When Ianthe Thatcher, a 21 year old Gotham City native reluctantly accepts a seemingly promising position at Arkham Asylum, her path takes an unexpected turn.
In addition to the crumbling state of her city and the proximity of her workplace to the...
Crane's frigid hands guided me over to what I supposed was the living room, though the loft seemed like it appeared to belong to a person who was long dead. It was dark, the furniture worn and the finish-outs dated. The rain-soaked floor to ceiling windows were cracked, stained, and fogged with age.
Warmth retuned back to my body as Crane sat me down in a cushioned armchair and flicked on a lamp. The yellow glow of light shaded and highlighted every feature of his angelic face. The face of a devil.
Without thinking, I blurted, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Crane stood across from me, casually leaning against one of the loft's support columns. He stared at me with amused but was unfazed by my rage. His smug face started a fire in me. "How the hell does someone like you run an insane asylum when you're the one who should be in goddamn solitary confinement?" I was yelling at this point. My head was spinning as I tried to process the situation that was unfolding.
It wasn't until I attempted to get up from the armchair that Jonathan spoke. "Sit down, Ianthe." He stared at me, unmoving. A bitter chill rattled through my weak body. I took a deep breath and dropped my head into my palms, staring at the scuffed concrete floor beneath me.
"Aren't you grateful?" The doctor inquired, cocking his head, eager for my response. I looked at him blankly, unsure what to say. "We found him outside of your apartment, you know." My heart sank, confusion and rage ripping at my insides. I was afraid too. I glared at Crane, my eyes inquiring for more information. He slinked over to the armchair adjacent to mine and rested his elbows on his slacks, looking over to me.
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"I have many...friends in this city. I had Eric tracked and my men found him skulking outside of your apartment. He had a knife." I almost passed out again. Eric had already tried to kill me once, while were together, and memories of that night spilled into my conscious. He had gotten away with it though, due to Gotham's screwed justice system. But I could've died tonight. Instead, he did.
I regained myself and raised my eyes to meet Jonathan's. Images of his icy blue irises peeking through the scarecrow mask danced in the back of my mind. He was so beautiful, but...insane. Fucking insane. "Why? Why him? And what was that stuff you sprayed? And the mask? Th-those men? What project...?" My mouth fired out questions faster than I could think them, but I was promptly cut off.
"Not even a thank you?" Crane's full, pink lips grinned with sadism. I wanted to slap him, heat tingled in my palms and fingertips. But I held back. He chuckled, but not the sweet, genuine chuckle I had heard the Saturday before. This one was villainous.
"Listen Jonathan," I kept my voice level and cold, "I know everything. I've seen everything. I've seen you staring at me, I saw my client files on your desk—ever heard of HIPPA, by the way? PHI?" I pressed further, "I've seen the way you watch my every moment, the routes I take through the building, who I talk to. And now I've seen...what I saw earlier. Tell me why you're doing this and what the actual hell is going on." Surprise and contemplation creeped over Crane's pale face.
He silently looked over the the windows, rain still beating against the panes. It sounded like they would shatter at any moment from the intensity of the storm. After what felt like an eternity, Dr. Crane finally turned back to and glared at me for only a quick second before rising from his place on the chair. He stood directly in front of where I sat and grasped my quivering chin, tilting my head to look up at him. I didn't fight it. I didn't have the energy to.
His jaw clench, further defining his tight jawline and looked down on me with only his deadly eyes. "Ms. Thatcher, I'm a very compulsive individual...self-diagnosed, of course." The doctor gave a cunning grin. God, now he had jokes. I wanted to punch him in his manhood, which was only a few inches from my face...the thought of it made my insides squirm.
"And it seems like I've formed a bit of an obsession with you."
My body went cold in some places and began to warm in others. He danced his cool, hewn hands from my chin to the side of my face and crouched to match my gaze. His thumb grazed my hot cheek and found it's way to my bottom lip.
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"There are too many people like me in this city. I won't let them hurt you." He released me.
"And what of you? Will you hurt me?"
"As a doctor, I'm not allowed to give you answers I'm unsure of." Jonathan tried to smile, but canceled the attempt mid motion.
