Dear Freddie,
I am writing this to calm myself down. This always helps me calm down. A weird medicine, right?
The seminars just ended. Everyone mostly did fine. You're in luck. Charlotte got a job in your company today. Despite its dumbness, our little town does have its pluses - where else can you get a 5 at the final exam and a job in the same fucking day?
I was just wondering; how would we know that you're coming back? You didn't tell us at the station, nor can you tell us now. But I know you. You're creative. Unlike me.
Hope you're well,
Heath
Winnifred anxiously listened to the dial tone, curling the chord around her finger. If her aunt didn't know the phone number, Winnifred honestly didn't know what she would do. The four days passed by in a blur, Winnifred mostly stayed inside, helping Margaret to recover. She still couldn't believe that tomorrow she'll be in home, with Heath and Johnathan. It didn't feel like an entire month, probably because of the nerve draining dilemma with Browning, but now that it was solved, Winnifred felt how the nostalgic void shyly crawled back into her mind. Aunt Martha walked by, medicine in hand. She warily glanced at her niece and the table she was sitting on.
"Still waiting?" Winnifred nodded.
"It's always like that with interstate connections," her aunt shook her head in displeasure.
"By the way, I met your Jack Browning on the market."
Winnifred expectantly raised her brows, waiting for the answer.
"He said that he would return back to Gotham outskirts."
Winnifred, who was already sitting dangerously on the edge, toppled over, sending telephone crashing over her. Thankfully, she caught it right when it was about to smash the floor. Winnifred raised her wide eyes at her aunt.
"You're joking right? You know, to get me off the table?"
"Not the slightest," Aunt Martha smirked, watching how Winnifred scrambled back on the table.
"Even though you shouldn't be sitting on it."
"Why...why is Jack coming back? He hates our town!"
"He says he has some business in Gotham, but doesn't have a residence there yet."
Winnifred frowned as she rose the telephone back to her ear. Aunt Martha walked up to her and slightly hugged her by the shoulders.
"Don't think about it, dear. All'll be well." Winnifred watched her walk back on the second floor. She heard the door open upstairs and her aunt greeting Margaret. Winnifred felt sick.
"Hello? Low Gotham Hospital listening?" A young, female voice cut through the receiver. Winnifred instantly clutched the receiver, hands sweating against the red plastic.
"Hello? Low Gotham Hospital? May I have intern Johnathan Crane to the phone? It's very important."
"Who are you?" The voice sounded suspicious. "And no, I can't call him up to the phone."
"My name is Lockwood, Janet Lockwood," Winnifred quickly blubbered into the phone, pleading that that blonde girl at the reception desk won't hang up.
"My aunt is suffering from the most critical stage of schizophrenia, she's his constant client, please, it's very important, I have to discuss one very crucial matter with him..."
"Why don't you call the doctor then?"
Winnifred impatiently clicked her tongue.
"If it's this hard to get to a simple intern, how do you suppose it is to call a doctor? Please, miss, it's very important."
By the way the girl fumbled Winnifred understood that she persuaded her.
"I'll see what I can do," she finally mumbled. "Wait a minute."
Winnifred heard her call on the other phone. She nervously wiped her sweaty hand on her jeans. She didn't speak to Heath or Johnathan for more than a month. It was kind of nerve racking, in a good way. She heard an irritated male voice sound somewhere in the distance, and her heart leaped in anticipation.
"Miss Clarke, do explain yourself why you're calling me here in the middle of the day..."
"Ms. Lockwood, your constant client, has an important matter to discuss with you..."
Winnifred felt extremely bad for Miss Clarke on the other end.
"What Lockwood? I have no such client," the man snapped and took the phone from Clarke's hand.
"Yes?" He impatiently said into the receiver. Winnifred sighed and gripped the phone.
"Hello, Johnathan," she tiredly replied.
Johnathan furrowed his eyebrows, then looked back at Clarke. The girl was anxiously looking at him. Johnathan slowly walked around the desk, blocking her from his view.
"Yes, Miss?" He quietly asked, softening his voice. "How can I help you?"
Winnifred felt a sting in her eyes.
"Someone needs to pick us up when we come. I didn't tell you the date, right?" She sadly smiled at these words. Johnathan was quiet for a moment.
"When would you like to make the appointment?" His words echoed in the receiver. Winnifred clutched the phone.
"Tomorrow, at four o'clock. Don't bring Heath. I want it to be a surprise." She heard Johnathan sigh.
"Alright, miss. Anything else?"
"Yes," Winnifred hesitated for a moment,"How is everyone?"
Johnathan slightly smiled.
"Alright, miss," he repeated. Winnifred sighed.
"Thank you." She lowered the phone and slowly dropped it down. Johnathan heard the dial tone and lowered the phone, looking at it as if figuring something out.
"Tell the doctor that I'll be out at four o'clock tomorrow," he slowly ordered Clarke, not looking at her.
"She lives way out of town and doesn't have the suitable enough condition to walk here. I'll come there and examine her aunt." He turned to Evangeline and handed over the phone.
"Did you write everything down?"
"Yes, sir," Clarke thoughtfully chewed on the tip of her pen. "Strange, I never heard of her."
"You work here already six months, right?" Johnathan impatiently flipped through the planner, glancing over the appointments he had for today.
"That's right, sir."
"Well, miss, I treated her about three months before you came. May I have the pen?" Clarke hastily handed him over her blue ballpoint pen. Johnathan wrote something down in one of the days.
"We thought we stabilized her condition, but apparently not quite." He slapped the planner closed and handed the pen back, already walking away.
"Thank you, Clarke."
"You're welcome, sir."
Johnathan walked into a cabinet shared with Richard and sat down at one of the two tables. Richard glanced up at him from across the room.
"Why'd she call you?"
Johnathan flipped over a page of his dissertation and began crossing out paragraphs.
"She..." he flipped back again and began rereading what he wrote. Richard patiently waited. Johnathan pressed his lips and crossed something out on the second page too. Richard irritably twitched his lips.
"Yes, she what?" He frustratingly repeated. Johnathan glanced at him.
"It was a phone call from one of the patients. I needed to answer it."
"Oh," Richard visibly relaxed, slouching back in his chair. "Who was it?"
"Does it matter?"
Richard slightly sniffed in annoyance. Despite all of his attempts to establish any sort of communication with his older colleague, Johnathan responded in cold, curt answers. The young intern should really get used to it, but these replicas still managed to sting to the core. For a while, Richard just watched Johnathan work on the heaps of papers that were in front of him.
"You're very fond of Evangeline," Johnathan suddenly asserted, not looking up at his colleague, who looked sick both from surprise and the statement.
"How do you know? I mean..." Richard bit his tongue. Johnathan slightly fixed the eyeglasses on his nose and roughly crossed something out.
"I'm a psychologist. It's not hard."
"Why do you always practice your bloody psycho tricks on me?" Richard finally burst, thrusting the pen across his desk. Johnathan lowered his head, hiding the smile.
"It's entertaining. But mostly I do it for practice." Johnathan stood up with a sigh and walked open to the window. It was always shuttered. Johnathan slightly pulled two shutter up with his fingers, squinting from the bright sunlight that instantly breached open. A shy light ray skipped across his face, illuminating it at a diagonal and plunging everything else into darkness.
"You're nervous," Richard observed, inside immensely proud for his medical skills.
"Really?" Johnathan didn't turn around.
"Yeah. You don't work as vigorously as usual."
"Thank you for the observation, Richard." Johnathan lowered his fingers, snapping the shutters shut with a painful crack. Turning around, he walked back to his desk and resumed his work. Richard clicked his tongue. You've done it, he crossly thought to himself. Now he won't talk for the rest of the day. Richard sadly stared at his own pile of papers and began sorting them with a sigh.
The clock hand slowly approached six. Richard glanced up at it. Two minutes before six. He anxiously chewed his lip and glanced at the intern sitting across the room. If it was Harrison or Joe, Richard would have long been out ten minutes before the established time. However, it was Johnathan, and the young intern was determined to prove his patience and diligence to the older colleague, who, to Richard's frustration, didn't seem at all bothered by the time. Richard glanced back up at the clock. Still two minutes before six. The intern sighed and looked on his papers. He didn't move very far, and even now the sentences blurred into one black and white blob. Richard painfully tried to write something else, but his brain was already painting him the various ways he would spend his time with. He glanced at the clock again. Six. Richard instantly got up, shoving the papers into his folders. Johnathan calmly continued writing. The young intern hesitated, crumpled papers sticking out from his fist.
"Um...Johnathan? Are you going?"
"Duty," Johnathan replied, not looking at Richard. That one snorted inside. Duty, yeah right. As far as he knew, it was Joey's turn.
"Isn't it's Joey today?" Richard voiced his doubts aloud. Johnathan raised his eyes, looking at the man next to the door in irritation.
"What is your habit of asking everyone why they aren't doing what you are? Can't you just leave without any useless questions?" He asked, barely hiding his exasperation. Richard hastily jerked the door on himself and scurried outside. Walking home, he mercilessly scolded himself, asking why the bloody hell he is trying to come on good terms with a psychic psychologist.
Once alone, Johnathan quickly opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a small tube. Standing up and walking around, Johnathan shoved the papers to the side and sat on the desk. He thoughtfully studied the glass. Technically, he could use it again today and write down the results for his dissertation. Johnathan sighed and looked at the window. Bashful sunlight eyelashes flapped from under the shutters. Johnathan looked back at the cold tube, rolling back and forth in his palm. Then, he abruptly closed his fist and tucked the tube in his inside his inner pocket. Johnathan knew what would may follow if he took the compound, and he didn't want Freddie to see his condition. Johnathan slid off the desk with a sigh and began gathering his papers.
A/N Almost back to Gotham Outskirts!