[A/N: Very fun chapter to write! Because it's all about Scarecrow. He has and will probably always be my favourite Batman supervillain, and giving him his own origin story in my tale was exciting to say the least. I liked linking it with my own OC, Coralline, and how his fascination with fear can be so much more distorted and perverse. I couldn't help but hear Lacrimosa while writing him. He is truly a demented guy, as you'll come to read. The turn in the story is starting to twist now. Enjoy and let me know what you think or where I can improve!]

Chapter 8: What ARE you afraid of?

"And I say to you, my friends, do not be afraid of those who kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But I will show you whom you should fear: Fear Him who, after He has killed, has power to cast into hell; yes, I say to you, fear Him!"

"Sit up straight, Jonathan!" My grandmother slapped my shoulder as we sat in pews of church. I did as she asked, of course. To the best of my ability. The priest's voice echoed before the hanging statue of Jesus upon the cross, his face invoking so much horror. Yet, we sit here to exalt him. Why must I fear more than I already do? Why is fear needed in this religion? If God loves me, why does he want me to be scared of him?

"Please rise!"

Rising and sitting and rising and sitting. When is it enough? Doesn't God know I love him by now? I just want to sit down. My grandmother wouldn't allow it. She grabbed me from my collar and pulled me up with brunt. I nearly fell back into the pew at the force.

"You will behave in church, Jonathan! You are in the house of Jesus, humble yourself now or I will humble you later," she tugged my ear, "Do you understand me?!"

"Yes, grandma… I'm sorry." Even as a child my voice was so pathetic. I was a slave to fear, reminded of my cowardice daily. What would happen if I wielded it? How would they react? Would my grandmother squirm like I do? Would she be humbled then?

The sermons continue, I look elsewhere. I hope she won't notice. My eyes wander to the oriel windows of this church. They are so large and arched. I can make out the blue skies and green leaves on the trees. I wonder what other kids my age are doing. Would they want to play with me? Would they make me scared too? Could I be friends with any of them?

Then I see flocks of black wings zipping past the windows. My skin shifts and breath dwindle. I can hear their cawing and galloping wings even now. They are waiting for me. They are haunting me still. How do I escape?

Jonathan Crane awoke in his bed at his apartment. 3:23am. Another memory manifesting as a nightmare? To understand fear, he understood the fear in himself first.

He sat up in bed and felt for his glasses on the nightstand. Going back to sleep was a comforting thought but not practical, he knew this from experience. He turned on the lamp and looked along his room. Not even a speck of dust to be seen, degrees and diplomas framed and straightly aligned along the walls. He left his bed and wandered to the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He jumped in the shower right after, then progressed in getting ready for work. His shift began 7:00am, but he figured it was now rather than waiting. A cup of coffee, energy bar, and prying at his patient's notes. He still had his journals with Coralline. He was still pained to see it.

'She displayed such fascinating reactions to fear. The closest I've ever been to a woman. So open to comfort afterwards. She was so innocent and harmless in my arms. Yet so aggressive generally. How I'll miss seeing the cowardice in her.'

He took his coffee and notes into another room. This room did not appear as immaculate and clean as the rest of his home. It was filled with boiler flasks, beakers, pipettes, and other chemical essentials. Setting his mug down he picked a vial up. He examined it and let his thoughts fester before setting it into his lab coat.

"Such a simple concoction can create so much chaos. For I'll show them who to fear. They will fear me. I have the power to cast the mind into pieces. They will hear my own sermon from the roots of Arkham, and it'll grow into Gotham. They will all fear me."

Dr. Quinzel drove up to her parking spot outside the Arkham Hospital, but the parking lot was occupied to more than just staff. Two WGOT Gotham News 7 TV vans were parked out front, and a camera crew and reporter waiting at the doors. She sighed and wearily left her sedan to walk up to her place of work.

"There she is!"

Dr. Quinzel thought to herself then, 'Oh, lord, here we go.'

A female reporter ran up to Dr. Quinzel with the mic held up only inches from her face. Cameras closed in aggressively.

"Dr. Quinzel! Can you give Gotham a look into your clinical trial today? How is progress with these notorious criminals?"

Dr. Quinzel smiled and spoke professionally, "Progress with these patients is ongoing, of course. There is much time before the second phase of the trial begins, right now the individuals are still warming to their new routine."

"How long is the first phase supposed to last exactly?"

"16 weeks, they will be spending it in a Therapy Room, as we call it, a room designed for their own positive encouragement. Afterwards, those who show progress can be moved from High Security and to their own ward with a lot more autonomy. They will be given jobs within the hospital, itself. They can further in education and positive projects. While still being given intensive therapy by myself, of course."

"Is It true Edward Nashton, aka the Riddler, is in your trial? Do you have anything to say to the unrest this may create within Gotham after the tragedy of the flooding?"

Dr. Quinzel took that as her queue to detach from the reporters and try to get inside the hospital, she parted, "I cannot disclose the names of my patients, their privacy is my responsibility. I must get inside so I can continue my work. Thank you all and have a good day."

"Wait, Dr. Quinzel, a follow up!"

"Dr. Quinzel if Nashton is in your trial, will he be released if he shows progress?"

"Dr. Quinzel, what is your treatment method?!"

She left the prying reporters outside and continued to the security check-in. Officer Fletch chortled as her purse came through the conveyer belt.

"Quite a buzz, eh, Harleen?"

She laughed, "Yeah, haven't even had my coffee yet," she got her purse back, "Have a good one, John."

"You too."

She made an urgent walk to the doctor's lounge to drop off her belongings in her cubby. It was 8:00am, Therapy Room was in an hour, and she only had a limited amount of time to get to the Warden. She made her way to administration swiftly after that, and her blood curdled as she passed Dr. Crane down the hallway. It was a small miracle for her that he didn't look up from his clipboard to make eye contact. She kept her eyes down and straight to the Warden's office. She passed the ruckus of fingers clacking on keyboards and piped to his assistant.

"Can you let Warden Santos know I'm here to see him, please?"

The assistant replied, "For sure."

Dr. Quinzel sat uneasily on a waiting chair as she fiddled with her fingers. The fear in Coralline was all she could concentrate on. She had no sleep, no relief from the things she confided in the day before. Dr. Quinzel had no dubiety, she knew Coralline wasn't lying. Now she had to convince the Warden the same.

The assistant peaked around the wall and said, "You can go see him now."

She straightened her lab coat down her sides and nodded a flat smile before trotting her high heels into Warden's office. Javier Santos set his phone down and greeted, "Harleen! Yes, do come in. Close the door."

She closed the door behind her and was already feeling the nerves twisting her tongue. What she would do today was no small thing, and the consequences for speaking out could be received poorly. Dr. Quinzel sat in the chair from his desk, and he continued, "If this is about the reporters outside, you needn't worry. The GCPD is already on it, they are going to clear the parking lot."

"No, sir. It's not about the reporters."

"Okay," he folded his hands together and asked, "What is this about?"

"It's about another psychologist. Dr. Crane. One of my patients confided a disturbing story about him that I think needs to be investigated."

"What story?" Sweat was already sprouting along the Warden's brow.

Dr. Quinzel explained stoically, "I was told by Coralline Atkins that Dr. Crane was taking her out of her cell at night with the help of Officer Bolton. That he would drug her and make her hallucinate, then psychologically torture her. She said this was going on for months, since he became her doctor. She thinks it could be happening to his current patients, and I have to agree."

The Warden nearly smiled at the audacity of hearing it, but meeting Quinzel's earnest gaze he snapped, "You… you heard this from Atkins? This is quite the accusation to be making against a colleague from the words of a high-risk patient. Dr. Crane has been a professional psychologist in this institution for years, never once has he been under scrutiny. He's a… damn boy scout. I'm having a hard time comprehending this, Harleen. You know the last thing Arkham needs is this under the limelight."

"I've been with Atkins for a while now, she's never opened up in therapy until I came in, you know that. Everything she's told me so far is genuine, I don't think she would lie about this. Sir, it's better to deal with this internally then have it grow into something the outside hears about. If this is happening it is perverse, it's unethical, and illegal. This kind of accusation needs to be investigated. You need to contact the Ombudsman."

"For God's sake, Harleen…" Warden exasperated.

"I know, I'm sorry, I know this is the last thing you want to deal with right now, but it needs to be dealt with now, we can't sit on it. This goes against Arkham's values and everything we are trying so hard to change."

"I know, I know! There's no telling if this is truth or not. Especially considering you heard it from Atkins, of all inmates. But you're right, we shouldn't waste time," he pulled out his radio and called, "Abel 6, this is Warden Javier Santos speaking, can you please bring Coralline Atkins to my office promptly."

Morello got on the other end and replied uneasily, "Uh. Yes, this is Abel 6. Copy that, Warden. I'll bring her down now."

Warden spoke again, "Morello, get Robinson to assist. Not Bolton, under any circumstances."

"Copy that, sir."

Morello went to Atkin's cell in HRS and announced, "Alright, Coralline, you're coming with me."

"Why? I just had my shower. Therapy Room isn't for another thirty minutes."

Bolton came up the hall with Robinson and saw the two opening Coralline's cell.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Morello looked back to him an audibly scoffed, "Nothing that concerns you, Bolton."

Robinson announced, "She's going to see the Warden."

"What about?"

"That's not your business, Lyle. Go find something else to do. Janice and I got this," Morello clipped the cuffs to Coralline's wrists who was glaring him down from where she stood. Bolton got eye of the undaunted glare of Coralline, and his demeanour turned inward himself. His mouth parted and the constant wrinkle between his brows flattened. He rushed from HRS then and scrounged for the elevator to main floor.

Coralline was taken inside the Warden's office and startled at Dr. Quinzel sitting in the chair beside her own.

"Morello, you can stay. Just know whatever is disclosed in this room is private." The Warden informed.

Robinson spoke up In suspicion, "What about me?"

"You can return to your duties. Thank you, Janice," he replied kindly. Morello led Coralline to the chair beside Quinzel where she sat down. Morello returned to the door with her hands folded in front.

Dr. Quinzel gave a soft smile to Coralline, but her face only read fearful confusion at the situation.

The Warden finally explained, "Coralline, we brought you here today because yesterday you confided something with Dr. Quinzel which greatly conflicts your previous doctor. Do you know the matter I speak of?"

Coralline looked back from Dr. Quinzel and muttered, "Yeah."

"Good, so I need to hear your side of it again. We will investigate but first you need to provide some details on the event. How were you escorted from your cell and what room in the hospital did he take you with Dr. Crane?"

"Uhh…" Coralline anxiously hummed then replied, "I was taken by Officer Bolton, he didn't cuff me he just led me from HRS and to the boiler room. He took me into some supply closet and locked the doors behind me. The route was… we went down the flight of stairs next to the elevator, all the way down to… uh… I think it was main floor because we passed the hall where the doctor's offices are… then took another flight of stairs to basement. We pass storage… we pass lab… then we go into boiler room. He said we were going to visitation…"

The Warden exhaled painfully, hearing the route was enough to make him feel like he wanted to jump from his seat. She had provided the correct route, and knowing she would never see these parts of the hospital to account for them was enough reason for investigation. He asked, "What did Dr. Crane do to you?"

"He used this weird concoction on me, it was airborne. It had to have been a neurotoxin because as soon as he used it my nervous system was shot. I was seeing things that weren't real. He wanted to know what I was seeing, when I didn't tell him he dumped a container of spiders on me…"

Morello could be heard whispering behind them, "Jesus Christ…"

"Then he… uh…" Coralline bit her lip and fought tears. Her shoulder was petted by Dr. Quinzel.

"It's okay," Dr. Quinzel cooed, "You can do this."

Coralline sighed and continued hesitantly, "He hugged me and comforted me. Like he was really nice, but then… he wanted to do it again and he did. It was like that for hours. Every time he took me down there it was the same thing."

"I'm confused," the Warden interjected, "They weren't shackling you, he had to come for you at night. What was stopping you from struggling or screaming to fight against these advances?"

"I did scream down in the boiler room, but he said no one would hear me…"

"No, I mean, before they took you from HRS."

Coralline's lip waggled and her fingers dug into her forearm, "He… I didn't want to go… I didn't but I did… I don't know, it was so fucked up," she clasped her hands to her face as she began to shudder.

"Just breathe, it's okay. No matter what, this is getting investigated, we just need to fill in the holes. You can tell us, Coralline, this is a safe space," assured Dr. Quinzel again.

Coralline wiped away her tears but kept looking down into her hands, "It was like… a weird bond. Like I wanted his comfort… but I hated the abuse. I was just… taking it so I could get the small glimpses of the softness he would give me. Like from Dr. Crane… but Scarecrow was the monster. He wore this sack over his head and would call himself Scarecrow, but it was like an alter ego. Dr. Crane was the nice guy that would save me from the scary stuff and would hold me. It sounds so fucked up but… they were totally different people to me. One was a person, the other a demon… a monster. Like so inhuman it couldn't have been Crane, he made it so virtual. He fed that theory to me and warped it, so I believed it. I did… fight against it though after a while. I was trying to get myself into the padded cells, by any means. When the correlation between Dr. Crane and Scarecrow became one, I was doing everything I could to avoid seeing him. He's just… he's trapped in my head just pulling strings, even now that I'm with Quinzel, he still has so much control over me."

Coralline pushed her face into her hands to hide her tears and shivering lip. Her breaths hoarse and rattling. Dr. Quinzel and Warden gave her sometime to compose herself. Morello stood by the door unaware of the sheer horror written to her face.

Dr. Quinzel rubbed Coralline's back and said to Warden, "He built a trauma bond with her. This is intensive psychological abuse. Not just of a patient, but of his oath and his knowledge. He should be stripped of his licence for this."

Warden held his hand up to Quinzel to silence her. His brows were never more furrowed as they were now to Dr. Quinzel. He asked Coralline again, "I know this next question might be upsetting but we need to know for the Ombudsman. Coralline, did he sexually assault you in anyway?"

Coralline looked up from her palms with puffy red lips and blushed cheeks from tears, "What?" Her face scrunched in disgust.

"Penetration? Touching? Did he force you to perform sexual acts on him, or did he on to you? This needs to be asked, I know it's uncomfortable."

Coralline gasped, "No! Fuck no! Ew!"

"Did you have any kind of romantic or sexual relationship with Dr. Crane?"

"No!"

Warden composed himself back in his chair and sighed in relief, "Okay… okay. It had to be asked. What about physical abuse? Did he ever hit, slap, punch, kick, or push you? Any form of physical abuse?"

Coralline looked back up to him and shook her head, "No… just mental abuse. He would hug me, I guess."

"Against your consent?"

"Yeah… no. I don't know. It was but it wasn't, it's hard to explain…"

The Warden nodded and asked again, "This neurotoxin, how did he distribute it to you? You said airborne, so was it aerosol?"

"Yeah, I think so. He had it in this tank. Took only a few minutes for it to kick in."

"What would you see on this toxin?"

Coralline rubbed her face with her finger and exhaled low and long. Dr. Quinzel answered for her, "Her dead mother, sir."

"Not just that… sometimes I'd see spiders when there wasn't, I'd see monsters standing over me, like black shadows with white eyes. I'd see… him… his mask distorting with worms and spiders coming out of it. It wasn't just hallucinations, either. Like I said, it was a neurotoxin, my heart rate would shoot up, I would go into fight of flight, my limbs would numb. It took hours for it to wear off. It still has an effect on me, I think. I'm having panic attacks when I never used to, I'm still seeing hallucinations. I think it has detrimental lifelong effects, and I don't even know what the fuck it was."

The Warden's brow flexed up, "Wait, you're still having these hallucinations now?"

"Yeah… sometimes. Why?"

The Warden glanced to Dr. Quinzel who tilted her head at what his gaze could mean. He then stated, "Right, well, I will file this with the Ombudsman as soon as possible, Morello can return you to your cell. Thank you, Coralline, I'm sure this couldn't have been easy, but we commend your bravery. Morello, please."

Morello walked up to Coralline's chair and left the office with just Dr. Quinzel and the Warden remaining.

Dr. Quinzel knew now what the side-eye was indicating and snapped, "Don't you say it, Javier. Sir, this is not…"

"How am I supposed to believe this isn't just manifestations from a broken mind, Harleen? She's having hallucinations, did you know of this?"

Dr. Quinzel sighed and admitted, "Yes. She had an episode a couple days ago. But I do not believe this is a case of her mental disorders playing a trick, I think she is telling the truth. I already had my suspicions on Crane when I took her as my patient. I can write a statement for the hearing with the Ombudsman to look over."

"Whatever the case may be, it's ultimately not up to me to decide if he is at fault. I'll leave that to the Ombudsman and the Board of Psychiatry. I'll bring my findings to the hearing. Coralline will have to show to testify…"

"No, sir. Please, don't make her stand in front of him. I'll be her proxy, I've got most of her story written down, anything else was recorded in this meeting today. I can represent her."

Bolton stepped with heavy breath to Dr. Crane's office. He made an urgent knock to the wood, then barged through, not even giving time for Dr. Crane to call back. He surprised at his sudden entrance and swept off his glasses before asking as Bolton closed the door, "Can I help you?" He said almost sarcastically.

"Atkins talked. She's talking about what happened. Crane, we're fucked!"

"Whoa, whoa, settle yourself, Lyle. God, good morning to you, too," Crane picked himself from the chair and walked to the front of his desk, resting his hands to the frame, "Tell me what's going on."

"Atkins was called to the Warden's office. They wouldn't tell me what about. I walked past administration and saw Harleen and Javier talking as they took Atkins back to her cell. She is talking about what happened. You and me, okay, I was the one taking her to you." Bolton was a picture of panic, sweat pooling down the sides of his head, his eyes dilated, and voice inflating with every syllable. However, Dr. Crane was steady and unswayed by this news. If anything, he appeared calmer in response to Bolton's hysteria.

Crane lifted his hand and shushed, "Calm down. If what you say is true, I will deal with it. They'll need to convey a hearing with the ombudsman, I get to say my peace, as do you. They won't come for you unless the claims against me are proven. Take a breath, in and out, this is nothing but a hiccup."

"It would be if Harleen Quinzel wasn't involved. The fucking idealists start coming in is when things get fucked to kingdom come. She's got Warden wrapped around her manicured finger already, that trial got her respect around the hospital, the patients she's working with are beginning to like her. Trust me, I escort them every damn day. You're gonna be hard pressed convincing the Warden she's lying."

"Don't worry about Harleen. She's not an issue. I'll handle this my own way, without your help. Now off with you."

Bolton sputtered and trapped his words behind his teeth as he sweated his way from Crane's office and marched down the hall.

Crane took a few deep breaths still leaning against the desk. His brown, gelled hair dangled to his face as he was computing a solution. His fingers pressed into the desk ledge then suddenly whipped it behind him. It fell and whammed on the floor— the pencils and papers on his desk flying into corners of his office. He gripped the patient chair and tossed it against the floor, as well. Crane heaved and hummed, sweeping his fingers through his hair and putting his glasses back on.

'What to do… what to do, what to do, what to do. Fuck!' His thoughts were oppressing but not productive. 'You're afraid, Jonathan. You promised yourself you'd never be afraid ever again. Think!' He could feel his windpipe constricting again. He fumbled through his suitcase that was thrown on the floor and grabbed his inhaler.

*whoosh - click*

Dr. Crane's breath returned. He reached into his lab coat and felt the vial of the toxin still in his pocket. He felt along the glass for some time. Thoughts jumbled and distorted. Flashbacks were interfering. 'Why fear? When I have the power to shatter minds into pieces.'

"Get out there and start weeding those crops, Jonathan! The Lord hath fury to the sloth! The Lord will not grant reward to those who reap off others! Go on, you useless boy!"

It's so hot outside. It's late August but feels like late July. Where are all the clouds? The sun beats me worse than my grandmother today. I can't take it. The crop of corn goes on, and on, and on. She won't let me eat dinner if I don't do this. I throw the hoe through the sandy dirt. Even such dry soil births so many weeds. I pass the scarecrow; I hate looking at it. It's such a horrible thing it nearly lives. Like it will jump from the post and eat my insides if I dare to look for long.

I'm growing weak. I'm only twelve yet have the strength of a five-year-old. My body is failing me. The black vultures are encroaching on me. I can hear their wings flap so loud like they are right behind. The horrible cawing, they are singing together, telling each other there is a weak little insect to nibble on. I am so exhausted I don't even feel one land on my back as I dig my fingers through the soil. Then, snap. Sudden pain in the back of my head. AGH! It pecked my head! Get off me!

I try to run and scream but my body gives out before I can. I trip on myself, and the flaps of the crows are everywhere. They are digging their talons into my flailing arms.

"Grandma! Grandma, help me! Help!"

They are pecking my hands, I try to fight them off, but they are so strong all together, five of them. No, six of them? The scarecrow won't let them eat the corn, so they try to eat me. Get off me!

I keep trying to run to the house but every time I do their claws dig into my back and neck— pushing me down again. I feel their beaks take flesh from my neck and arms. It hurts so bad! The fear hurts my throat! I can't breathe! I need my inhaler, oh god, oh god, I'm going to die!

"Grandma!" Can she even hear me over the laughter of the crows?! There's so many! There's water from my eyes but no air from my throat! God, please help me! I can't even scream anymore; my airway is so closed. I fall on my back and a crow comes to land. I can see the black beady eyes full of hunger. The talons stretched wide, and the parted beak coming for my neck. It lands and throws my head against the sandy dirt again. It tries to peck at my face. I am losing feeling as oxygen is no longer going into the blood. I slap it off me with one last push of strength. I'm starting to lose sights as my skin is being pecked and prodded by the murder of crows. The last thing I see before the black closes in is the scarecrow above me. It's staring down at me like it fears for me. It cares for me.

Finally, I hear the screen door cry open, heated footsteps on the porch.

"Jonathan, you damn fool! What have you done now?!"

"Who is up for monopoly?!"

Jay joyously bleated in the Therapy Room. It was heard over the intercom in the observation room, where Dr. Quinzel sat in pensive thought. She was watching Coralline more than the others. She was jittery and quiet. Go on, play the piano. Go play monopoly, get your mind off it. You'll be okay, I've got your back. She couldn't say these words to Coralline, but she yearned to.

The two years Dr. Quinzel had spent in the hospital and passing Dr. Crane in the hallway she had no idea the demon that sleep within. Only coming out at night, but still alive. All the times she made small talk with him at the coffee machine, got his advice on patients, sat next to him in meetings, there was something so dark within him— like a serial killer. As a psychologist she was always fascinated and sympathetic to the insane, but she only felt disgust for Dr. Crane. A fellow psychologist who was given the privilege to heal the mind, and he uses his knowledge to break it. There was nothing more abhorrent to Dr. Quinzel than that.

Jay was setting up the board game at the main table. Lazlo came and plopped down to partake. Even Edward, but he would steal glances to take his turns as he pried at a Game of Wits book. Coralline was sitting alone under her canopy cradling a stuffed animal as she gazed up to the fairy lights. She was upset, clearly. The meeting in the Warden's office likely revisited all of the haunting memories with Crane, Dr. Quinzel thought.

'God, I hope he goes to Blackgate. I don't want to see him anymore than I have to.' She was about to break the pencil in her hand at the thought of it.

The door opened for observation and in came Ruby Morello, just off work and wearing a flabbergasted glare. She was out of the correctional officer get-up and in a sweatshirt, jeans, and her purple vinyl purse over her shoulder.

"Hey," Quinzel peeped, "Thought you got off a bit ago. Didn't you just do a night shift?"

"Yeah, I'm going home I just needed to find you first after that meeting," she sat down in a chair and got comfortable before exhaling and making a hushed, horrified gasp straight to her, "Oh. My. Fucking. God."

"Yeah." Quinzel sighed as she rubbed her two fingers to her forehead while looking at her notes.

"Like… seriously?!"

"I know, I'm still processing."

Morello leaned back into her chair and twirled it to the window, "How is she?"

"I don't know… she's not partaking in the board game."

Jay piped excitedly into the intercom, "Ha! Edward you're going to jail!"

Edward replied aloofly while looking at his book, "I'm already there…"

Quinzel looked at Morello forlorn, "I took this job on because I was so excited to help these guys. I never knew things here were this bad. It almost makes me feel like I've taken on far more than I can chew. Beyond my pay grade. Literally."

"Don't. Don't start," Morello said to her sternly, "You're the reason this was pulled from under the rug. This would have kept happening if you weren't here. You might not believe it now, but you saved that girl. Sure, the guy didn't rape her, but judging from what she told us, it was going down that road. He could have even killed her. You did your duty as a health professional, and you're still doing it with these motherfuckers. Never thought I'd see the infamous Joker, Riddler and Pyg sitting down playing monopoly. It's kinda hilarious, actually."

Quinzel blew a laugh through her lips, "Yeah." She took her amused expression from the window and said sincerely to Morello, "Thank you."

"You think he's doing it to Zsasz? He's been screaming a lot more in HRS. Usually he's pretty quiet." Morello asked.

Quinzel nodded, "Yeah, makes sense. Zsasz was my patient, he was never a screamer. A freaky bastard but he didn't scream."

"You think you know somebody…" Morello shook her head dejectedly, "He was always such a nice guy. Crane. Easy to talk to, mild-mannered. Hell, he even gave me advice on my troubles with Pete. Never once could I have thought…"

"They hide among us," Quinzel said quietly, "These four know the drill. They were all wolves in sheep's clothing before they came here. Hiding in plain sight."

Suddenly, Quinzel's radio blared, "Dr. Quinzel. Ombudsman is here. He is having the hearing with Crane at 11am sharp. Be sure to attend."

It was the Warden's voice. Quinzel spoke through, "Yes, sir. Thank you."

Quinzel looked up at Morello, both sharing the same stare of uncertainty.

"Well… I better get going home," Morello said as she got up and went to the doorknob, "Text me when it's over. I wanna know the outcome, okay?"

"For sure," smiled Quinzel.

As Morello left, the intercom blared with their voices again.

Jay hailed, "Gimme that real estate!"

"I declare BANKRUPTCY!" Lazlo bellowed like a broken-hearted child.

Edward exasperated in a mutter, "Jesus Christ…"

Dr. Quinzel giggled to herself, "Dorks…"

10:55am never brought such anxiety for Dr. Quinzel before. Coralline was the last to be taken back to her cell as Therapy Room came to an end. She was now on her way to the meeting room for the hearing.

Dr. Crane passed Coralline on his way to the hearing. She had Fletch and Robinson on each side of her. Dr. Crane dared to make eye contact with her. His eyes wilted, like a remorseful friend. However, Coralline had no kindness in her eyes. Her eyes were nearly black as she returned a deadly glare. His eyes followed her greedily, even turning his neck as she passed him. She did not, she gave a glare and that was enough, then straight to her cell hoping the hearing would be his end.

He came inside the meeting room and sat to the far end of the table. An HR representative sat beside him. The Warden and a board elective sat to the side of the ombudsman, who was at the other side of the table adjacent to Crane. Dr. Quinzel came in last, she sat to the middle right as proxy for Coralline. The ombudsman spoke clearly.

"Alright, we're all here so let's get started. Here today we have Connie Donaldson from the board, who is head of the psychiatric evaluation of the doctors in Arkham Hospital. The Warden and Director of Arkham, Javier Santos. To your right is Tanya Mitchell, an HR representative for your benefit, Dr. Crane. Dr. Harleen Quinzel is speaking for inmate that made the allegation. Then me, Carlisle Bishop, I am the ombudsman of Arkham Hospital, as I'm sure you all know. My duty is to take the complaint of inmate and patient safety seriously and try to mediate a solution. In this matter, you have been accused of events that go against your oath as a psychologist. Not just in this hospital, but the profession, itself. Today we will evaluate all parties and evidence involved in the case. This is simply a hearing, the verdict upon guilt will be determined. However, do you understand that you may be under pain of punishment such as losing your psychiatric licence, losing all rights to treat or hold private practice outside the hospital?"

Dr. Crane folded his hands to the table and replied clearly, "Yes, I do."

"Do you understand you could face criminal charges in this case?"

"Yes, sir."

The ombudsman asked again, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

Dr. Crane raised his hand, and his lenses faced the table, "Yes, I swear to tell the truth."

The ombudsman nodded as he flushed his papers. The door to the meeting room opened with a temp holding a tray of coffees.

"There was an order for here?" The temp asked.

Warden beamed a grin, "Yes! Just pass them, please."

Everyone but Dr. Quinzel and Dr. Crane got a coffee labelled in their name. The ombudsman commenced as the temp left, "Alright. Case number 13578. Dr. Jonathan William Crane, you have been accused of purposeful abuse and harassment, unlawful confinement, taking a patient from their cell without consent, inappropriate engagement with said inmate, engagement with inmate out of clinical hours, and distribution of a harmful substance. Do you understand these accusations I have read to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"The accusation was given by inmate, Coralline Kimiko Atkins, female of twenty-six years. Her file is as follows…"

Dr. Crane unintentionally zoned out as the ombudsman went over a file he knew by heart. A file he didn't care for hearing another time. The voices muffled for a time. His thoughts strayed to Coralline.

'I thought I was her saviour. I thought we shared something. Why would she enact such malice against me? I saved her from fear she would have felt regardless, I only brought it to the light and made her aware of it. Made it so she could handle the creeping of her mind like I do. Numb the fear, and soon, she wouldn't feel it ever again. Why couldn't she see that?'

"Dr. Crane?"

"Yes?"

"Do you confirm this was your patient?"

"Yes, sir. Coralline Atkins was my patient."

"You treated her in daily sessions, am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Yet, not with your other patients who you saw once every three days. What made Coralline such priority you needed to see her everyday?"

Dr. Crane cleared his throat, "I felt that Coralline was a high-risk patient that needed far more intensive treatment than my other cases. She is a behavioural inmate, one of the most behavioural in the hospital. I wanted to help her as much as I could to get the incidents to decline in consideration for the COs on duty and for herself, of course."

"Did you take a personal liking to Atkins, in particular?"

"She was one of my most notorious inmates. A prevalent crime life outside the hospital, complex mental disorders and behaviours, she was in greater need. As for personal liking, she was just a patient with more complex needs thus resulting in a higher volume of sessions. My relationship with her was strictly professional."

"Shh… it's over, Coralline. He's gone."

"Was there ever a time you acted unprofessionally with Atkins? Overstepping your boundaries as her psychologist?"

"No, sir."

"Come here… come. I'll keep you safe. The monsters are gone."

"According to this complaint, you had a correctional officer take Atkins from her cell recurrently late at night. The officer would bring her to a recluse closet off the boiler room. Do you have anything to say to this?"

Dr. Crane batted his eyes in surprise, "That's… quite the accusation. No, sir, I did not have any of the officers bring Atkins to a closet off the boiler room. If you don't believe me, you can check the surveillance footage. Was it checked?"

The ombudsman followed up with the Warden, the Warden replied, "Uh. No. There was no indication of the activities on surveillance."

Dr. Quinzel glowered in shock but did her best to repose as professional as possible.

The ombudsman asked, "Is there a possibility these tapes could be tampered with?"

The Warden stated, "Yes, of course. With some diligence and knowledge of surveillance software, I'm sure."

"Is there detectable proof of tampering?"

The Warden sighed, "No."

Dr. Quinzel took a deep breath and straightened her back. Dr. Crane fought back a smile.

The ombudsman continued, "Dr. Crane, you have been accused of using an unknown airborne substance on Atkins that made her hallucinate and compromised her nervous system. That you used her incapacitated state to invoke fear and control. It's saying here you did this to further an agenda of manipulation over Atkins. Do you have anything to say about this?"

"A substance?" Crane asked, "What substance?"

"A neurotoxin."

"No, sir. I have never used anything like that in my life. I don't even know where I would get my hands on something like that."

"You never used this toxin to create fear and try to manipulate and control?"

"No, sir."

"I am not Crane, I am Scarecrow. In here, you will address me as such."

The ombudsman sighed and looked to Quinzel, "Dr. Quinzel you are here on Coralline Atkin's behalf. Would you like to share her version of the story in as much detail as possible?"

Dr. Quinzel opened her notepad and obliged, "Yes, sir. In the words of Coralline Atkins, she came to my office and told me that her former psychologist, Dr. Jonathan Crane, was having a correctional officer bring her to…"

Her voice muffled in Dr. Crane's mind again. He was steady. He was patient.

'Should be kicking in anytime, now.' He thought to himself surely.

Dr. Crane poised as uncomfortable to the statement as believable. How anyone would react if they were accused to such matters, but ultimately keeping the façade of professionalism. Small blips of shock, carried by well-mannered and professional respect. He read the faces in the room, all were listening to Coralline's story. Judging by their faces he could see who was believing it, and who wasn't. Far greater in doubt than those in belief. Overall, the only one who would have judgement of his career was the ombudsman, who was beginning to carry a sweat.

"Does… does Atkins have a history of hallucinations and delirious episodes?" The ombudsman asked while lightly patting his chest.

Dr. Quinzel replied dejectedly, "Yes, recently."

"Recently after or before the accused events?"

"I can't recall. She was only my patient since the beginning of the month. Dr. Crane did not indicate in her file if she was."

The ombudsman patted his sweat with a handkerchief, "Dr. Crane, what do you say on Atkin's mental state while she was in your care?"

"Mental state? You have to be specific, sir. I'll end up listing off her diagnosis again." He said it coolly, inwardly delighted to see the ombudsman struggling.

"Hallucinations, delirium, episodes. Dr. Crane, anything of the sort?"

Dr. Crane pushed his glasses up and replied, "Yes, Atkins has always been consistent with delirium. She has BPD which can create such intense delusions of others' perceptions it could lead to possible hallucinations. She used to be a drug user when she was at large, which could also explain the episodes, as well."

The ombudsman went blank as he stared on at the wall, his mouth ajar but not uttering anything. His body was trembling. The tie over his chest rattled like a snake.

The Warden muttered in disturbance, "Carlisle? You alright?"

Dr. Quinzel asked, "Mr. Bishop?"

Suddenly he pushed up from the table in such a sharp, howling yelp it made the others at the table nearly fly off their chairs. The whole table jolted as the ombudsman flapped onto his back— kicking the table with his flailing feet. Everyone rushed to his assistance, trying to help but proving in vain as Mr. Bishop was in hysteria. The bellowing of the grown man was so loud it could pop an ear drum. The only one who was not immediately reacting to the chaos was Dr. Crane, indulging himself a bit longer.

Dr. Crane then stood and feigned the same horror as he ran to the commotion, yapping how he could help. He coursed his fingers through his hair to compliment the aghast shock on his face. He ran to the telephone and paged assistance as HR, the board elective, Warden Santos, and Dr. Quinzel tried to settle the wailing ombudsman— who was speaking in tongues.

Swarms of nurses and lab techs came in with a sedative to calm him, it took minutes for them to administer it against the frantic movement. They brought in a stretcher and restrained him to the bed. The ombudsman continued to wail and howl on his way down the hallway to admission. Warden Santos followed them through the doors as he spat into his phone with a member of the board. HR and the board elective followed, as well, fearful for Mr. Carlisle Bishop who was perfectly sane just hours ago. All who remained in the hallway was Dr. Quinzel and a few feet behind her, Dr. Crane. She stole her pallor shock from the doors that echoed the screams and slowly turned to Crane. He wasn't unnerved, he wasn't disturbed, he wasn't afraid.

The look he returned her was enough for Dr. Quinzel to know the cause of this. Satisfied and smug. So smug. He was just barely creasing a smile. Dr. Quinzel's lip twitched in fury, her fists clenched as Dr. Crane walked the other way down the hall. She said it so hatefully under her breath.

"You evil fucker."

Dr. Crane reached his office like it was just another afternoon. He took off his lab coat and hung it to the back of his chair. Polished his glasses. He picked his desk and belongings off the floor in a new rejuvenation. He composed himself quickly and neatly. He opened his laptop to his desk and browsed the web for a few short moments before landing on a page he sought. He smiled as he caressed his finger under his bottom lip.

"Alright… now let's see. What ARE you afraid of?"

He did not say it to himself, but the face on the screen. The social media page of his colleague, now rival. Dr. Harleen Quinzel.