Johanna Crane-Holmes is fabulous. Intelligence is definitely the new sexy. Preferably with a purple shirt...mm.

As much as he hated going down there, he had to go to Arkham. He needed to talk to her doctor. He doubted the man had been successful with her, but maybe he'd have an idea of where she was.

It was worth a try, anyway.

He ran into Harley Quinn on the way down the hall. She was being escorted somewhere, but she spotted him and her face lit up.

"Heya, Bats!"

"Miss Quinn."

"Is it true?" Was what…oh. "About Doctah Crane? It's everywhere, but I told Mistah J that there was no way that would really happen. Right?"

He stayed silent a little too long, apparently, because her face darkened and she kicked him in the shin before being dragged away.

He would never understand the strange sense of family these people had. They would be happy to kill each other, but God forbid somebody else try it.

Then again, he supposed, they extended that same courtesy to him. Their henchmen were allowed to attack him, but they were not allowed to kill him.

What a crazy little world.

He knocked on Doctor Michael's door and went in without waiting for permission. As per usual, there was a muffled gasp and a dropped pencil, but nothing more than that.

"B-Batman." He nodded and shut the door. "What brings you here?"

"Kitty Richardson."

"Right." Michael looked nervous. "What about her?"

"You were her main doctor the last time she was here."

"Yes." He spoke with distaste. "More of a babysitter, really-we didn't talk."

"No? She never confided in you?"

"Oh, she confided in me-a pack of lies. 'My mum refused to buy me this beautiful black pony, and that's why I doused that man in gasoline and dropped a match on him!' That sort of thing."

"Did she ever speak about Jonathan Crane?"

Michael cringed and began rolling his pencil back and forth, now refusing to make eye contact.

"Not particularly. We had a session shortly after he…left us…that last time. She spoke of him then, said he'd probably be back to pick her up. We doubled security, but as you can see, it…didn't work."

It never worked. Part of him wanted to blame them-he knew the night guards spent no small amount of time playing computer games-but part of him knew it wouldn't matter. Crane and Richardson had seen the blueprints. They knew all the little ways out of here. He suspected they could break out if there were six guards watching their cells twenty-four hours a day.

"I see."

"Sorry I couldn't help you, but she never spoke about anything important, and I didn't work with her long enough to have a clue of where she might be now."

"Mm."

"Batman…is it true? That Crane's dead?"

"Yes."

Michael sighed and leaned back.

"I can't say I'm very sorry."

He had nothing to say to that.

"We got another one."

"Another one?"

"Another video." Gordon hastened to clarify. "Came by special messenger, but he slipped out when the desk sergeant brought it to me."

Damn. He doubted the man would have known anything, but still.

"Let's see."

It looked the same as the first tape-blank, benign. Part of him hoped it was one of those silly, 'you're invited for a free weekend at a health spa!' tapes, but that would be wishful thinking.

"Hullo, Bats. Jim." She leaned back in her leather chair. "I must say, Jim, I'm surprised that you didn't take my advice. One would think you're hoping for a divorce." She laughed, a little bitterly. "What did you think of my little beginner? Alice-through-the-looking-glass…Tetch would be pleased." Batman did not find that at all funny. "No matter. This is just the beginning. Although…since you haven't found me yet-you are getting slow, old boy-I'll give you a little hint. Are you ready?" She paused, apparently giving him an opening to reply. "Look in the cemetery."

And the tape ended.

THE END