The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

23

Harleen frowns. "I thought you were making creepy fear babies?"

I sip my coffee, praying it'll work miracles in vasoconstriction and stimulation to get me pain-free and awake. I have to be at the Asylum in an hour, and I still feel like I could sleep another twelve.

"Technically they'd be creepy fear-less babies," I point out. I tuck my legs beneath me — we're sat in the living room, a deviation from our usual morning routine. Harleen practically marched me in here and demanded to know whether she needed to worry about me being delivered home in a coma-like state on a regular basis. "But because the only ethical way to begin the study is by performing it on myself, that's what we're doing. Curing me of all fear. And then..."

Harleen's quiet for a moment. "Well, we'd have to find a bigger place," she points out.

I frown at her. "Why?"

"This apartment isn't big enough for a nursery. What, you don't think I'm going to let you raise a baby alone, do you?"

I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude it takes me a moment to collect myself. I reach out and squeeze her hand. "It wouldn't be like that. For the purposes of the study, we'd need to create an artificial environment. Control as much as we can. Otherwise, if the child developed fears, we wouldn't know if there had been a problem with our methodology, or if it's environmental."

Harleen nods. "A creepy science fear baby."

"Which will never happen." I try to hide my disappointment.

"Why not?" She asks. "Motherhood not your thing? Can't say I blame you."

"I'd do it for science," I say. "But there's no way to isolate the genes. Even as a science baby, the sperm donor would provide half the chromosomes. There'd be no way to ensure he's entirely fearless."

"Hmm. That is a tough one."

I sigh. "I could write my whole dissertation on the ethical nature of such a study. I'm sure people would still volunteer. To undergo the preliminary treatment before conception, to be monitored. But it wouldn't be what I hope to accomplish. It won't create super humans. Change the fate of the human race. Help us cleanse Gotham."

"God, don't say anything about it to Mister J," Harleen mutters. "He's always talking about chaos and cleansing Gotham and all the rest."

The coffee cup is firm beneath my finger as I trace the rim. "It seems like you've grown fond of him," I say tentatively.

"Hmm?" Harleen asks, trying to appear distracted. "Oh, would you look at the time. I'd better go fix my hair before we head in." She stands and crosses the room. "Hey, did you hear about the Batman? He caught a whole group of thugs last night!"

"The Batman?" I ask, puzzled. "He the new vigilante in all the papers?"

"That's him."

"I give him a week before he's burnt out," I call out as Harleen heads through the apartment. "Cops in this city can't prosecute without evidence. If they haven't made an arrest themselves, they don't have the evidence."

"You sound like you've given this some thought," Harleen calls back. "Are you the Batman? It'd explain why you got home in such a state last night."

"I wouldn't be so stupid," I reply, with a roll of my eyes.

***

I arrive at work to find Rachel Dawes waiting for me.

"Do you think I can leave now and call in sick without her seeing me?" I mutter to Harleen as we wait at the sign-in desk.

But Rachel's eyes lock onto us and she makes her way over with purposeful strides, like a soldier's march.