"Professor Crane!"
Francois Dubois called after the young Professor when he saw him walking down the corridor towards his office. Jonathan stopped in his tracks, turning his head to the side as he arched a brow at the elder man who had followed him for the last few hundred metres.
"Professor Dubois," Crane greeted back with a slight incline of his head. Francois remained silent as he looked at Jonathan for a couple of seconds.
"I just wanted to thank you for bringing Isabelle home the other night," Francois spoke, looking at the man with politeness and serenity in his eyes. Crane blinked for a few times, taking in what he had just said and he nodded back at him, holding his briefcase tight by his side. Now, he could put his plan into action.
"It was no bother at all," Jonathan assured him. "Your daughter is a pleasant individual."
"Yes," Francois agreed out of pride, his chin sticking upwards as he did so. "She's too kind, if anything."
"I can tell," Jonathan nodded, trying to hide the smirk which he wanted to form. "It is a trait which many take advantage of."
Francois remained silent, listening to what Jonathan had just said and he folded his arms against his chest, his black tie crumpling slightly as he did so.
"Well...Isabelle doesn't need to worry about that."
"She informed me of her lack of friends," Jonathan said and Francois winced. His little girl wasn't the perfect person he hoped she would be. Jonathan watched on for every singly tick of a reaction as he continued his torment on the man. Yes, Francois Dubois could easily beat him to a pulp. He knew he had been a keen rower and an excellent football player before he turned to teaching. But, Jonathan had his mind.
"So, she doesn't have to worry about friends taking advantage, does she?" Jonathan asked but Francois remained silent as a few students passed them in the hallway. "But, there are other people who bully her into things, I believe, anyway."
"Are there?" Francois wondered aloud, completely annoyed with the Professor.
"Oh yes," Jonathan nodded. "Her father can be an example. She openly admitted to me how she hated Law...but...she needed to take it because you were forcing her to. I don't mean to intrude, but, I can't help but think that is harsh, Professor Dubois. She isn't enjoying it and she doesn't understand. She isn't cut out for it."
"And she told you this, did she?" Francois snapped at Jonathan who shrugged airily back at the man.
"Yes," he admitted. "She's too scared of disappointing you to say anything."
"Well, with respect, Professor," Francois hissed. "This is nothing to do with you."
"I was just telling you what happened," Jonathan held his hands up, palms outwards as he backed down the hallway, leaving Francois stood where he was. "I didn't mean to intrude."
Jonathan turned around, walking back to his office and finding himself unable to hold back the smirk which etched on his face.
Phase one was complete.
...
Christ. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I entered my father's office at the end of the day. He had called me back after the last lecture of the day and noises of 'ooh' and 'ah' echoed around the lecture hall. They were promptly shot down by my dad's barking.
I dutifully went back to his office, shutting the door and sitting down in the chair opposite him as he looked at me with narrowed eyes. I didn't know what I had done, but, I knew it wasn't good.
And then he let rip. He told me of how I shouldn't go around telling others of my issues. He yelled at me for speaking to Professor Crane about how I didn't understand Law and only did it because of my father. He asked me if I had any idea how that made him feel. He said he felt like a controlling monster to which I replied he was. That earned me another telling off. I became ungrateful. He was only trying to give me the best in Gotham.
And that was when I ran out crying. I couldn't take it anymore. Dad had told me that we would both need an hour or two to calm down and then we would go home and discuss it more quietly.
I don't know how he expected me to get home as my car was still in the garage. The bus seemed like an option for me to take.
But, I didn't go for the bus. I ran down the hallways, ignoring the looks and stares before I knocked on his office door. I wanted to know why he had done this. I wanted to know why he had blurted this out to my dad.
"Enter," he called out and I opened the door, slamming it shut behind me as he looked up from his paperwork. He never flinched once.
"Why did you tell him?" I yelled at him and he sighed.
"Phase Two," he mumbled to himself and I remained confused as he removed his glasses and dropped them into his pocket. "Your father had a right to know how insufferable you were finding your class."
"I have less than six months left!" I snapped at him. "I didn't need you to do this now!"
"I may have saved you six months of suffering. It was clear that you were never going to tell him. He would have pushed you into a career of Law if I hadn't have told him what you thought of it."
"He knew what I thought of it!" I roared. "Telling him wouldn't make a difference."
"Not from you, perhaps," Crane replied, lacing his fingers together and then resting them on his desk. His desk was tidy, papers stacked in piles on either side whilst a pen rested on the edge of the desk. A lamp sat on the corner and the rest of the office was dull and cream.
"But, when other people tell someone something then they are more likely to listen and to take into account their views," Crane informed me and I shook my head, wiping away my tears as he extended his hand and offered me the seat across from his desk. I took it as he stood up and moved over to the water cooler in his office.
"It wasn't your place to tell him," I muttered back to him. He thought he was helping. He thought he was being kind.
"Forgive me," he spoke, his voice bland. He didn't sound like he wanted me to forgive him. He didn't sound interested at all. "I thought I was helping."
"Well...you weren't...and now...well...he yelled at me and I don't even want to go home..."
"Then don't," Crane spoke, passing me a glass of water before sitting back down in his seat and picking his pen up as he started to write. "You can take an hour off, can't you? Clear your head."
"I suppose," I replied and drank the water. It was so good after my floods of tears. I drained it all before I placed the glass back onto his desk and I sighed once, running a hand through my hair. But I couldn't move my other hand. It wouldn't pick up.
"Professor Crane," I panicked as I tried again to move my hand. He peered up at me from over his glasses, his eyes unconcerned as a groggy feeling took over me. What had happened?
"What's happening?" I asked him and he looked at me with confusion.
"Nothing," he replied as my lids fluttered about and everything began to spin. The next thing I knew, unconsciousness had taken over me.
...
Jonathan sighed once. He hadn't even finished his sentence when she decided to slump down in her chair. He dotted the last I and stood up, tucking his chair back under his desk as she slept soundly opposite him. Dropping the solution into her water had been too easy. And now, here she was, putty in his hands. Jonathan walked around to her, using two fingers to check her pulse before he set about picking her up and into his arms. She was light, he would give her that. Her body was limp in his hold as he checked the fire exit in his office was clear. Luckily, he had parked his car next to his office, knowing he shouldn't. But, this was an urgent matter.
He gently placed her sleeping body into the backseat of the car and ran his hand over her cheek, pushing her hair out of her face as her mouth parted slightly.
"Phase Three."
...
He had brought her back to his apartment on the edge of Gotham City. If he looked out of the window he could just see the Narrows. The place where fear was instilled into people. Everyone feared everyone and everything. It was how it should be.
He had rested Isabelle on his sofa before rushing into his bedroom and pulling out the needle which contained the toxin. It was perfect. Her father and she had been arguing. He would think she had run away, unable to take his controlling attitude anymore. It would explain her disappearance. It would explain everything. He could keep her with him. He could test the toxin on her. His own guinea pig.
He sat on the edge of the sofa, his hand holding the toxin as his other hand softly ran up and down her neck and onto her cheek. She was weak and unable to do anything. It was perfect. It was what he had been looking for.
He sat there for five minutes, but, he did nothing. He just sat. His eyes were glittering with intrigue and delight. What would happen if he did it? Would the toxin be perfect? What did she fear?
Come on, Jonathan. She's yours! This is what we need! A willing volunteer! The voice inside his head egged him on as he remained looking down onto her pale sleeping face.
He had contemplated experimenting on his small group of students. But he then met Miss Dubois. He met her and he knew he had someone to manipulate. He had someone to mould.
He remained sat on the edge of the sofa, knowing he would have to inject her before she woke up fully. It was now or never. He noted her wriggle about in her sleep, her head moving from one side to the other as her arm, unknowingly, knocked against his, her hand resting on top of his.
Jonathan froze, unable to even think of what to do. It was contact. He had touched people before. This was nothing special. She was nothing special.
He jumped up, pacing up and down the living room, his hand running through his hair as he looked at the toxin before throwing the syringe against the wall. The glass shattered and the liquid tumbled out.
...
What the hall had happened? I didn't know if I dared to open my eyes or not. I was scared. Too scared to comprehend the nature of what had happened.
"I know you're awake," his cold voice spoke and I had no choice but to peel my eyes open. I looked around the room, noting I was laid down on some kind of leather sofa as I pushed myself upwards, my head feeling weak. "Your breathing pattern changed."
"Where am I?" I asked, noting that he was sat at a desk, his back turned to me as he stopped writing for a second and tapped the end of the pen against the wood of the small desk.
"My apartment," he responded. I grabbed onto my head and I looked around. His apartment. It would explain the neutral cream on the walls and the brown carpets. There were few furnishings, only a TV, sofa and a coffee table. A kitchen was opposite me and it was black granite, covered with all of the mod cons which you would need. It was sparse, empty and expensive. Much like the Professor, himself.
"Why am I here?" I asked and I saw his shoulder slump downwards. I had a right to ask this many questions. I was confused and dazed. I don't remember falling asleep or even getting here. I don't remember anything...except...rowing with my dad and then going to see Professor Crane.
"You had an argument with your father. You came into my office and yelled at me, telling me I had no right to delve into your life. You tripped over the leg of the chair and hit your head against my desk. It knocked you out." He said clinically as if it was an everyday occurrence.
"So...you brought me here?" I checked. It seemed odd. I didn't understand it. He finally stood up and turned to look at me. The glasses which he wore slowly moved off of him and he placed them onto his desk as I began to shiver. I wasn't cold. I was worried.
"You had specifically said that you didn't want to go home. I made sure you weren't injured severely before I brought you back here."
"We could have stayed at college," I suggested. "My dad should know."
"Your phone hasn't gone off," he informed me and I noted my device on the arm of the sofa. "I think he thinks you both need some space. I couldn't leave you alone but I had to come home. The rest of my work was here."
"I was unconscious!" I snapped at him. Damn his work.
"I'm aware," he drawled back to me. "You're also shivering."
"I don't know why," I muttered back and he handed me his blazer from off the back of his chair at his desk.
"It will be the shock," he said simply to me. "Take this. It should help."
I took the garment from him, draping it over my shoulders as I rubbed my arms up and down, pulling the tight skirt I was wearing down my tight covered legs as I checked my blouse was in place.
"Your apartment...is...nice..." I said, trying to make conversation as he shrugged. Did anything bother him? He seemed particularly moody tonight.
"It's a base," he simply said. "I don't spend a lot of time here."
"Oh?"
"Hm," he simply responded. "It's on the outside of Gotham. Not far away from your house."
"Do you live alone?" I enquired, noting that it was eerily quiet. His lips seemed to tug up for a moment before he nodded once at me.
"I don't have a girlfriend or a wife, if that is what you were wondering," he informed me and I felt my cheeks redden again as I coughed to hide my embarrassment. No, that wasn't what...well...maybe...I just wondered.
"I just wondered," I mumbled back at him.
"I live alone," he stated. "I always have done."
"It must be nice," I simply shrugged. "Then you can do what you want when you want."
"It is," he assured me. "I like it this way."
"I should be getting back." I mumbled and he nodded in agreement before I stood up. Jesus, that wasn't clever. My head spun as I wobbled around on my feet. The floor came into close view, but, I didn't hit it. His arms were around my waist, holding me tightly against his body as my hands gripped onto his shoulders and he looked down at me.
"Are you okay?" he checked with me, his voice stiff as his thumb stroked up and down the material of my sheer blouse and I felt myself shiver. This was not how I was supposed to act! It wasn't supposed to be like this!
"Dizzy," I commented and he nodded, releasing one of his arms from my waist as he guided me to his apartment door.
"It's natural," he promised. "You may feel light headed too. Just take it easy."
Once I managed to get into the car, the ride was silent. He didn't say anything and I didn't say anything as we pulled up outside of my house. He looked at me as I removed his jacket but he shook his head, opening his door and walking around to my door.
"What are you doing?" I asked him and he nodded at my pathway.
"Making sure you get in safely," he said as if it were obvious. "You could have concussion. I'm not going to kick you out."
"My dad's home!" I snapped.
"No kidding," he said, looking at the light which was shining from the living room and I rolled my eyes. "I'm a Professor, Isabelle. I was helping a student. You can tell him that I found you collapsed in the hall and that we stayed at college to make sure you were alright."
"Okay," I agreed. He didn't need to know the truth.
"Come on," he demanded, his voice stern as he helped me from the car.
"Isabelle," my dad's voice worried as the door opened and I stopped in front of him. He looked over at Crane with narrowed eyes before the Professor began to explain.
"She was in college. She had tripped over a chair leg and knocked her head on the table. She had passed out and so I kept her in the nurses room until she was awake and well enough to come home...I tried to call you but the phone wasn't working..." Crane explained; his voice low and full of authority as my dad looked at us both.
"Are you alright?" he checked with me and I nodded.
"Just dizzy."
"I'll call a doctor."
"No need," Crane interrupted. "I think she has a mild case of concussion. She just needs to take it easy for the next few days."
"I will still call a doctor," dad growled as he removed Jonathan's jacket from my shoulders. "Thanks for your help, Professor Crane."
...
Jonathan knew he had been dismissed. He had smiled politely, taking his jacket back as he looked at Isabelle who was looking at the ground timidly. The atmosphere was tense. Jonathan made his goodbyes, smirking on his way back to the car. He knew he would wind Francois up by taking Isabelle to her door. The thought of another man helping his daughter wasn't something which he enjoyed. Especially a man who he thought was odd and had confronted him.
Jonathan climbed into his car and drove off. Phase Four had never been completed. He couldn't inject her. He didn't know why. A moment of weakness. He never had them. He couldn't have them, but, he couldn't inject her. He'd do it. He'd prove he could do it. Isabelle Dubois wasn't getting the better of him, just yet.
...
Thank you to all of my reviewers for leaving me a comment! And to all those who are following this now! It means a lot! But, please, let me know what you think! Keeping Crane in character can be difficult but I hope I'm managing it! One moment to let me know what you think, please?