The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

71

"Not-a-doc."

The Joker's eyes flash as they flicker me up and down. He's huddled in a straitjacket at the back of his cell, slumped on the floor in the corner. I exhale silently in relief. We've met, at least.

Being here could cost me my job. But I don't give a damn about that anymore.

"Joker." I don't bother with a fire extinguisher. I'm not cleared to visit his cell—only interview rooms. Just like I haven't bothered with a clipboard, patient files, or a first-aid kit. I remember the time he plunged a pencil into my throat. The same muscles twitch in response.

"What brings you to my humble abode?" He asks, a wicked glint in his eyes. "A midnight jaunt, perhaps? Or are you here for a candlelit dinner? Don't tell me it's because you miss me, Not-a-doc—I'd hate to shatter your delicate heart if things between us take a turn for the... chaotic."

I sigh softly. "Actually, I'm hoping that's exactly how things will turn."

His lips curl into a sinister grin as he leans in. "Hoping for a little chaos, are you? Well, my dear friend, you've come to the right place."

"I'm counting on it." I click my tongue softly, teetering on the ledge of madness, a part of me still uncertain to take the plunge. Unkindness makes the choice for me. "I need to stage a heist. Something high-profile enough to get the Batman on the scene once it's over, but not a second sooner."

The Joker's face shines with approval, his mouth twitching in delight. "A heist, you say? For the benefit of our pointy-eared friend? Oh, I didn't know you had it in you, little duck."

"I need the accomplices to be expend..." I trail off, snapping back into control. Staring at the Joker in utter disbelief. My heart begins to race a frantic rhythm against the walls of my chest. "What did you call me?"

"Oh, don't you fret about the accomplices," the Joker grins, a hint of guilt behind his smile. "I'll ensure they're mere pawns in the grand scheme."

My hands curl into fists behind my back. "You called me little duck."

"Did I?" He asks, tilting his head and pretending not to remember.

"You... You only called me that because of Doctor Crane." Our eyes lock. Barely a breath passes between us. When I can bear it no longer, I ask in a whisper, "Do you remember?"

His eyes narrow at me for just a moment. Finally, he gives a disheartened grunt. "Of course, I remember. How could I ever forget? The swarm of goons ambushing us in Venice, pinning us down, pumping Harley full of that crap while she wailed?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "One moment, we're there, the next we're back here, as if we're just spectres in their world. I get knocked out, and when I come to, I'm in this blasted cell, in a body so young I feel like a damn teenager again." His expression softens slightly, a rare glimpse of concern crossing his features. "Where's the youngster?"

I fall to my knees. "Joker... You remember." I frown. "How the hell did it not work on you?"

"It seems some minds are just too stubborn to erase, little duck." He tilts his head. "Where's the big bird?" When I'm silent, as the pain pierces through me all over again, he nods in understanding. "Same place as his son."

"No, Jonathan's here." I don't say anything more on the matter. I don't need to. "I don't know where they've taken JJ."

The Joker's face darkens at this. "He learned enough tricks from us. Don't you worry, he'll survive."

"I need to find him."

"Is that why you're turning to villainy?" He asks in a hush. "Or is it simply liberating, to surrender to the chaos?"

My eyes are dead as I answer. "I don't care about chaos anymore. They've taken everything from me. I just want my son back." I won't say the rest. I can't bring myself to even think of Jonathan, especially not around the Joker. I'm already sewn together with a thread of determination and desperation. If I begin picking away at the hurt beneath, I'll fall apart.

"You okay, Not-a-doc?"

The Joker suddenly sounds very distant and far away. My eyes are heavy, my vision beginning to blur, and my body is weak and exhausted. I try to murmur something in response, but it's no use. The clinical side of my brain registers this with interest—the adrenaline is wearing off, and with nothing else in my tank, I'm collapsing out of exhaustion. I need fluids and rest, and preferably a quick source of sugar like orange juice. Orange juice.

I can taste it across my tongue as I slip under.

***

"Wake up, little duck, or they'll find you... Batter up, little duck, or they'll blind you..."

The Joker's sing-song breaks through my heavy, dreamless sleep. My head throbs, there's a burn in my chest, and it's physically painful to force my eyes open. It takes a moment before I register the grimy, green tiles of the cell around me. Before I remember.

I push myself upright, but my body's still slow to cooperate. Daylight streaming through the tiny, barred window, and there's definite noise and life in the asylum.

It's morning. I overslept.

"I'll have the heist plans delivered to you and my men ready to go," the Joker tells me as I push myself to my feet, staggering across the tile. He fakes a yawn. "I sure hope you don't sleep on that job."

Pressing the heel of my palm to my forehead, I ask, "Why, J? What's in it for you?"

He shrugs. "Maximum chaos."

"I don't believe that for a minute. And I haven't forgotten the last time I asked for a favour."

He rolls his eyes. "I'll cash in later."

I don't even think to question why the Joker stayed in the cell all night when I slept, not taking advantage of the open door and empty asylum to make an escape. He can escape anytime he wants. If he's in here, it's because here's exactly where he intends to be. Not for the first time, the thought sends a shiver through my spine as I lock the door.

Feeling like I'm nursing a hangover, morning sickness, and a concussion all at once, I duck past orderlies and nurses beginning their rounds through the wards. Nobody questions me, and I almost release my breath—until I get to the front desk.

And hear a voice I'd once loved more than anything, and now want only to avoid at all costs.

"Miss Moore." Dread forms in my stomach and I think I'm going to be sick for real as I lift my gaze to look at Jonathan. He's sanitising his hands at the front desk, a slight frown on his face. "You look like death. Complications after the audit?"

"No," I reply. "No, I'm fine, I just... pulled in a little overtime." Every word stabs in my throat.

"I see." He sighs softly. "May I ask why you're not in office clothes?"

"I don't answer to you."

His gaze ices over. "Is that so?"

I need to get out of here fast. "Goodbye, Doctor Crane."

"Hey," he calls after me. "Unless you've been permitted sick leave, you're still expected to work your assigned hours."

I cannot reply. I cannot even turn around with tears streaming down my crumpled face as I fall apart.