The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

52

Four Months Later

The Joker grins. "It seems the tall bird's finally fled the pond, abandoning his little duck."

I suppress a sigh and adjust the waistband of my skirt. I've managed to hide the swelling of my stomach with blazers and oversized shirts so far, but it's becoming more and more difficult with every week that passes.

"This isn't an interview," I remind the Joker. "We've done all those now. I'm only here to remind you we have court in the morning." My mouth dries slightly. "But, as you've noticed, I'm here without Doctor Crane. So if there's anything else you need from me... It's a speak now or forever hold your peace kind of situation."

The Joker leans back in his chair, stroking his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he asks me, "You want to know how I got these scars?"

"Couldn't care less." I stand to my feet, adjusting my blazer across my stomach. "I'll see you in the morning."

But after months of interviews and appointments and frustration, I've come to know the Joker. It's like learning a second language through immersion. I may not understand the reasoning behind his actions, but I can read them. Predict when they're coming. And so I know he will call out to me before my fingers grasp the door handle.

"Hey, little duck?"

And I know the words that will follow.

"Remember how I said you'd owe me a favour?"

I debate whether I ought to act surprised, before realising my patience as a pregnant women is even lower than it had been before. And I knew this was coming. I've been preparing myself for it. Trying to decipher how I can present the evidence from our appointments, his history, and his many diagnoses, in a way that could possibly recommend him for Blackgate Penitentiary rather than Arkham. I raise my eyebrows at him. Take a short breath.

But the Joker catches me off guard.

He smirks. Lifts his cuffed hands into the air, and shrugs. "I'm saving my favour for another time. This isn't it. I won't cash in on this. You recommend whatever you think's best, not-a-doc. I have zero preference."

"Is this some sort of test?" I ask, my eyes narrowing.

He muses for a moment. "I wonder what would happen if a crane mated with a duck. Do you think the offspring would be... Natural?"

I lift the fire extinguisher in my hands. "Are you threatening my unborn child?" I ask quietly.

The Joker's face darkens. "Not a threat, not-a-doc. A warning. These walls of Arkham, they speak at night... inmates talk. And if you want to be a bad guy, well... It's not a good idea to have a family. People can be used to hurt you. Why else do you think such a handsome guy like me's still single?" He pushes a greasy lock of hair from his scarred face.

The fire extinguisher's heavy in my hands. My grip tightens around the cool steel, blood rushing through my ears. I make a decision.

"The only reason you're still breathing," I say coldly, "is because if Doctor Crane thinks I've exerted myself, he'll confine me to bed rest. And, unlike you, I'm not currently handcuffed. I'd like to keep it that way." I turn back to the door. "But Doctor Crane's more than happy to exert himself on my behalf. Let's hope these walls don't start speaking to him, too, or there'll be no question left regarding the state of your sanity. You'll make Basil Karlo look fit to win a Nobel Prize."

I don't stick around to listen to whatever quip or unhinged statement he'll no doubt be preparing in response. I shut the heavy door and hang the fire extinguisher on the wall and take a moment to calm myself. To quiet the roaring in my ears, still the shaking in my hands. I can't let the Joker get under my skin.