A/N: I do not own The Batman, Batman: the Animated Series, DC Batman or anything of the sort in any way, shape, or form. WARNING: This fanfiction contains the following-Language, violence, mild canon-crossing elements, alternating first-person-view narratives, severe fancharacter/OCxCanon/OCxOC use. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of that, this is not the fanfic for you. NOTE: This fanfiction is a companion to my other "The Batman" fanfic, "Twisted Souls." I highly recommend you read both fanfics as they will connect and overlap in some places and events. Finally, all fancharacters used (including my own) are credited back to their creators in the copies of the "Cry Wolf" chapters that are in my deviantArt gallery, as these chapters were uploaded there first. (If you don't know my dA username, it's Yoruhoshi.) R&R please!

Chapter 13: The Volatile Walking Handbag

[Jeanette's POV:]

I took a day off after the incident at Arkham, thoroughly ruffled and terrified in equal measure. Of all the ill-organized, inept, indifferent fools, Gotham had to nominate Hugo Strange to run the asylum! The man hardly batted an eyelash when I was storming my way out of there, and offered me half-hearted apologies that ill concealed his curiosity in the entire affair. I left without more than a few short, monosyllabic, scathing replies thrown to his questions, and thanked the higher powers of the universe that Batman had remained behind to occupy the psychiatrist's time. I went home instantly, locked every door and window into my townhouse, and curled up on my couch in a blanket, baseball bat in hand. Much as I hate to admit to it, I was more frightened than I think I had been before in my life, and despite his recapture at the Batman's hands, I was hardly relieved of the notion that the Joker could escape again so soon and come after me. I am not quite sure how, but several hours later, I suddenly woke up in that same spot, surprised to find myself on the couch and curled up with the bat. I wasn't sure what to do, and in a daze, I simply called Chantelle and told her about the events of the day.

Much more to my surprise was her immediate suggestion I take the next day off. Still, I complied, and afterward, I simply went back to the couch and waited until I fell asleep again. The next day consisted of largely the same thing; I stayed in the house the entire day with all the doors and windows locked, and ate all my meals in the living room, the bat close at hand. I remained jumpy and on the edge, my hand instantly flying to the bat with even the smallest sound. Unfortunately, things didn't improve the day after when I went to work, and I still proceeded to jump at the smallest sounds and peer carefully around every corner wherever I walked.

"Jeanette," Marcia sighed at me when we took our lunch break, "You're acting like a twitchy ferret."

"You would too, if you'd been in my shoes for the past few days!" I snapped, glaring at her.

"She's right, Marcia!" Leslie jumped in. "Lay off Jeanette! You tell me that you don't get attacked at Joker at Arkham and walk away from it completely fine!"

"I wouldn't have reason to be at that loony bin in the first place!" Marcia shot back at her before turning and giving me a queer look. "Which brings up the question I still want answered: why did you go there in the first place, Jeanette? Especially if you knew—"

"I was going to help get my cousin out." I blurted out, feeling my face going completely red. Damn Marcia! Why did she have to bring that part of the matter up? "He was wrongly thrown in there."

"You have criminals in your family?" Leslie asked in shock.

"Jesse isn't a criminal!" I shot back. "He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, was taken in as a suspect, and when he tried to argue his case, for whatever hare-brained reason, Chief Rojas had him thrown in Arkham instead of a waiting cell!"

Thankfully the less-than-charming police officer had no fans among the library staff, and the mention of his name marked a turning point in the conversation. Very few questions were asked of me after that, and I managed to slip away for the rest of my shift. Being alone still didn't help my nerves however, and I practically danced with relief when I clocked out for the day and headed to my car.

I was still restless on the drive back home, and flipped constantly between the different channels on the radio as I drove, wishing a decent song would come on. Of course, that was probably akin to asking that another perfect James Patterson mystery novel could just fall out of the sky and land on my doorstep: highly unlikely. I finally stopped on a channel to hear a familiar tune by Duran Duran. Unbidden, my thoughts slipped to Mr. Pendragon, and I blushed, feeling like a foolish little schoolgirl. The man was an enigma, confusing and intriguing all at once, and truthfully I was eager to see him again. I glanced over at the cell phone lying dark and silent on my passenger seat, feeling deflated and awkward.

I had half-hoped Lance would call or something after what had happened, but of course he didn't. I wasn't sure why I found it so disappointing, but I wished to hear from him. After all, we had hit it off well over coffee, hadn't we?

Once I parked outside the townhouse, I picked up the phone, dialed the number I was given, and pressed it to my ear. But five rings later, only the voicemail answered, and I shut it off before I was forced to leave a message.

"Stupid, Jeanette Harker." I muttered, both furious with myself for calling and yet not leaving a message. Why had I called? Why had I called and not left him a message? "This possible courtship won't go anywhere if you're a coward."

But that's what I was, wasn't it? A coward. The Joker had come after me in Arkham Asylum and what had I done? I had turned tail and run for my life, rather than fight for it.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jeanette," I snapped to myself aloud as I unlocked the front door, "That's a different matter altogether. And you're not trained in unarmed combat; you would have wound up dead if you'd tried to stay and fight. Don't compare that to being courted by a man."

Now, as riveting as it is to converse and argue with oneself, it was a poor mistake on my part to get wrapped up in the act. I stepped inside my townhouse, still muttering to myself, and it wasn't until I was halfway to the kitchen that I stopped, realizing in horror that I wasn't alone in my house.

"Well it's about time you noticed us." Said a voice. I turned to find three men dressed in black wetsuits watching me, their posture relaxed and unconcerned. I spun around, looking desperately for my baseball bat, and they began to chuckle.

"Lookin' for this, chere?" A deeper voice with a thick Cajun accent rumbled behind me. Slowly, I turned on my heel, and nearly collapsed to my knees in fear. I was facing a seven-foot reptilian monster of a man, who was watching me with yellow animal eyes, holding my bat aloft like it weighed no more than a feather. I worked my mouth, trying to say something, but it was too dry, and I had no words besides that. I had to turn and run for dear life. I had to call the police somehow! Forget the breaking and entering of three Navy SEAL rejects, I didn't want to be eaten. I let out a whimper, taking a few steps back, and he bounced the bat in a webbed hand.

"Gotta say, I admire ya spunk, but I can't have ya smackin' my boys with this here thang. Not when we're here t' talk."

"Y-you can have all my money," I said quickly, taking another step back, "Th-there's not much in the house, but if you let me run d-down to the bank—"

"This ain't 'bout money, chere." He cut me off, setting the bat down gently on my dining room table. "I need ya help."

" 'Help?'" I sputtered, the word coming out halfway as a mirthless chuckle. "You want my help? Killer Croc, one of the biggest crime bosses in Gotham. You want the help of a librarian."

"Lemme tell ya before you say anotha word," He said slowly, "You make any comment 'bout me an' readin', an' this is gon' get ugly real fast."

I gulped and clamped my mouth shut.

"Good girl," he said with a nod of approval, "Now…we gonna do this the hard way, or are you gonna come with us nice an' easy?"

I refrained from asking sarcastically whether or not I had a say in the matter.