Learnin' The Blues
Mr. Merck reached around and grabbed August by the collar of her shirt, smashing her against one of the ancient stone pillars.
"What did you see?", he demanded in a low, dangerous voice.
"What are you… talking about?" August was gasping for air, the professor had crossed his forearm over her throat, restricting her breath. Mr. Merck was a tall, lean man, one of the few Gotham professors who had aged gracefully. It was rumored that he worked out at least once a day, sometimes twice, and August now knew the rumors were true. The professor gave her a leering smile, relishing the control he had over her.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, you little bitch. And if I hear anything about it from the Administration, I'll know who told them."
With that remark, he removed his arm and let her fall. She landed hard on the cold concrete walkway, and sat there for some time, staring into the darkness with blank eyes.
As soon as Crane had made it back to his office, he saw the black messenger bag and rolled his eyes.
"Undergraduates" he sighed to himself, picking up the bag and striding down the hallway. With any luck, she was running back toward him, and would meet him halfway.
As he walked outside into the cool night air, the full moon illuminated the campus. Soon he came upon two red converse-clad shoes. He peered around the pillar and his cold blue eyes met the frightened amber ones of August Macgregor.
"Miss Macgregor? What are you doing?"
"Oh, nothing," she said in a hollow voice. She tried to smile, but her lopsided grin had lost its usual snarky personality.
"Nothing. I don't think that huge red mark across your neck is 'nothing.'"
"I don't want to talk about it."
The professor raised an eyebrow at her, but decided to pursue another course of action.
"I have your bag."
"Thank you, professor."
"Come along, let's go back to my office." He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a standing position. "We'll have some tea. Talk things over." He could feel the waves of pure fear radiating off of her, it was fantastic. He put his arm around her waist, leading her down the walkway.
"Do have anything stronger than tea?"
"Such as?"
"Scotch. Whiskey. Turpentine."
"I'm afraid not."
They limped along to the office in silence, with the occasional sharp intake of breath from August when her throat twinged in pain. Crane nudged open the office door with his foot, and sat her down on the leather sofa. He put a blanket around her shoulders, and sat down in his desk chair, propping up a legal pad against his legs, which were resting on the desk.
"Alright. What happened?" Crane asked in his usual cool voice.
"He attacked me."
"Who attacked you?"
"Mr. Merck."
"I see. And did he say anything?"
"He said, 'if I hear anything about it from the Administration, I'll know who told them.'"
"Now what did he mean by that?"
"You know. You saw it too."
"Ah, yes. That incident. Now, Miss Macgregor, are you scared?"
"Yes."
"Why are you scared?"
"I think he'll kill me."
"Do you want to go home?"
"No! I want to stay here!" she looked into his eyes pleadingly. Crane suppressed a smile; her fear was practically intoxicating. No, he couldn't let her see his pleasure. Ah, but what a fantastic feeling of power that fear gave him.
She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. "Please don't make me go! Please!…"
She broke down into sobs, and covered her face with her hands.
"It's alright. I won't make you leave. Calm down."
"But he's going to kill me!" she kept crying quietly, and curled up on the couch, hugging her black bag to her chest. Meanwhile, Crane walked over to one of the cabinets and pulled out a small vial of clear liquid, a pair of latex gloves, and a syringe. With a practiced hand, he drew enough liquid into the syringe to put her to sleep for 15 hours, and flicked the needle expertly.
"Now Miss Macgregor, I'm going to give you a mild sedative. It'll put you right to sleep." He walked over to the young woman, taking her right arm and rolling up the sleeve of the black shirt. August didn't protest, and he soon found the vein and administered the drug.
"Try to relax."
August did as she was told, and soon her eyes closed and her head lolled heavily to one side. Crane took the opportunity to grab her bag, and rapidly its contents were spilled out onto his desk. He leafed through the sketchbook. It was good, but not the best sketchbook he had ever laid eyes on. There were many studies of animals, and architecture of the school. Soon he came upon some nudes, and these caught his attention. They were spectacularly done, almost lifelike in their contours. All along the margins were quotes from movies and lyrics from songs, scribbled in an almost illegible hand. There were fashion designs too, and notes on construction, patterns, and fabric types.
Crane drew his attention to large, swelling bruise on her neck. He had to admit she was pretty to look at, if the red band across her throat was discounted. His eyes traveled over her curves, noting her approximate height and weight on his legal pad. He surveyed the legs sticking out from beneath the blanket. Jonathan had always been a leg man.
No, better to get back to work.
What was it about her… she was just so… normal. And she treated him like a person. Not a Professor, or a Doctor, though she addressed him as such. Almost like a… friend. Not that he needed a friend. Jonathan had never needed friends.
At least he kept telling himself that.
Doctor Crane was famous at Gotham University for never showing any interest in the opposite sex, (or the male sex, for that matter). He was one of the few professors that hadn't had an affair with a student. Rumors flew around the campus; some people wondered whether or not he had even kissed a girl.
He probably should not have drugged her, but there was nothing that irked him more than hysterically crying young women
He mused over the sketchbook for a while longer, making notes on his paper; she seemed to have a fascination with Greek letters and the card suits. Upon She liked all sorts of music, and the makers and pens she used were of artist quality.
The Doctor glanced quickly at his watch, and decided to get down to work. He stepped quietly over to a locking file cabinet and produced the key from his pocket, taking out an immense binder filled with notes. It was his Fear Toxin formula, his life's work that had to be protected at all costs. Crane often sat up nights working on it, and he didn't feel comfortable just leaving the girl on the couch dead to the world. Someone might take advantage. And despite his need to be indifferent, he felt bad for her. She was only about 5 years younger than he, and still she seemed so much … happier. She hadn't yet experienced the true pain that changes young people onto tired, disheartened ones, like he had. Crane wondered what it would be like to never have experienced the urge to kill another human being, to never feel the sick pleasure that he took in it. It was a paradox, he found great satisfaction in inflicting pain on others, and he hated himself for it. It was disgusting.
Crane shook his head again.
"Mustn't think of that incident. There's no changing the past."
He put his mind back onto his work.
August groaned as the light from an unfamiliar window hit her eyes. She realized that she was in the same clothes she had worn last night, and she couldn't remember whose couch she was on, or where in the world she was, for that matter.
A cool voice brought her to her senses.
"Good morning, Miss Macgregor. How do you feel?"
"Like shit. My throat hurts."
"As well it should. You have massive bruising across your neck."
"Oh good. I guess it's turtlenecks for me from now on."
"Here, your roommate brought this by," he threw a red turtleneck sweater into her lap.
"Marie came by? Did you call her? What time is it?"
"Don't worry. It's Saturday, You don't have any classes today."
"I'm going to have to change my Minor."
"Don't be idiotic. We'll get him fired. There's coffee for you on the table."
August took the cup off of the table.
"Thank you. For everything. And the coffee." She raised her cup in a mock toast, and took a drink.
Suddenly they were interrupted buy the loud ringing of the phone. Crane pressed the speakerphone button.
"Yes?"
"Doctor Crane, this is Dean Larson. Just calling to remind you about the University Benefit gala. It's at 8:oo sharp tonight; evening attire. It's imperative that you attend. You're one of the more well-known professors from the university, and I've already said that you're coming."
Doctor Crane was perfectly pleasant when speaking, but the slight look of disgust revealed his true emotions.
"Thank you for reminding me, sir."
"You're quite welcome. Oh, and doctor?"
"Yes sir?"
"Bring a date."
Crane started to say something in opposition, but was cut off by a click, followed by the droning of a dial tone.
Great. Where in the hell am I going to get a date on such short notice?
His eyes fell upon the young woman sitting on his couch, who was folding a paper airplane out of a piece of paper she had gotten off of the printer across from her. She threw it, and it hit him square on the forehead.
"Sorry."
"Me too."
