The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

18

I dream of the scarecrow again that night.

It must be the one-too-many cocktails at Taco Tuesday messing with my head. A lingering manifestation of my fear, after the breakthrough I had with Doctor Crane.

Because again, he has Doctor Crane's body. The narrow shoulders, dark suit. I can even smell him. The familiar cologne like thick books in a library, vetiver woods, and the barest note of lemon, like fresh fear toxin.

This must be why I am not as terrified as last time, I reason. Doctor Crane brings me comfort. Takes the edge off the fear. But I still lie frozen. Wide-eyed. Heart pounding and adrenaline flooding through my veins. Staring at that burlap, at those reptilian eyes turned cold as they watch me.

It feels so real.

It feels intoxicating.

After a while, he moves. My heart rate quickens to double time as I anticipate he's going to come into the room. Towards me.

But instead, he leaves. And when he's gone, I slip into another dream, a garbled mess of shapes and textbooks mingling with the early morning crows as they sing outside my window.

When I wake in the morning, I find another feather.

"Maybe they're coming from the vents," Harleen suggests, biting into an egg sandwich at the kitchen counter.

"I thought it was the spirits," I mutter.

Harleen pauses chewing for a moment. Then her eyes light up. "Maybe the spirits are pushing them through the vents."

"Your new phone arrived?" I ask, eager to change the subject and nodding to the direction of the square box on the counter.

"Yeah, and if some asshole decides to steal this one, I'll pummel him," she says darkly. "I wish he'd cornered me in a bathroom. They'd be taking him out on a stretcher."

I smile. Harleen's opened up to me enough to speak like this when no one is around, or when she's sticking up for something, but she's still timid and reserved the rest of the time. The thought of anyone assuming she'd be an easy target and trying to mug her wouldn't end well for them.

"Thanks for doing my laundry, by the way," I say.

Harleen frowns. "Huh?"

I pause, rinsing out my finished coffee cup. "It was all folded on my dresser this morning."

"I haven't been to the laundromat since the weekend."

"Oh." I feel suddenly confused and stupid. "I must have forgotten."

"You need more sleep. Still having nightmares?"

"No," I lie quickly. Too quickly. I gulp down a glass of water. "I'm gonna see Karlo again today," I tell her, changing the subject. "I have a gap after lunch. You want to come?"

"I can't," Harleen says. "I'm meeting with the Joker."

"Again?" I ask. "You've seen him every day for the past week. Sometimes twice a day."

Harleen turns pink and mumbles something unintelligible before busying herself unboxing the new phone.

I get the distinct impression I'm not the only one keeping secrets.

***

As I walk to Basil Karlo's cell, I'm graced by the infuriating presence of Rachel Dawes, complete with visitor's pass.

"Miss Moore," she greets me, falling quickly into step beside me. "How are you?"

My heels tap, and my coffee scalds my tongue. "Busy, Miss Dawes. Yourself?"