The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

9

"Miss Moore?" One of the nurses pokes her head into the office room. "You've been requested for intake and preliminary evaluation for the newest patient."

"Which room?" I ask, finishing up my notes and sanitising my hands.

"3C."

"Be right there."

I hold my breath as I walk through the halls. Terrified I'll see Doctor Crane. But mercifully I haven't seen anything of him since our encounter with the fear toxin — though I know it's only a matter of time.

But not for the first time in these halls, prickles sear across the back of my neck. Like I'm being watched. I turn instinctively, but find nobody else around. With a small shake of my head, I push it from my mind.

"Do we have his chart?" I ask the floor nurse, quickly flipping through my clipboard and checking I have all the forms for a preliminary meeting.

She snorts. "Yep. Got all of 'em."

I frown at her. "All of them?"

"Patient's escaped from Arkham three times now," she tells me. "Frankly, I'm amazed he still manages to come back here when he should be in prison. But he's nuttier than a fruitcake."

I accept the files from her and flip through them, raising an eyebrow. "The Joker?" I ask. Every legal name document bears the same moniker.

"Go careful in there," she warns me. "There's nothing funny about him. He's a master manipulator."

Foolishly, I cast her words aside. This is an asylum for the criminally insane. Aren't they all master manipulators? I've spent the past week refusing Baz Karlo's bribes of twenty thousand dollars in movie options, for crying out loud.

I push open the door, and the man cuffed to the table immediately glances at me sideways. Literally sideways, his head twisted at an angle that should not be possible. His lips twist into a smile that extends through the scars sliced into his cheeks. There's an intelligence in his eyes, and a cunning. My own eyes instinctively narrow. My skepticism of his legitimate claim to an asylum rather than a prison is growing stronger with every passing moment.

"My name is Miss Sienna Moore," I introduce myself. "I'm a junior psychologist here at Arkham Asylum. I'll be doing your intake and preliminary psychological evaluation today."

The Joker runs his tongue across his teeth. "Not a doctor, are ya? What happened to the pretty blonde?" He slams his hand on the desk. "I wanted to see her."

I smile thinly. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Grinning, he says, "This is who they leave me with now? A junior ducky, floating alone in the pond."

"I can't see your name anywhere on these files," I continue, deciding my best strategy is to brush aside his remarks. "Care to divulge?"

He blinks for a moment. "Why, everything you need to know is right there."

"You mean to tell me your legal name is The Joker?"

"First, middle, and last," he says happily. "I'm a mere idea. A figment of your imagination."

I begin to understand why nobody has pushed the issue on his charts. Like my predecessors, I decide I'm not willing to engage in a battle of wills so early on in the appointment. Assuming I'll need all my mental strength to sustain me for the next hour.

"Mr Joker, I'm told you have escaped from this asylum on multiple occasions. What can you tell me about that?"

He considers me thoughtfully for a moment. "You want to know how I got these scars?" He asks conspiratorially.