The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

15

It's the smart thing to do.

I remind myself of this fact as I sanitise my hands, and steel myself with a deep breath. There's just three hours until I need to speak at the trial. Three hours left to make my decision.

To get advice.

It's the smart thing to do.

It's madness.

It's too late, either way. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push my way into the appointment room and find the Joker waiting for me once more.

"Oh, come on," he grumbles. "I thought I'd be seeing the doctor. I need some pills adjusted, not more questions about my childhood." He continues the charade of appearing disgruntled, apathetic, until he notices I'm not saying anything. Until his eyes flit to my white knuckles, skin stretched taut across bone where I clasp the clipboard tightly. Then his curiosity wins him over. "Cat got your tongue?" He asks, displaying his own.

"Mr Joker. I'm here, officially, to rectify some information in your file." I swallow. Try to quell my fear. "But really I... I came to ask for some advice."

He tilts his head. Intrigued. "Advice? From an old loon like me? What's up, not-a-doc, you got fleas?"

I decide to be direct. "I'm providing testimony in a trial. I was threatened by someone. Told I need to recommend the patient remain here, at Arkham, rather than go to prison."

The Joker grunts. "How much they offer to pay you?"

"Pay me? They didn't. They threatened me."

He holds eye contact for a moment, then bursts into laughter. "Oh, boy. That's embarrassing. Even for you, little duck."

Much as I try to ignore his taunts, my pride wins out. "I don't see what's embarrassing about a man saying he'll cut off my limbs."

The Joker's chuckling slowly dies out. He leans back in the chair, folds his arms across his chest as neatly as the handcuffs will allow. "I could tell you," he finally says. "I could tell you exactly what to do. But I'm gonna need a favour in return."

"What's the favour?"

"How am I supposed to know?" He runs his thick fingers through his hair, as though agitated I'd even ask. "The fun is all in the mystery. But one of these days, I'm gonna ask you to do something. And you're gonna say yes."

It feels an awful lot like making a deal with the devil. And, as if this entire conversation wasn't already inappropriate enough, I'd be crossing a line. Between ethical and non-ethical. Right and wrong.

Dancing with corruption.

He can sense my hesitation. "Look, without me, you're gonna die either way. Only difference is, if you don't give the testimony they want, they'll make it hurt a lot, lot more."

"Fine," I say through lightly clenched teeth. "You have a deal."

"You swear it?" He asks. His eyes suddenly darken. "Because I don't like liars. And if you break our promise, it won't end well for you."

I don't underestimate him. I've read his file. The last time he was put in solitary confinement, he managed to somehow order a politician's eyes gouged out without ever leaving his cell. It's like his cronies are telepathic.

"Understood, Mr Joker."

He nods. Finally satisfied. Licks his lips and glances at the ceiling. "When you're swimming in the big pond of Gotham's underworld, you gotta earn respect. Doesn't matter if you want to play the game, sit on the payroll. That's only a bonus. Even if you never work with the big bosses, they gotta respect you." He pauses. "You wanna stay out of the Gutters? Do the right thing? You gotta have a level of power, not-a-doc."

"Right. Well, I'm screwed."

But the Joker shakes his head. "This is your opportunity, little duck. You get this right, you won't be bothered again. Not for a long time. You're the one with the power here. You're the only one who can help them with their... grand plan." He says the words mystically, waving his palms through the air. "Here's what you do..."

I spend the next ten minutes listening. Not asking a single question. Taking mental inventory of every word he says, every justification, every movement of his index finger across the desk as he traces diagrams or concepts. It's simple. Non-threatening.

It's my only hope.

"Thank you, Mr Joker," I tell him, capping my pen. "You've been a great help."

"Just out of curiosity," he says, "Who's the patient?"

"Basil Karlo."

The Joker pauses just a moment before tipping his head back, maniacal laughter echoing so loudly through the room I worry the guards on the other side of the soundproof door will hear.

"What's so amusing?" I ask, back to deadpan as my coping mechanism in the face of his madness.

"You seem to have a Guardian Angel, little duck," the Joker grins. "Karlo's brain turned to mush just last night."

I feel the blood drain from my face. "What?"

"I hear he snapped. He's a blubbering loon. They threw some other guy into his cell, and the pair of 'em are one stressor away from life support."

"Why would he do that?" I ask in a whisper. "Why would he lose his mind?"

"Isn't it obvious?" The Joker grins. "To keep you afloat! This guy who delivered the threat. He have red hair, barely any teeth?" I don't need to speak. The look on my face is enough to confirm it. "Someone's taken him out for ya. Thrown 'em in there together to rot. You've got a tall bird looking after you somewhere, little duck. Saving your life, and your morals, before you drown."

I stand to my feet. He's lying. Trying to manipulate me. Fucking with me. It's the only explanation.

"Don't forget about our deal!" The Joker calls out, through his barrels of laughter as I leave the room and rush for Karlo's cell.