The void had engulfed Dahlia during the remainder of her talk with Amelia. A rush of emotions had hit her all at once, mostly denial and outrage. Dahlia was reflecting on it again and again, playing the conversation out in her head as her hand rested at the back of an isolated payphone outside the mall. Amelia was waiting at the car, allowing her some privacy.

Crane murdering the dean, Crane instigating the move of the GSU students to Arkham for reasons unknown, Crane setting fire to the building. It sounded preposterous and made her feel unpleasant. On top of that, Amelia said that Richard Dodge severed ties with Crane. According to them both, Crane had become increasingly more unpredictable and dangerous, seeming to favor his own personal agendas rather than the safety and profit of their partnerships. By the tone of her voice, it was made clear that she had no affinity for Dodge. Yet Amelia still defended his professionalism.

None of this sounded anything like Crane, but ... maybe this all tied back to his mission? What was it again? The path from the beginning to now seemed so damn convoluted, it was overwhelming.

Dahlia was standing by the telephone now because she wanted to call Crane and hear his voice, and ask about the gossip. Yet something in the void kept nagging at her. It asked her to hold back, just a few inches, and wait. Wait and see. An impulse caused her to lift the receiver. Instead of dialing his number, she dialed a different one from memory. After a few rings, someone answered. "Gotham Police Department."

Quietly she asked, "Officer Munroe, please. You can let him know it's, um, Dahlia."

The operator transferred her without further questions. When the next person picked up, it seemed to take eons for her next sentence to come out. Really, she thought for sure he'd be out on patrol. "Hi, Jay. It's, um ... It's Dahlia."

"D? Shit, are you okay? Where have you been? We've been trying to find you."

Stiffening anxiety creeped up her neck. What kind of information did they have to necessitate tracking her down? The reasonable assumption would be related to the apartment fire, but paranoia said they may know something about the fear operation. What if they had found the lab? "I'm okay, I promise. I'm safe. But, uh ... What's going on? Why ... ?"

"It's about your father-"

"-What about my father? Is he alright?"

Jay paused a moment to find the right words. "He ... A fire broke out at your building last night, and your father was caught in it." Dahlia cursed under her breath. Jay continued, "Firemen got him out before too long, but he was ... behaving erratically. Even after getting him to an ambulance, he was combative and aggressive."

Something heavy hit her chest. She asked, "Were his pupils pinpointed?"

"What?"

"D-Did it seem like he was ... hallucinating?"

Jay must have thought it an odd question, since he paused before answering. "They said he was completely irate and scared, so ... It's a possibility."

A pin dropped to the floor of her mind, a pure tone of energy ringing out from it and pushing all other words and images away like a gust of wind. Jay continued talking, but the sound faded into nothingness. The only sensation that stood in the vast blackness of her headspace was the image of Jonathan Crane, holding a scarecrow mask, his expression mirroring the night that Dahlia first mentioned her run-in with the Batman. An expression she remembered very explicitly. His expression void of negotiation, mercy, or remorse. The break of character.

Finally Jay's words pierced the void. "Dahlia, are you still there? Where's Jonathan Crane?" But the wheels in her head weren't ready to slow their turning. Dahlia heard him now, but couldn't reply. The entirety of her focus wasn't here anymore.

Jay said again, "We need to talk to him right away. Dahlia, have you seen Jonathan Crane?"

The receiver slammed back onto the telephone.

What to do, what to do.

What to do, what to do, what to do.

She felt better knowing the phone call took place on a payphone. Still, if someone wanted to find her right now, she knew they probably could without any issues. Time was of the essence. She needed to figure out what she was going to do and what she believed in, and had to do both fast. But the contradiction of stories felt as if it were tearing her sanity apart. It was poor timing to have all of this happen only after feeling like they were really connected. Life's coincidences were often steeped in pain and delusion.

Maybe there was another story here that she didn't know. Maybe she just needed to talk to Crane and clear up these misunderstandings. Maybe Amelia had bad information. Maybe Paul's man got confused and only thought he saw Crane. Maybe Crane was trying to save the apartment from Dodge. Maybe the dean's death was tragically poor timing. Maybe Crane was switching jobs for the pay raise. Maybe it was for altruism.

She was scaling a mountain of "maybe's" and realized she had yet to reach its summit. Such as, maybe the feeling in the pit of her gut was right. The feeling that she felt something was off, regardless of her affections. The feeling that he wasn't telling her his whole story. He'd never hurt her, would he? Dahlia was sure of it, or so she thought.

Maybe she needed to have more faith?

After emotionally spiraling in silence for some time, Dahlia made up her mind. She headed towards the parking garage.

It took quite a bit of convincing, but Dahlia got Amelia to drop her off at her apartment instead of heading straight to the farm. She could call a driver from there when she was finished reflecting, alone. As unbelievable as the events had felt, she wanted to see for herself. Maybe it would help her figure out what's next.

The fire escape felt like the best route of entry, she thought for some reason. She was worried about bumping into any neighbors with flapping gums. There was some hope to see Cat along the way, but no luck. Hopefully he was safe, well-fed, and happy.

The window's glass was broken with pieces scattered both inside and out of the charred frame. The first thing to hit Dahlia's nostrils was the strong smell of fire and smoke clinging to all objects and walls. Carefully stepping through and into her bedroom, Dahlia experienced an unfamiliar feeling. She couldn't place it, but knew it sat somewhere in the realm of sadness. The room was nearly unrecognizable, there was so much damage. The living room was worse, as most of the furniture had been eaten by the fire. Ash and soot abound.

After observing for a while, Dahlia finally noticed that the front door to the hall was ajar, with police tape visible on the outside. And then by some cosmic means of coincidence, she saw the door swing open, startling her immensely. Before having a chance to move, in walked Richard Dodge followed by four men. Dodge himself feigned surprise to see her.

"Miss Rhodes, what a coincidence!"