The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

68

Dying.

Peace. Agony. Heaven. Hell. Pain and torture. Flying freedom.

I'm carted away on the beating wings of an angel, but the feathers are all black and glossy. Resting my head and closing my eyes, I await judgement.

Judgement brought me back here.

Pain. So much pain. The urge to scream, to writhe, to beg. Cold runs through my veins like a slurry of ice being forced through each one. I want to burst out of my body, out of my soul. Like a thousand flames licking at me and then devouring me entirely.

Then that voice. Those words.

A reversed death. An amnesiac. The threat that if I remember anything, there'll be worse methods in store for me. Worse than this.

Worse than being ripped back from the dead.

Jonathan's voice graces my ears next, and I could sob. Jonathan. He's here. We're okay. Our baby is with Harleen. Suddenly, the pain is all worth it. We'll be stitched up. We'll serve our sentence. Then we'll be a family.

My hopes are starved with those two words. Who's she?

No. No, no, no. He can't be affected by it. Surely he isn't. But then I remember what else the voices said. It was never a question of Jonathan forgetting. Only me.

Because I'm a metahuman, whatever that means. Something's junky in my DNA, and the drugs might not work on me.

If they find that out, they'll make me forget for real. I'll forget Jonathan.

I'll forget JJ.

I allow myself five seconds to slip into character. I already know I'll have to be flawless. I know if I open my eyes right now, they'll be heavy and haunted under the weight of what happened.

Five

But what am I supposed to remember? If they're hoping I'll forget Jonathan, that'll have to be when I first started at Arkham. But this is too late. We've already died. So things are the same, then. Everything but us. Right?

Four

I don't want to do this. Wiping my brain of memories means wiping myself of Jonathan. If I'm going to do this convincingly, compartmentalise well enough to fool whoever's got me under, there might be no coming back.

Three

I know the techniques. I know how to bury trauma. I've spent the better part of a year undoing that damage. Freeing my mind. Curing my fear. Going back there now, I'll be undoing everything we worked towards. I'll be undoing who I am as a person.

Two

I can't do this. How the hell do I become anyone but myself?

One

Unkindness overcomes me like a warm caress. A black-feathered wing. She says, let me do this.

I open my eyes.

I'm no more than an observer in the recess of my mind as Unkindness lies. As she puts on the performance of a lifetime. Everything Jonathan's ever said about the alter ego finally clicks. This must be what it feels like when he becomes the Scarecrow. When he allows it to take over. Still conscious of everything. But no longer in control. Like riding passenger in a car rather than driving.

And with it, the sweetest sense of relief.

When I want to sob as I look at Jonathan, Unkindness doesn't so much as blink. When Batman says the baby is dead, Unkindness doesn't take on so much as a sting.

Why would she? She's a supervillain, after all.

She carries me. Carries us both, two minds in this one same body.

Death might have made me fully unhinged. It might have broken me completely.

Unkindness only smiles.

***

But she can't play forever. And in the absence of a mask to show her when she can play and when she must say goodbye, I tie my hair back to make it clear Sienna's in control now. The cool breeze of Gotham pinches at my cheeks. Strange waves us onto the sidewalk, still saying nothing — staring at me in a way that lives up to his name. For a moment, I worry he's onto me. But then I see the wistful glance in his eyes. Oh, shit. Jonathan won't like that.

But then, Jonathan might not be Jonathan anymore.

I look at the man I love. The one I've spent every night beside, entangled in each other's arms. The one who killed for me. Possessed me. Who would move heaven and earth for me. The one thing I never worried I'd have to lose.

He's hailing a cab. He doesn't even glance my way. Batman told us all our things would be at home. Strange ran tests to deem us safe enough to leave. And Unkindness kept me from strangling either of them and demanding to know what the fuck is going on.

"Jonathan." I step forward, taking his hand with urgency. He'll remember. Like me, he'll be playing the game. The Scarecrow will be handling this.

Or maybe not. Maybe he just needs to look at me. To remember:

He blinks, stiff where our skin touches. "Uh, yes, Miss Moore?"

I stare intently into his eyes. "Jonathan. It's me. Sienna."

But he's not my Jonathan. He doesn't look at me with veneration. He looks at me like I'm making him uncomfortable. I pull away.

"Yes. Well, I prefer to maintain professional boundaries." He pauses. "Are you feeling alright, Miss Moore?"

"Don't you think that was a little... strange?" I ask quietly. "Like, maybe they could have stolen a kidney or something?"

Jonathan scoffs lightly. "I'm sure we'd be feeling the effects of major surgery."

Yeah, but apparently not being brought back from the dead. Oh, god. I can't think about that right now. If I begin to unpack that, I'll start hyperventilating.

I give it one last try. He's only pretending. He doesn't realise it's safe.

This is only temporary. He wouldn't forget us. He'll remember.

"Jonathan... We need to find JJ."

He loved our son. Loves him still, I tell myself fiercely. As fiercely as he loves me.

Which is how I know he isn't lying when he looks at me blankly and says, "Who?"

I fight back tears. "Never mind."

He nods, still eyeing me cautiously. A taxi finally stops for him. "Enjoy your evening."

And then he's gone.

There's only one thing for it. I need to find Harleen.