The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

77

"I swear, I had nothing to do with it," Harleen tells me solemnly.

"He's being such an ass," I mutter as we linger by the water cooler. "And now I'll have to rearrange my entire schedule."

"You guys just need to talk it out," Harleen says. "I'm sure once he gets to know you again, he'll be all love-heart eyes once more."

"I've told you, I can't go there."

"Then he needs to at least get to know you to get off your back about work."

"That would be nice." I sigh, dropping my paper cup into the recycling. "I need more coffee."

Harleen thinks for a moment. "Meet me on the sixth floor after work, by the green elevator. Okay?"

I frown. "The green elevator goes to the archives. Nobody ever goes there."

"Just trust me. Okay?"

"Fine," I relent. "Thai food and TV tonight?"

"You read my mind. Catch you later."

I still haven't grilled Harleen on her villain activities. Partly because I don't want to end up wrestling on the kitchen floor again, and the other part because I'm kind of scared of what I'll hear. It sounds like Pamela's being a bad influence—as if I needed another reason not to like her. But in either case, I'm somewhat comforted in the knowledge that no matter what else, Harleen isn't devious.

Or so I think, before I push the button for the green elevator, and the doors open to reveal Doctor Crane.

His eyebrows raise. I tense up, considering making a run for it. But that might only make him more suspicious. I say nothing as I step into the elevator beside him. It smells like vetiver.

"Which floor?" He asks.

"Sixth," I say quickly, then check the buttons.

Thank god. He's heading to the fourth. For a horrible moment, I thought this might have been one of Harleen's maniacal plans.

My hope is short-lived as the elevator comes to a shuddering, grinding halt. Jonathan frowns. I clench my teeth so hard, I'll need veneers by the time this is over. This has to be Harleen's doing.

"There must be a mechanical fault," Jonathan says evenly, pressing the red button for assistance.

I lean back against the wall and close my eyes in frustration. "No kidding."

"It's quite alright. Maintenance will have it fixed quickly."

I don't have the heart to tell him that maintenance is probably pinned to a wall by a baseball bat right now. This elevator's old, in a barely used corner of the asylum, and so there are no cameras in here. No way to get out but appease Harleen. I figure I'll give it fifteen minutes of awkward silence, and then text her that Doctor Crane and I talked everything out and we're best pals, and the elevator will magically start working again.

"Are you afraid, Miss Moore?" My eyes snap open to find Jonathan glancing at me curiously.

"No," I reply. "No, that would take more than a stuck elevator."

"Just as I thought."

Oh, god. I'm suddenly hyper aware of the briefcase in his hand, of the flickering elevator lights. For a moment, I think maybe his threat of discipline hasn't ended with my supervision. If maybe the Scarecrow orchestrated this to terrorise me for lying.

But Jonathan isn't the Scarecrow right now. In fact, by the way he loosens his tie and swallows, he looks almost... nervous. It's been a while since I've seen this side of Jonathan. It reminds me of something, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out what—the night he asked me to the ballet.