Chapter Six: Dangerous Waters
Part One: They can be Shallow

Whatever the good doctor had given her did not put her into a deep slumber, Holly was awake enough to feel as he came to check if she'd succumb to the drugs. His shoes stepping along the faux wooden floor towards her caused her to open her eyes half-mast. Jonathan's shoes were tied neatly and she was not sure why she'd cared to notice.

Her head was tilted by considerate methodical hands only touching her as necessary. The lamplight in the room faded as her eyes closed with a feeling of being heavy. She could hear the jingle of a small metal key chiming against a tiny metal hoop and the clink of the cuff as it was removed from the radiator. He tugged her other arm so now both of her wrists were done together in front of herself and she could hardly struggle.

She felt like she should be questioning how he was going to move her if he did not seem to even want contact with her, but, that thought was lost to a haze of warm fog that settled over her. The snuggling feeling of a cozy sleep was right there if only she allowed it to lull her in. His humming was aiding in this cause. Suddenly the ground fell away – no, she was being lifted, she realized as she felt her cheek press against his upper arm. He'd picked her up like a slumbering child in his arms. Practically dead weight against him he was strangely adept at moving her around. A doctor who works with drugged patients surely would know a few tricks, so maybe it was not as strange as she first thought.

Her next conscious thoughts were the sounds of a shutting car door. She was lying in the backseat and the vehicle began to move, the dim orange streetlights in the darkness streaked within her vision like tiny whisps. Her face was against the leather of the seat, arms draped in front of her towards the floorboard, and it felt like a guilty heaven. Holly closed her eyes, hearing every time he used the blinker, the rumble of the engine as it automatically changed gears, the wind outside as it howled, and the pitter-patter of rain as the storm finally rolled in. She should have been mad at him. Probably should have been fearful of what fate may now befall her. Angry and scared that he not only sprayed her with fear toxin twice now but tricked and drugged her; he'd given her a major upper to the point she passed out and now a major downer she was fighting to stay awake from. She was reminded of the drug dealers that would keep whores hopped up for weeks on end to sell their services. Gotham's ugly side no one ever wanted to acknowledge, drugs and grand theft paled in comparison to grueling gang torture and human trafficking. She'd been a witness to horrific displays and knowledgeable about many awful operations going on yet turned a blind eye and now maybe this was the devil's divine karma.

Holly still could not find it in her mind presently to be upset. This high she was on was a pleasant feeling despite everything else. There was zero pain from her ribs too. Maybe, she thought, if he was not going to do anything to her until she woke, then maybe she should get some sleep…

Holly's keen hearing picked up the low chatter of a news reporter on the television set playing and glass clinking faintly, "Today the biggest open court case with five hundred and forty-nine criminals of Gotham are being tried in open court by Judge Surrillo," the voice of the co-anchor piped up, "And this all started when our very own Harvey Dent was delivered a suspected Chinese money launderer, Mister Lau. Here's that clip of our city's very own white knight again: "Uh, well I dunno about Mister Lao's travel arrangements, but-uh I'm sure glad he's back, I'm not aware of any participation by the Batman, but the investigation is ongoing…"" it had been the voice of Harvey Dent as he was being accosted by the media.

The volume was turned down on the tube. Holly opened her heavy eyelids; she was lying on a couch with a pillow against her fingertips. It was too large to have fully fallen and just sat there halfway in her grasp. Her wrists were still cuffed together. As her gaze looked up to better understand her new surroundings, her veins grew cold. This was her home. Something about being a hostage in one's own home made it feel tainted – home was a safe place, a place where she was free to sing loudly in the shower or walk around looking like the undead in her pajamas. Now, an uninvited guest was watching her from the archway that led into the kitchen.

Jonathan placed the television remote on top of a shelf near him and continued stirring a glass of orange juice with a spoon, making the faint clinking of glass she'd heard. Holly slowly sat up, not bothering to catch the pillow as it finally fell over without her hands being in contact with it. He'd made himself at home in her space, that pillow was from an upstairs bedroom. She narrowed her eyes at him, "Leave." The single word caused her throat to feel intensely dry, her cotton mouth could not get enough salvia to clear it.

His fingers held the spoon in place and he took a long drink from the glass speaking afterward, "Not a fan of house calls?" While her humor was sometimes dark, his was just sick, "You've nothing to fear, not right now anyhow."

Holly's blood went from ice to boiling. Her glower at him deepened, she could feel her lip curling up in a sneer.

"That could change if you decide upon any hostilities." He casually informed her before taking another long drink of the juice, finishing it off.

Cuffs be damned, she was not chained to anything at the present. The woman rose from the sofa. The scene may have resembled a pissed-off mouse getting ready to attack a highly stoic cat for toying with it. And just as ridiculous as that was, it also did not come to fruition. Holly breathed a huff through her nostrils and turned padding towards the hallway entrance. Despite feeling dehydrated she had to pee.

Like a shadow Jonathan followed her, observing without a word. If she suddenly tried to run she'd likely not get that far. He was faster than her – she was unsure if she'd be able to outrun him even if her lungs did not currently cripple her more than normal. All those years of smoking had given her a great disadvantage to this fact. Her home was outside Gotham, still within city jurisdiction. Be that as it may, there was nothing but forest for a couple of miles and Holly doubted she would lose him in the tree line. He was more likely to somehow get ahead of her or straight just spook her again. Probably both.

Holly came to the bathroom door and shut it as he leaned against the wall opposite. At least he would not follow her in. The cuffs made it difficult to shimmy down her bottoms, nevertheless, it was more difficult to pull them back up once finished. The woman looked at herself in the mirror, she was a mess. What was left of her just socially acceptable makeup were merely smudged, splotchy products. After drinking the sink water thinking it was the safest bet, Holly took her time washing the makeup off. She even took her time going through an entire routine of scrubbing and washing as the good doctor had not called out to her through the door yet. Holly was brushing out her tangled hair – it merely got fluffer – when she finally heard him.

"Miss Kingsley, I am allowing you a privilege of privacy. However, if you continue to use it to hide in the washroom, I will remove the door from the hinges."

"Two more minutes," she called back casually, "the cuffs make it hard to do anything quickly." She kept her word, opening the door before two minutes were up.

They stared at each other, sizing one another up. Holly was growing confused at his reservation to speak and Jonathan merely observed her forming a better baseline of behaviors. Without speaking the woman slowly turned and stalked back toward the living space. She briefly wondered what had happened to her heels, but her glasses had been on the coffee table folded and neatly placed on top of a book. Snatching them up she slid them onto her face looking at the television.

She pointed with both hands to the little strip on the bottom of it, getting Jonathan's attention. Holly watched him stride so quickly across her living room to fetch the remote he'd left that she was sure she'd never outrun those long legs. Turning up the volume he came to stand next to her.

"-eaking news a body has been found hanging from the rooftop of city hall," the script at the bottom had read: Batman Dead? "We here at GCN have received the final moments of this young individual. Please be aware the image is disturbing." Of course the media would play it; anything for a scoop.

Holly tipped her head watching the newscaster be replaced by the young man still in his makeshift bat suit tied to a chair. Her heart thumped in her chest – the clear butcher shop with hanging meat in the background brought up memories of 7th Street. The memory of James Russo's whisper in her ear that no one was there to save her rang loudly. Her hands clasped together to hide the quivering from the man next to her who took pleasure in scaring people.

"Tell them your name."

"Bryan, Douglas."

"Are you the real Batman?" It dripped with sarcasm.

"No."

"No?~" Whoever was filming was a real clown, taunting the man and chuckling.

"No." That was the No of a scared man.

"No." The chuckling had turned into stifled laughter, the opposite of the angry voice that came next: "Then why do you dress up like him?" Having the bat mask removed Bryan's face was revealed swollen and teary-eyed. The mask was dangled in front of the camera with a: "Woohoohoohoo~." From the cameraman.

Scared but not broken was Bryan, "H-He's a symbol, that we don't have to be afraid of scum like you."

"Yeah~," Was this man a valley girl in his previous life? That noise reminded her of Stacey, "You do Bryan… you really do." His voice was flip-flopping more than the good doctors did, more than a jackrabbit speaking gibberish. He shook the man's head and at Bryan's soft crying, he slid his fingers down the man's cheek in a gentle way, "Oh, shush shush shush. So, you think Batman's made Gotham a better place?"

Holly's gut twisted at the last action. She paled dramatically and there was no more hiding how uncomfortable she was watching this.

Bryan only whimpered a Yes, he did not have the resolve to answer with words anymore.

The cameraman mimicked the noise but stepped away to get a better shot of the pathetic man, "Look at me," Not getting a response physical nor verbal he growled, "Look At Me!" Then paused as Bryan looked up. Turning the camera to his painted face next, "You see this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh and every day he doesn't people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word." Hideous laughter followed by what she assumed was the dropping of the camera and Bryan's screams were where she broke.

Holly snatched the remote from Jonathan's grasp; he had been rather intrigued and distracted by the grand display of psychosis, having not seen her move. Now, however, he was alert once more to her presence. She pressed the mute button and tossed the remote to the couch behind them.

"By any chance are you coulrophobic?"

Holly could not tell if he was being sarcastic, nor did she know exactly what that word meant, "If you're asking if I'm terrified by blood, horror, or clowns. Then no."

"Would you like to discuss what has you so shaken?" He'd noticed her change; it would have been a miracle if he had not.

Holly turned her eyes to him as if the answer was obvious, "No."

He gestured toward the couch with an open palm, "Let me rephrase that. Sit down and we will talk about it." His tone left no room for debate. The thought had yet to pass in her head – only her body had tensed getting ready for the action and he spoke up again, "You may not get another chance of my pleasantries if you attempt to flee. Now sit."

Holly sat. He was dangerous, it was the only thought racing through her head. He was a real threat. Jonathan was being nice because of some twisted morality or perhaps he wished to play a good doctor. It did not truly matter to her. She could stand up - most of the time - to petty thugs and angry mobsters, they were threats too. The kind that would stab her, shoot her, break her ribs. But not him. The image of him in burlap with antlers sprouting from his skull filled her head. Holly swallowed. Holding her hands tighter together she squeezed them. Jonathan was the kind of dangerous that scared her. The man making her feel like she might vomit from nauseating stress sat across from her.

"You see, Holly, what frightens oneself is important to understand. Fear is in essence what motivates the world. Every decision we make is a product of our fears. I want to know what motivates you. Your personal demons, your fears." She heard the click of a slim recorder he produced from his pocket, "Patient, Holly W. Kingsley. Session five, recorded session three." He set the device on the coffee table between them allowing it to record, "When you're ready."

"I… I really don't want to talk about it, Jonathan." He called her a patient this time, but that was not what caught her attention. Session five? Recorded three? She could not recall more than this one and the one previously. Was he counting back to Fear Night?

Thoughtfully he shifted in the chair leaning back to get more comfortable, "Would you care to know the state of Carmine Falcone? I never did get to tell you in detail." Curious about the change of topic, her head picked up, "I gave him a dose of my fear toxin, only twice the concentrated amount I gave to you. Needless to say, it was enough to bend his mind so out of shape that when he was brought to Arkham we had to sedate him for several hours. Mister Falcone came to and also refused to talk about his newfound fears. I gave him one of ten uniquely synthesized formulas I'd been working on and now all he can utter is the word: Scarecrow."

She recalled her former boss in the maximum-security wing, strapped to a chair mumbling to himself, "You don't have to intimidate me. I'm aware of the danger you pose." The question of how long she had been out and in what mental state came to mind.

"Yet, you do not seem to be frightened of me." It also sounded to her that not being feared was insulting to him.

"Would it make you feel better telling you, you're wrong?" If he so much as flinched towards her she would react by jumping upright at the present moment.

"Am I?"

"You are."

"What then, frightens you?"

She'd walked herself into that, "Besides the obvious?" She held up her wrists and gave them a shake letting the cuffs wiggle around, "You've always been a little unsettling," her hands lowered back to her lap, "… I don't know. I used to find you comfortable to talk to, but it changed."

"You often did blurt out the strangest things in our youth," the underhanded insult went over Holly's head, "When did that feeling of being able to confide change?"

"After," Holly paused. The flood of events from then until now all came rushing at once, "after joining the family." She decided that was the tipping point. The day she'd seen him teaching at GU.

"Ah yes. Distrust I assume seeding its way into your daily life due to the company kept by Falcone. You felt alone, no one to truly trust, and you closed yourself off," he added arrogantly after a short pause, "Am I wrong?"

He was good at making her feel more helpless than she already did, "No."

Jonathan reached into his pocket and set a small metal key on the table, "I promise you, Holly, I'm only here to help," It was for the cuffs and he slid it over to her as a gesture of good faith, "I want to see you get better." It was the most truly threatening thing he'd said all morning to her and it was spoken in that honey-in-milk voice of his.