Chapter 19: Near Death Experience

"No," the doctor said as if he was denying a simple non-fatal request. Almost as if he didn't notice his captor holding a syringe against his girlfriend's neck, addressing a man who didn't murder his obsession. The other occupants stilled, contemplating the word that slipped from Jonathan's tongue.

"What?!" Jack was exasperated, not paying attention to Kathryn. She was leaning slightly away from the poke in her neck. The space wasn't much, considering his tight grip on her hair.

"You heard me," Jonathan insisted, watching Jack through the rearview mirror. "I said no. I'm not suicidal. I refuse to sign our death warrant by driving over there. I won't."

"Well!" Jack scoffed in bitter amusement. He wrapped Kathryn's curls in his tight-white grip. The yellow paint on his fingers was barely noticeable now. "You already signed your girlfriend's death warrant by not listening to me, so..." He cringed at the woman's hysterical sobs, screaming at her to shut up. She wasn't completely silent, only whimpered in prayers and pleas.

"Did I?" Jonathan challenged, sounding calm and collected, which irritated his stalker even more.

"Yes!" Jack straightened his back, angling his wrist to prepare the injection. He was doing his best to suppress the tremor in that joint, assuming it was from staying in that exhausting position for so long. "I'm gonna kill her now!"

"Are you?"

Jack scowled at the doctor, "Oh? You don't think I can? I'm a wanted man, no thanks to you. Falcone is my only way out! He said if I don't do this... Well..." His grin didn't reach his eyes as he let out a bitter laugh, "I'm already a killer, Johnny. I killed Summer. What's. One. More?!" He screamed at the woman's ear, making her squeal and kick her feet against the dashboard.

"Please!" Kathryn pleaded, clawing the man's flesh. "You don't have to do this! Please-"

"Stop it!" the creeper didn't let up. The painful red streaks angered him more.

"But you're not a killer, Jack," Jonathan declared. Jack's furious expression dropped instantly, now silently questioning Jonathan's words. "You love Miss Gleeson," the doctor elaborated. "What happened that night was an accident, wasn't it?"

Of all the things Jack expected to hear, once again, the doctor surprised him. His eyes darted back and forth, debating what to say. How could he respond to that? Everyone questioned the motive behind Summer's murder, yet nobody thought to ask if he intended to kill her.

"The police, Gotham, even my uncle... They... They all think I'm guilty - a creep! All the evidence was found in my apartment. My face is caught on camera going back there - I was with her that night-"

"Yes," Jonathan nodded, "you went back into that apartment, but not to kill her."

"My coat," Jack eyed the sleeve, sniffling his nose. "I came back for my coat... only to find Summer out of her mind - more so than mine - having a psychotic breakdown! She wasn't like that when I left her the first time after we..." He shook his head, unsuccessfully shaking the memory. His fist, clenching around the syringe, rested on Kathryn's shoulder. "I swear! Two minutes, Johnny! She was fine for those two precious minutes. The way she looked at me. She thought I was gonna hurt her, but I could never - I could never do that! I loved her! I would've taken a bullet for her! I would've jumped off a bridge if she told me to!"

"You've done everything for her," Jonathan stated the obvious.

"Yes! When she first came to me at Club Spotlight - she came to me, not me gunning for her! I wouldn't have the courage to have a conversation with her. And people thought I was crazy! A girl like her - a guy like me," he smiled dreamily at the day they met. "She told me she needed a cameraman, not just to film her news reports. She wanted more. Summer was afraid Uncle Knox would toss her ass for Lydia Filangeri," he spat at the name, rolling his eyes in annoyance, "so she thought having a stalker would gain her some publicity. Me?" His gaze darkened, snarling like a ferocious, ready to devour its prey. "I would've personally locked that European tramp away someplace so Summer wouldn't have to see her face anymore!"

Not bothering to judge the man's insanity, Jonathan steered the conversation back to important matters, "But didn't Summer order you to stalk me and-?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she did," Jack admitted in a dismissive wave as if it was irrelevant to his story. "Anyway, she handed me an envelope of cash and granted me access to... well, everything. It was great! The money didn't matter, just her. Getting permission to take some of her trinkets home for keeps, see her up close - to touch her... to smell her... " he trailed off, oblivious to his own actions. His knuckles gently stroked her soaked cheek. Kathryn closed her eyes and tensed at contact, trying not to move or inhale his skunk odor. The discomfort increased when Jack leaned in to sniff her. It took everything from Jonathan not to intervene, keeping his grip locked around the steering wheel.

"Damn," Jack breathed. "I could never forget her scent: Anisia Bella from the Guerlain Paris collection." The happiness in those memories was instantly wiped by the slackened expression on his face, which gave Kathryn some space, much to her and Jonathan's relief. Jack was now terrified, recalling his last moment with the reporter. "That night... What was supposed to be the best night of my life turned out to be my worst nightmare. I just wanted my coat back..." Jack scoffed with another thought in mind, rolling his eyes, "Okay, maybe I used that as an excuse to see her one more time before I returned home to my pathetic existence - and she was there, hiding in her room, pointing that knife at me, talking to me like I was going to..."

"I know," Jonathan filled in the blanks. "You were trying to assure her that everything was alright - she had nothing to fear."

"But she was afraid! She was running away from me, screaming at me for assaulting her! How could I when she had already given her consent?! I couldn't let her leave! I panicked!" Jack's volume increased, now hysterical. "I dragged her away from the door! I lifted her from the floor! She doesn't belong on the floor! I tried to talk sense into her, but she pushed me away, and she slipped and... No - No! Summer!" He could almost hear the bang equivalent to the thunderstorm outside. He remembered her scream, the bang, the blood oozing from her cracked skull, but it was the silence he remembered most.

"Oh, god," Jack rested his head against the seat, muffling his sobs. "What have I done?!"

"You didn't do anything to her," Jonathan assured the man, daring to repeat the words that got him in trouble in the first place. "It was an accident." It rewarded him eye contact through the rear-view mirror, gaining the creep's undivided attention. "You didn't push her. She fell and hit her head - that's how she died. Now, what happened after wasn't very smart on your part. You have to admit that. Obstruction, stalking, trespassing. Yes. You did all those things. Murder? No."

"No, I-I didn't," Jack stammered, desperate for reassurance. "I hope Summer knows I didn't want to hurt her. I just wanna... hold her close and keep her safe and..." He squeezed his eyes, leaking tears down his cheeks, which he stubbornly wiped away with his sleeve. "It was an accident."

"I believe you, Jack." The Creeper sobbed against the seat. Hearing those words was like a breath of fresh air, but he'd forgotten how to breathe. He was a reminder that no matter how terrifying or unnatural the monster seemed, he was human like everyone else.

"Jack, listen to me," Jonathan addressed the man more firmly, resuming the role of a headmaster disciplining his troubled student. "Look at me, please." They stared at one another through the rearview mirror. "Nothing has happened yet. You can still get out of this. You haven't killed anybody. Why start now?"

"How?!"

"You can turn yourself in," Now it was Kathryn's turn to speak her mind and be the voice of reason when she no longer felt the needle poking her neck. "You can tell the police everything, and we'll be there as witness-ah!" Once again, she felt the uncomfortable poke against her skin, clenching her teeth.

"No!" Jack panicked. "I can't go back there! I can't go to jail!"

"No one is turning you in," Jonathan assured, narrowing his gaze at Kathryn - a non-verbal warning to stay silent. Kathryn obeyed, yet her heaving breaths and frightened expression remained. "And you are not going to make this worse for yourself," Jonathan addressed the creeper once more.

"It's already too late for me, Johnny! I'm in too deep! Mr. Falcone-"

"You really think he'll keep his word?" Jonathan challenged. "Jack, you are a loose end that he needs tying. Think about it. Once he kills us-" he gestured the space between himself and Kathryn, not minding her petrified state. "he is going kill you next, sending you to your own private abyss as promised... in hell."

"But I don't know what to do!" Jack waved his arms, still holding the syringe up to the point that he could stab anybody with it, including himself. "I have nobody! I got no one-"

"That is inaccurate, Jack."

"Oh yeah, who do I have then, huh?"

"Me," the doctor declared, not paying mind to the pathetic, suspicious look on the creeper's face. "Let me help you," Jonathan dared to reach his arm back. "Let me be your friend."

"You want to be my friend?" Jack asked in a non-believing tone.

"Like I said before, I thought we were already BFFs," Jonathan said in a dry voice, though the twitch in the corner of his lip gave him away. Jack couldn't help but scoff in amusement. "I have a plan. I know some people who can get you out of town. No questions. Just leave with a new name and new life."

"What people, Jonathan?" Kathryn demanded in a whisper.

"The less you know, Kathryn, the better," Jonathan dismissed Kathryn again, much to her annoyance, before addressing the cameraman. "Give me the syringe, Jack." As expected, the creeper hesitated. "Jack, trust is a two-way street. I trusted you not to kill my girlfriend, and for that, I am very grateful. Truly. Now, I need you to trust me to return the favor." Jonathan reached his arm back for the needle, not worrying about the possibility of receiving the injection. "Hand me the syringe. Allow me to drive us back to my place, and then we'll go from there. Please."

Jack's eyes averted between the syringe and Jonathan's hand. He was torn between trusting two devils - the one everyone knew and feared, and the other nobody knew and underestimated. Two dangerous paths. Both had a lot to lose. After tonight, only one shall triumph over the other.

~000~000~000~

The drive to the docks went by quickly in Elise's mind. Her mind was busy contemplating a possible stay of execution. She could've jumped out of the vehicle if the door wasn't locked and Falcone's lapdog wasn't aiming his gun at her. A cop of all people. The perv tried to peek inside her cash drawer, hoping to find something vulgar.

The incriminated pictures of Kathryn might be hidden in Elise's coat pocket, though the photo album was tossed into a lit garbage can. All those dirty little secrets burnt to ash, oblivious to the people Falcone was extorting. Nobody would know except the blackmailer himself. The cop was tempted to peek inside the book, but Falcone reminded him that "ignorance is bliss" and that he shouldn't "burden himself with scary people's secrets." Elise was the prime example of what could happen to those who knew too much. Flass was smart enough to stop himself before nose-diving into the rabbit hole. He excused himself outside to supervise the goons in charge of unloading and shipping the drugs. All its content was stuffed into two groups of stuffed animals - bears and rabbits. The bears go to the dealers, while the rabbits go to the man in the Narrows.

Elise processed the information, theorizing who the man in the narrows could be. She didn't bother listening to Falcone's false sentiment about how he was disappointed in the outcome, how their relationship reached a tragic end, and how she betrayed him. He adored Elise, maybe even loved her.

When Elise heard the last bit, she couldn't help but scoff in bitter amusement. "Please! The only thing you love about me is my pussy. It's a shame you don't feel the same about your wife. Boy, wouldn't she be heartbroken if she knew you prefer my pretty face over hers?"

"Nah," surprisingly, Falcone seemed unfazed by her smart-aleck remark. "She is busy sucking our pool boy's cock like a straw to care what I do." His corner lip twitched upward, not bothering to hide the malicious grin. "Soon, things are gonna be different after tonight."

The blonde couldn't help but her lower gaze at the pistol in his hand and gulped at the inevitable.

"But first... Who knows?"

Elise understood what he was asking. While she knew nothing could change the man's mind about killing her, Elise's answer could determine how much time she bought for herself.

"Your roommate?" Falcone pressed. "That therapist in Arkham?"

"No, her supervisor - her boyfriend," Elise elaborated without hesitating. "Jonathan Crane, but you already knew that."

Falcone chuckled, "Yeah, I do. That fucking cockroach."

"Can't disagree with you there," she grumbled.

"Right. Just like you, Crane, too, will learn once Mr. Ryder puts a bullet through that pretty girl's brain. It's a shame, really. All that money spent on school and good looks wasted."

Elise's breath hitched, and her eyes widened at the revelation. No matter what she had said, nothing could guarantee Kathryn's safety. The poor doctor's fate was already sealed the second she made friends with the wrong crowd. Elise promised her in the beginning that she would help her - show her the ropes of what to do and what not to do in Gotham. Elise failed miserably. Kathryn was the only one worthy of being her friend, and Elise betrayed her trust. Elise didn't deserve her. Kathryn didn't deserve a bullet in the brain. Elise understood her days were numbered, but that didn't mean she would stand by and allow Kathryn to die as well.

A scream cut the tension between them, followed by gunshots. Did one of them decide to have a free sample of the product? What was happening near the shipping containers? The car door swung open before either of them could say a word or act on instinct.

"There's a problem out there," Flass warned quietly, his gun in hand and ready to shoot, "you better bail."

With Falcone's eyes no longer on Elise, the blonde took action in that split second when Flass shut the door. She kicked the gun off the man's hand and another between his legs. She reached for the gun lying by the door, only for a hand to grip her locks, yanking her backward. Her body was pulled to the opposite end of the gun, her back forced against the door. The fight quickly escalated into a punching match. Unfortunately, Elise's pain tolerance couldn't handle the man's rings repeatedly bashing her face. The left side of her vision blurred. Falcone's voice was muffled, overpowered by an intense ringing in her ears. There was no questioning the metallic taste in her mouth. The thought of losing teeth or biting off her tongue didn't matter. Her undamaged eye spotted the door lock. She strained her right arm for it, hoping the driver didn't child-lock it.

She pinched the lock and pulled, wasting no time to unlatch the door open to slide out of the vehicle and kick the man off her. Without the heels to slow her down, Elise ran as far and fast as she could from the scene.

"Stop!" the boss ordered.

BANG!

Elise collapsed on her knees at the familiar pop from a gun, interlacing her fingers behind her skull protectively. Did she get shot? It may have been the shock that blocked her pain receptors, or Falcone missed. Either way, she wasn't dead yet. The thought alone made her sob and gasp for breath. Her legs refused to move as much as she wanted to run or take a chance in the river.

"I'm tired of this shit," Falcone grumbled, pulling the hammer back and aiming at the blonde. No room for a kiss goodbye or parting words. Miss Sinclair didn't care for them. As for Falcone, he needed to get the job done and tie up all loose ends. Right now. One second to aim and shoot.

One second too long.

Falcone missed his chance when he felt a sting in the back of his hand, forcing him to drop the gun.

He didn't pick up the weapon right away, investigating the source of his pain. A sharp metal piece shaped like a bat was lying on the ground next to the gun.

"What the hell?" Falcone furrowed his brows, analyzing the object in question, only to notice a shadow in the corner of his eye. It was inhuman, two pointy ears sticking upright. Falcone dropped the metal and picked up the gun, facing his car to shoot, only to find no one there. He whirled back to see the blonde gone as well. Smart girl.

No matter. He'll deal with her later. Right now, he must deal with a bigger problem.

"Where are you? Come out here if you have the fuckin' guts, you fuckin' coward!" He strained his ears and squinted his eyes for the perp. He wasted bullets whenever he heard a noise or saw a moving shadow. This wasn't his imagination, the batarang was his souvenir. Nobody had returned from the loading containers. Flass fled the crime scene. Miss Sinclair was gone with the wind. No doubt, she had hitched a ride to the police station.

With no backup and only one bullet left in his gun, Falcone hurried back to the car and demanded his driver to "take a ride," only to find him out cold behind the wheel.

"Oh, shit!" Falcone cursed, shakily lifting his weapon, preparing for the worst. He waited for something to jump at him, only to hear the thud on the roof of his car. He fired his final bullet through the roof. He hoped to hear the familiar fall of somebody dying or a scream from injury. To his dismay, he heard nothing - saw nothing through the windows - no shadow.

Falcone didn't believe himself to be a superstitious man, but whatever was haunting the docks couldn't be natural. Nobody could solely take down a group of muscled goons. This couldn't be a ghost - an avenging angel coming to punish Falcone for all his misdeeds. If it wasn't a man or a ghost, then...

"What the hell are you?" Falcone demanded in a whisper.

The sunroof glass shattered, and Falcone was lifted outside to get a good look at the dark-masked figure finally.

"I'm Batman," the vigilante roughly introduced. Falcone stared at him in horror before a head-butt knocked him out. The caped crusader glanced up and noticed the homeless man in a thick grey trench coat eating off a can of tuna, acting inconspicuously until their eyes locked. The filthy man stared in awe, his mouth agape and eyes wide, almost dropping his supper.

"Nice coat," the vigilante complimented before soaring into the sky, taking Falcone with him.

"Thanks," The homeless man breathlessly replied.

Once the coast was clear, Elise came out of hiding behind a metal beam supporting the monorail tracks above. She couldn't relax or catch her breath just yet, not until she called for help. She retrieved her purse from Falcone's car and shakily pulled the phone out to dial 911. After a few dial tones, Elise gasped, not realizing she had been holding her breath when a voice on the other line spoke. It was an eerie muffle, like someone had stuffed cotton in her eardrum. Gazing at the blood-smeared screen, she found the reception to be decent. Elise switched the phone to her other ear.

"Hello? You have reached 9-1-1. Do you have an emergency?"

~000~000~000~

Rachel was sitting inside the city monorail, waiting for her ride to come to a complete stop. When it started to slow down, Rachel shouldered her purse and approached the nearest door. She cautiously glanced over her shoulder to catch a seated occupant staring at her, who quickly glanced away and resumed his phone conversation. Rachel stepped off the train the second the doors opened, and so did the man.

Rachel hurried down the stairs, not realizing the same man was following her. His hurried footsteps were a giveaway. She reached inside her coat pocket for her taser and wrapped the straps of her bag in her fist, preparing to take action. She didn't count on another man approaching the steps before her, shoving her backward. Rachel stumbled but didn't fall, briefly squaring her feet and bending her knees to keep her balance. She straightened up and swung her bag across his partner's face behind her before pulling out her taser to aim the creep in front of her.

"Hold it!" she warned, expecting a fight or a gun to her face. Instead, the thug looked frightened as if she was a screaming banshee. He scurried back downstairs without a word.

Rachel smirked triumphantly, "That's right! You better run!" She turned her focus back to his partner in crime, only this time, she was scared, not expecting to see a man dressed like a demon. Rachel instantly pulled the trigger. Two barbs stuck to the figure's chest piece; sparks ignited, yet it didn't carry effect. Still standing, the vigilante yanked the barbs off, disregarding Rachel's horrified reaction.

"Falcone sent them to kill you," he explained.

"Why?" Rachel stammered.

"You rattled his cage," he dropped a set of incriminating pictures on the ground for her to take.

"What's this?" Rachel demanded, not trusting herself to look away from the stranger.

"Leverage."

"For what?"

"To get things moving."

"Who are you?"

The questionable ally paused, probably debating whether or not he should reveal his true identity to her. He did trust her with pictures of Judge Faden hanging out with a woman who wasn't his wedded wife, not to mention the winged creep saved her life, even though Rachel was capable of keeping herself safe.

"Someone like you," the stranger carefully replied as Rachel cautiously crouched down for the photos, still not taking her eyes from him. "Someone who'll rattle the cages."

Finally, curiosity took hold as Rachel glanced at the photos. One glance was all the figure needed to disappear. Rachel furrowed her brows, looking around for the stranger. There was no way he was a ghost, for she had the incriminating pictures in hand and an unconscious thug to prove it.

"Ma'am?" Rachel's search came to a brief halt when a police officer approached her up the steps. "Everything okay?"

~000~000~000~

The thugs regained consciousness in time for the cops to arrive and arrest them for their crimes. Word spread quickly for the city journalists and civilians alike to drive to the docks and confirm the rumors, only to be held back by policemen and crime scene tapes.

"Falcone's men?" an officer curiously asked his sergeant, inspecting the criminals on their knees in handcuffs.

"Does it matter?" Gordon asked. "We'll never tie him to it anyway."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that," the cop nodded his head toward the floodlight that had been switched on. Gordon double-took the incredible - unbelievable sight before him - Carmine Falcone chained to a floodlight. He ignored the urge to wipe his glasses clean or call his doctor to ensure hallucinations weren't a side effect of his medication.

"What the hell is that?" the cop pointed at the sky. The floodlight shined a bat silhouette. Carmine's coat was shredded to complete the batwing design. Why would somebody do that?

'Look for my sign.'

That's precisely what the nut said at the police station. Gordon couldn't believe it. No one could take down the biggest crime lord of this city, not even the police. Impossible, then again, the overwhelming witness statements and the floodlight said otherwise. Falcone was here. That was more than enough to take the man into police custody.

"Cut him down," Gordon ordered.

~000~000~000~

Kathryn expected many outcomes - a team meeting in Jonathan's apartment, a surprise attack in the backseat, or Jack taking the car for himself to drive across the bridge out of town. She didn't count on Jonathan offering his apartment key and ordering Kathryn to wait for him there.

"While you do what?" she exasperated.

"As I explained it," Jonathan tried his best not to sound aggravated by the lack of Kathryn's cooperation. "I need to assist Jack."

"By meeting up with some people," she spat the bitter words at him.

"Kathryn," he warned. This time, she wasn't fazed.

"No, Jonathan, I'm not going to stick around in your creepy neighborhood while you meet up with some creepy people so you can help this creep evade the cops and crime bosses!" She whirled around to address the creep in the backseat, "And don't expect me to apologize for that remark, Jack."

Jack shrugged, "No worries, Mrs. Crane. I get it. I yanked your head too hard." He gazed down at his hand to brush off the strands of hair he pulled out, "Sorry about that. Although, you might need a haircut if you ever-"

"I'm not married to him!" Kathryn waved her arms frantically, casting an angry eye at the driver, "And I probably never will, not after tonight."

"Kathryn," Jonathan tried again.

"Jonathan, do you understand what you're doing is illegal? You are aiding and abetting a fugitive!"

"That's why you are staying here."

Kathryn buried her face into her hands, releasing wails of frustration, "Oh my god! Why are you making things so freakin' difficult?! Why?!" The man didn't respond. The stone-cold mask remained. "Look! Even if you helped him escape, Jack is still a wanted man. He will have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life! Living in paranoia - up to a point, it will cloud his judgment and make him do irrational things. Is that what you want, Jack?!"

"Better than getting shot in the head by Falcone," Jack offered, grimacing at another thought in mind, "or maybe Uncle Knox won't mind paying him to do it." He suppressed the shivers, noticing the horrific look on her face. "Johnny, I don't think she gets it. You can do better-"

"Let me handle this, Jack," Jonathan interrupted. His eyes narrowed, almost daring him to finish that sentence. "Just sit back and stay quiet."

"Okay, but just so you know, we might be in a time crunch. Sometime soon, Falcone's dogs will come sniffing around the neighborhood. Thankfully, they can't smell arousal a mile away," Jack chuckled. It took every ounce of the couple's energy not to react to that disgusting joke more than Jack's stink. Kathryn crinkled her nose and mouthed out words for Jonathan's eyes only. Even though he wasn't a lip reader, Jonathan understood what she was trying to say. He huffed, gently pinning Kathryn's wrist to the middle console, circling his thumb on the back of her hand - his poor attempt to soothe her.

"Kathryn, please," Jonathan sounded like a scolding supervisor. Yet, the pitch of his voice was almost desperate - pleading for her to listen, "This is bigger than us. Falcone owns this city by fear and money. Not only does he own the police, he owns the city's legal court system, politicians, journalists like his uncle," he gestured Jack who nodded and surprisingly added Summer into the list. It didn't end with her.

Jonathan continued, "Your roommate-"

"You," Kathryn offered. Her eyes watered, about to cry again, yet her tone sounded as cold as his. She may appear to be a fool, but she wasn't stupid. Deep down, Jonathan knew she would eventually piece everything together herself, though it didn't stop him from wishing a pushback to the inevitable. Life would've been simple if she wore rose-colored lenses for the rest of her life. Unfortunately, Jonathan learned early on that life was unkind and fair.

Jonathan inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath before finally submitting an answer, "Yes, especially me." There was no point in denying it now. His words were indeed a stab in the heart and just as fatal as her snakebite. Jonathan could imagine how his guinea pig was feeling - disappointed, foolish, betrayed, heartbroken.

"So Rachel was right," she stated as a fact rather than a question. "You're corrupt. You work for Falcone."

"Not by choice," Jonathan excused. "None of us have the luxury to walk away scot-free. Anyone objects will have their heads spiked-"

"On a pike," Jack and Jonathan finished the line unison. The doctors glared at the cameraman, not amused by his need to jump into the conversation. He raised his hands defensively, apologizing before crouching to the floor, "Sorry. Don't mind me - not even here." The couple seemed annoyed, yet they resumed the debate.

"If we turn Jack over to the police," Jonathan predicted, "he'll be buried in a closed casket."

Kathryn sniffled sharply, her eyes cast on the floor. She saw herself and Crane walking inside the police station, carrying a tray of Jack's head on a silver platter. Instead of serving neither the commissioner nor Gordon, Falcone took his place at the head table with a napkin tucked in his shirt, sharpening his carving knife with his fork, ready to dig in. A malicious grin stretched across his face. Kathryn had never seen the man in person, though the image was inspired by some of Arkham's finest - John Doe, Maximus Zeus, Lazlo Valentine... Goosebumps coated her arms and legs. The prize for the creepiest person alive was debatable.

"Now, do you understand why I have to do this?" Jonathan challenged.

Kathryn shook her head, answering honestly, "Not really." The men reacted - a defeated slap on the thigh, the disrespectful eye rolls, and Jack crying out, 'Come on, Mrs. Crane. You got a master's degree, put it to good use - geez!'

"You still haven't explained to me how you got involved with Falcone in the first place," she elaborated.

"You can thank your friend for that," Jonathan didn't have a problem throwing Elise under the bus. Between one dumb blonde and another, Crane wasn't going to risk pissing Jack off by bringing Summer's name into the gutter.

"Elise?" Kathryn recalled the writing on the door and the manager's testimony. She couldn't get over the insults and the ludicrous accusations. It was bad enough that Elise was double-dipping - living off Falcone's wealth while stealing her best friend's money. Falcone was a businessman; every boss required background information before sealing a deal. It wouldn't be a surprise if he retrieved Elise's medical records to ensure he wouldn't catch some sexually transmitted disease. He knew that Elise got a roommate, whether she asked permission or he figured it out himself by Elise's insistence to have sex somewhere else. If he knew where Kathryn worked and her relationship with her supervisor...

Oh no. Kathryn buried her face into her hands, rubbing her exhausted eyes, not caring if she wiped off her eye makeup. "He knows about us, too."

"Miss Berg shouldn't have asked you to move in with her. Due to her... relationship," that was one polite way to describe Elise's business arrangement, "with Mr. Falcone, he was able to obtain this information and use it for his own legal advantage."

"Legal advantage?" Kathryn blinked. "Wait... The testimonies in court... You... Falcone blackmailed you into committing perjury?"

"Yes." Again, there was no point in lying.

"Oh please, Jonathan! Please, tell me you didn't..."

One hesitating second was enough to answer Kathryn's question. The woman groaned, circling the inner corners of her tired eyes. To think this situation couldn't get any better. All the secrets and lies exposed in one night were almost becoming too much. How many more skeletons were locked in Crane's closet? Kathryn had a feeling that there was a lot more to the story. She must know everything to fully understand what they're up against. Up to this point, all three occupants were better off packing and driving far away out of town. The Virgin Islands was Kathryn's dream vacation spot, a perfect place to live despite the expenses.

"Wait a minute," another thought came to Kathryn's mind - another question, "if you were caving into Falcone's demands, then why did he send Jack here?"

"I think the better question is, what can we do to avoid being killed?" Jack offered. "We don't have much time, Johnny!" While Jonathan detested Jack for everything he had done, the creeper had a point. It was no wonder Jack avoided the police for so long.

"What did I just say?" Jonathan challenged, not bothering to gaze at Jack with those piercing steel eyes. His voice was enough to silence the creep, who folded his arms and leaned back against his seat in surrender, not making another peep.

"You can't do this, Jonathan," Kathryn tried to reason with him. She had the strong urge to grip his face so he could look into her eyes and attempt hypnosis therapy. "Why do you have to go, Jonathan? Why can't you just give him the car instead and just stay here with me?" At that moment, her heart had taken over, asking him the ultimate question that weighed deeply within her subconsciousness. She didn't mean for it to come out like a pathetic love-sick puppy. She was supposed to be mad at him - she's still mad at him. Unfortunately, she couldn't take it back.

Jonathan squeezed her hand, which nearly made her jolt. No matter how slight his movement was, it was enough to reveal the crack she created by asking that significant question. She was sure there were many more if she looked through a magnifying glass. No matter what anyone else said, she did mean something to him. They were having a work affair, after all.

"I'm fine with that," Jack accepted.

"Quiet," Jonathan commanded sternly, clenching his jaw. Even though his eyes reflected on Kathryn, the message was directed towards Jack - the third wheel. They weren't sure. Neither asked for Jonathan wasn't finished. "Kathryn, I thought I could cope," his speech fastened as he addressed the woman, wanting to end this debate, "and I still believe that. All my life, I handled things my way - on my own without any assistance. I won't apologize for doing what I thought was best at the time. What's done is done."

Kathryn scoffed, shaking her head. Unbelievable.

"But what I failed to realize..." Those continuing words alone earned her undivided attention. Crane admitted that he failed. That's new. She watched his demeanor change. His eyes were glued to their entwined fingers. His words were reluctant and soft - opposite of Crane - it was like they were back in the condo, again, only this time these words were directed towards her. Wasn't this what she wanted? "No matter how hard I pushed to keep you safe, they made you a part of this whether we like it or not, and for that, I apologize, Kathryn. Truly."

Kathryn had to turn away to hide the teary mess, even though the men in the car had already seen her ruined mascara. She needed Jonathan to stop talking. He needed to drop the sludge hammer and stop trying to knock down the walls she had attempted to build for herself since their separation. She must remain strong, not be persuaded by the sentiment, not from a rare specimen like Jonathan Crane. Not him. This was the worst he could do to her right now. It's too late for them. Why can't he see that?

Jonathan pushed on, ignoring the tears and the sole audience in the backseat invested in the drama, "I understand you want nothing to do with me anymore. I get it. Whether or not you wish to speak with me again. Whether you forgive me or not, Kathryn, I don't care. What matters is your safety and well-being. Therefore, I must stand my ground and not let them hurt you."

Kathryn opened her mouth to rebuttal, bitterly pointing out that Crane hurt her all by himself. Predicting this, Jonathan beat her to it.

"The physical hurt, mind you," Jonathan elaborated, surprisingly not a trace of irritation in his tone, "not by Falcone, not Miss Berg, not even Doctor Arkham - nobody." A man his status and size shouldn't say these things, for it might cost his life. "No matter what it takes - no matter the cost, I will get you out of this mess, and then you'll go on living happily ever after, and eventually..." his lips twitched, "I'll be nothing more to you than just a bad dream."

Finally, their eyes met, and she regretted looking. His steel-cold ones were set, determined, which increased the woman's heart rate and sent shivers down her spine. The city should be afraid of being on the end of such a look, but not Kathryn, for she was his motive to fight back. Why? What made her so unique in his eyes?

"Aren't you afraid of them?" she hissed. "What they might do to you?"

"What I fear, Kathryn, is you."

The indention between her brows deepened. She pouted as her eyes darted back and forth, questioning his choice of words.

"You're afraid of me?" she couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth. Who was this person in the driver's seat, and what had he done to the real Doctor Jonathan Crane? The man who claimed to be fearless?

"No," Jonathan denied, forcing the words out without hesitation, looking at her in the eye as he elaborated, "I fear for you."

Her breath hitched, nearly wheezing as she struggled to process that statement. Those words didn't suit the headless horseman, yet she heard them clearly. She was almost tempted to peer at Jack in the backseat to confirm if he had listened to the same thing.

"Aww!" Meanwhile, the creeper relaxed in the middle, feeling lighter as he smiled and touched his chest full-heartedly at the touching sentiment. This was way better than the daytime soap opera. "Hey, Johnny-boy, is there a disclaimer for that quote? Someone should really put that on a hallmark card."

The confession broke the woman. The next thing the men knew, Kathryn's body hunched over, smothering her face against her lap, sobbing.

Jonathan's jaw clenched, and eyes averted at the pathetic display next to him - a sight that he caused in the first place. A part of him took pleasure in proving her wrong. The woman challenged him to say the words he wouldn't dare express to anyone. It wasn't easy being vulnerable. It was almost overwhelming, drowning him, yet he embraced the feeling and then conquered it. It may not sound equivalent to Kathryn's declaration, but Jonathan Crane wasn't an ordinary man. Any empathetic being would comfort someone in distress, like offering a back rub or whispering empty reassurance into another's ear. Not that Kathryn expected it from him nor wanted anyone's touch right now.

Unfortunately, they had already wasted too much time. Kathryn needed to head upstairs and hide out in Jonathan's apartment so he could end the Falcone/Jack drama once and for all. Afterward, they shall sit down and have a practical conversation on where they should go from here. Whether they go public or part ways was up to Kathryn only. He owed it to her. Even if Jonathan was destined to die alone, at least he had memories of her as a keepsake. Kathryn wasn't the first he tested and wouldn't be the last, but she was the only prized guinea pig who mattered to him. If he so happened to get caught, Kathryn would forever be branded as the one who got away, and Crane was okay with that.

Jonathan suppressed a laugh at his line of thinking. He didn't need Scarecrow to inform him that he had gone mad and there was no one to blame but himself. Jonathan was well aware of being in too deep, but that didn't mean he would chicken out now.

"Kathryn," Jonathan attempted to slip the key into her fingers, only for her to yank away from his grip. Next thing he knew, she bolted upright - her curls were frizzy, her muscles tensed, her teeth bared, her red eyes lit up full of rage. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorn.

"Kathryn!" Now the tables had turned, Jonathan was leaning a safe distance from her, pressing his back against the door. The syringe Jack entrusted to give back was no longer stored in the cupholder up front. Instead, it was in Kathryn's possession, ready to strike. It didn't take a genius to figure out who her target was, for she was looking straight at him. Jonathan prepared for a fight, shielding his face and lifting his right knee.

"Mrs. Crane, what the hell are you doing?!" Jack shuffled some distance as well. He tried opening the door, but it was child-locked. Jack should've known, for he was the one who locked the doors in the first place. He fiddled with his pockets to locate the remote, only to drop it on the floor. "Fuck!" He risked crossing the enemy line to retrieve it only to meet her fiery gaze. "Whoa! Whoa!" He backed up against the door, extending an arm. "Mrs. Crane! Fuck! Take it easy! Calm the fuck down!"

Jonathan grimaced at the poor choice of words. He warned Jack what could happen if he approached the pair again, but neither counted on the girlfriend taking action.

She screamed and slammed her arm down, injecting the needle into her target's thigh. The dosage emptied into his bloodstream.

She watched his eyes expand. Despite his odd behavior, he was human, capable of emotion, expressing disbelief, betrayal, and fear...

Jack was afraid of her. Minutes ago, he underestimated the petite psychologist in pink. He believed her to be a damsel in distress. That was a fatal error on his part. Now, he was going to pay for it.

"Oh, fuck me," those were his last breathless words as his body rocked, then collapsed in the backseat. His limbs spread out while his head was hanging off the seat like a thrown doll. It was almost unnatural, anyone would wake up with a crick from that position.

If Jack wakes up...

Then, there was the silence that Kathryn remembered most. The silence that changed Jack's life forever.

No, that wasn't true. Kathryn couldn't forget her companion and how he looked at her. It imprinted her mind. It was going to haunt her in her dreams - bad dreams. He was impassive, though his agape mouth exposed legitimate shock - understandable - but there was something else. Something that Kathryn failed to comprehend - something dark. Kathryn didn't like it.

Though nothing compared to what she had become. The reality of what she had done. The walls around her crumbled. A flood caved in, drowning her. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. Her body tumbled back against the glove compartment, bumping her head against the window. Her hands pressed the solid interior behind her for support.

Once Crane had regained composure - he had to for their sake - he reached out for her attention.

"Kathryn," he cautioned, his voice softened like a parent addressing a child. "Kathryn, look at me, please."

"Wh-Wha..." she wasn't listening to him. "Why did I? What did I do?!" She wanted to smash her head against the window for asking that question. She didn't want to know.

"Kathryn, I need you to pull yourself together." Flaming amber brown against steel cold grey. Now she was tempted to smash Jonathan's head instead for being so insensitive, not that she deserved compassion, not after... She sniffled and wiped her runny nose.

"Pull myself together? How could I pull myself together, Jonathan? I - I just..." she slapped her hands over her eyes. Even though she couldn't see her crime, the image burned through her skull. She swore to do no harm, and now... "Oh my god! What have I done?!" Stop asking that! Just stop! She wanted to wake up from this nightmare, slap herself awake, or jump in the freezing river.

"Kathryn, listen to me," he pressed, keeping his voice steady as he spoke, cautiously extending an arm in her direction, but he knew better than to touch her. "Everything is going to be okay. I just need your help carrying Mr. Ryder into the trunk."

Her jaw slackened. What did he say? Jonathan unlocked the doors to exit the vehicle, only to realize she wasn't following suit. He peered inside, suppressing the agitated breath threatening to escape his lips.

"Kathryn," he scolded, "we don't have much time."

"I can't!" she shook her head frantically. "We can't do that, Jonathan! We..." her eyes widened, "We have to call the police." She scrambled in her seat, searching for her purse. Where did Jack put it? She refused to look at him, trying to avoid his face. It didn't help that his head was hanging off the seat; she grimaced at the disturbing sight. "We gotta call the police - get the paramedics here. Maybe they can help. We gotta call them before it's too late!" She paused momentarily to see that Jonathan was standing outside, lacking urgency. "What are you doing?! Get in here and help me find my phone! Wait, didn't you have a degree in psychopharmacology? Isn't there something we can do to counteract the effects?"

Crane smacked his lips together, not giving the woman an answer. Why was he standing there?

"Jonathan, he's dying! Help me! Please, while there's still time!"

"Kathryn," he clenched his jaw, "we need to put him in the trunk... before he wakes up."

Finally, her teary eyes met his face, piecing his words together. She refused to allow the euphoria to take over until Crane officially confirmed it.

"Wake up? You mean, I didn't-"

"No, that was a sedative. The dose isn't lethal - you didn't kill him, though I can't guarantee our safety if we don't dispose of him in the trunk right now."

"I didn't..." she gasped. "Okay. Okay, that's good," she repeated the words out loud and inside her head. "You didn't kill anybody. You didn't kill anybody."

"Kathryn!"

"What?!" she snapped.

"Get out of the car and help me, help you," he demanded in a dangerously low tone. A warning not to test his patience any more than Jack had tonight. "Now," for that, he slammed the door shut - the noise hadn't ceased in making her jolt.

Carrying an unconscious body in the trunk. Easier said than done. While Crane and Kathryn weren't physically strong - both hadn't entered a gym in a long time, not since college or maybe even high school - two people could carry a body. No problem. Teamwork makes the dream work - a very bad dream neither could wake up from.

The good news: Jack was still alive. It made Kathryn feel better knowing Crane didn't risk bluffing Jack with a lethal injection against her neck. While they're not covering up a murder, it was still a crime to drug somebody against their will. Though, to be fair, Jack held them hostage first. Why shouldn't he get a taste of his own medicine?

Taking a deep breath, refusing to look at Jack's body any more than she had to, Kathryn exited the vehicle and assisted her (former?) lover into dumping a man into the trunk of his car. Jonathan was considerate in asking which part of Jack she wanted to carry—the legs, definitely the legs. Lightweight, and just in case of a possible jump scare. The only con to that decision was that she had to face Jack's sleepy, creepy self.

"Just avert your eyes, Kathryn," Jonathan consoled in between grunts. "We're almost there."

"What about the neighbors?" she hissed, her eyes averted to the building windows to check.

"What neighbors?" This was the Narrows. The only business the neighbors paid mind to was their own business. Nobody wanted trouble unless they came looking for it.

"Where are we taking him?" her questions didn't stop once the hard part was over.

"I told you. I am taking him to some people who can help him get out of town; you're staying here," Jonathan declared as he slammed the trunk shut and marched back to the driver's seat.

"Wait, you're still going?!" After what she had done for him so Crane wouldn't have to leave? She followed him, attempted to talk sense, and even tried to block the door. He wouldn't budge.

"You don't have to go. We can stay here and call Gordon - let him take care of Jack. He doesn't have to be your problem anymore."

"Kathryn," Jonathan cupped her face, forcing her to look at him while she raised her hands to cover his. "You know why we can't do that. I trust you to stay up there and not say a word to anyone until I return. Alright? Lock the doors. No one in - no one out. No one except me. Understand." It didn't sound like a question but a command. He trusted her to be a good dog who responded only to his master's voice.

'You allowed Crane to put you down like a dog.'

As much as she hated it, the woman did understand. Jonathan feared for her, while she feared everything else. This was the wrong way to handle Jack. They knew that, but the system was broken. While they could trust Gordon to follow protocol, they couldn't guarantee his partners and superiors to do the same. Jack wouldn't be so forgiving if he woke up in a prison cell surrounded by cellmates who wanted to let off some steam before their arraignment.

Lost in her thoughts, Jonathan drew Kathryn back into the present by kissing her face - her forehead, temple, and cheek, which he caressed gently with his thumb.

He's back. The vulnerable Jonathan Crane returned to sweetly assure her that he would return. He knew how to handle these people and that she shouldn't worry. He could take care of himself.

Kathryn wanted to believe that - she must. It was all she had left to hold onto - that tiny mustard seed of hope that they would escape this mess unscathed. It wasn't easy when they parted ways when she walked up the stairs alone into the pitch-black apartment. It worsened when she declined Elise's call and watched Crane drive away through the window. Even though she wasn't alone in this, it sure felt that way. She tried distracting herself by watching sitcoms or helping herself in Jonathan's fridge, which wasn't much, Kathryn noted.

That's when she received the news that Carmine Falcone - the biggest crime boss in Gotham City - had just been arrested. The details of how he got arrested didn't matter. Just seeing the headlines and his grumpy, groggy face getting handcuffed and shoved into a police car was enough. With both men out of the picture, the couple should be free. Right? She texted Jonathan, only for him to tell her to stay put. The worst wasn't over unless he said it was over. She remained in the dog house, involuntarily allowing her mind to reminisce - the needle against her neck, the petty threats, and the name-calling. Everyone's lies were exposed in one sitting, and unfortunately, there were more secrets to come, some that must be buried, including hers.

"Oh god," she grumbled, fisting her curls ready to rip them from her scalp. Why did she do that? She may not have killed Jack - at least that's what Jonathan told her - but that didn't change the fact that she tried. She shoved that needle down his leg, knowing the possibility the injection was lethal. What triggered her to do something so volatile? Did her near-death experience trigger a fight or flight response? Had she gone mad? Love wasn't supposed to bring out the worst in people. Right? No, Kathryn refused to believe that was the case. If the circumstances were different, the pair would've acted more rationally. They had no choice. Gotham was to blame for this mess, not them. This city was corrupt - a contagious disease for the selfish and desperate.

Kathryn's fear was the same as Jonathan's; it had always been. His devotion to her was no question. It was intense compared to Jack's devotion to Summer. Kathryn hadn't forgotten Jonathan's face and the immediate response to cover for her, even if it meant breaking the law more than once. No hesitation. No questions asked. Kathryn eventually let him go to follow through with the original plan. She didn't think about picking up the phone immediately to call Gordon and didn't call a taxi to escape this solitude. She stayed like an obedient dog devoted to her master.

Because of that, Crane and now Kathryn had been cursed. They became no different than Falcone or Summer. Their hands were just as tainted as theirs - filthy and entwined.

Forever.

It didn't matter if Kathryn had slept or stayed up all night, waiting for Jonathan to return. Her dreams and reality were one and the same.

A nightmare.