"Stay there, you," ordered the prison guard before slamming the metal door shut.
As if I'm going anywhere, Elena thought, rubbing her handcuffed wrists as she did. They had refused to take off her cuffs- she was apparently too much of a danger. This thought amused her, and a ghost of a smile appeared on her face. Elena Moretti- dangerous. Before she went to jail everyone had thought of her as helpless; 5'3", beach blonde hair and a skinny frame made her a potential target of nearly every sicko in Gotham. It wasn't until they saw the sign on her wrist that they backed off. A falcon was more useful than any self-defense class.
She had been allowed to wear her own clothes in jail- they had run out of prison jumpsuits, and she was only going to be there for a short while anyways, seeing as her trial was tomorrow. She smoothed her slightly wrinkled white blouse, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
They had given her the trick chair- the one that never let you sit comfortably because one of its legs was just a bit shorter than the rest. It wasn't like they were going to interrogate her again, because she had immediately confessed, so she was left to wonder why they had brought her here.
Maybe it's him, she thought. The thought of the Monster killing her didn't scare her, but the thought of what he might to do her while she was still alive did. And what he might do to… no, she couldn't bear to even think about that. Elena suppressed a shiver.
Even though she was facing a one way mirror, she could sense that someone was staring at her through it, trying to gauge her emotions, pinpoint her weakness, but her face was a mask. Living with the Monster had made her a master of her emotions, and an expert at reading others' as well. She still lived in fear of him, but he didn't have to know that.
She blew a kiss at her reflection in the one way mirror. She would act unconcerned- that would really throw the Monster off. After a moment, the door swung open, but the man that walked in was not the Monster. He was surprisingly short, but still an inch or two taller than her, and wore a well-fitting black suit, red tie, and clear, rimless glasses. And his hair was a dark brown and slightly greasy, as though he had run his hands through it too many times.
"Good morning Miss Moretti, my name is Dr. Jonathan Crane." He sat down in the chair across from her, and set a black briefcase down beside his chair.
She'd have to keep an eye that.
"So he sent me a doctor," Elena said, leaning back in her chair. To anyone else, she would have seemed uninterested, but Crane could see her stormy grey eyes narrow in mistrust.
"But not just any doctor," she continued. "A psychiatrist." She should have seen it before- everything about him screamed 'shrink!'
"Very good, Miss Moretti," he mocked. "Now that we have stated the obvious, perhaps we can get started."
His hostility surprised her, and she resisted the urge to reply, Got anything up your ass, doctor? He reached beneath the table and brought up his black briefcase. She tensed when at the 'click' the case made when it opened, and held her breath. But all he took out were a stack of notecards. "Now, could you tell me what you see when you look at this?" He held up a shapeless inkblot. "Please answer honestly."
"I don't think so," she replied.
"Miss Moretti, this is a court ordered psychological evaluation. Unfortunately, you do not have a say in the matter," he said, annoyance clear in his voice. She reminded him of Sherry Squires. Both were blonde, uncommonly pretty, and thought the world revolved around them.
For a few seconds she looked at the notecard, and then finally said, "Is that what this is, then?"
"I don't know, Miss Moretti," he answered in a bored voice. "What is this?"
She glared at him. "Falcone wants me declared insane," she spat. "Why?"
"So you believe Carmine Falcone is out to get you?" he asked, disinterestedly scribbling a few notes down on a pad of paper. This 'favor' for Falcone was costing him precious time. He still had so much to do, and this girl was the least of his concerns. His fingers itched to release his toxin and have this whole matter resolved quickly, but Falcone had wanted her mind intact. Crane supposed he had different sorts of tortures prepared for the girl.
"Don't play dumb, doctor, it doesn't suit you."
"I am part of this conspiracy as well?"
"God, you really are full of it. How much is he paying you? Ten grand… or more? I think I'm worth at least twenty."
"Miss Moretti, I can honestly say," he answered as he finished writing the last of his notes, "That Carmine Falcone isn't paying me a cent." For the first time during the interview, his clear blue eyes met hers, and she was lost for words. Elena could tell that he was telling the truth, but not all of it.
He stood up and snapped his briefcase shut. He'd wasted five minutes with the girl. That should be more than enough to convince the judge of her mental incompetence. She still sat there in her chair, brooding, and as he walked out of the interview room he heard her mutter, "Bloody cheapskate." His lips curled in a small smile. Clever. Perhaps she was not like Sherry after all.