The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

20

Harleen pours more coffee in the retro kitchen of our apartment, with mint green appliances and heart-shaped drawer handles. I scrape my spoon against the plastic edges of my yoghurt pot, lost in thought for a moment. The news channel plays from the small, square television on the corner of the counter, two antennae sticking up from the top in a v-shape. Our familiar morning routine.

"... case of Matthew Carter, the puzzling murder suicide of former Manager of Gotham Bank, which was intended to go to trial later this week..."

I freeze. "Harleen, would you turn that up?"

She twists the dial and the news reporter's voice amplifies through the room.

"...name suppression has now been lifted for Dennis Oldham, forty-two, thought to be a low-level member of organised crime. A source confides that just last night, Oldham revealed the killing was ordered by a party furiously short-changed in the Wayne Enterprises IPO Carter took public just weeks ago. In lieu of any panic such an accusation might cause, the Judge presiding over the case declared a trial ineffective and nonsensical, not to mention a waste of precious police resources. He demanded a plea deal be offered, which I am told Oldham has accepted — nineteen years in Blackwood Penitentiary with possibility of parole. In other news, a mysterious bat figure has been..."

The words leave my lips as a whisper. "What the fuck?"

Harleen squeals in delight. "This is great! This means you won't have to go to court, right?"

The kitchen seems to be spinning before me, the counters tilting until the checkered tile floors replace the ceiling. "Yeah," I say. "That's what it means."

I've always worried my hold on sanity might be described as tenuous. Always feared I'm a fraud, an imposter, so deranged that I ought to be the one behind bars. But lately, things have been getting too much. Matt's disappearance. Basil Karlo. The feathers I keep finding everywhere, the nightmares...

Now this.

Am I losing my mind?

"Harleen," I say quietly. "Do you feel safe with me here?"

She blinks. "What are you talking about?"

I release a sigh and hold my head in my hands. "It must be the stress of work, and the dissertation, and everything with Matt... I feel like I'm going insane."

Her warm, reassuring hand pats me on the back. "You need some time off?"

"No way," I say quickly. "Then I'd really go insane."

Harleen laughs. "Your fear babies the only thing keeping you going?" I roll my eyes, and she continues. "Besides, I've never felt safer. I haven't had to clean a single dish since you got here."

"What are you talking about?" I ask bleakly, rubbing my eyes carefully so as not to ruin my makeup. "You always do the dishes."

Harleen blinks. "No I don't. Don't you do them at night? They're always put away in the morning."

Great. Now I can add potential sleepwalking to my list of atypical mental defects.

"Oh," I say flatly, deciding not to risk freaking her out anymore than I might have already. "Yeah. I do that."

Harleen smiles and squeezes my shoulder. "Come on. We gotta catch the train."

"Can I take the Joker appointment this morning?" I ask as we grab our keys. "It's been a while. I have a few notes that need updating."

Harleen's face falls. "Oh. Sure. I'll make space to see him later this afternoon instead."

"You don't have to see him every day," I point out. "I'm not sure there's much we can do for him, anyway."