Chapter Fourteen: A Little Pack of Unopened Cigarettes.

Holly had stopped breathing in, her lungs were still doing the action, yet no air was reaching her. And it was strange for all she could smell was smokey firewood and sweet timber moss. Wood-smoked candy. She could see him, Jonathan, feel him dissecting her with that frosty gaze. At the same time, her vision was waning, pulsing and distorting into many hues of light. She did not feel betrayed for she'd known not to open that door.

Her body exhaled the air she believed was not coming in. As she did her vision blurred strangely, did Jonathan have antlers? Holly slid into sudden unconsciousness as if defending herself from what she was to see.

When she woke, she woke without a sound. Not even a gasp. Her eyes were wide, her face full of sweat, and her body shot upright. She recalled nothing between deer-boy-doctor and regaining consciousness. Her hands were quivering and she was staring at them. Officer Grant was inside Doctor Crane's office with her, he'd been leaning against the door watching her for several hours. Not that he exactly wanted to. The deadbolt was locked and the one inmate who sang the off-canter shanties was outside in the hall. He would never admit that those more real in-need residents of the asylum creeped him out.

As only her eyes slid to the Officer she smiled, a soft smile and an easy lie followed, "Wh-what happened?" The lie was not in her words. It was her next facial expression as she looked worried, the smile turned awkward as her trembling hands shook a bit worse and she curled up on top of the desk. Portraying helplessness.

He was silent.

"Where did Jonathan go?" She looked from wall to wall, corner to corner, scanning the whole room before herself and then behind her. If he had been behind her she might have screamed in earnest. The image of the doctor in a burlap mask with antlers growing from his skull passed into her mind. Holly's shoulders shivered involuntarily sending rattles down her spine making her whole body shake as if chilled. It was a worse feeling than that of being pale and about to vomit.

One of her hands went into her pockets, "Hands out." He spoke dully.

She pulled a pack of mangled mostly unopened cigarettes from her jacket slow. Giving them a wave in her hand she offered it out for a moment then pulled it back as he looked at it with a frown, "You're, Officer Grant, right? Sorry… I'm having a hard time recalling anything a bit before and after opening the door." That wasn't entirely false. Holly felt like her mind was soup, catching visages of what went on but there was no clear timeline to the events. She knew what had happened – the dear doctor decided to prescribe her something without the patient's consent. And he was into cosplay while doing it.

Her mind wheeled back to what felt a lifetime ago when they stood staring out behind a bookcase at GU; she thought he might have been a pervert then too. Not only did he get to play doctor with her he got to play mad scientist it seemed too. She'd kink shame the man the next time she saw him. Though she was unsure if she ever wanted to see him again.

She gave Grant another awkward smile before going to sit on the loveseat rather than the hard desk. Trying to look maybe a little less like a frightened animal and more like a worried human. A blanket had been placed along the windowsill and she dared not disturb it. Right out that window was chaos; the narrows crying out in harrowed screams, gaggling maniacs, and hallucinating cops. Holly would not know all of this until later but it was in the air… literally.

Holly toyed with the unopened pack of cigarettes, flicking the plastic part that had been accidentally popped off. Something about this not only calmed her heart but caused her mind to race. Fuzzy words like Grant's radio were haunting her and she wanted to appease them as much as silence them. Her fingers tapped on the outer plastic, the crinkling reminded her of Beth's body rolled up in dark black plastic. Dully she dug a nail under the plastic, the action reminded her of Stacey's nails digging into her neck. She'd been choking to death just before the woman was shot. Feeling the smooth box itself with the pad of her finger she was reminded of the smooth wall blocking her escape from James Russo, she could taste the iron of the blood that had gotten into her mouth from his death. She lifted the battered cigarette box to her nose, curious. It smelled sweet.

Panic arose all over again, real panic. Her head turned over her shoulder believing for a moment someone had been standing just behind her.

The effects of the fear toxin had not gone away, not yet and it was just barely seeping into the room still from the window. As much as the blanket blocked out it did not stop all of it. Though to the knowledge of neither individual, the levels of toxin in the room were mild, minor even, but they were just enough to have them both on edge. Holly swallowed and looked to Officer Grant, "Hey, I'm just going to look for some tape – don't shoot me, 'kay?" Holding up the pack as if to say what the tape was for.

"Whatever." He was dealing with his own inner demons. He still eyed her like a hawk as she rummaged through Crane's desk. Finding a clear strip she rolled a line around the whole package just once to keep everything in place, the little tab that had been opened she closed with another piece. Sealing up her panic in a nice little lifeless package.

Gotham had been the subject of mass terrorism, committed by a shady organization that stayed from the news entirely. The blame was pinned on one man, one man alone for leading the attack: The former chief administrator of Arkham Asylum, Doctor Jonathan Crane. Monikered, The Scarecrow. The Batman while unable to stop the outbreak at the narrows saved the city itself from being fully exposed to what was dubbed Fear Toxin. The good doctor having vanished into the chaos of the city that night still eluded police among over half the escaped inmates of the asylum. Nights in Gotham now held more than mobsters, druggies, and petty muggers – real threats lurked in the darkness, especially in the narrows.

The citizens afflicted by the Fear Toxin were treated free of charge at Gotham General, their hospital had synthesized a curative in mass with lightning speed thanks to the efforts of Wayne Enterprises; even Holly had gone for a shot. Yet, many were simply traumatized or permanently injured from the events. Loved ones felt the grief of those that lost their lives and Gotham was truly put into the public's spotlight. No more paid media to choke out lies by the rich, the whole world was watching.

A stage now set for a grand theatrical performance.