His Darling Assistant

Part 13: Lucky Indeed

You watched the nurse carefully as she replaced the bandages on your wrists. Earlier, she had told you that it had been three days since they found you in the abandoned warehouse by the docks. It made sense, chronologically, but felt surreal, the way the hours seemed to while away without your notice. They say time flies when you're having fun, but sitting around, drifting in and out of sleep, and dissociating when you were fully conscious, was anything but.

The nurse told you she would try to be there for you as much as possible, and that she wouldn't be able to care for you as much as normal because the hospital was overflowing with patients lately, but you didn't mind. You preferred to watch the bustling hallway without being supervised.

Sometimes you would imagine the people were your blood cells, carrying oxygen and nutrients to the organs in your body. Sometimes you would imagine they were ants, working for their colony. Sometimes, as they passed your doorway, you would overhear them mention a toxin or hallucinations from a certain patient, and you had to remind yourself that you weren't in an Arkham cell along with all the rest of Dr. Crane's victims, and the fear gas had never reached your lungs the way your nightmares would have you believe.

Five days passed before you acknowledged you truly weren't dreaming. Surely, you would have woken up by now, and it helped that the Police Officer who greeted you when you woke up, Officer Dougherty, had visited you every day since. She told you they had found you because the door to the warehouse you were kept in was marked with a crude drawing of a jack-o-lantern. We are working our hardest to find Dr. Crane, she had told you, but it seems like since that fateful night, he disappeared into thin air. You tried to ask what happened that night, but she kept telling you it was official police business without meeting your eyes.

On that fifth day, you told her thank you, and that you felt awake, and she responded, jokingly, that she was glad to be a part of reality, rather than a figment of your dream world. You smiled half-heartedly, not wanting to think about what terrorized you in your sleep; visions of Dr. Crane in his mask spraying you with his gas and making you see all kinds of things.

The sixth day, you were discharged from the hospital, and Officer Dougherty escorted you home, only leaving after you had reassured her that you felt completely safe and secure. Lies, of course, but you really didn't want police cars outside your house. You didn't want to feel watched.

On your way home, you'd noticed something in the atmosphere had changed. Gotham was never stagnant, it's what you loved about the city, but something chaotic was about. You could almost taste the fear in the air. It was much quieter, you realized, not in a peaceful way, but more suspenseful, and more afraid. What did he do?

Once Officer Dougherty had left, you showered and donned a pair of fluffy sweatpants, content to sit on your couch and watch movies all night in an attempt to avoid nightmares. As you rifled through your movie collection, your fingers caught on a familiar, beat-up CD case, and your blood chilled. Without looking at it, you shoved the horror movie that he had picked all those nights ago to the bottom of the basket, and opted for a cheesy rom-com instead.

Wiping the tears you pointedly ignored from your cheeks, you stared hard at your TV, making an effort to focus on the love story. There would be no fear from you tonight.

+++

You woke up to the sharp sound of your ringtone. Groggily, you got up from your sofa and looked around for your phone. It was the worst, most fitful sleep you'd had in years, and your back ached from your couch, but you couldn't remember a single dream, which you were grateful to the movie for. Escapism may be unhealthy, you mused, but it works.

"Hello," you spoke into your phone, trying to keep the tiredness from your voice. It was way later than you usually woke up, and you were eternally grateful to the staff at Arkham for keeping things going while you were away.

"Hey girly," your best friend's welcome voice greeted you softly.

"Hey," you said back, "how are you?"

"I'm okay, Y/N. How are you?"

"I'm great. Why?" You forced a smile even though you knew she couldn't see you through the phone call, keeping your fear at bay.

"Are you sure?"

"Fine and dandy. Why do you ask, did something happen?"

"Uh, yeah, I was watching the news, and, um... you know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"No, I don't know," you felt a pang of panic, "what happened?"

"You know, the crazy guys who gassed all of Gotham, or whatever. They said one of them had this hallucinogen or something, it made everyone go batshit and kill each other. Are you serious? How do you not know about this?"

Every muscle in your body tensed.

"I don't."

"Apparently he's like, obsessed with fear and wears a scarecrow costume or something. He sounds ridiculous, but everybody's got a gimmick, I guess, just like that bat guy who saved everyone. Anyway, I thought of you because they said he was the director of Arkham Asylum up until recently, and I remember you telling me you worked there, too, so I got worried, but you don't sound like you've been driven crazy by fear or anything, so I'm glad you're alright. You do work at Arkham, though, right? I didn't make that up?"

"Um, yeah, I'm the new director. When did this happen?"

"Oh, shit, so you worked with him?"

That's an understatement.

"When did this happen," you repeated urgently.

"Just a week ago. Were you out of town or something?"

"Yeah," you replied, grateful for the out, "I was out of town."

"Well that's lucky."

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

Lucky indeed.

"I feel sick."

"Yeah, me too. Stay safe, there are some real weirdos out there."

"I will."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

Why, you thought desperately as you hung up, can't I just have a normal ex for once?