"Jonathan, please come in," Phoebe said excitedly, a warm smile on her face.
Standing in the doorway to her apartment, wearing one of his trademark fancy suits, Crane replied, "Thank you Phoebe. I appreciate your accommodation of my studies."
As he stepped across the threshold, she took his jacket and replied, "It's the least I can do to make up for what happened last time."
"Well, as I said, I merely wish to observe your everyday behavior, so please pretend I'm not even here." As he followed her into the apartment's small kitchen, he suggested, "Perhaps you'd like to fix yourself something for lunch."
"Would you like anything?" she asked.
He gave her a gracious look. "Oh no, I ate before I came over. But please, don't let that stop you. It would be just the sort of activity I need to observe." He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and looked to her expectantly.
"Well… alright," she said, chewing her lip. "But if you'd like something, just say so." With that, Crane crossed over to the kitchen table and put on a show of jotting down notes as she dug through her cupboards. Slowly reaching into his pocket, he palmed one of the small knockout drops.
Turning around with a packet of ramen noodles in her hand, she began looking around for a pot to boil some water in. Perfect, Crane thought, the edge of his mouth turning up in an ambiguous smile. He kept writing; it was mostly gibbering nonsense. All he had to do was wait for her back to be turned for only a second and he could slip the tablet into her food.
As the pot started to bubble, Phoebe tore open the packet and dropped the block of dried ramen into the steaming liquid. Crane chuckled inwardly. Ramen noodles… the college student's primary source of nourishment. He was immediately glad he'd eaten before he'd come over. Suddenly the phone rang and both heads whipped around toward it in unison. Phoebe crossed the room to the wall-mounted unit and placed the receiver to her ear.
"Hello?… Oh, hi Greg!" Crane pursed his lips in thought. His chance could come any moment. "Oh nothing. Just making some lunch… Actually Dr. Crane's over right now…" She rolled her eyes. "No Greg, I told you, I'm helping him with a behavioral study." She turned her back on Crane and the stove. "You know, psychology stuff… No, I don't think you should come over." Crane silently rose from his seat, creeping over to the boiling pot of noodles. "Look, tell me later, I'm in the middle of something." Ever so slowly he reached his hand over. "I love you too, sweetie."
She hung up the phone and turned around, nearly jumping out of her skin as she let out a surprised yelp. Crane stood directly behind her, writing in his notepad. He looked up, arching his eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." Tilting his head toward the table, he said, "I'll just go sit back down."
Her chest heaved as she caught her breath, embarrassed at her reaction to him. Tucking a strand of hair behind one ear, she turned back to the stove and stirred the noodles. Then, pouring them into a bowl, she grabbed a fork from one of the drawers and sat across from Crane at the table. His blue eyes watched her like a hawk over the edge of the paper as she began to scoop the limp strands into her mouth. He kept writing.
Crane noted that it took a little longer for the effects of the sedative to set in, attributing its cause to the added digestion of food on top of it. Nevertheless, Phoebe's eyes soon drooped and she leaned heavily on the table. Then she was out like a light, her head resting on the smooth plastic surface. Crane stood, setting down the pad and pen, and walked to his jacket, retrieving a hypodermic needle full of his fear toxin. Removing her left shoe and its accompanying sock, he located a capillary between her toes and injected the colorless fluid into her bloodstream. Replacing the footwear, he took a step back and thought, Work your magic, my beauty. Show me the face of fear. He decided to take a look around while she was still out cold.
Phoebe awoke groggily, pushing herself up off the table. She felt like the room was spinning and she knew that she'd done it again, she'd blacked out. Standing up, her legs shaking, she staggered around the kitchen, trying to find Dr. Crane. All around her, the colors seemed to shift and she saw her footsteps leave ripples in the floor like she were walking through a puddle. Then the walls seemed to close in on her and the room spun faster. Her heart raced, hammering in her chest like a giant metronome gone berserk. Then the door to her oven opened wide and flame belched out at her. He screamed and reeled backward, tripping over her own two feet as the fire spewed forth, seeking her. She screamed louder, terrified. "Why won't anyone help me?" she shrieked. Turning over onto her stomach, she crawled on her hands and knees away from the oven toward her bedroom door. The door frame shifted unnaturally and she saw it grow teeth. Teeth! She let out another frightened cry, backing away again. Scrambling across the floor, she huddled in the corner, cowering, tears streaming down her face. "This can't be happening…" she murmured over and over again, rocking herself back and forth as the nightmare images played before her eyes. She jumped up and ran, knocking the bowl of noodles off the table. The bowl shattered on the floor but there weren't noodles in it. A wriggling mass of serpents, snakes or worms or something, slithered around in a mass at her feet. The cupboard doors slammed open and closed, banging terribly. Phoebe couldn't take it anymore and she sank to the floor, quivering, letting those squirming things crawl over her, her flesh puckering as she felt their smooth, slimy bodies over her skin. "Please make it stop," she rasped.
Crane sat on the edge of Phoebe's bed, wrapped up in the girl's display. It was remarkable. At first she'd just hobbled around the kitchen, then she saw something near the oven that had terrified her. She'd backed away and tripped, but still tried to escape. On his notepad, he wrote, Subject's outcry of "Why won't anyone help me" could indicate deep-set issues concerning abandonment and her own self-reliance. Subject is actually afraid to fend for herself and seeks support and/or approval from others. He'd been puzzled when she gave up on her attempt to enter her own bedroom, a place often associated to warmth and safety. Perhaps it reflected something Freudian, but Crane didn't want to jump to that sort of conclusion about her, not yet. Sitting in the corner had revealed her issues with denial with her almost inaudibly repeated claim of "This can't be happening." She'd made one last desperate run across the room before lying down on the floor in the fetal position, twitching randomly. The last thing she said before regressing into silence was "Please make it stop."
Crane stood from the bed, pocketing the notepad and pen. He paced back and forth, considering his next move. He'd place her in her bed, just as he'd done before and quietly excuse himself from her apartment. This time, though there was something else that needed to be done. Crane walked out to the front door and rummaged through her purse, looking for the key to her apartment. Extracting the item, he held it up to the light, eyeing it closely. Then, pocketing it, he put on his suit jacket and headed out, locking the door behind him as Phoebe stayed right where he left her.
"Excuse me, young man," Crane said impatiently, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was in a rush and needed to get back to the apartment before Phoebe came down off the fear toxin.
"Yeah?" the teenager standing on the other side of the counter asked, a bored look on his multi-pierced face. He looked to Crane like he'd fallen headfirst into a tackle box.
Proffering the key to Phoebe's apartment, he stated, "I'd like a copy of this made. I want one in case I lose this and need to get back into my apartment, you see. In case of emergencies. One can never be too careful."
"Okay," the boy replied, taking it from him. "Should be about ten minutes."
"Please hurry," the doctor said, "I'm in a bit of a rush today." The teen didn't even look at him as he stepped over to the key cutter and began grinding out a new one. Crane looked at his watch, his eyes narrowing. It had taken him ten minutes to get to the department store and another five to find the hardware section. If Phoebe returned to normal on the kitchen floor, he was pretty sure his ruse wouldn't be perfect for long. It was important he appeared the part of the good doctor. Mentally he kicked himself for not sedating her and placing her in bed before he'd left to get the key copied. At least then he could have told her he went for help. Come on… come on… he thought at the clerk.
Another few agonizingly slow minutes and the teenager returned holding up a new key. "Here you go, sir. That'll be $4.83." Crane reached into his wallet and threw a five onto the counter and hurried off, pocketing the keys and making his way to the parking lot.
Running all the way across the pavement to his waiting Lincoln, he unlocked the driver's side door and jumped into the seat, starting the engine. Buckling up as he backed out, he ran a hand through his hair and stepped on the gas. He had to get back to the apartment fast, there was no telling when the drug would wear off enough for her to be coherent again. Disregarding the speed limit in Gotham was no major offense and he made it back in half the time it had taken him to get to the store.
Running up to the fifth floor apartment, he arrived back inside gasping for breath. Replacing the original key in Phoebe's purse, he reached into his jacket pocket and removed the second hypo, the one to sedate her once again. Removing her right shoe and sock, he jabbed the needle between her toes and let it take its effect before heaving a sigh of relief. Then, he removed the rest of her footwear and hefted her limp body, carrying her into her bedroom where he would sit beside her bed and await her awakening, ever the concerned mentor.