Johnathan thoughtfully looked at the glass tube and the colorless powder in it. This was it. The goal he was striving for since he was a child. The chemical that would arouse fear.

Johnathan rose the tube up to his eyes, rotating it with his thin fingers. He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Clutched anticipation pulsed in his throat. He knew how risky it was. But he had to do it. Otherwise he would never know how effective his chemical was.

The glass felt cold against his lips. Hand slightly shivering, Johnathan tilted the tube, yet hesitated. All he had to do was remember. All he had to do was remember. Johnathan gripped the tube and abruptly gulped the chemical down.

The tube rolled down the table from the numb fingers. Johnathan shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts together. Suddenly, the sound of flapping wings rang out above him. Johnathan arched his head back and immediately ducked down next to the table, fingers dug into its edge. Blue eyes slowly widened, as a flock of crows, flying above his head, reflected in them. Johnathan almost felt their feathers, racing right past him. The fingers tightened.

"This is not real," Johnathan whispered, watching the crows fly above him.

"This is not real..."

"Really?"

Johnathan abruptly whirled around, standing up. And immediately staggered back, knocking over the chair behind him. It fell behind him with a loud crash. His grandmother, exactly like at the moment before she died, stood in front of him. Saliva dripped off her crackled lips, grey, dirty hair swaying back and forth in front of her wild face. Her wrinkled skin peeled off at the edges, maggots and raw flesh reflecting through it. Thin fingers spasmodically grasped an old Bible, pages crumpling from under their grasp. Her mad eyes frantically ran from one object to another, until they stopped at Johnathan. They filled with blood.

"You..." she rasped, pointing her long, wavering finger at him.

"You filthy son of a bitch, our Mighty Lord's curse, let's pray together, as you were told..."

Johnathan dug his nails into his palm, trying to stay calm. Something lightly hit his foot and he lowered his eyes; it was a torn Bible page.

"I killed you," he quietly said, taking a step forward. His grandmother continued staggering towards him.

"My curse, filthy sinner, I will teach you how to disobey our Lord's will..."

"I KILLED YOU!"

The glass shattered against the door, exploding into tiny shards and raining down on the floor. The door suddenly opened, a young man looking inside in confusion.

"Mr. Crane," he uncertainly asked, looking around the room. His eyebrows raised up, as he took in the knocked over chair and the broken glass right at his feet. He slowly looked back at the man standing in the center of it all.

"Mr. Crane?" The new intern repeated. Crane's eyes wildly flickered to the man in the doorway. His face was extremely strained, trying to regain its composure. Johnathan tensely walked over to the intern and grasped the door knob with extreme force.

"Yes, Richard?" His voice was husky, as if something held him by the throat. Richard nervously swallowed, quickly scanning the man from head to foot. Beads of sweat glimmered on Johnathan's temples.

"I-I...I thought I heard someone screaming," He hastily made his excuse. With great effort, Johnathan raised his eyebrows, feigning incomprehension.

"Screaming? You mean our mentally unwell patients?"

"I thought the screaming came from here," Richard lowered his eyes. They fell on a tightly clenched fist, fingers white from the strength. Furrowing his brows, Richard glanced back up at Johnathan. The man looked back at him. An incomprehensible feeling laid in the blue eyes, something between hatred and fear.

"So are you accusing me of screaming, Mr. Richard?" Johnathan slowly said, clutching at the door to support. His eyes narrowed.

"Do you want to side me with those madmen who are, in fact, just a corner away?"

Richard bit his lips along with his suspicion. He wanted to press on, but feared for his further safety. With a dry excuse, he closed the door and walked away.

Johnathan let go of the doorknob, hand shaking, and slowly lowered on the floor. He didn't feel the glass crunch underneath his knees. Slowly, he unfolded his hand, blood trickling on his nails. He almost lost control of himself there while talking to Richard and instead seeing his grandmother. Johnathan shut his eyes, trying to get rid of the hallucinations, but they persisted, pounding on his mind. Johnathan wildly grasped his head, fingers digging into his hair, but the smell of decayed Bible pages, distorted curses of his grandmother, and the sound of flapping wings were still there. Unable to take it anymore, Johnathan abruptly staggered up to his feet. Swatting crows from his way, he swayed towards a white cupboard. Painfully knocking into it, he jerked the doors open, hand searching through the different packages, bottles and tablets. They fell under his hand. Grabbing the bottle with the words FENTANYL on it, Johnathan poured the drug into the lying nearby syringe, messily rolling his sleeve up on the way. Almost losing his consciousness, Johnathan roughly injected the syringe into his arm. His vision darkened as the drug seethed into his blood. The world toppled before his eyes. He did not feel himself fall on the cold floor.

The night was fresh and sweet after yesterday's rain. The trees were soaked in rainwater, the damp twigs snapped less frequently than usual. It was a moonless night.

Heath nervously waited next to the log, inhaling the cool air. Occasionally glancing on his wristwatch, he paced next to the log, hands clenching and letting go in his pockets. Someone sneezed. Heath abruptly whirled around. Sammy, shivering in his orange vest, shoved through the pine's branches. He was holding, what it seemed, a heavy, plastic bag in his hand. Sneezing once more, Sammy sniffed in and looked around. Heath hastily leaned off the log and approached him.

"Everything's there?" Heath asked on the way, taking the bag from Sammy and glancing inside. The latter rubbed his nose with his hand, breathing out a cloud of cold air.

"Evening, Heath. You say it," Sammy added, answering to Heath's question. He breathed on his hands, watching Heath ruffle through the bag.

"The bloody seminars are in two weeks. Whatcha gonna do?"

Heath shrugged, closing the bag.

"Nothing really. Ditch like usual. Here," he handed a wad of money to Sammy's eager hand.

"Fifty, like promised." Sammy quickly counted the money, then shoved it inside his pocket.

"Thanks," he broadly grinned. "Alrightie, I'm outta here. See you 'round!"

Heath nodded in return, following Sammy with his eyes, then glanced at his watch again. Fifteen minutes before two. There should be here any moment. Quickly looking around, Heath walked over to the side, next to the tall pine trees. The branches lightly rested on his shoulders, showering him with raindrops. Heath felt the anticipation pulse in his vein on the throat. The bag's straps painfully cut into his palm, plastic gathering in the middle into one sharp line. Heath sighed, then lowered the bag on the ground. The darkness around shook as a lonely spark slashed the surroundings. Inhaling the smoke, Heath lowered the cigarette between his fingers and glanced on his watch. Five minutes before two. The smoke cooled down in his mouth, as he thoughtfully breathed it out.

Suddenly, the branches across the place where Heath stood came into motion. Heath abruptly moved back into the brush, eyes narrowing as he watched two men tumble out of the trees, cursing and shaking the raindrops off their shoulders.

"He's not here," the taller one growled, looking around the clearing like a wild dog.

"It's not three yet," his companion replied in a calm voice. However, his eyes were suspiciously scouring the place around.

"I'm telling you," the taller one gridded his teeth,"He was a fucking freak!" He gridded his teeth again. The plumper companion angrily clicked his tongue.

"And I'm telling you to calm down. And stop, god damn you, grinding your teeth!" The taller one growled under his breath, but didn't say anything. Heath quietly snorted, then, crumpling the cigarette between his fingers, stepped out of the pine trees, their branches leaving long, wet streaks on his shoulders. The two men instantly wheeled around, guns pointed at his chest. Heath smirked.

"Evening, gentlemen. How are you today, Mister Halifax?" Halifax's face twisted from disgust.

"Evening, Mr. Heath," his short companion politely, yet cautiously greeted him, pointing the gun the other way.

"Do you have what we agreed to?"

Heath lightly kicked the bag with the side of his foot.

"All here, Mr. Ryce. Cocaine included for," here Heath smirked, "Mr. Halifax. As you see, I keep my word." Halifax spat down in the ground and began pacing back and forth behind Ryce. The latter cast him a sideways glance before transferring his gaze back to Heath.

"I too, Mr. Heath. Seventy, as agreed," he said, taking out a wad of money from his leather jacket. Walking up to Heath, he handed it over. Heath, taking a quick look on him, swiftly flipped the bills in his fingers, before raising his eyes back on Ryce.

"All yours, gentlemen," he shoved the bag forward with his foot. Halifax wildly seized it, searching through its contents. Heath watched him through narrow eyes, feeling both amusement and light pity to the animal. He shifted his gaze on Ryce.

"You know how to contact me," he slowly said. "Send Richie my regards." Ryce nodded, forehead wrinkled.

"Good night, gentlemen." Not waiting for a response, Heath turned around and walked into the forest, branches brushing into his face. Winnifred would disapprove. Strongly. Yet this was the only way he could steadily support himself. He didn't need much, just some food really. Besides, he wasn't planning on staying a little drug dealer for the rest of his life. Certainly not that.

Jack looked away. Winnifred blinked, trying to understand.

"C'mon, Winnie," Margaret softly took her by the hand. "The process is over. Let's go home."

Winnifred obediently followed. Her mind was absolutely blank. Not able to hold back the urge, he glanced back over her shoulder. Jack Browning was gone. Winnifred turned back around, anxiously chewing her land.

"What is it?" Margaret quietly inquired, looking back over her shoulder as well.

"Did something happen?"

"No, no..." Winnifred looked back again. "No, never mind..."

"Excuse me, misses," Margaret and Winnifred whirled back. An wrinkled, sophisticated man stood in front of them, monocle roughly cutting into his skin.

"Which one of you is Miss Winnifred Lewly?" He inquired. Winnifred and Margaret exchanged a glance.

"I am, sir," Winnifred finally answered. The old man slightly bowed.

"My name is Baer, Edward John Baer. I'm your advocate."

"Oh, Mr. Baer," Winnifred quickly licked her lips, desperately trying to think of something to say.

"I-I'm thankful for all the hard work that you did for me..."

"Thank you, miss, but there's a few matters left still," Baer's eyes expectantly looked at her. Winnifred frowned.

"There...are?" She dumbly repeated. Margaret stepped on her foot and tossed her hair back.

"Of what kind sir?" She quickly inserted. Baer transferred his gaze to the red haired woman.

"Banking, miss. Besides the realty, Mr. Horner also left sum of money to Miss Lewly. It is to be discussed with Mr. Horner's banker as to which account to transfer the money to."

"Yes, yes of course," Winnifred agreed, nervously breaking her fingers.

"Can it be done today?"

The monocle stared at her in confusion, as the bushy brows rose in surprise.

"Today, miss?" Baer repeated, glancing at her in disbelief.

"Yes, I would like to finish it today," Winnifred impatiently replied, fixing her hair out of her eyes.

"Forgive me, you want to solve such a ticklish matter right after your uncle's funeral?"

"I do not want to hold it for much to long," Winnifred tiredly replied, looking into the old man's eyes. They softened, as he saw the silent pleading in her look.

"Very well," Baer agreed. Winnifred managed a small smile and freed her hand from Margaret's.

"Tell auntie that I'm...well, you know what to say," she quietly told her. Her cousin silently nodded. Winnifred turned back to Baer.

"Well?" She sighed, shoving her graveyard depression off her shoulders. "Where is the banking house? I'm afraid I don't know this city very well."

Baer gestured to Winnifred.

"This way miss."

He led her away from the cemetery to his car, opening the door in front of her. Winnifred nervously got in; she wasn't in cars that often. Our place is really forsaken, she thought once more, passing by shops and working offices. Baer stopped next to a regal building. Winnifred tried to hide her awe, which rolled out of her eyes in waves. Baer, noticing her amazement, quietly chuckled under his breath.

"Follow me, miss."

Inside it was even more beautiful than outside. Although the sight of counters, pay desks, and people counting endless money significantly lowered Winnifred's spirits. However, Baer didn't stop at one of them, instead going deeper into the corridors and up the stairs. He finally stopped in front of large wooden doors. A receptionist was sitting in front of them.

"I'm with Horner's heiress," Baer said in place of a greeting. The young man glanced up at them.

"The advocate can wait here. And the miss," he pointed at her with his pen, "Can wait in the cabinet. The banker will be here soon"

Baer glanced at Winnifred and sighed.

"Thank you Mickie." That Mickie boy hastily stood up and opened the door in front of Winnifred. She nodded her head in thanks, and entered the room. The cabinet wasn't very different from what Winnifred imagined. Large, packed with bookcases, tons of folders with papers. A bit similar to Johnathan's den, actually. Except Johnathan's was messier. And more familiar of course.

Winnifred curiously looked around. Her gaze dropped on the large desk with two working chairs on each side. With a sigh, she sat into one of them, nervously fiddling with her gloves. She had no idea about banking process or accounts. She just kept everything in her cute piggy bank that Heath gave her for her tenth birthday.

The door loudly opened, and Winnifred abruptly turned in her seat, breaking a few vertebrates on the way.

"Sir, my name is..." the words withered in the back of her throat.

"Winnifred Lewly," Jack quietly finished for her. "Yes I know."

He softly closed the door behind him and, walking around the desk, sat across Winnifred. She silent watched him. Her face was blank.

For a while, Jack just sat there, examining her. Winnifred stared down at the rich, oak wood table, trying to determine how to act. He did not change much. Still that angular, unattractive face, yet it was virile and not at all the face of an angry teenager.

"I am sorry for your loss, Winnif...Miss Lewly," Jack finally said. Winnifred shrugged, trying to look unconcerned.

"I didn't know him, Mr. Browning," she remarked, looking to her side.

"I can tell that. He never mentioned about you when he was alive."

Winnifred raised her brows. Well, this characteristic certainly didn't change. Jack quickly softened, noticing her indignant glance.

"I'm sorry, miss," he corrected himself. "I shouldn't have..."

"Acted like you would usually act with me?" Winnifred finished for him, lifting her brows in sarcasm.

"It's alright, Mr. Browning, I understand." Jack fell silent. Winnifred also didn't speak, thinking if bluntness was the right move here. She uncertainly cracked her pinkie.

"Mr. Browning, I am here about my uncle's will..." she quickly said, slightly leaning forward. Jack wrinkled his forehead from displeasure, holding up his hand.

"I know, Miss Lewly, I know." Winnifred reclined back, fiddling with her fingers more than before. Jack took a pen from the pen holder and began rotating it in his fingers. Suddenly, he abruptly threw it down on the table, making Winnifred jerk.

"Don't you find this ridiculous, Miss Lewly?" He slashed, angrily staring at her and standing up. He made an emphasis on Miss Lewly. Winnifred pressed her lips together, looking at him bottom up.

"I do," she carefully answered. "But you were never a patient person, Mr. Browning, so your...detonation, if you will, is of no surprise." God, she spends too much time with Johnathan. Jack seemed to think the same as he now stared at her in disbelief.

"You are Winnifred Lewly, right?" He suspiciously asked, eyeing her from the top. Winnifred pressed her lips in irritation.

"Yes, this is Winnifred Lewly who tripped and sent you flying down the steps in a local high school," she looked at him in annoyance.

"And I would be extremely glad if you speed up your banking formalities and get me out of here."

The confusion of Jack's face slowly melted to recognition as his lips slowly stretched into a smile. Then he smirked.

"So it is you," he said, sitting back down and examining her in interest.

"You know, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you at the cemetery."

Winnifred didn't like the sneer on his face. In fact, she wanted more than ever to get out of this cabinet.

"Do not get too familiar, Jack, the fact that you had a break for five years doesn't mean that you get to be nice over the top or pretend like you had a memory blackout..."

All this time, Jack was smiling. However, when she got to the end of her sentence, his smile melted into something distasteful and bitter. Winnifred touched the sensitive string for all of them.

"...and I came here only because I needed to, otherwise I wouldn't even think of marching here and having this horrible rendezvous." Winnifred triumphantly finished, clutching her hands on her lap to the point of pain. Jack thoughtfully twirled the pen in his hands, occasionally glancing up at her.

"Do you have an account?" He finally asked.

"No," Winnifred crossly retorted. "And I don't want one. I'm not staying here."

"Then I assume you want an access to Horner's account?"

"Yes."

Jack sighed and dropped the pen back in the holder.

"Very well. I will take care of the formalities and send them to your advocate."

Winnifred nodded, the proper "thank you" not going out of her throat. Jack waited for a moment, but when he understood that he won't get it, smirked and stood up. Winnifred stood up as well.

"Well, Miss Lewly, I hope I have been somewhat useful." Winnifred kept quiet. Jack sighed.

"And before you go, would you do me a favor of meeting me tomorrow at the city square?"

"What for?" Winnifred frowned. Jack's eyes bore into her.

"Don't forget that I have been gone for five years. You don't suppose that I don't want to know what has happened with my home city?" Winnifred carefully looked at him, silently weighting something in her mind.

"At what time?" She finally asked.

"At two," Jack eagerly answered her, visibly livening. "Near the fountains."

"Alright. I'll be there," Winnifred sighed, walking out through the door, held by Jack.

"Mr. Baer," Jack meanwhile called. "If you may, please?"

Before going in, Baer stopped near Winnifred.

"Is everything settled, Miss Lewly?"

"Yes, sir." Winnifred tiredly answered and walked down the corridor. Mickie followed her with a curious gaze.

Winnifred thoughtfully kicked the pebble from her way and, with a sigh, raised her head up. The sky cleared up, making her walk home pleasurable. Too bad her thoughts weren't as sunny.

She knew Jack Browning from first grade. He was the son of a very rich family, a white crow amongst the rest of the villagers. When he came to their school, he immediately gained followers who would do anything to him. Like Mickie, only much less sophisticated and intimidating. Most of her classmates feared him and his influence. Except one, of course. Heath just had to make life harder for himself. He would constantly stand up to Jack, irritated by his wealth, pompous behavior, and cowardice. In return, Browning and his minions would literally persecute him. In tenth grade, one of Browning's bulky followers pushed Heath under a car. Right after he got out of the hospital, Heath set Brownings' house on fire. Heath got into a juvenile. Jack didn't. Then, in twelfth grade, Jack left to some unknown, well now known, place for higher education and unwillingly turned hell into heaven. Not that Winnifred was ever directly affected by Jack's witch hunts. But she was there, with Heath. And despite his attempts to keep her out of this, she would always be there. And that would regularly result in her persecution as well.

Winnifred climbed the bus along with the passengers. There was a free seat near the window, and Winnifred quickly took it. She had a long ride so she might as well rest.

But five years passed. Could Jack've potentially changed, without his hatred to Heath present? Winnifred did not know if she herself changed or not, but she was certainly just as interested to talk with Jack as he was with her. Winnifred closed her eyes and leaned against the cold window pane. Guilt slowly hesitated at her mind's door, then quietly, but getting louder each time, started knocking.

A/N If you ever want to faint or need a knock out for whatever reason, DO NOT USE FENTANYL! THIS IS CALLED FANFICTION FOR A REASON! Fentanyl is used by doctors for anesthesia, by itself it's an illegal drug, and if you simply chug it down, you'll be dead in a couple of minutes! Johnathan actually knows what he's doing when he's applying it, but don't forget how he ended up: behind bars at Blackgate!

A couple notes on characters:

1) Heath: The first roots of shady business. Remember his "occupation", it will be crucial in the future!

2) Johnathan: Just like with Heath, the first roots of his fear/toxin/psychologist criminal career. In Arkham, Johnathan had his patients to experiment on, but since this is a couple years before and he's still an intern, I thought that it'll make sense that he'll experiment on himself. And, you know, who didn't have a psychotic relative...:) (allusion to his past trauma)

3) Winnifred: I mean, there's nothing to say; when you meet a classmate you hate...