Crane shared some important news with Dahlia later that week. He told her that this most recent semester at Gotham State University would end up being his last as a full-time instructor. Rather than teach, he said he wanted to heal, and so accepted a full-time position as a lead psychologist at Arkham State Hospital. Dahlia had mixed feelings, but was overall curious and happy for him to start down a fresh path.
The insomnia was still hitting him, hard - Crane let slip that he wasn't able to sleep for over two full days now. She decided to give him an opportunity to try and rest, and left to go get some sleep herself.
Dahlia's footsteps drug water into the lobby as she arrived at her building, small pearls of rainwater streaking down from her hood and coat. A small deluge had kept pace all the remainder of the week, as was common this time of year.
There was a chill to the air here that reminded her of how she felt just before the Batman appeared to her.
When Dahlia exited the stairwell, she noted hearing a very loud TV somewhere on the floor. She wondered if any of the addict neighbors were having a rough night, since they'd occasionally blast some music or a film for whatever reason. But the further Dahlia got down the hallway, the more a drowning feeling hit her throat as she gradually realized it was coming from her own home. It made Dahlia cringe to unlock the front door and open it. She entered and closed it as quickly as she could, and re-locked it from the inside. With hesitation, and a brief scan of the dim and empty room, Dahlia dropped her bag and coat near the door. She didn't believe for a second that she was alone.
The only illumination came from the TV in the corner, set to some crime drama show. The gunshots and sirens were nearly ear-piercing. Dahlia rushed to turn it off, and thought she heard something from the other room. Turning with her guard up, she saw Linda emerge. An extremely drunk, extremely agitated Linda. Dahlia's guard lowered as her optimism drained. Not this again.
The woman lurched forward without warning and swung the heel-end of a stiletto at Dahlia's head, knocking her in the temple and dropping her face-down to the floor.
Although still conscious, Dahlia could see only the blackness of the void. The impact from the fall knocked the wind out of her. Her head spun, throbbed, and tried to make sense of what just happened. Everything in the room was pulsing. Meanwhile, Linda was screaming. "Y'have any idea what yer doin' to your father? Eh? Fuckin' tramp, gonna get us both killed! G-Gonna get us ... !"
A bit shaken, Dahlia tried to push herself up. Linda threw a forceful kick into the center of her back. Dahlia grunted and went limp. The verbal barrage continued, "He thinks I had somethin' to do with it and s'gonna burn the whole world. He's gonna kill us an' then he's gonna kill yer boy toy!" Desperately trying to avoid further blows, it took much of Dahlia's stamina to scramble away and stand up before Linda got too close. By the time she was in swinging position again, Dahlia was also prepared with her hands up at the defense. She was shaken and dizzy, but alert enough.
Linda threw the shoe now with a frustrated scream, which Dahlia deflected by wrapping her arms across her head. Finally she could muster some dialogue. "Linda, are you drunk again? Dad wouldn't do anything like that." She maintained a comfortable distance, hands still at the ready as necessary.
They paced back towards the entrance as Linda ranted. "Only had a few beers, what the fuck d'you know you little skank. Openin' your legs for anyone at school, even your teacher?!"
Clearly she and Lou had been talking over some concerns. But she didn't want to believe that her father would have selected those kinds of words or made those kinds of assumptions. Dahlia had known Linda to lie or exaggerate in the past - she learned too late that it was a common quality of a known alcoholic. Still, the entire ordeal and every implication deeply upset her.
"It's not like that, at all!" The sound of the front door rapidly unlocking distracted them both as Lou entered. The look on his face revealed that he was familiar with what was going on. His eyes seemed to move past Dahlia', just for a moment, and saddened. Linda turned on him and charged him like a frenzied bull, as Lou had to grab onto her wrists to keep her from hurting either of them. Dahlia faded out, not hearing what they went on to shout at each other, seeing only dark shapes wrestling in the void. Her breaths felt heavy as lead, as if her respiratory system had been set to manual instead of automatic. Almost everything felt like a panic attack, except this time, adrenaline was keeping her limber. The world was moving in slow motion.
Dahlia turned back and ran into her bedroom. She slammed and locked the door, then pulled up the chair from her vanity and secured it. Without time to weigh her options, she grabbed a spare bag and began to stuff extra clothes and any valuables into it. Among the items was the vial the Batman had given her. A few moments later and the indistinct shouting from the living room ceased, leaving only the sound of the police chase blaring through the TV still. Then, someone shook the doorknob, followed by a thunderous banging. Lou's voice demanded, "Dahlia, open this door! Dahlia!"
Her fear had now been broken by the last straw.
Declining any answer, Dahlia zipped up her bag and threw it over her shoulder as she ran to the window. It was always kept about eight inches open, to let Cat come and go as he pleased. As she pushed it completely open, she noticed her feline friend below on the fire escape, sitting under a narrow awning. He was yowling: Probably due to the rain, but possibly also due to the commotion inside. She couldn't blame him for making a run for it. She was following the same plan.
Racked with sadness, Dahlia gave him an affectionate pet as she ran down. As soon as her shoes hit the sopping wet pavement, she made a run towards the bridge.
Many blocks away by now, the adrenaline wore off and her legs finally gave out and progressively slowed her to a trudge. The pelting rain felt heavier and heavier every moment. It hurt her head and made breathing harder somehow. Others on the street sneered or moved away from her path. She never once noticed that blood had been gradually streaming from the cut at her temple, so much now that part of her blouse was stained. The streets began to look unfamiliar and increasingly darker, and there were less and less pedestrians. The panic began to well. She felt as though she had crossed multiple bridges. She felt like she had been walking for hours upon hours. Nothing looked right.
Then, finally recognizing a street, Dahlia's feet picked up a little speed to match her hope. Her eyes, after what seemed like so long, finally found Crane's house, and she gasped. Finally. Finally, after such a long and foggy night, she finally found it. And it seemed to take an equally long amount of time to even reach the porch steps.
When she reached it, she had to catch herself from collapsing. Straightening up again, she banged on the door several times before pausing. Without realizing it, her hand was fidgeting around her hair, attempting to smooth it out and look more presentable. No answer, so she banged again. Another few moments went by, then several heavy clicks, and then the door opened and cast an orange light over Dahlia.
Jonathan Crane stood at his doorway, jaw slacked. "Dahlia ... ?"
"... Jon-" Before she was even able to step forward, her legs buckled and she fell to the floor.