The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

73

I spend the next two-hour assessment with a client hurriedly scribbling fake Joker notes when I should be performing a pre-diagnosis. Thankfully, conjuring up five hours' worth of Joker material isn't too hard—I've been around him long enough at this point to write cryptic metaphors about chaos and rehash some old ground about his accomplices. With a slight stab of guilt, I realise this is beyond unethical and I'll have to re-do this whole session. But then I think of JJ, and my perspective shifts to align with my priorities.

In fact, I think about him incessantly. I replay the conversation with Strange in my mind, then the Joker, then today's with Jonathan. Unkindness handled him well enough to get him off my back, but I've caught his attention now. And I know better than anyone just how thorough he can be when his attention's caught. Fighting a groan, I hand the Joker notes to an orderly and hunt down a Tylenol for the ache blossoming behind my eyes.

I don't believe in an afterlife, Sienna. But I know that somehow I'll find you again. Somehow, I'll always protect you.

I can still see the blood trickling from his lip, the life slowly fading from his eyes, and the bark and gravel cutting into my skull where we lay. It's enough to snatch the air from my lungs and make the Arkham halls spin before me, heart rate monitors and blood pressure cuffs rotating upside down over my head. Pressing against the wall, I close my eyes and try to breathe, trying to calm the panic.

I've been here before. I know how to handle this, I do it for a damn job. Observe my feelings without judgement.

A likely diagnosis of c-PTSD from, I don't know, being hunted, separated from my newborn child, arrested, sentenced, then forced to watch Jonathan be murdered as we're both killed by men in Bat costumes. Then, being brought back to life, forced to pretend I have no memories, terrified I'm being watched for any signs I'm lying all while trying to find my baby who may or may not be a teenage terrorist mass-murderer instead. All while Jonathan thinks I'm no more than an incapable doctoral student and I have to be in his presence like we didn't share everything together.

It's no wonder I'm feeling slightly off. Truthfully, from this angle, I'm amazed I've retained any sanity at all.

I breathe. I make plans to begin my own therapy, before realising there's not a therapist in all of Gotham who would listen to this without having me committed.

"Miss Moore?" I glance up at the nondescript orderly approaching, Manila folder in hand. "The notes you requested."

I frown, ready to tell him there's been a mistake. This must be a mix-up with the notes I sent Jonathan. But before I speak, I take the folder from him and slide it open. Blueprints, mugshots, detailed maps and instructions attached by paperclips are stored neatly inside. My eyes widen—the heist. The Joker's really pulled through.

"Thank you..." I trail off, glancing around the hallway where the orderly seemingly disappeared in an instant. My fingers tighten around the folder.

I'm one step closer to finding JJ.

***

"You sure you can't come?" Harleen pouts, pulling the tassels of her sombrero to the sides. "It's Taco Tuesday! And Pamela really wants to meet you, you know. You guys will get on great."

I highly doubt that. "I'm just so swamped under with catching up on work," I try to explain. "I need to head back in. You guys go, have fun. Have an extra margarita for me, okay?"

Harleen shifts on the spot. "Okay, no Pamela. We'll get Mexican food delivered and have a night just for us."

"No, you should go," I say quickly. "I'm not going to be much fun to be around. At all. And I bet Pamela's excited for her first Taco Tuesday. I'll be at the next one, alright?"

It physically hurts to push Harleen away. I want more than nothing to grab her by the shoulders and tell her everything—she's been my rock. I've lost her in this too. But I can't for two reasons.

Firstly, I'm still not convinced she'd believe me. There's every chance she'll think I've lost my mind. And secondly, I could be putting her in danger. If the timekeepers found out, they'd do something to us both until we forget. I can't take the risk. I just have to hope that Strange has enough amnesia antidote for Harleen as well once it's ready.

It fuels me onward as Harleen leaves and I slip into skintight black clothes and boots. My hair billows around my shoulders, the fingers of my gloves end in slight points like talons, and I tie the mask to my face. It summons Unkindness instantly, and she takes over.