The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

48

We stand in front of the mirror in the dark. It's framed in gold, vine-like patterns all along the edges and so large I can see us both in our entirety, and then the room behind us. All shadows and silhouettes in the moonlight. The Scarecrow, with his hands at my waist. And me, holding the mask to my face.

He hands me the inhaler and I self-administer the dose, then place it back in his hand. Tasteless but for a hint of lemon, as always. Things immediately begin to swirl and distort, but terror does not overcome me. No fear at all.

"You've built up a tolerance," he says. "More."

This time he brings the inhaler to my lips and I draw the fear toxin into my lungs, holding it in until my eyes roll back and a rush floods through my body. My heart begins to race, a persistent fluttering in my chest. I become afraid, though I'm not sure what of.

"Focus," the Scarecrow commands me.

I meet his eyes through his mask in the mirror, and the fear comes crashing down, overwhelming me and screaming at my mind, drawing upon every survival instinct I have. The nightmare I had earlier flashes through my mind, the images of us chained to the walls, of the thick white smoke and the crows suffocating us... It feels so real. My whole body goes rigid.

"Don't fight it," he says. "Become more powerful than it."

And then it transforms. Becomes an echo of the rage I felt when Jonathan had a gun pressed to his head. The same force that overtook me then, does the same now — Scarecrow takes my jaw in his hand and forces me to meet his gaze in the mirror, to meet my own. To see myself as Unkindness. I stare at her, the silhouette of the mask, the power in her gaze. The lethality she holds. I stare at the hands holding the mask to my face and recall how they shot a gun until bodies littered the sidewalk.

And I know I would do it again. After all, he's done it for me.

"I'm insane," I whisper. My voice sounds different through the fear toxin.

"No," he tells me quietly. "You're incredible."

I turn to face him. The adrenaline flooding me feels like power. I find solace in it, and make my home there.

"You have microphones in my apartment," I say.

His eyes flash. "Do I?"

I tell him, "I'll find them."

He holds me close, hand at the small of my back. "You think that could stop me?"

"I'd like to have private conversations with my roommate."

"Then why haven't you asked me to stop?"

I don't have an answer for him. I take a small breath. "I'm going to bed."

"Alright."

"And you're coming with me."

Scarecrow makes a small noise of amusement. "Gladly."

***

My alarm jolts me awake. I silence my phone then roll over, expecting Jonathan. But he's gone.

A single black feather on the pillow.

I glance to my own nightstand, expecting to see the mask he made me, but nothing's there.

Sighing, I squint at my phone until my eyes adjust to the light, and send him a text.

I want my mask back.

I see his reply once I've showered and dressed, checking my phone for the time.

Good morning, dearest. As we missed our research session yesterday, I suggest we meet today after work instead. And I have no idea what happened to your mask — the Scarecrow must have taken it. You'll need to ask him about it when he's next available.

I pour my coffee and scowl at my phone, while Harleen reads the paper in silence.

Sorry, Doc, I reply. No can do. Tuesday's Taco night.

The answering ping comes moments later.

Sienna, did you just call me Doc?

I smile. I bet you say that to all the wabbits.

Harleen pipes up. "The way you're smiling at your phone, either Target's got a sale on, or you're texting Doctor Creepy."

"You might want to be more careful with your words, Harleen."

She rolls her eyes. "You still on about bugs in the apartment?"

You have no idea. "Come on," I tell her, scraping my things together. "I need to get to work early to prep for the new intake."

***

I hope I'll bump into Jonathan at work, but an orderly mentions he's been called into the courthouse to give testimony. Trying not to be disappointed, I focus on my work — and just as Harleen anticipated, the Joker's requested an appointment with me. I book him in for tomorrow morning in my calendar. Spend my day writing notes and reports, trying very hard not to internalise my judgements. Prone to violent outbursts. Potential to harm others.

When my day's over, I hit the sign-out desk, hair falling across my shoulder as I write absent-mindedly on the sheet. I release a short sigh, straighten myself, and get ready to walk out.

Doctor Crane's stood in front of me. Eyebrows raised, car keys in hand. "You ready?"

I stare at him in surprise. My stomach clenching lightly at the sight of him, rays of late afternoon sun glowing across his face in shades of gold. Illuminating his pale eyes. How blue they are.

And then my eyes narrow. "I told you. I have plans."

He smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware. Doctor Quinzel," he greets Harleen as she approaches. "Are you ready?"

"Yep, sure am!" She smiles widely. "Thanks for the lift."

"You asked Doctor Crane to drive us to the Mexican restaurant?" I ask her, incredulous.

Harleen suddenly looks sheepish, but quickly fights it off. "Actually, I asked him to join us for Taco Tuesday."

I glance at Jonathan. Trying to imagine him in one of the sombreros Harleen makes us wear, chomping on pico de gallo and soft shell tacos.

"And you accepted?" I ask him.

"Of course," he says. Then, after a pause, "Would you prefer I didn't come?"

"No. I'd love for you to join us." I shake off my surprise. "To your car, it is."

He leads the way, lending me the opportunity to shoot Harleen a look that says, what the heck is going on?

She grins and winks, and then it sinks in.

Oh, god. The Quinzel Interrogation is incoming.

And I can't even drink my way through it.