His Darling Assistant

Part 11: Your Burden to Bear

You barely allowed yourself to breathe until Blackgate Prison's presence was no longer looming over your shoulders. Every muscle in your body was clenched tight until you crossed the threshold into your house and locked the door behind you. You took a deep breath and dropped your effects onto the closest surface, angry towards yourself at the sheer power that man still had over you.

Over the few weeks it had been since Dr. Crane had been arrested, you hadn't allowed yourself to think about him once. Every time his blue eyes flashed into your mind, you shoved all the feelings that were attached into the dark, dusty recesses of your brain, and busied yourself with thinking of whatever was easiest. But being in the same room as him, coming face-to-face again, it was too much. Emotion flooded over you and you sank to the floor. Why did I have to love him? He's worse than Joseph- he's an actual criminal- why can't I just forget he ever existed?

You sat there, hands over your face, finally processing everything when your piercing ringtone penetrated your thoughts. With a deep breath, you picked out your phone from your bag and answered your old friend's call.

"Hey girl!" The cheerful voice of your best friend gave you a small smile; probably the first smile you'd had since walking out of Dr. Crane's office.

"Hi," you responded, trying to control the shakiness of your voice, "how are you?" You loved her to death, but her timing seemed less than ideal.

"I'm doing good! How's Gotham treating you?"

"It's okay. How's home?"

"Girlie," your friend's voice was stern, "you're still calling this old town home?"

"Yeah, well-"

"Honey, you need to move on. You know as well as I do that this place holds nothing but bad memories for you. Besides, you've always been a city girl."

"But you're there."

"Speaking of bad memories," she continued on, ignoring your last remark, although you could hear a smile in her voice, "has that piece of shit been in contact?"

"No," you said a little too quickly, knowing they were talking about Joseph, "why?"

"It's just that he's been missing for a while now. Not that I would feel too bad if anything bad happened, but I wanted to make sure he isn't stalking you or something."

"No," you repeated, your heart beating fast, "I haven't seen him since the breakup."

There was a pause, and you could tell she knew something was amiss.

"Don't get back with him."

"I don't plan on it."

"I'm serious. That sad excuse of a man doesn't deserve the dirt on the bottom of your shoes."

You forced a chuckle and repressed the image of Joseph's terrorized face.

"I won't. Pinky swear, cross my heart."

"Okay. Well I'm glad you're doing good. Call if you need anything."

"I will, thanks."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

Lying to her felt awful. But you couldn't bring yourself to tell her about Jonathan yet. You promised yourself you would tell her everything soon, but for now, he was your burden to bear.

+++

As soon as you had hung up with your friend, you sensed something was off. You were safe in your house, every door and window just as locked as you had left them that morning, but the years of living in the city had given you an intuition that rarely, if ever, had led you astray. You rose to your feet, slowly peering out the front window. You could find no red flags, nothing amiss, yet your alarm bells were still ringing frantically in your ears as you triple-checked the lock on your front door, and then the one on the window. You strained your ears, but you could only hear the faint chirping of crickets outside. Something was really, really wrong.

You sped to the back door, and then to every other window in the house, all of which were locked as well. Panic coursed through your veins, and you made your way to the sliding door at the back of your house, grabbing your bag and a wicked looking chef's knife from the kitchen on the way. Grasping the knife in one hand, you pulled out your mace from your bag and held it in front of you with the other hand, ready to spray anything that would come at you. You're being ridiculous, you told yourself, there's nothing there, although you remained, standing on high alert and more than prepared to fight for your life.

There was a vague tapping sound that came from the direction of your front door, and you spun, back to the sliding door, heart thrumming. There's nothing there. There's nothing. You're okay.

A scratchy, raw fabric was shoved over your mouth and nose and you instinctively brought your knife down, sheathing it in what you assumed was the thigh of the man behind you. He buckled, letting out a grunt of pain, but his hands didn't leave your face and you were forced to breathe in the sickly sweet smell of chloroform as your vision clouded and everything went dark.

+++

You woke up to hear deep, ragged breathing coming from behind you. A jolt of fear struck your mind when you felt the tight, rough rope that bound your wrists to some sort of post behind your back. You tugged desperately at the restraints, straining your eyes in an attempt to see through the burlap hood that you felt scratching at your face and neck, but the room was dark as night, and you couldn't make out anything, other than a few hazy, unhelpful shapes. Your head hurt like hell, and your mouth tasted like pennies, but at least you couldn't detect any injuries.

"Who's there?" Your whispered voice seemed to be absorbed by the darkness. You struggled to regulate your breathing.

"Welcome back to consciousness, Doctor," said the voice behind you. It was an unnaturally deep rasp that sent violent tremors down your spine, yet however unrecognizable it was, something about the way he spoke felt familiar.

"Who are you?"

You tugged at your restraints again, needing to get free, to regain control over your body, but they held firm. Still, you persisted, skin chafing, as footsteps made their way around you. The lights turned on and you could just make out a human-like shape through the burlap.

"Imagine I'm your worst fear."

You didn't reply, determined to keep your cards close to your chest. You tried not to think about what would happen if your kidnapper realized that the situation you found yourself in at that very moment was, in fact, your worst fear, and that you didn't have to imagine it at all. Your muscles strained with the effort of trying to keep yourself from shaking.

"What do you want from me?" The whimper that laced your voice felt pathetic and small.

"I'm saving you, Darling. You'll thank me later."

That was it. The way he said darling, the way he savored it as he spoke. The way your heart wrenched when you heard it, as though it was begging to break free of the cage that was your body and find its way back to him again. It can't be, you thought frantically, he's locked up in Blackgate. It's impossible.

But then who is he?

Not him.

It's not Jonathan.

It's not.

You felt yourself shrink against the post behind you as you heard him leave the room, lock clicking behind him. A heavy silence fell, stifling and suffocating you, enveloping you in a desperate sense of hopelessness. You were truly alone.