The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

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The flickering light of the television casts shapes and shadows over the lounge of our apartment. I can't help but side-eye the nearest houseplant, terrified that the vines might come to life and strangle me at any moment. Harleen's already explained cheerfully that the plants aren't magic, silly, and the real danger lies in any spores Pamela might have bred into them.

It's a less-than-comforting reminder.

I'm eating Thai food and watching the Bridesmaids movie with Harleen, but my mind's distracted. I need to make a decision—-look for other jobs or turn to villainy full-time. I weigh up all the options in my mind, stewing over it until the movie finishes and the sound of Wilson Phillips fills the room.

Harleen stifles a yawn, stretching her arms and checking her phone. I poke the last of my noodles around the container, ready to make a chamomile tea and head straight to bed.

Harleen drops her food onto the floor. The box bounces with a clatter of the fork, the last chunks of meat and sticky strips of noodles exploding in all directions.

I frown, chewing back my own food. "You okay?" I quickly examine her face for signs of a neurological emergency. "Can you hold your arms up for me?"

She stares at her phone, absolutely aghast but perfectly healthy, besides the fact her skin has drained of all colour. When she finally looks at me, it's filled with horror and concern.

"What is it?" I ask, dread forming in my gut.

"Sienna..."

My blood runs cold. Carefully, I place my food on the table beside the couch before reaching for Harleen's phone.

The thudding of my heart becomes the only noise I can hear.

My vision blackens at the edges and closes in.

...found dead...

...suspecting foul play...

...in his office...

...looking for information...

...heart attack...

...Professor Hugo Strange...

The words jumble around my head, refusing to behave and fall into an orderly line where I can make sense of them. They're just words, after all. Just words on a screen.

I whisper, "This must be a mistake."

Harleen reaches for her phone, but my grip on it's so tight that I can hear the glass straining against the pressure, threatening to crack. A gut-wrenching howl rises in my throat, but I swallow it down. My eyes rake across images of the University, flashing police lights, and a body being wheeled out on a gurney. The room closes around me.

"No..." My hands tremble. "This can't be happening."

Harleen places a hand on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you were counting on him..."

My mind races, my eyes focusing on Harleen's white pyjamas checkered with red hearts as I try to process this information. "This doesn't make sense."

Harleen whispers, so low I can barely hear it myself, let alone any eavesdroppers, "Do you think the TK's did it?"

"No." I fight the rage boiling up inside of me. Handing Harleen's phone back before I crush it in my fingers, I say, "The Scarecrow did this."

"Jonathan?!" Harleen continues to whisper, but our voices are rising. We're growing careless. "Why would he?"

"Because he saw me leave Strange's office today." I force a deep breath. "We had a disagreement."

"Daddy C gassed him for that?" Harleen's eyes light up. "My matchmaking is making itself..."

Tears of frustration and rage well up in my eyes. For the first time in my life, this one or the last, I want to strangle him. He has absolutely no idea what he's done.

"I need to go." I push myself off the couch and practically fly to my room, ripping my Unkindness disguise off the hangers lightning fast. I don't want to be recognised. On the off-chance I'll be caught...

Harleen blocks my doorway, hands on her lips. "Where do you think you're going, Missy?"

"To get the sample we need before it falls into the wrong hands." I wriggle out of my pyjamas and into spandex, suddenly wishing I hadn't gorged on dinner. I don't want to get a stitch.

"Not without me, you're not," Harleen declares, then dashes out to her room across the hall. "I need three minutes to do my makeup, and then we can hit the road."

"I don't have three minutes, Harleen."

"Yes, you do. Have you completed your pre-mission safety check?"

I mutter something under my breath about what I think of the pre-mission safety checks.

"You want to repeat that?" She calls out.

Rolling my eyes, I shout back, "Fine! Let's go through the checklist you made."

"Excellent." She clears her throat. "Step one: Suit up! Are you dressed in appropriate, stylish, and crime-fighting attire?"

I glance down. "I'm in repurposed yoga pants and that cape you found me at Gotham Couture."

"Ooh, Gotham Couture, I do love that place," Harleen sighs. I hear banging against the walls, telltale signs she's incorporating her gymnastics routine in her hurry to get dressed. "Step two: Gadgets. Do you have a grappling hook? Smoke bombs?"

I shift my weight on my feet. "You'll carry those, right?"

"Get your utility belt, or we're not going anywhere." Harleen continues to rattle off the list as I begrudgingly fish out the clunky utility belt. It's heavy and hinders my movements, but I'm not about to risk Harleen grounding my Unkindness wings when I need that amnesia sample. "Step three: Communication. Where did you put those earpieces I got us?"

"They're in the kitchen drawer." I head out to grab them. "I really don't think this is all so necessary—-"

"Step four," Harleen continues, through the noise of a hairspray can. "Snack pack! Have you got a protein bar and water for sustenance?"

"We just had freaking dinner—-"

Harleen continues, rattling off step five: bathroom break. Have you gone yet? Because once we're out, there's no stopping; all the way to step twelve: Have you completed your stretching routine to avoid muscle strain? Finally, we've finished the list, and I thank the heavens as Harleen—-now transformed into Harley Quinn—-completes her side stretches, and we can head out the door.

First, I need that amnesiac.

And second, I might just kill Jonathan.