his facade, like a single star in the night sky. Kramer had unwillingly let her see. Mia doubted that it was one of his ploys, although she would be an idiot to dismiss that possibility.
Yet she was almost certain, Kramer cared.
Mia didn’t know to what extent and she wasn’t sure with which motivations exactly. Was it because he considered her a friend? Despite their extensive differences in core beliefs, they had oddly matched. Talking to Kramer had always been refreshing, interesting, exciting even.
Surely, he couldn’t think of her as a friend.
Kramer enjoyed destroying her publicly. Even if, behind walls, he was ever so polite and courteous. Kramer had made it his life’s purpose to dismember hers.
So why had he been here? Why personally? He had always liked visiting her personally, at her home. Was it just a habit, his manners? She doubted it. Kramer didn’t seem like the type to do anything that could make him look bad in the public light.
A curiosity for her behavior, perhaps? See for himself if she would struggle in her cage or accept her fate. Was he a sadist? Mia didn’t take him as such, but he had always been good at pretending – playing a role. Did he enjoy seeing her suffer and came only for such a purpose?
Mia pressed her forehead into the cold of the wall. His voice was getting louder. She saw his face, the way he carried himself. And all she could think of was, why?
She didn’t know how long it had been since he had visited her. Days, weeks. Time swam in this place. One moment she is with her brother, joking around like not a word mattered or bickering with the ideal beloved. The next, the cold white of her room enclosed her, moving in on her like a predator – teeth bared.
Mia knew she wasn’t crazy. She knew she didn’t need to be rehabilitated, because there was nothing to rehabilitate from. But at some point, she had an epiphany.
Did the saneness of her mind really matter?
Either way no one related to her, at least the people she interacted with. There was no point in believing in her own sanity if the whole world ridiculed her worldview anyhow.
She could be insane, for all she cared. She had figured hiding behind the disguise of madness was rather.. pleasant? – Mia could say what she wanted, talk like only she understood, and the world would keep on spinning.
So perhaps being crazy wasn’t her worse case scenario. It would be worse knowing she was sane of mind and everyone ignored her.
Maybe that was why at that moment she started screaming. Or it could be of all the vicious words flying at her head, burning into the inside of her skull. After all, screaming like a lunatic was expected of her.
Her throat burned, her fingers ached and her forehead throbbed.
Only when her doctor – the grey haired women – appeared in her sight did Mia realize where she was. The visiting room.
It was strange to say the least. Just a second ago she had been in her room, nails scraping against her skull and all of a sudden she was here in another white room, her arms tied to her body.
She had barely registered being asked a question and couldn’t recall answering, but her doctor nodded and stood back, walking towards the door.
Mia felt like she should know who was going to enter – to visit her. But her mind fell blank like a sheet of paper.
Those were the moments that she doubted sanity was still a presence in her life.
And entered, did the infamous Heinrich Kramer.
Mia should have known, and a piece of memory came back to her – a conversation, her doctor telling her who was coming to visit. (Or was she making that up?)
Kramer walked through the door, his eyes fixed onto Mia. She could faintly remember wanting to ignore him, but that had changed with her revelation – he cared. Therefore, she tried to hold his gaze all the more. This time, her plan was to make him nervous. Perhaps he would be careless enough to reveal the cause for his concerns.
His eyes narrowed slightly – clearly a reaction to her unflinching eye contact.
He sat down opposite her, straightening his suit jacket like it would spread authority, placing his hands on top of the table, intertwined. Same approach.
“Ms Holl, I see you’ve recovered from our last meeting.” His voice was cool, his gaze calm. But Mia was sure it looked different beneath his thick masquerade.
When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked her up and down, analysing her – calculating. He clicked his tongue, displaying his impatience freely. “I had hoped you’d be more eager to participate this time.”
Mia was, actually. She just didn’t seem to find her way towards words. Her throat still stung, she wondered if she sounded hoarse – he would think she was sick. “I am,” she answered, quietly, deciding to give into his game. Perhaps she could stun him with her compliance.
If he was surprised he didn’t show it, instead he went on talking. “Have you thought about my words?” Barely.
I only want the best for you. Yes, Ms Holl I care – I care about what happens to you, about what you choose to become.
Mia’s mind was hazy. She remembered their conversation, the insufferable memory of his voice doing a great job at reminding her at every peaceful moment in her room. But somehow she doubted that they were thinking about the same thing.
She pondered then, what else had he said? Or what had he meant to say? If you object to the ending, don’t aid it further. Yes, Kramer had warned her – although that would not coalign with his precious worldview, he had kindly given her advice. So, what he had actually meant, instead of his poorly disguised challenge, was, live and fight for your cause. Very cheesy.
Kramer wanted her to stay alive. He had ridiculed her decision to follow her brother’s lead. And when that hadn’t ignited a response, he had started finding other reasons for her to stay rather than leave. It had been clumsy, and she had no idea what his reasons were.
“I don’t get much else to think about in here,” Mia offered, avoiding a direct answer, because that would be a confession that she had, in fact, thought about him – well his words – and that would be embarrassing.
There was barely a hint of a smile on his lips, but she caught it. Whether it was purely out of victory or his own selfish reasons, she didn’t know. He straightened further, leaning onto his elbows.
Mia didn’t let him talk, she wouldn’t want to get his hopes up too soon. “Which is not an admission to taking your advice.”
He almost chuckled, a breathy laugh. Obviously, he wouldn’t have been as naive to think she would take his advice at surviving, the sole fact that it was his advice explained it on its own.
“I expected as much,” he admitted, his newfound smile staying.
It was strange to see him smile like that. Kramer had always been polite and would even smile now and then, but this felt different. This was not because of manners, not because of the social pressure to remain in a pleasant light. This was a hint more pure.
“I came with a new proposal,” Kramer then supplied, his smile still there but turning into something else, something suggestive. (As if she only had to ask and he would bare his heart.)
“Yes?” she asked, her voice slightly hoarse.
“Be my accomplice.” The scoff was heavily implied.
“Use your intelligence not to judge, but to encourage improvement.” There couldn’t be nearly enough brain cells in his head to justify the stupidity of his words.
“I will provide you with whatever you need.”
Mia could burst into laughter or start to sob at how ridiculous he was being. Why on earth would he think that she would stoop so low? Why would he believe she would betray her brother in such a cruel way? Had he not been the man talking to her, had he not witnessed what she stood for at her own trial?
But she didn’t laugh or cry.
Mia realized this wasn’t about the Method or about her intelligence. This was about her. And him.
He gave her an out. An opportunity to resist her chains. A possibility of freedom.
Mia felt her heart stumble.