Daughter of Fear

Week 3

Day 13 September, Saturday

3:44 pm

Shit! Shit, shit, and double SHIT! I'm so gonna lose my job! I fear Arkham will win. I'm fucked. What the hell am I going to do? None of the Rogues so much as tolerate me or even want anything to do with me.

I started off talking to Harleen Quinzel aka Harley Quinn. It wasn't too bad, at first. She didn't try to kill me, but she just-wouldn't-shut-UP! She drew a childish picture of her and "Mistah J" on their wedding day. Harley just kept going on and on about how "cool" it would be once Batman was dead and gone, then she and Joker would ride off into the sunset in a clown car and live happily ever after. But it didn't end there. Oh no. She talked about their kids and their house and their wonderful family life (which we all know will never happen). This lasted the whole session. I wanted to stab myself in the neck with the ends of my glasses.

Harley Quinn was off the list.

Next was Pamela Isley aka Poison Ivy. It was actually good at first. She drew very beautiful flowers. I even told her about my "pet plant" Hoover. She seem to really open up to me after that; that is, until I brought up favorite foods, which mine included lima beans. Our conversation took a nasty turn after that. I had to get out of the room before the angry plant lady could maim me!

Well, Poison Ivy's out.

After Ivy was Edward Nigma aka The Riddler. I thought this was going to be it! He wasn't as extreme or violent like the other Rogues were. I was proven wrong. Instead of a picture, he wrote a riddle. Of course! I didn't know the answer. This pleased him, he was smarter than is doctor. Egotistic bastard! Riddler then asked me if I knew any riddles. I remembered one; it was from the movie Mirrormask and I liked the riddle a lot, I thought it was funny. So I asked him: "What's green, hangs on a wall, and whistles?" The Riddler paused to think for a bit. Apparently he never saw the movie, so he didn't know the answer. After a while he finally asked, in a very frustrated tone: "What?" To which I answered: "A herring." His face turned red.

"A herring isn't green!"

"You can paint it green."

"A herring doesn't hang on a wall!"

"You can nail it to a wall."

"A herring doesn't whistle!"

"Oh please, I just threw that in there to make it less obvious."

For a moment The Riddler was seething in quiet anger. All hell then broke out. I quickly left. Like I said: I was wrong.

I made my way down the list, avoiding the extra bad ones like Joker and Scarecrow. They were said to be the worst. And I refuse to go back to Jervis Tetch! My scars are still healing, and not just the physical scars.

There is absolutely no hope. Every last one of them was a failure or a complete disaster. Well, looks like I'm going to have to wear my ovaries on the outside and do one more patient before I give up completely.

It's choice between Joker and Scarecrow. One will kill for the sake of comedy, while the other has taken a sudden interest in me. Which of the evils will I choose? Do I go ahead and get fired, never to work in this field again? Or do I condemn myself to death? Choices.

Okay, looks like I'm gonna pull a Two-Face. Heads: Joker. Tails: Scarecrow. Either way I'm going to end up crying.

Tails.

Fuck Two-Face.

Margaret

Help me.

Day 14 September, Sunday

1:05 pm

I need to calm down. I need a breather. I'm just such a nervous wreck. Can you blame me? At 2 o'clock I have my first-and last-session with Jonathan Crane…The Scarecrow. I feel like someone on death row, just waiting for the clock to strike my final hour and I will then be escorted by two guards to walk down the green mile…where The Chair is waiting for me.

I realize this sounds overly dramatic, but you have no idea how I feel; what this place is already doing to me and how soon it will all probably end. A little less than an hour before my curtain call.

Journal, if I don't come back, tell my family and friends that I love them. I don't know how you can, but do it! Someone will probably find this and do it. Well, I guess this is goodbye.

Doctor Margaret A. Ellis

The journal ends here. From now on it's a narration.

My heart pounds as I'm being escorted. The two guards are silent as their heavy footsteps echo. This is my death sentence. Dr. Arkham has sentenced me to death and I chose my own form of execution. Death by Scarecrow.

I wanted to run back down the hallway. I wanted to escape from this island of madness. But I must see through this to the end.

My thoughts are damn depressing, it's not even funny. I should be trying to make light of the situation, you know, use my ever so charming dark sense of humor to bring myself cheer. I just don't have the heart.

As such dreary thoughts plagued my mind I didn't notice that we finally reached the room where I will be doing my session with Jonathan Crane.

I let out a shaky breath, "Where's the fucking funeral music when you need it?"

"Excuse me?" one of the guards asked; I can't see their faces behind their helmets and visors.

"Never mind," I mumbled.

The other guard turned to me and said, "Crane isn't in there yet. They're still trying to get him out of his cell, but he should be here shortly."

"You can go inside and get ready while they're doing so."

Great. My death is prolonged by a few minutes.

"Thanks."

The guards will be guarding the door on the outside, so I was alone when I settled down in the room. Paper and colored pencils, markers, watercolor, brushes, and number two pencils were laid out on the table. I soon became bored and started rearranging the art supplies. I put the colored in order first by color, then hue, and then shade. I then tried putting brushes in order of thickness, width, and length.

I'm not OCD, just bored and awaiting my doom.

After a while I heard footsteps approaching the door. My heart rate quickened. The door opened.

"Here he is, doc! Behave, Crane or I'm gonna hafta beat the shit outta ya!"

"Of course, if that will help you cope,"

That voice.

"Shuddup!"

Jonathan Crane was practically shoved into the room.

I looked up from where I was sitting to get a good look at my new patient.

Oh, fuck he's tall! He's probably around six feet tall, maybe even a few inches taller! I was taken aback. One so tall shouldn't be that thin. His orange Arkham uniform was nearly falling off of his shoulders, revealing a collarbone that protruded more so than it should. A black belt revealed how thin his waist was, it would undoubtedly make a lot of female models jealous!

Was it me, or were his arms and longs longer than they should be. His torso was pretty long for a torso, but his limbs were freaky long. I have to stop focusing on his body. My eyes scanned up to look at his face.

It was long, thin, and gaunt. Various line decorated his aging face, but they somehow suited him. The lines made him look like the professor he used to be. His lips were thin and pulled into a slight smile, which didn't suit him at all. Crane's thick glasses framed his pale, sunken-in eyes that made him appear so…inhuman.

Dark, wavy, brown hair was cut short and into a professional and smart style. I suppose he still thinks he is a professor.

I drank in every last detail that was Jonathan Crane. He was unnerving to look at, his eyes were enough to give me nightmares. But I was so fascinated by his appearance. I have never seen anything like it.

I wanted to draw him.

"Hello, Margaret. How are you doing this after noon?"

Okay, I wasn't expecting that ! I didn't expect him to be polite at all. From all the stores I've read and heard about him…well, I didn't expect this. Maybe I was thinking he would be more, I dunno…intimidating…vengeful…just plain scary?

"Uh…I'm doing fine uh…thank you,"

What else am I supposed to say!

"Will take a seat, please." I asked him. Might as well be polite back, stay on his good side.

Jonathan Crane nodded and took a seat at the other end of the table, a pretty safe distance. As safe as it can be with those limbs. He could reach across the table and strangle me if he wanted to. How lovely.

He folded his hands elegantly-the same hands that reached from the vent-and rested his chin on them, and he then seem to study me.

"Margaret-"

"If you don't mind, I would like to be called 'Dr. Ellis'," I said carefully.

Crane raised an eyebrow, "Very well, and you shall refer to me as 'Dr. Crane'."

"Fair enough."

"Now, let me start again…Dr. Ellis, are afraid of me?"

I was silent. How do I respond? I don't want him to know I'm afraid, but if I tell him I'm not…he might get pissed.

"I…"

How do I respond?

"I…am."

"Really?"

I nodded.

Dr. Crane closed his eyes and seemed to be contemplating my answer, trying to absorb it. Finally, he opened his eyes and gave a strange, cunning sort of smile. I shivered.

"Doctor, you are the first one to admit that. Tell me, why are you afraid of me?"

This time I didn't hesitate, "Because I'm not stupid."

Crane's smile turned into a full out grin. Is it me, or do his teeth seem sharp?

"Really?"

"I like to think I'm not, at least."

Dr. Crane's features calmed to the point of being emotionless as he unfolded his hands and leaned back in his chair. His unsettling eyes peered at above his glasses as he scrutinized me further.

It felt like many minutes have passed before I cleared my throat, "I believe we should begin our session now."

I pulled out a small sketchbook and a dull, wooden pencil and slid it over to Crane's side of the table, "Here, Dr. Crane, draw whatever you like."

He didn't pick up the pad or pencil, he just stared at them as if they were foreign objects to him. After a minute, he looked back up at me. His thin lips turned up into a dreamy smile. It did not fit him well. Crane's thin hand pushed the pad and pencil back to my side of the table.

"Why don't you draw for me, Dr. Ellis. I would like to see your work," his eyes flashed with sudden color.

I was taken aback. Without question he was the patient and I the doctor, but I found nothing wrong with his request. What would be the harm of me drawing instead of him? Who knows, it might encourage him.

I took up the tolls of my trade, "Uh, very well, Dr. Crane."

He actually looked pleased with me. I guess he missed being a psychologist.

At first I didn't know what to draw, my pencil remained poised centimeters above the blank paper. Suddenly, I had an onslaught of clarity. I had wanted to draw him. My pencil instantly started to glide on the paper. There was a bit of a rough start that involved a lot of erasing, but it soon came easy to me. His features taking shape and form on white canvas.

I felt his eyes never leaving me as my pace quickened. Before I knew it, I had a rough sketch of a headshot of Dr. Jonathan Crane. I set the pencil down on the table to indicate I had finished.

My eyes met Crane's momentarily.

"May I see?"

"E-excuse me?"

"May I see your drawing?"

"Oh! Um…" Should I show him? I mean. it would be pretty awkward for him to see. What would he think of me drawing a picture of him? Before I could come up with a proper response, Crane had reached over the able and snatched up the pad.

"Hey!" I cried out.

Crane clutched the pad in both hands as he studied the drawing. For a moment it looked like it took a while for it to register that the drawing was of him. Crane's eyes widened ever so slightly as he slowly put the sketch back down on the table.

"This…proves it," he murmured hoarsely.

"Pardon?"

Suddenly, Crane bolted from his chair and practically flew across the table. I threw up my arms and screamed. I was panicked, I couldn't do a damn thing! I felt the man collide with me, I was knocked out of my chair and I felt my back hit the floor. The wind was knocked out of me and I lost my ability to scream. I felt like was going to black out. I tried to scream once more, but all I got was a squeak.

I then realized that nothing was happening. I wasn't being assaulted or nothing!

My eyes slowly opened-I had them closed? I felt long arms wrapped around me tightly. I looked to see that I was face to face with Dr. Crane's chest, my nose was buried against it. I began to tremble and sweat formed on my brow and under my arms. What the hell do I do? I can't move! I couldn't move.

I felt him breath in deeply. The air escaping his nostrils ruffled my hair and made me shiver. The man was smelling me! He was fucking smelling me!

Someone or several someones were pounding violently on the door as if they were trying to break it down. The door then came crashing to the floor with a loud bang. The two guards that were at the door came running in.

"Doc, are you alright!"

"Oh, crap! Get him off of here!"

Despite the fact that Crane was an extremely malnourished man, the two guards had a hard time pulling Crane off of me. To help, I did my best to struggle from his gangly, but strong grasp.

I finally broke free. I crawled away, still shaking and in shock. I was hugged by Jonathan Crane…The Scarecrow! Or…his version of a hug at least.

"Wait…guards!"

The guards were on either side of Crane, both had each of his arms.

"D…don't hurt…him," I said timidly.

Both guards looked at me like I had just finally cracked; who knows, maybe I did.

"Look, he didn't hurt me." I struggled to stand up, I was able to but I was still very shaky, "Tell Dr. Arkham I w-would like another session with…Crane."

At this Dr. Crane looked up at me in surprise, which quickly faded away to a smug look directed at the guards.

Everyone was silent, unsure of how to react.

One of the guards coughed, "Very well…Dr. Ellis."

They began to drag Jonathan Crane away before he called out to me, "I'm looking forward to our next session, my pet!"

It was meant to sound affectionate, but I instead felt dread. It sounded sinister to my ears. Did the room just get colder, or was that just Crane?

I don't know what to expect from Jonathan Crane now. What is he playing at? He unexpectedly became loving, if that's what you call, towards me. He literally attacked with a hug and now he just called me "my pet". What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I just hope not to see anymore eyes in the vent.