His Darling Assistant

Part 18: Flesh, Bone, and Blood

"You should do it, darling."

You glared at Jonathan, not wanting to humor the possibility.

"You should just kill him. Nobody would know, I'd certainly not tell. I know you want him dead."

"I've never killed– I don't ever want to kill anybody."

"Everyone says that until they've tried it," Jonathan shrugged at you nonchalantly, like he was discussing the weather. You shuddered.

"Thanks to you, he doesn't even have the mental capacity to defend himself anymore."

"You're welcome."

"No, no I didn't mean– I mean it wouldn't be fair if I just attacked him, not in his mental state."

"It wasn't fair the way he hurt you."

"I can't play god."

"Why not? God doesn't exist in Gotham; the closest thing we have is a man dressed in a bat costume."

You shook your head, desperate for a change in subject, and asked, "remember the first time we met, you told me you feared scarecrows?"

"Yes?"

"Remember what I asked after?"

"You asked me why."

"Well?" You leaned forward, making eye contact, refusing to let him shirk your question a second time. He sighed and looked away. "I need to know, Jon. Why scarecrows?"

"Past experience," he said pointedly, mirroring your first encounter.

"Well I'm sure your exes didn't torture you with scarecrows."

"Not exes. My father."

"I see," you made a note of his father on your pad, not wanting to pry any further. You finally made a bit of progress, you didn't want to take it for granted. You looked up at him again and said, "your turn."

"When you stepped into my cell today, I noticed you looked tired. Are you sleeping alright?"

"I have this recurring nightmare. It's nothing."

"What happens?"

You stiffened as you remembered your dream from the night before, guilt and fear mingling on your face.

+++

You shoved the knife into his throat, watching as he choked out blood onto your arms and face, and then pulled your knife out, letting it spray. Then you stabbed him again, in the eye, and then again in his chest, over and over until the beating of his heart slowed and his twitching stopped. And still, once he was dead on the ground, blood coating everything around you, you continued to stab and stab and stab until Joseph Sharpe was reduced to a pile of flesh, bone, and blood, and nothing more. You looked up once you had your fill to see Scarecrow smiling down at you approvingly.

+++

"I kill him," you said truthfully.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes."

"Am I there?"

You glare at him, shaking your head, "That's your third question, it's my turn."

"Ask away then, Doctor," he smiled knowingly.

"What did your father do to you?"

"My father... he was obsessed with fear as well," he started, staring at his hands, "he wanted me to conquer mine. When I was little, I was always wary of the scarecrow on my grandmother's farm. The way it'd hang there, staring and smiling. At nine years old, my dad locked me in a room with it. I wasn't allowed to come out until I'd conquered the fear."

"Obviously you haven't, so what happened?"

"It killed my father."

"The scarecrow?"

He nodded.

"The scarecrow from your grandmother's farm came to life and killed your father?"

"It's my turn. Was I there in your murder dream?"

"You were there. You smiled at me once I was finished killing him. How did the scarecrow kill your dad?"

"I let it into my head, and it convinced my father I wasn't afraid anymore. Once he unlocked the room and let me out, it grabbed the keys from him and ripped him open. What is stopping you from killing Sharpe other than the law and your moral compass?"

"Nothing, damn it."

"Well the law won't ever know, and a strong moral compass is useless and pales in comparison to good old fashioned revenge."

"Stop trying to convince me to commit murder."

"I'm convincing you to get rid of a burden."

You raised an eyebrow at him skeptically, not wanting to admit that it was working.

"How would I even do it? How would I get rid of the body? Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, of course, you kill him in a way that makes sense to you, and then dump his body and the murder weapon in the incinerator. The staff here always clean the overnight bloodstains and such without questions. They figure whatever happens while they're clocked out is none of their business."

You stare at him, feeling awfully tempted. It all started to seem so obvious. With Joseph out of the way, you could finally focus on being the head psychiatrist that Arkham's patients needed. And the disposal would be so very easy.

"It's your turn, Doctor."

"Right. Um–," you glanced at your notes, shaking thoughts of murder out of your head, "I think I'm done with questions for the day."

You stood up, grabbing the chair. He smiled at you.

"Best of luck, darling."

You said nothing and closed the door behind you.