Fear (A Scarecrow Fanfic)

Chapter Two

"Since you were uncooperative yesterday, I've decided that we'll play a little game...." I met Jonathan's eyes, knowing that he had already been studying my every move since I had first entered the room, "I'll say a word and you'll say the first thing that pops into your mind, okay?"

He didn't say anything so I took that as my que to begin.

"Puppies," I said the first thing that popped into my head, wanting to see where this would go.

"Dogs," he responded.

"Wolves."

"Packs."

"Hunters."

"Blood," he smiled, watching me even closer.

"Life."

"Death."

"Certainty," I answered, realizing where this was going.

"Fear," Jonathan concluded.

I frowned, "Alright. Why are you so interested in fears?"

"Why shouldn't I be?  Why are you interested in being a Doctor here?"  He asked in response.

I glanced at the clock, seeing that my time was almost up, "I want to help people.  Why are you interested in fears?  Did your interests of the topic extend to before you became the Scarecrow?"

Once again, he ignored my question, asking one of his own, "Why do you want to help people? Are you trying to make up for something you did in your past? Are you afraid of the judgement of others?"

I scowled at him, annoyed that he wouldn't cooperate. Was it too much to ask that he answered at least one of my questions? Fighting off my irritation, I sighed, stopping the recording, and leaned back in my seat with my arms crossed.

"We're out of time today," I answered, looking into his piercing eyes as they eagerly watched me.

His voice was filled with amusement, irritating me more as he smiled, "Of course, Doctor. I'll see you tomorrow."

I watched as the guards took him out of the room, not responding to him. As the guards led him around the corner of the door, he looked back, still smiling. Too angry to be creeped out by him, I removed the tape from the recorder, standing up and leaving the psychiatric room.

I filed the tape in my office and sat down at my desk, quickly writing the report on the session. This was the least interesting part of the job and I found that it had already grown to be irritating. I would have to see if I could get around writing the report, just using the tape should be enough.  Why was the asylum using tapes anyway; could they not afford to install camera recorders in the psychiatric rooms?

Finished with all my work, I looked up at the clock, seeing that it was past time for me to go home. I logged out of the computer, stood up from my desk, and left the office, locking the door behind me.

When I got to my car, I checked my phone, seeing I had gotten a text from my friend, Jasmine, asking me out for dinner. I texted back a quick, 'I'm not sure I want to go out tonight.'

Not even a second later, she responded, 'Come on! You absolutely have to come with me to this one restaurant! The food is great!'