The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

62

"You get out of this," Harleen tells us through clenched teeth, bundling JJ up in her arms. "You hear me? Don't take their shit. Don't let them win. Just... Just don't. Okay?" She shakes her head fiercely. "If you're taken into custody, don't do anything. I'll get Mr J to break you free."

Jonathan speaks very quickly, and very seriously. "Don't take my car. Take a cab. Go to thirty-nine Western Avenue, you'll find a woman named Pamela. She'll make up fake passports for you and JJ, it'll take her two hours. I'll wait for the Joker. We'll meet you in Florence." He takes JJ in his arms. Squeezes his eyes shut and kisses his son on the forehead.

It's the first time I've seen him cry.

"I'll see you soon," Harleen tells me. Her lip trembles. "Alright?"

I nod. Take one last glance at JJ. Force myself to hold it together.

"I'll see you soon. Tell him..." I swallow. "Tell him I love him. Every night. Until we find you. Okay?"

Harleen nods.

And then she's gone.

***

Jonathan takes my hand. We don't say a word. The shouting outside grows louder and louder, until I begin to make out the words they're chanting. Tears fall silently from my eyes. His eyes look dead.

A nurse comes in to check on us. Her face drops.

"Where's the neonate?" She asks.

"Dead," Jonathan says hoarsely. "Didn't the doctor tell you? He died ten minutes ago."

The nurse's face falls in shock. She brings a hand to her lips. "He didn't... that's not..."

"Please don't ask us to relive the experience," he says quietly.

The nurse leaves. We hear her whispering to others.

"You're the most intelligent man I know," I tell Jonathan quietly. Turn to look at him. "I always knew you were brilliant."

He squeezes my hand. Confesses, "I might not be brilliant enough for this."

Five policemen enter the room. Four of them are masked, bearing rifles and dressed in all black. The man at the centre looks... honestly, worn out. I glare at them each in turn. Feel nothing inside me but a hollow rage.

"Officer Jim Gordon," the cop says, showing his badge. He hesitates, hands on his hips, reluctant to look either of us in the eye. "I'm afraid we need to secure the infant."

"You'll need to look through human waste," Jonathan says. "He's dead."

Jim Gordon's face drops in surprise, just like the nurse. "I'm sorry to hear that." He mutters to one of the others, "Can we get that verified?"

"You are interrupting a mourning period typically suffered in private," Jonathan says. "Now, please do us the courtesy of leaving us to our grief."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Doctor Crane." Jim rubs his eyes. "I'm placing you both under arrest."

Jonathan raises his eyebrows. "What for?"

"Charges of kidnapping, blackmail, and... murder."

Jonathan releases a small noise of sarcastic amusement. "I hope you're prepared for the case my legal team are about to put together, Officer Gordon."

To his credit, Jim Gordon doesn't look happy about the proceedings. But to my credit, I couldn't care less about his feelings right now.

The handcuffs are ice cold against my wrists. I cannot walk, even bent over in agony, and so Jonathan demands a wheelchair for me. We're taken out of the hospital. At first, I think we'll be subjected to the humiliation of passing the protestors — but Jim grants us the mercy of a side exit instead.

We're taken to the station. Placed in a cell together, just the two of us. I'm bleeding, my body working its way through the shock of having just given birth via emergency surgery. Everything feels painful and out of sorts, like it's aware I've been separated from JJ. Jonathan wraps his arms around me and we stay like this. In the cell. In the cold. Just him and I. Our hearts beat in unison. A vengeful, horrific tune. A vow, an oath made behind these bars, that Gotham will feel our wrath.

***

We're taken in separately for questioning. Jim Gordon's eyes are kind. He grants me a bucket to vomit in, and offers me painkillers when I'm doubled over, trying to clutch my stomach together where it's been sliced open to bear a child.

"I really do apologise, Miss Moore. Could you please just describe for me the fear-inducing compound outlined in your dissertation notes?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" I spit.

"We're trying to ascertain the potential danger of such a compound."

"It's a therapeutic tool," I snarl. "And it works."

"Miss Moore, what really happened in the Joker's cell with Rachel Dawes?"

"I've already given my testimony in the inquiry."

"Yes," he nods. Scribbles something down. "I just need to hear it again for the purposes of this investigation."

"Then I suggest you ask my lawyer. When you finally let me see him."

Jim Gordon smiles sadly. Releases a sigh. Waves at the others in the room to leave.

When they've finally gone, he pauses the tape and taps his pen against the desk. "I don't want to do this, Miss Moore."

"Then don't," I reply icily.

"I have a deal. Courtesy of your lawyer," he tells me. Glances down at his forms. "Insanity plea. Twelve months incarceration at Arkham Asylum. For both you and Doctor Crane. After a year, you'll be granted parole. Provided for good behaviour and improved mental state, of course, during the time of your treatment. All I need is a full confession."

"Nice try," I tell him.

Jim Gordon's eyes flash. He leans forward. "You may not trust me. And for good reason. So let me make it clear. I know your baby is still alive. I know he's probably in the custody of Harleen Quinzel, who mysteriously vanished the exact moment you gave birth. I know you are responsible for the murder of four thugs and a waitress in the heart of Gotham. I am choosing to overlook these facts. Why? Because I don't think you're bad, Miss Moore. I don't think you're working for the slime balls ruining this city. I want to continue to overlook these facts. So meet me in the middle here. A year at Arkham? Or a lifetime in Blackgate Penitentiary? The decision is yours."

I think for a moment. "Have you offered this deal to Jonathan?"

"Yes. And he told me, in no uncertain terms, that he is to be incarcerated and you are to walk free." Jim shakes his head sadly. "But I just can't do that, Miss Moore. I'm not risking my job over this."

I take a deep breath. "I want to read the deal in full. And I want to personally meet with the lawyer. Get his opinion."

Jim Gordon nods. "Of course."

I have my answer.