...
I hate him.
At one point I used to love that man - Issiac Mather, the one supposedly sitting by my bed this very moment.
To say I can truly know it is him, would be a lie... I haven't opened my eyes in a while now, a while pertaining to the fact that I don't exactly know how long I've been under, but I am aware. And I'm still sane enough to know that the man, who's breath is warming my cheek this very moment that I'm lying here thinking to myself, is dead - though truthfully, he never existed to begin with.
Truth.
What a simply wonderful concept.
Yet harder to understand perhaps than the idea that this man is not the man I know, Issiac Mathers being actually Jonathan Crane, Jonathan Crane actually being the man the monster hides behind, his Scarecrow. And in all this confusion, all the trouble concerning truth and lies, I'm left here. With this creature that dares to call itself human, my attacker and my jailer. And one way or another - I hate him - and that is what keeps me alive.
No lies.
No fear... though the arguement there presents that you have to fear something to truly hate it... but it's too late to wax on such subjects... is it too late?
Maybe, Issiac... I mean, Jonathan... doesn't seem to like the normal visiting hours of the hospital during the day...
Although my head has been knocked in so badly from the fall I wouldn't be surprised if I was even making sense at the moment, philosophy and head trama don't seem to mix too cleanly, granted.
You wonder how anyone could have wound up like this - don't you? Its what I've been asking myself since - since - god I can't even remember if it has been only days or weeks or even months.
Did I cover this before? I suppose maybe I did...
Never seems like it would ever happen to you, right? I was what anyone would of considered a nice person, I taught a class at an elementary school for five years on the East Side, was the superintendant for the appartment building on the side, helped all my neighbors, generally I was very happy with how I lived.
Granted I was lonely, even with those in the community I wanted to be with someone - who doesn't?
We're naturally very social animals as any sociologist can tell you... well, the majority at least.
And now - now all of that is gone. Even if I was to come out now of this now, if I knew exactly how - I have nothing left to wake up to - and than he would kill me. Because of him, all of what was my life is gone forever. Because of him - I'm trapped in my own skull, having to pretend I'm gone - otherwise I would be dead by now.
Would be dead...
I was dead. Wasn't I?
Falling from a roof, landing onto something metal, like say the edge of a dumpster with your head does that to a person, right?
Someone on staff once mentioned CPR in passing, but I don't quite think Jonathan here would be the type to help a girl when she's down and out for the count. So otherwise I can't tell if I either annoy or amuse him because of this loose end, but whatever that it might be - he still comes here.
Loyal or determined - I can't tell, and part of me doesn't wish to know.
Not because I'm scared.
Only because I honestly don't want to know.
Despite no outward change in my condition - he still comes when the skeleton crew is finished making their rounds and the ward is quiet. He visits once in a while to check on me, like a fox at a rabbit's hole. A proud child gloating over the bird with broken wings struck down with a stone. Mostly in plain clothes I guess, he had a knack for blending in I've noticed, somehow he sneaks past the man supposedly guarding the floor - other times as a blatant slap in the face as that - Scarecrow... well, no, I haven't seen him lately with my eyes being closed and all again, so I suppose all he's been doing is placing a bit of sackcloth by my cheek.
Since no one could actually be that confident not to be caught...
Could they?
Who knows with this city...
Still, it takes all of my will not to twitch, to focus on beyond the blackness, to hide when he stares down at me with that patient gaze, every slow breath devoted to keeping tears from the corners of my eyes and a scream in my throat when he gets so close to me.
The truth can set you free, they say.
And the truth being that I want to die - but I know I won't. Not until I know Crane is dead as well.
In this moment I'll remain silent, harmless little Jessie.
Merely waiting - waiting and remembering - for its all I can do now.