Chapter 2
The week past. For Lisa, it was rather slow, but as for Crane, it happened so fast. Life was finally getting back to normal for him. Lisa, unfortunately, was up to her neck in requests. The inmates had heard what she had done for Jonathan and wanted this to happen for them (apparently, he was one of those no-hopes). Plus, she had a few personal demands to finish it off with.
Far off, on the other side of town (well, outside of the Narrows and into a pretty rich part of Gotham), at midnight again, a man in a tailored suit sat at a wooden table once again. It was the same person that had been sitting there a few weeks ago, now surrounded by not one, but three other women. One was sitting on the desk (in a black cat suit), one on a chair (dressed in green) and the last tucked away in a dark corner of the room, standing with her arms folded. That last one was the one who had been there in front of him a few weeks ago.
'Well, it seems to me that little Miss Quinn hasn't been doing as she's told…' the one sitting on the table said, slyly. She knew it would piss the one in red off.
'No, she's doing fine. It's only early days…' the man replied.
'I'm sorry, but I agree with Michelle. I don't see any other way that I can get the rest of the info on Crane' Quinn said, referring to the cat-suit wearing woman.
The man looked at her.
'Yes, you do…' he replied, giving her that all-knowing look, as he saw Quinn's eyes light up with a tiny flicker of fear.
The next day came. Lisa had been dreading it all night. She had got some bad news, concerning Arkham. Cynthia tried to cheer her best friend up, but it didn't help. Lisa decided to get on with some work. Spreadsheet this, filing that, report this, checking-up-on that. It wasn't that she hated her job (she loved it, to be frank); she just hated some of the things that she had to do as secretary. She had to zip back and forth with confirmations and signatures.
She was just about to finish, when she found one more thing that she had to do. She just looked at the paper in sheer terror.
'Lisa, what's wrong?' Cynthia asked.
Lisa shook her head, telling herself that all work had to be finished. She turned around and started to walk to the door that she hated most in the Asylum. She could hear her heels clack on the hard floor below her, and she seemed to be counting how many steps it took to reach the door. From where she had lost count and started again, it seemed like 13.
She took a deep breath and opened the door.