The Skin That Crawls From You [A Jonathan Crane Fan-fiction]

Help.

"Will you be walking, or do you need a chair?"
Dr. Crane asks cooly.

"Where are you taking me?"
From the reaction of the patients downstairs- no where good.

"My office, miss Alcott."
Without another word, he strides out of the elevator and passes me; a whiff of citrus overtaking me. That usual metallic bite; no-where to be found. He just smells like a man today- not that yellow eyed monster i saw through the smoke only a few days before.

As he walks in front of me, his footsteps loud on the dingy tiles; I eye his briefcase. It's black leather, common, except each corner is discolored and slightly blue- wearing down slowly.

We approach a wall of dingy metal bars, he pulls out his keys and opens the door. It slides open with a heinous creek.

As we continue I notice that this floor of Arkham is simply a series of (chipping) tan painted mental doors with empty plaques. He stops at the end of the corridor and puts his keys into the door of his office.

Jonathon Crane PSY-MD
Psychopharmacology

Jonathon?

The door unlatches with a click, and he enters. I turn back, looking down the empty hallway for a moment at all the blank plaques and realize that I'm completely alone. I attempt to take a steadying breath, and I walk inside; wishing he hadn't taken my plastic fork away.

His office is ridiculously clean. An old wooden desk holds an black name plate, an open lap top and a journal. The journal's page is filled, his writing messy and scattered. I scan the page as I approach the desk only to find today's date followed by a name I don't recognize. He shuts it protectively before sitting down behind the desk and motioning for me to sit in one of the two chairs just in front. I sit.

I swallow hard as he grasps his briefcase and hauls it onto the oak table top. He opens it once more; and I jump up- racing for the door that has already shut behind me.

"Miss Alcott,"
He scolds, his eyes narrow with some form of judgement.

"Lunch,"
He says; pulling a shiny red apple from the case, along with a bagged sandwich.

I eye him and cautiously step back to my seat, my gaze glued to his long fingers and that deadly briefcase. He shuts it and I can't help but flinch. His eye brow raises. He knows damn well why I'm afraid.

In the next moment, he tosses the apple up in the air, it bows downwards and I somehow catch it in my shaking grasp.

"Eat,"
He nods to the fruit in my hand.

"We've got work to do."

He unwraps his sandwich and takes a bite, before leaning back and fixating his eyes on the glowing laptop screen.  Just like that- he looks young again.

I reach forward and set the apple on his desk. As cliche as it sounds, I can't help but imagine it's poisoned.  There's nothing I can trust about this man- his mood swings leave me scattered and I  feel a hint of shame from our last encounter. I just want to go home.

He leans forward, setting down his sandwich and taking off his glasses.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"Because I tried to eat in the-"

"No-"
He cuts me off, eyes squinted as if scolding me for my assumption. I don't think I can handle this anymore.

"Do you know why I do what I do?"
He asks slowly.

"No!"
I shoot, almost laughing from the frustration of this man. I don't have a clue why he can be so utterly cruel beneath his oath. I don't have a clue what that metallic gas was, what that monster was, what I'm doing here, why he's torturing me. I don't have a clue what's coming next. I don't have a single fucking clue.

"I respect the mind's power over the body,"
He says, examining my face. My eyes are beginning to well with tears. It's all too much.

I don't want to show weakness to this predator of a man, but suddenly it's all here. Haunting me. My dead brother; a pool of blood spilling from his skull. From where he fell. The forensics team said i had pushed him down, that the impact on his head was lethal. Then it's the police hauling me away, my mother's sobbing, my finding myself here, Crane's monster; and now, I'm sure whatever comes next is bound to haunt me too.

I look up through blurred eyes and find him staring once more.

"I'm sorry- I can't do this right now,"
I stammer, just for a moment hoping I can appeal to the 'savior' side of him; the man who has at least offered to help me up every time he's knocked me down.

"Raven-"

"I can't!"
I scream. Burying my head into my shaking hands, ice expanding in my chest. Sobs rib apart my insides begging to escape my throat. It almost doesn't register that he's called me by my real name.

"Please, I'm not going to hurt you-"
He says softly. He looks soft for a moment. Almost sad.

"You're lying."
I hiss.

He's silent for a moment. All I can hear is my own sniffles.

"I promise, I'm not going to hurt you."
He pleads. His usual condescension no where to be found. Only vulnerability, and I would be more taken aback by that if not for his next string of words.

"I can get you out of here."
He says finally.

And my heart stops.

"You can what?"
I manage.

He's taken his glasses off, and he licks his lips. His eyes on the wall behind me as he carefully puts together his words.

"I can prove you're not guilty of killing your brother."

A warmth rushes through me so suddenly I feel faint. He believes me. Someone believes me. I had begun to feel it slip away from me, began to feel myself falling into it. Into believing that I had done it. I never even pushed him. I blacked out and he was gone. Gone. I had begun to believe I truly was mad. But now, someone else knows. How does he know? What does he know.

I try to speak but I don't even know what to say.
I still can't trust him.

I don't respond.

"I'm going to need your help,"
He says.

"Tomorrow at 7 A.M, ride the elevator to this floor; i have to show you something."