I'm not sure if this chapter works or not...but here it is! Based on a suggestion from TymanTB. Enjoy!

Jonathan Crane looked at himself in the mirror. He could practically see the clouds of hairspray and perfume floating in the air around him.

The time for Crane's bi-monthly haircut had rolled around, and, as usual, he had set his secretary, Mina, to scheduling an appointment for him.

"Dr. Crane, I'm sorry, but I can't make an appointment with Mr. Walters for you."

"I'm sorry, what?" Crane looked up from his desk absentmindedly.

"Mr. Walters, your barber. Your hair appointment? He's retiring."

"Is he still on the line? Let me speak to him."

"Yes sir, I'll transfer him in."

Crane picked up the phone on his desk on the first ring. "Mr. Walters. I hear you're no longer taking appointments."

"Nossir. I'm finally retirin'. Gonna take a trip with the wife to Oahu."

Crane was nonplussed. "Lovely. Now, are you certain that you can't see one more client? I'd be willing to pay extra."

"Sorry, Jonny, but I can't! Plane leaves tomorrow morning! Got m'bags packed 'n' everythin'. But you could always go to Sammy."

"Sam?"

"My grandbaby. Fresh outta the academy, newly trained, y'know."

Crane groaned inwardly. The last thing he wanted was an overzealous trainee with electric clippers. Visions of himself with a buzz cut flashed through his head, and he cringed. Then again, he needed a haircut badly; the longer parts of hair in front near his face had taken to falling in front of his eyes in a way that nearby females seemed unable to resist. And he was not in the market for a companion at this time.

"I...'ll have you give Mina the number, then, and she'll make an appointment." Crane made the transfer, and then returned to work.

Now, a week later, he was seated at a purple formica countertop, an apron patterned with rubber ducks draped across his shoulders. The mirror in front of him had the name "Samantha" written across the top in red washable marker.

The various hairstyling utensils on the counter were actually very well organized. Some of the tools looked more like torture devices, the types of which might have been used as "treatment" in the earlier days of Arkham's history.

As organized as the hair tools were, though, the rest of the space was cluttered with various doodads, photos, and other personal objects. The young woman certainly put some of her most personal details on display. A more devious man than he might take advantage of that personal knowledge for exploitation. However, today he was simply there to get his hair trimmed.

Samantha appeared over his shoulder. "Sorry that took so long, I just had to take that call! It's my boyfriend's dog's birthday, and he wants us to go out to celebrate."

Samantha was of medium height with curves all over, from the bump in her bleached-blonde hair to the soles of her pink platform sandals. Even her manner of speech seemed full of curves, with her rounded southern vowels and "y'all"s.

"Not a problem," said Crane. The girl had already shampooed his hair, and was ready to cut. Momentarily, she pulled out a pair of small scissors and began to trim.

There was silence for a moment, and then the girl began to talk. And talk. And talk.

"It's good to have you here, Mr. Crane! Granddad retirin' and all, it's about time, and maybe him 'n' Granny'll have a good time in Hawaii! Maybe they'll go to a Luau! You know, I've heard the barbecue down there's awful good! I'd love to go sometime. I'd also love to go to Las Vegas, you ever been to Las Vegas? All those lights! I bet it's so glamorous! But I don't know if I'd wanna gamble, there's somethin' not quite right about that. Boy, I can't believe it's Buster-boo's birthday! Yeah, Buster'll be seven years old today! That's 49 in dog years, older'n' the two of us put together!" She laughed at her unfunny joke.

"How old are you, Samantha?"

"I'm 21! My boyfriend, Justin, is 25. We've been datin' since prom of his Junior year!" She smiled, happy to keep talking. She didn't notice the involuntary tic of Crane's eye as she mentioned prom. She just kept snipping away.

A blessed moment of silence. "Is that him, there?" Crane sat forward a bit and pointed to a photo taped to the side of the mirror. It showed Samantha with a typically muscled young male, in a worn white undershirt t-shirt and dusty jeans, a cap on his head. He was handsome, but he had a look in his eye that struck Crane as decidedly mean.

"Yup, that's him. Now hold still!" She waited for him to recline back in his seat.

"He's a handsome fellow. It sounds like the two of you have been together for quite a while. It must have been hard for the two of you to stay faithful. After all, you were young, certainly there were other men who caught your eye..."

...nothing. No change in her expression or demeanor. Another tack, then.

"...And he's a handsome man himself. It was probably so hard for him to be monogamous when there were probably dozens of girls throwing themselves at him." A chuckle.

Samantha's complexion paled, and he detected a shake in her hands. Ah, here we go. Perhaps she suspected him of cheating, or saw the potential for it. Maybe she simply had low self esteem. Irregardless, he had found a toehold into her insecurities.

"Well, I mean, I guess. I mean, sure, lotsa girls think Justin's good lookin', 'cause he is, but he wouldn't never do anything to hurt me like that."

"Oh, no, of course not. I never meant to imply. I'm just recalling my own high school years. I remember being in the boy's locker rooms, hearing all the other young men talking about their girlfriends, their conquests, their plans for the future. And, I have to say, there were very few at the time who had just one girl on their mind. Or perhaps that was just my generation." Crane changed his tack. "So it's your boyfriend's dog's birthday. How sweet. You're all going out for that? What do you think you're going to do?"

"Oh, uh, I don't know! Justin doesn't usually take me out, actually."

"He doesn't take you out, but he'll take his dog? How peculiar." Crane closed his eyes.

There was more silence. Or silence from Samantha. He could still hear the dozens of other hairstylists and their clients around them, gabbing on about their families, jobs, celebrity gossip. Samantha's clippings got slower and slower, and the slicing sounds of the scissors seemed to get louder and louder.

Finally, they stopped, and he heard her moving around him. She got out a razor, and trimmed the stray hairs on the back of his neck, a sensation that he rather enjoyed. Then that too stopped.

Crane opened his eyes and saw Samantha's face. She was still looking crestfallen. She no longer looked like an overzealous beauty school graduate, but instead he saw a girl desperate to live up to some self-imposed standard. He could see the damage in her bleached blonde hair, and he realized that if her pink platform heels came off, she couldn't have been more than 4'11". Her eyes looked wet. Crane sighed to himself. For the love of...

"Samantha, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Even if Justin ever had committed any indiscretions against you, you're still together now, after so many years. He wants to share the celebration of...erm, his dog's birthday with you. You're a beautiful young woman, yourself, with a job and...you're very nice. So don't worry about anything. I...hate to have scared you, or caused you to worry."

"Oh, it's all right, Mr. Crane. I know Justin's not perfect. But I just thought if I tried hard enough to make it seem like I did, maybe other people would, too. But if it's obvious to a total stranger, I'm sure everyone else knows how obnoxious he is." Her voice was near monotone.

"Well, I'm not just a total stranger, I'm a psychologist. It's my job to notice things like this; I'm just more observant than most. If you want to keep on putting on an act for your peers, by all means, go ahead. I'm sure you're doing a wonderful job. Just keep in mind that no one should have to put on an act that they don't want to, certainly not to justify another person."

Samantha undid the velcro around his neck and swept the apron off of him. Crane stood up, and set down the exact cost of the haircut on the counter, plus tip. He offered her a handshake before leaving, which she took.

"Thanks, Mr. Crane. Maybe I'll ask Justin to take me out for real sometime." She gave a halfhearated smile.

"I certainly hope you do, Samantha. And I'll see you in two months. You can tell me all about how it goes."