Author's note: Yes, I know, I broke the cardinal rule of writing: no pop culture references. Oh well, Batman is pop culture. Anyway, check out my writing YouTube for help with your own writing and what's going on with your favorite stories!

A few weeks after we returned from our honeymoon, we moved into a small house close to the GU campus. Jonathan had two job interviews lined up, a psychiatrist position at Arkham Asylum and teaching position in psychology at Gotham University. He didn't know which he would choose if he was given both. He even considered taking both if it happened.

Jonathan was very anxious about the interviews. He constantly checked his résumé and rehearsed his interview. He meticulously laid out his attire for the interview the night before and went to bed earlier than usual. That morning, he rose with confidence.

It was never a question of whether or not he'd get the jobs. Everyone knew he'd get them and take both. He would work for a few years, we would have kids and then Jonathan would make some huge discovery (whether if it was his ultimate goal of actually curing fear, that remained to be seen). We were like Mina and Jonathan Harker in Dracula, we all had this idyllic image of our married lives, but neither went as planned.

He was offered both jobs and took them both. He only had classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and only from noon to four. The rest of the time he would spend at the asylum.

Life was pretty amazing at that time. I was married to an wonderful man who loved his jobs and I loved my job just as much. I had the opportunity to meet and interview famous singers. I loved my recording crew. We got paid to listen to music and act like a bunch of rambunctious two year olds on air. I always had stories to tell Jonathan the next morning, even though he listened to me albeit he hated the genre of music I had to play. I thought it was strange how he never had stories to tell me. Yeah I know about patient confidentially, but what about his students and coworkers? What were they like? It even crept into my mind that he was making it all up and he made up the homework he had to grade by himself while I was at the radio station. That was squelched when he so proudly brought home his first pay checks.

One night was we were making dinner, he had an odd question, "What do you know about Black Magic?"

I was caught off guard by that. He asked it so casually that it caused chills. "Not much. Why are asking me?"

"Aren't you into that kind of stuff? Ghosts, magic, the occult? You always struck me as Stevie Nicks look-a-like, not in appearance but also personality."

Ok, I had to give him points because he knew who Stevie Nicks was, but that was beside the point. "Well, yeah. I have my hand in Wicca but I am by no means devout. Black Magic and Wicca is not the same thing. It is not like Star Wars where you must know about both sides and whatnot. You do not shit with Black Magic, Jonathan and I am serious." I said, poking him in the chest. "I will not have my walls bleeding and shit like that if you bring in a demon by accident. You can't mess with magic in general, Jonathan. You can't just waltz into a Barnes and Noble, go to the occult section and pick up a 'spell book', it messes with the Rede."

"OK, OK, geez cease the diatribe. It was just a question."

That next Friday night as I was about to leave for the radio station, Jonathan burst in angrily from work.

"What's wrong," I asked, concerned.

"I'm having my teaching practices evaluated by the dean." He fumed.

"Why?" I asked in surprise. I always envisioned as a good teacher, maybe a little bit on the Severus Snape side, but a good teacher none the less.

"I brought a gun to class. It wasn't loaded, but I did point it at a student and set it up to be loaded. It was all part of the lesson."

I was torn on how to feel. I knew that was a stupid action on Jonathan's part, but the gun wasn't loaded and he wasn't a killer in any sense of the word. Sadly, I wasn't surprised when he lost his teaching job.

A few days later the dean was found dead in his office surrounded by live rats and a noxious chemical odor. He was profoundly afraid of rats and his brown hair inexplicably turned snow-white. The medical examiner claimed that he had a heart attack brought on by his intense fear of the rats. He was literally scared to death. And I was as well.