AN: Thanks as always, guys! To answer your question, Devryn: Yes, the 'nightmares' are actually flashbacks. They're real memories, and all those past lives really happened. Although now that you mention it, it could be fun to leave that part of the story ambiguous... I'll try to remember that next time. Anyway, we're back to 'now,' and another visit with Commissioner Gordon – enjoy!

6: Now.

"Commissioner Gordon."

His jaw went slack at the sight of me. "How did you get in here?"

"The front door." It was remarkable how easily people could be persuaded to look elsewhere, if one wanted them to.

Gordon's hand shot towards the call button on his phone to page security; I grabbed his wrist before he reached it. "I have some information for you," I said.

After a whirlwind of paperwork and phone calls, I was back in the interrogation room, this time of my own volition. Gordon sat down across from me, sighed heavily, and rubbed his forehead before he began. "Where is he?" he asked.

"I can't tell you that, Commissioner," I said. "He's always in motion. If I told you anything about his whereabouts, they would change the instant you began looking. You must know that by now."

Gordon nodded reluctantly. "Fine," he said. "But I want you to understand something, young lady: You are not here to waste my time. So if you don't get to the point quickly, I'm prepared to treat you as a hostile witness."

"I understand."

"And once you get through whatever you have to say, you're going back to Arkham where you belong."

I swallowed. "Arkham is not as secure as you imagine it to be, Commissioner."

"If you're talking about the break in—"

"I'm here because there has been a threat made against me. Something's happened that my . . . companion did not foresee. You see, he's gathered an army of sorts. A bevy of monsters from that hellish place that you call an 'asylum.' It was my job to tell him which of them would be the easiest to manipulate and control. I misjudged one of them rather badly, and. . ." I stopped and took a shuddering breath.

"Who is it?" asked Gordon, leaning over the little table between us.

"Harvey Dent. He feels that. . . Anger has festered in his heart for far too long, and he's chosen me as a victim."

"What's he planning to do?"

"I don't know. But I know that Harvey and the others are taking shelter in a derelict subway station ten miles southeast of here. I don't remember the address, but I can tell you how to reach it."

Gordon sat back in his chair, his brow furrowed with unease. "What about the Joker?"

I sighed. "I can deliver Harvey and the other—"

"What about the Joker?" He spoke slowly, emphasizing every syllable.

I shook my head. "No."

Gordon frowned. "You're really in love with him, aren't you?"

"I am."

After my inquisition I was taken to a solitary holding cell. I could hear Gordon talking with one of the detectives near the door. "Can we trust her?" the detective asked.

"I don't know," Gordon answered with a sigh. "She's hiding something, but she's telling the truth about Dent."

"Why is he after her? That doesn't make any sense."

"I can guess." He gave instructions to take a team down to the location I'd given, following my directions.

Of course it wouldn't work. It was possible that Harvey and a few other inmates from Arkham would be collected and deposited somewhere safely, but not all of them. The Joker had other plans for them.