Chapter One: Relatively Sane

The polished man in the armchair looked sane enough. A pristine tweed jacket with patches on the elbows covered his thin torso; crisp white shirt and black pants completed the look of an Oxford graduate. His fingertips were pressed together pensively, eyes closed as if he were in some sort of trance, pondering his existence, the world, humanity.

His brooding state was interrupted as a blond nurse, clad in the standard Gotham Mental Hospital uniform, threw open the door. After blowing a massive bubble with her chewing gum, (the man winced slightly as it popped) she spoke loudly, a slightly bored tone in her voice.

"Patient here to see you, Dr. Crane."

Crane nodded at the nurse gently, picking up a notepad nearby. She closed the door, and moments later, a petite blond girl stumbled into the room, looking around like a deer in headlights. She looked seventeen, maybe eighteen max. Crane gestured to the leather couch in front of him softly, eyes locked on the young female as she fell onto it, letting out a rush of air as if comforted by the smooth leather and pillows.

"Jeanette… Willis, is it?" She nodded vigorously. Jotting down a note or two and glancing at her diagnosis sheet momentarily, he didn't notice until he looked up the hungry way her eyes examined his features.

"Jeanette, how old are you?"

She stared at him several moments before quietly answering, "Seventeen, Dr. Crane… how old are you?"

Startled, he stared into her eyes a moment before answering coolly, "I'm 23."

A chuckle, "you're awfully young for a phsyciatrist!" Smiling slightly, he checked her sheet once more. According to the terse data sheet, she suffered mild schizophrenia. Awfully normal for a schizo…He thought to himself.

"So, Jeanette, why do you think you're here?"

"Because I'm crazy."

Dr. Crane raised an eyebrow, "oh? You don't seem so crazy to me…"

"I am…" she stated matter-of-factly, staring at him, her face calm.

"Who says you're crazy?"

"Oh, everyone; my family, my counselor, my doctors. I'm a regular loon!"

He rebounded her statements as calmly as she threw them out, "a loon? Why would they say such a thing, Jeanette?"

"Because I am, Dr. Crane. I am."

He frowned, realizing he'd get nowhere this way.

"You don't believe me, do you?" She stared into his eyes.

"Well, your data chart says you have mild schizophrenia, but I have yet to see any sign."

Jeanette smiled coyly, "if I were to act crazy, would you believe me, Dr. Crane?"

Crane took notes on his legal pad busily, "act crazy? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know… shout some curse words, tear my shirt off, proclaim my sight of phantoms. This and that."

Her face remained tranquil the entire time she told him this.

"Why are you so determined to make me think you're crazy?"

"Because I am, haven't we discussed this already?"

"Yes, we have, but to be honest with you, you don't seem crazy at all."

Jeanette leaned forward, smiling gently at him, soft lips parting as she spoke.

"Perhaps that sheet lies, Dr. Crane. Perhaps I'm not really a schizophrenic. Perhaps, I'm a nymphomaniac. Would you like that, Dr. Crane? Would you take advantage of a patient? An underage patient, nonetheless?" She let one sleeve of her T-shirt fall down, revealing a shoulder bare but for a bra strap.

Leaning forward, he pushed her sleeve back up, looking her in the eyes, "do you go to school, Jeanette?"

She wrinkled her nose, partly amused and partly annoyed that he would not humor her, "No, I'm home schooled."

"Do you interact much with other teenagers?"

She shrugged, "not really. My parents don't let me out much… I met some girls at the hospital, but I'm not exactly the socializing type."

Crane nodded absentmindedly. "And your parents? What do you think of them?"

Jeanette laughed, "well, the bible says that I think they're wonderful, Dr. Crane."

"But what do you think?"

"I'm not one to blaspheme, Dr. Crane."

The young phsyciatrist chuckled slightly, making a brief note. She watched him warily, waiting for his next question.

"Tell me about your dreams, Jeanette…"

"My plans for the future or my nighttime visions?"

"Both."

"In what order?"

"Any you like."

"Very well," she began, breathing deeply and leaning back on the couch, hugging a pillow, "when I grow older, I think I'd like to get married. Maybe have kids. I don't want to be exceptional, or famous. I just want to lead a pleasant and happy life…"

"Dreams?"

"Well, those are an entirely different thing! I can't really describe them. Often, I have this same dream, over and over. There's someone in it, a man, but I can never see his face. All I know is that I love him very much, that's it. And then, I feel darkness closing in, and there's a great crack in the earth between us, which grows wider, pulling us further and further apart. Then, well, there are two endings…"

"Oh? What's the first ending?"

"Wings spring up on his back and he rescues me."

"And the second?"

She looked up at him, a melancholy look in her eyes.

"I fall in … and I die…"

Dr. Crane stared into her face silently. The deep pause was interrupted when the nurse burst in again, smacking her gum.

"End of the session, Dr. Crane." She said with that same monotone.

"Thank you…" He said quietly, standing up to escort Jeanette out the door. She stood up, looking at his hand curiously as he offered it to her to shake.

"Dr. Crane… what's your first name?"

He stared at her blankly, startled, for a moment before answering, "Jonathon."

"Ah…" she said, still staring intriguingly at his hand. She turned to leave, and then, thinking of something, turned back and peeked into the room.

"Dr. Crane?" She said, looking into his eyes intensely.

"Yes?"

"Someday… I'll see his face…"