Rose, Rose, Rose Red

Chapter Two: Your Momma's Gone Away

Dr. Crane walked back into his office, sat down at his desk, and opened the patient records he had snagged from Lucille. He congratulated himself on a job well done before moving on to peruse the file.

Patient #: 12B

Name: Marie Johnson

Jonathan paused here. He could see why Lucille had had trouble reading this profile to him. The word 'Johnson' was barely legible, and the paper underneath it was nearly erased through. It looked as though whoever had hand copied these records had written the name in pencil and then gone over it with pen at a later date. That was odd, as was the fact that these records were handwritten. Hadn't SGA been typing up its patient files for years upon years? This file was either very old (and that didn't seem likely, the paper wasn't yellowed at all) or there was something suspicious surrounding this case. Jonathan idly wondered if he could use this to his advantage with Miller.

Current Age: Twenty-four years

Yes, there was definitely something going on here. This patient's records should be typewritten, if she was really only twenty-four.

Date Committed: 15th September ----

That was the final clue for Jonathan - the year number was conveniently missing from the file. In its place was a rather conspicuous smudge, much like the one under the name 'Johnson'.

Diagnosis: Paranoia

Yet another smudge, this one preceding 'paranoia' - the word itself was practically illegible, as if someone had frantically scribbled it at the last minute.

And as for the diagnosis itself - well, Jonathan could barely contain his laughter. That was a very general diagnosis – and there were no notes following that one word. When one was usually diagnosed and committed, one's patient records described what was wrong, and what needed to be observed and fixed. Not even a secretary as dim as Lucille would consider the statement 'paranoia' by itself sufficient ground for commitment, let alone Dr. Miller. Miller would certainly not admit this patient without proving that she was indeed in need of serious medical attention. Miller was not a careless man, but he loved power; Jonathan could only assume that somewhere, money had changed hands. The whole thing stank very strongly of a cover-up operation.

If it was a cover up, and bribery was involved, then there was a very good chance that the 'patient' in question was completely sane, or very close to sanity. There was very little chance that someone who was actually crazy could be admitted with such sloppiness. She probably came from a wealthy family, as anybody who was willing to put a sane person in an asylum and foot the bill for it was bound to be loaded. If she was sane and was still here, two possibilities existed: first, she was being hidden from someone who wanted her dead; second, she was a keeper of important information who needed protection. Both were likely to be true - you never could tell with rich folk. Either way, there was very little chance that anyone outside the asylum (and those inside SGA would be a select few) knew she was here. This could indeed work to Jonathan's advantage.

But why had he been given this file? On a sudden hunch, Jonathan checked the list of doctors previously entrusted with her care. The first name, Dr. Glen Richards, told Jonathan that his patient was indeed sound of mind. Richards had been dead for years. In fact, Jonathan had been hired at SGA to fill Richards' spot. This was apparently someone's idea of a clever ruse: give them into the care of a nonexistent doctor and all problems are solved. Apparently someone else had not thought this was a very good idea, as there was another name on the list: Robert Mason. Jonathan chuckled. Of course, this explained everything. Mason had been a self-righteous prick, fresh out of university, who saw fit to stick his nose wherever he pleased. Needless to say, he hadn't lasted very long, not in such a place as Gotham. Jonathan chuckled again, wishing Mason a very painful death, before turning back to the paper in his hands.

He stared at it for a while, absently fiddling with one of the page's corners. Upon reflection, one could say that this young woman was his window of opportunity. Ra's Al Ghul, while obviously a very patient man, seemed to be reaching the end of his tether. In his last transmission he had warned the young doctor that if a suitable (meaning sane) human tester for Crane's Formula 41 was not found within a month, all funding for the fear toxin project would be cut, and Crane himself disposed of.

'I am very pleased that your tests on various animals were so successful,' the head of the League of Shadows had written. 'But, my dear Doctor, you must also be acutely aware that we do not plan to use your formula on animals. Your invention will be used to save humanity from its own corruption, and, as I am sure you know, the minds of human beings represent those of a higher order than beasts. It is therefore vital that you test Formula 41's effectiveness on a "real" human as soon as possible."

Jonathan allowed himself a small smile as he began to compose a reply. It was so boring to write in code, but the League thought it best to shut down their secure channels for a bit while they relocated their base of operations.

'Most Esteemed Mr. Smith,' he began. 'It is with great pleasure that I write to inform you of a most favorable event. I have finally succeeded in employing a new secretary who meets all of our company's rigorous expectations. Her full resume is enclosed, and a one-week trial report will follow. I look forward to doing business with her, and hope that you will be just as satisfied as I am. Your Humble Servant, John Rance.'

Well, that would do nicely; but he was busy after work and couldn't very well take time off to deliver the note now. What time was it? Quarter to twelve – the secretaries would be heading off to lunch shortly. Could Jonathan get one of them to deliver it? Yes, he would ask Lucille. She was obviously infatuated with him, what with her breathless "yes, Dr. Crane" and glazed-over stare. She would be easy to convince. A pity, though, that Al Ghul's thugs would probably dispose of her afterwards. Miller would have to find himself a new secretary.

Jonathan turned from his dark musings to 12B's profile, still open on the desk. Pulling a small camera from his pocket, he recorded the entire file (not that there was much) on microfilm, which went into a briefcase containing Jonathan's note and quite a pile of data regarding Formula 41's test runs on patients in various states of insanity, or "animals", as Al Ghul liked to call them. Jonathan resented that name – if he'd had any choice in the matter, he would have said that his patients were more human than anyone else in the world. Al Ghul's word was law, though, and he saw Crane's patients as beasts – merely tools to be used in the League's plan for Gotham. It was a shame that Jonathan was not working with more of the criminally insane, like the residents of Arkham. He would enjoy that immensely.

However, this was not a time to complain about his lot in life. It was five minutes to twelve, and Dr. Crane would nearly have to fly if he wanted to get anywhere on time. He scribbled a postscript to the first League henchman who would receive the briefcase, assuring the man that Lucille had been sent by him and that the regular procedure should be followed. The note finally went back in the briefcase, which was then closed and locked. Then Jonathan, pen in pocket, notepad and briefcase in hand, went to pay two of the most unfortunate girls in the world a visit.

A/N: Hi! It's the Bear Bum again. Again, this is chapter two - the rewrite. Feel free to message me about any questions that arise.

Cheers as always,

Bear Bum