A/B: Hi! This is the new (srot of) chapter! I know, it's kind of smashed in between, and there have been rearrangements, I'm super sorry for the inconvenience!
The bloodshot, wide eyes followed the curly wisps of smoke rising into the air. Johnathan slightly bent his fingers, numb from being in one position, the cigarette tipping to one end like a seesaw. A stench of chemicals floated in the room, soaking into the objects like mist. Johnathan brought the cigarette to his mouth, but the touch of the dry paper against his lips brought nausea up to his throat, and, slightly coughing, he lowered it down. The crows perched behind his back on the cabinet, other hopped on the students' ungraded reports scattered on the floor, his grandma was sitting on the couch, drilling holes in his head with her beady eyes. Johnathan didn't care. He was so saturated with the chemical that projections of his inner fears didn't really trigger anything. Someone ringed into the door.
"Come in," Johnathan apathetically answered, taking in another breath of the cigarette, eyes darting to the window. Winnifred's red raincoat reflected in the glass.
"Hi, I've just come from the posta - oh my god, what the hell…" Winnifred coughed into her elbow, immediately afterwards cupping her nose with her hands.
"What did you burn in here?"
Johnathan smirked, glancing over his shoulder and slightly swiveling in his chair.
"Hi. Nothing much, just doing experiments."
The expression of bewilderment on Winnifred's face changed to an expression of exasperation and frustration.
"Really, again?" She angrily blurted out, walking across the apartment with wide steps. Johnathan sighed, rubbing his forehead with his thumb. Winnifred stopped next to him, arms crossed on her chest.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Johnathan hastily said, closing his eyes and moving his hand in circles.
"Save your sorries for outside," Winnfred glowered, taking him by the arm and dragging him towards the exit.
"I can't stand another minute in this chemical pot."
The air outside was refreshing, but too cold. Johnathan blinked and shivered. For the first time, he noticed the bare trees and the dull yellow leaves shuddering on the branches.
"It's autumn," he noticed. Winnfred smirked.
"Can't notice us from all the Gotham skyscrapers," she joked, nudging him with the elbow. Johnathan gave a short smile, circling his elbow for Winnifred to wrap her arm around. They walked together in a comfortable silence, enjoying the sinister nature around them. Winnifred started first.
"How's college going?"
"It's okay," Johnathan shrugged. "I'm there only for the dissertation." Winnfred quickly glanced at him.
"And then?"
He hesitated, pausing his gaze on the dull clouds. They spelled out indistinct, mythological creatures he couldn't quite pinpoint.
"Probably settle in some hospital where I'll have the freedom to conduct experiments."
"The sooner the better. As long as you're not conducting them on yourself," Winniferd uttered under her breath. She noticed Johnathan staring at her with a strange expression.
"What? I can't stand that stench in your room!"
"No, it's...nevermind," Johnathan laughed, a shadow flickered in his eyes. These kinds of sentences get Freddie in trouble… his shoe cracked over something, and he looked down. A crumpled MISSING poster quivered under his sole, Robbie's freckled, childish face smiling at them.
"They haven't found him still," Winnifred quietly said, also looking down at the poster. "It's been three days already."
"He's probably in Gotham." Johnathan responded, eyes trailing over the photograph. Winnifred's hand tightened over his elbow.
"Why?"
"People get lost there." The sentence came out more duplical than he intended it to be. Johnathan fell silent, sensing it in the air. Winnifred sensed it too. Stepping over the poster, she moved first, Johnathan silently followed her.
[...]
It was a day after he talked with Winnifred. The screams loudly echoed in the hallways as Johnathan followed the senile, old doctor.
"The first thing green folk like you must understand is that Arkham Asylum is not a rehabilitation center for ordinary insane fellas," the old professor quietly drawled as he nimbly moved down the empty corridor.
"Arkham is specifically for the extremely bonkered, brain burned survivors of electric chairs who did all sorts of punishable stuff when they were free."
"Did all sorts of punishable stuff?" Johnathan raised his eyebrows. A shiver ran down his spine.
"Am I correct to assume that you assume that the world is based off of an eye for eye system?"
In the low lighting, the old man's toothless smile seemed almost demonic.
"Good fella." A shriek ran out behind one of the doors.
"I understand that a second internship is not an easy task. But I know your reputation, Mr. Crane, and your idiotic stubbornness to drive yourself to the grave with work. Consider my offer. Our patient folk would love you."
Johnathan thoughtfully walked down the street. Arkham offered him everything, actual work which he loved so much. And completely devoid of the possibility of him having to use himself as testing material. To Winnifred's delight. Though she'd probably prefer him testing on himself after she figures out that he'll be testing on live inmates. If she figures out.
Johnathan absently turned round the corner. His eyes fell on a lonely gun shop. The glass in the door was shattered, a young woman lying through it. Johnathan frowned . He glanced around. The street was empty. Johnathan quickly ran up to the shop, slowing down next to the door. Apparently, the young woman fell right through it. But she didn't die from the impact. Underneath the little shards of glass lacing the woman's face, there was a neat, black hole in forehead. Johnathan carefully moved the broken door aside, shoving the glass across the asphalt, and cautiously stepped over the dead body.
The gun shop greeted Johnathan with a hushed silence. Johnathan's blue eyes warily scanned the room and its dangerous arsenal. His eyes fell on a small gun lying on a box next to the windows. Johnathan quietly picked it up. There was a sound of a cocking gun.
Johnathan quietly continued, careful not to step over the blood trickling down the floor. A man in a sophisticated trench coat was sprawled face up on the floor. Blood spilled from his severed mouth, the apparent harbor of the bullet. There was a port cigar on the counter. Johnathan's eyes slowly lifted up on the door to the storage room. It was lightly swinging. Johnathan slightly hesitated, feeling disgusted anticipation squeeze his throat. Sweat pressed down on him from under the tie.
He abruptly flung open the door, gun raised. The door loudly banged against the door, revealing an empty room. Johnathan sighed and lowered the gun. He looked around. The storage room was packed with different kinds of weapons, all the way from elegant, silver hand guns to grenades and explosives. Johnathan moved the boxes and machine guns and sat down on the table. He tiredly wiped out the sweat off his forehead. Suddenly, something sharp rammed into his side. Johnathan muttered a curse under his breath and glanced down. A piece of paper was partially crushed down by him. Johnathan irritatedly took it out, involuntarily smoothing it out. The first words sent Johnathan back into cold sweat.
dear freddie
lena eats only fish the local drugstore guy was so unnerved makes me wonder if you will be too
Freddie-Steady, Are You Ready?
Sorry, that was mean.
Henry was in a bad mood today. He got used to the scars.
How are you? Things are pretty boring for me. I just run a gun shop every day. No one comes anyway, (Heinrich's reputation perhaps?) but it's good; I have lots of time to practice shooting and examine the weaponry. I wanna kill that crow.
I stopped dreaming lately. Remember, I would always have some nonsense spiraling around somewhere and then I would entertain you with that nonsense when I drink too much champagne on a birthday? Well, now it's all darkness. No, wrong - darkness and a buzzing hum of a radio.
They'll kill you. They'll kill you all.
I accidentally broke the guy's hideous vase. He called me a freak.
Johnathan lowered the letter, in reality nothing more than a simple accumulation of thoughts, written on different days and in different moods.
Disgust and bitterness creeped out of the sentences, be they in an angry note or a cold, biting paragraph. They were pressing down on him like the tall skyscrapers on the asphalt, which can only be destroyed by crawling out from the underneath. Johnathan sighed. Heath probably won't spend so much effort. He'll just blow the skyscrapers up. Figuratively, of course.
Johnathan tucked the letter inside his pocket and stood up off the table. The storage room had another door open, leading out to the backstreets. Johnathan watched the ugly scenery widen and narrow back and forth as the door swung. The pistol slipped inside next to the letter as the intern left the building. Heath didn't want to be found. Johnathan didn't want to look.