Nothing to Fear

(12 Years Later)
Rain pattered outside my bedroom window. Every drop sounded like a single explosion, leaving my ears throbbing. Usually the sound of rain would be soothing to me, but it wasn’t soothing in the slightest that night. I couldn’t exactly place the reason why.

The dark sky was crying tears that slid down my glass double door that led out onto a balcony. I watched from a distance, curled up under my warm goose feather comforter. There was something too exact about the way the lightening flashed across the night sky.

Feeling that sleep was a mile away, I sat up and pushed my covers aside. Cool air hit me, sending goose bumps to creep up my body like tiny spiders. I slipped my robe on over my nightgown and pulled on a pair of ankle high socks. Tying the strings on my robe, I stepped out of my room and into the hall.

The hallway was empty aside from my tiny white cat, Phoenix, who watched me with a pair of blue eyes. I called his name and he quietly padded towards me. Hunching down, I held out my hand to him and he rubbed his face against it. “Are you hungry?” I asked him in a baby voice. He meowed once in response. “Let’s go get you a nice fishy.”

Phoenix followed me downstairs, sometimes cutting in front of me as if to make a point that I were going too slow. My house, though very large and spacious, only housed myself and my father. Since my father was usually caught up in his own affairs at work, I often was alone aside from Phoenix.

The flight of stairs stopped in front of the front door. The extravagant chandelier sent mediums dancing around the room. I stepped to the right and made my way through a dark lonely dining room that was decorated in a London theme. My fingers brushed across the mahogany table. I nearly gasped when my fingers found paper.

Turning the light on, my eyes fell onto a piece of scrap paper with inarticulate words scribbled on it. I picked it up, running a finger across the line of words. It was all unidentifiable, seeming to be written in another language entirely and the sloppy handwriting didn’t help.

Phoenix rubbed his head against my leg. I set the paper back in its place and stepped through the single archway and into the kitchen. An island table sat in the middle surrounded by cupboards, an electric stove, and a silver refrigerator decorated by magnets and pictures of my father and me.

I opened the freezer and fished out a can of tuna. After placing it in the microwave, I began preparing a bowl of quick oatmeal. Phoenix waited impatiently, every now and then meowing in annoyance. The microwave beeped off and I took out the tuna and placed it in front of Phoenix, his fuzzy white tail snaking around his body as he nibbled on the thawed out fish.

My eyes glanced over at the digital clock on the microwave. It read 3:07. I sighed and placed my bowl of oatmeal in the microwave and pressed 2. It lit up and began to spin. I looked at the photos of my father and me without really thinking about it. Every photo mirrored a smile looking back at me.

Many people assumed that my father had never been apart of my life seeing as he’s always working. In a way, they’re right. There was a time when he’d take me to the zoo or buy me ice cream, but as I grew older I guess he lost reason to do things with me. Of course, I understood completely. He was the CEO of a major shipping company and he hardly had time to think, let alone spend time with his only daughter.

When the buzzer on the microwave went off, I jerked a bit. I added sugar and milk to the oatmeal and brought it into the TV room. I flipped on the news to find Gotham City in a swarm of panic. The screen flashed with pictures of a skinny bald man. He had a smile on his face despite the fact that he was in handcuffs. A news woman began to speak.

“Victor Zsasz, a former head of his own incorporation, was arrested earlier today outside his home on Jefferson Ave. He will be trialed for the murder of Elliot Reynolds and the disappearance of his seven-year-old son, Damian Reynolds. Investigators found the mutilated body of Elliot Reynolds laying on his bed stabbed to death. Commissioner James Gordon had this to say-” The screen blinked again and a pale faced man with a mustache, white hair, and glasses appeared on the screen.

“I have been trying my best to keep this city in check and somehow or another it slips under my grasp. With the help of Batman, we were able to track down and arrest Mr. Zsasz four hours after the disappearance of Damian Reynolds. Hopefully with the help of Batman, we‘ll get out of this mess.” The news woman popped up on the screen, her eyes showing concern and fear.

“However, Gotham Police and investigation team were unable to track down the boy. Zsasz has proved to be unhelpful when the matter was brought up, however; the alleged serial killer has confessed to murdering the missing boy’s father.” The screen changed to show the bald man once again. This time I took notice that he had blue eyes, but they looked nearly black and had a few scars snaking out of his orange jumpsuit.

“I kill because I want to kill. I kill because I choose to kill.” He spoke in an almost zombie-like tone. The video froze, Mr. Zsasz still looking into the camera with a crazed look on his face. The strangest thought came into my head as I stared at the screen. Mr. Zsasz didn’t care, not about anything. The only thing on his mind was murder.

My teacher, Professor Houser, once explained that some victims of insanity may never come out of it and may never be helped. He also explained that in many cases they can never be bully ‘cured’. I didn’t exactly believe him at the time. It was so easy for me to believe that everything can be cured. That would be easy for anybody to believe, that if they truly wanted to. People like Mr. Zsasz can never be cured, but he can be treated.

I watched the television screen blink all different colors, the Gotham News cast reviewing weather conditions and stories. Slowly, I fell into a deep haze and finally the world slipped away completely and I began to dream.

“Miss Knight, Miss Knight? I have to vacuum.” My eyes blinked open to find a disgruntled Mary with her hands on her hips. Mary was our cleaning lady who was in her late 40’s with graying hair. As much as I appreciated her, the awakening would hardly put me in a good mood.

I sat up on the couch, Phoenix jumping off his spot between my legs. A cold bowl of oatmeal sat on the coffee table in front of me. I smiled at Mary, suddenly feeling guilty for not taking it out before I fell asleep. “Sorry, Mary. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

Mary smiled and picked up the bowl of oatmeal. “Don’t you have a class this morning, Miss Knight? It’s twenty to nine.” My eyes popped and I stood up and quickly made my way back up to my bedroom.

I fumbled to find an outfit in my closet. Finally, I decided on a blue lace top under a black long-sleeved shirt and a pair of long dark pants. I put on eye liner and mascara and brushed through my golden hair. It came out in long waves down my back. I then grabbed my bag, jogged down the stairs, and jumped into my black Saturn that was parked outside.

Pulling out of the driveway, I turned on the radio. The first few stations I flipped through contradicted my taste. By the 5th station, the mention of Arkham caught my attention. “Recently the behaviors of some of the residents at Arkham Asylum have gone passed the point of manageable. Rumors of an Arkham disaster have been openly spoken of. Mr. Jeremiah Arkham assures the people of Gotham that all is well.”

“The insane should be expected to act insane.” Mr. Arkham’s voice spoke through the radio. “There is nothing unexpected about their behavior and I have everything under control. There’s nothing to worry about. Arkham Asylum is the least of Gotham’s worries.”

“It would seem that Mr. Arkham has things under control, but is something darker brewing inside Gotham? Stay tuned to 23.7 for more updates. This is Maggie Shields broadcasting to you live from Gotham’s coast.”

I pulled into the university parking lot just as the weather came on announcing a severe weather watch for that night. Exhaustion didn’t hit me until I turned off my cars’ engine. I leaned my head against my steering wheel, almost daring to fall back asleep. I jolted up when a knock came at my car door. I turned to find my professor peering into the my window. I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and opened my car door.

“Miss. Knight? Is that you?” He must have just arrived.

“Psych class starts at nine, Professor Houser. Aren’t you going to be late?” I let out a light laugh as I slipped out of my car to face my smiling psychology teacher. He wore a dark green sweater vest and his gray hair was partially combed back. I had thought once that he looked a bit like Santa without the bulging stomach.

“That’s the wonderful thing about being a professor, Alizabeth. The class doesn’t start without you.” Mr. Houser had been my favorite professor since I first attended Gotham University. He not only had a good sense of humor, but often helped his students when they needed it. Whenever I held him up after class he’d say “Okay Miss Knight, but I get paid by the hour.”

“Are you excited for the visitor today?” He asked as he held open the door for me. I walked passed him into the bright university where various students roamed the halls.

“I could hardly sleep last night.”

“Which is why you slept in today?” He inquired.

“I suppose,” I sighed, thinking back to the restless sleep I had the night before. As if Professor Houser could sense my lingering thoughts, he stopped and turned to look at me. I stopped too.

“Alizabeth, is everything alright?” He asked, his face showing concern. I didn’t exactly know the reason why I couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t because I was alone. I was alone almost every night. It wasn’t because of exams or my recent loss of appetite. “How did you get that scratch on your face?” My eye brows knitted together and I touched a hand to my cheek. Sure enough I felt something thin and crusty.

“Professor Houser?” We both looked up as a female secretary made her way towards us. Her glasses hung around her neck and she looked partially flustered.

“What is it Mrs. Rinehart?” Professor Houser asked, fortunately forgetting our previous discussion.

“This is Dr. Crane from Arkham. He has a bit of bad news.” It wasn’t until she had mentioned him that I had noticed a tall man standing behind her. He had dark brown hair that waved back, a couple long strands falling onto his face. He wore a suit, glasses, and held a suitcase, much like Professor Houser’s. He lingered behind Mrs. Rinehart until after she introduced him.

“Well, what is it?” Professor Houser asked after a moment of silence. I watched Dr. Crane carefully, as if he were some kind of predator. I had the strangest feeling about him. His eyes shifted towards me and my stomach dropped along with my gaze.

“I don’t believe this conversation is appropriate in front of one of your students, Professor.” He said in a whisper. His voice was quiet, but demanding. I found myself glued to the spot, unable to move.

“It is hardly a concern of mine, Dr. Crane. We’re all adults here.” Professor Houser answered. Dr. Crane kept his same emotionless face. He removed his glasses to reveal a pair of striking blue eyes. I was surprised to see how young he looked. At the most he had to be in his early 30’s or late 20’s.

“Very well. I’m sorry to say that Dr. Kellerman has-,“he paused for a moment, “fallen ill. Tests would indicate that his illness has enervated him. It is unlikely that he will recover in the next few weeks.”

“What exactly do you mean by this, Doctor?”

“What I mean, Professor, is that Dr. Kellerman will not be able to accept your invitation today.” I watched Dr. Crane under my eyelashes. He still looked like a robot, showing no emotion at the slightest. “I do apologize. I know what an inconvenience this is for you,” he whispered in his soft voice, but I could tell there was still no emotion behind it.

“Well, would you mind taking his place?” When Professor Houser spoke after a moment of silence. Dr. Crane seemed frozen by the question. He cleared his throat before he spoke.

“And do what? I do have my own job to-”

“Surely it wouldn’t be too much trouble to answer a few questions about Arkham and your job there.”

Dr. Crane cleared his throat again and put his glasses back on his face, pausing another moment before speaking. “As you wish, Professor.” Dr. Crane didn’t manage to smile or show any enthusiasm towards Professor Houser’s request, but for some reason I wasn’t surprised. He walked with us down the hallway, acting as our shadow and never stepping in front of or beside us.

“This is my room. I’ll introduce you and let the students ask the questions.” Professor Houser opened the door to reveal a crowd of about thirty college students. I joined them, not wanting to linger in his presence any longer.

A couple students noticed Dr. Crane walk into the room. “Hey, Beth. Who is that?” Danielle, who sat behind me, asked. I turned a bit and shrugged, not feeling like getting into the matter. I hardly knew much more than she did.

The class simmered down as Professor Houser took his place at the front of his podium. He gestured for Dr. Crane to step forward. “This is Doctor Jonathan Crane. He’s a doctor at Arkham Asylum. He’s agreed to talk with you today and answer any questions that you may have about the asylum.” A couple whispers sounded off from the crowd. Dr. Crane set his suitcase on the floor next to him. He scanned the sea of students and I let my head fall when he turned in my direction.

“This is my third year at Arkham Asylum. I mainly focus as pharmaceuticology, but I also act as a guidance in therapy seasons.” Dr. Crane scanned the room once again. His eyes found me and for a moment we continued to stare into each other’s eyes.

“Dr Crane, what did you think about the case of Victor Zsasz. They’re saying he’s being kept from jail to be treated at Arkham. Is that true?” A student from the crowd asked. Dr. Crane looked away from me and back at the whole body of students.

“As it is not my place to give that information, I will say that if Mr. Zsasz is as much a danger to others as he is himself then Arkham would be appropriate for his rehabilitation.”

“So, you think it’s right for a criminal losing jail time just because he has an insanity condition?” Danielle spoke up from behind me. Dr. Crane cleared his throat.

“Insanity can overdevelop the mind to the point where everything becomes extremely lucid. An insane mind is much more…complex than a sane mind. They are unmanageable in the real world. So, yes, I believe that insanity is a perfect reason to lose jail time.” The room was quiet and I figured that all the students were digesting what Dr. Crane had relaxed.

“Dr. Crane,” I found myself speaking up. Dr. Crane’s eyes immediately found mine. My heart throbbed and my skin crawled with nerves.

“Miss Knight,” he spoke. A couple of the other students whispered after he mentioned my name, probably wondering how he had known it.

“How do you expect a criminal to suffer the consequences that he disserves if he is brought to your asylum like an innocent victim? Or is the law not in affect for people like Mr. Zsasz?” I asked. Various whispers sounded off and a few smiles lit the room, but other than that everyone awaited Dr. Crane’s response.

“Well, Miss Knight, if insanity is the case then it would seem that Mr. Zsasz would have no say in his actions making him an innocent victim.” Dr. Crane kept his eyes locked on mine, still no emotion looking out of from them.

“Is it possible that perhaps he isn’t insane, Dr. Crane? Perhaps he, or say another convict would make it up to get out of his sentence. Then within a few years of comfortable living and therapy, he’s released back into our city without a scratch on him. Then what, Doctor, would prevent him from killing again? Your medicine? Will your words stop him? Because if that’s the case then why not send every criminal to Arkham?”

The room was silent. I had stood up halfway through my spiel, a spiel I now regretted. Dr. Crane was staring at me. I saw something on his face, but I couldn’t place the meaning. He cleared his throat, but didn’t speak. Professor Houser broke the silence with a slow chuckle.

“I should have warned you, Doctor. Miss Knight can put up a fight.” The tension in the room faded a fraction and the students relaxed, but Dr. Crane remained staring at me as if he were looking for something buried within me.

“Of course, Miss Knight knows that the purpose of the medicine and my therapy sessions are completely convenient in the treating process. Without them, many would not be able to continue living. Mr. Zsasz is only one of countless billions who may be diagnosed with insanity. Is it not fair that we at Arkham don’t like to take chances?”

Professor Houser laughed once more. “Of course, Dr. Crane. I had no idea that by inviting you I was inviting a disputer. Well done!” Professor Houser stood up and shook hands with Dr. Crane. His eyes remained on me for one last moment before shifting towards Professor Houser. A slight smile came onto his face, but even I could see passed that.

“Thank you for your time, Dr. Crane.” Professor Houser smiled.

“No, thank you, Professor. Dr Crane nodded. A few more words were exchanged between the two, but the students around me had taken this opportunity to talk. I tried my best to decipher what was being spoken, but it was no use. Dr. Crane bent down, grabbed his suitcase, and looked at me once more before heading out the door.

Professor Houser continued on with his lecture, but all the while I couldn’t focus. Something about Dr. Crane had me all shook up. It seemed to me that my desired future career at Arkham had been ruined. I had one chance to impress one of the doctors and I argued with his beliefs. I felt myself sink down in my chair and Danielle kept whispering to me, but I was too exhausted to answer her. Everything seemed to weigh me down.

When Professor Houser announced the end of class, I didn’t comprehend what he said until my classmates began to file out. I was sitting in a desk alone, my bag sitting on the floor next to me. I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up.

“Alizabeth? Dr. Crane asked me to give you an invitation for an interview at Arkham tomorrow. He found your views very impressive.” Professor Houser had a smile stretched across his face and I could tell that he was proud. “This could be your chance of becoming a doctor.”

“He… liked my spiel?” I asked in surprise. I was almost certain that Dr. Crane would be offended once he learned that our opinions on insane serial killers were two completely separate arguments. Professor Houser smiled down at me as I grabbed my bag from the floor.

“Yes, I believe he did. You had a very convincing argument, Alizabeth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a internship in mind for you.” I smiled up at my professor.

“I appreciate all your help Professor Houser.” I picked up my bag and put it over my shoulder. “Did he say what time tomorrow?” I asked, turning before I got to the door.

“He said anytime after 10:00 would be fine. Good luck, Alizabeth.” Professor Houser winked and walked back to his desk.

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

The light outside was gray, shaded by a layer of clouds. A slight breeze rustled the trees around the university. I walked over to my car, unlocked it, and climbed in. I leaned back in my seat, once again acknowledging sleep. Rest beckoned to invade my conscious mind, but it wouldn’t come. I placed a hand on my forehead, instantly feeling the dried up blood I had before.

Flipping the mirror down, I fingered the scar that stretched from my temple to my jaw line. It was strange that I had missed it earlier that morning, but then again I was in a hurry. The scar was about an inch thick.

Where had I gotten the scar? I didn’t remember. I must have fallen into something during the night. I closed my eyes, searching for an explanation. Of course, I could only think of one. I had seen scars such as the one on my face before, many in fact. Though, those scars were made by me and for a reason that couldn’t possibly explain this scar.

My phone went off and I fumbled in my purse to find it. Finally tracking down the mobile device, I answered it in surprise. “Dad?”

“Alizabeth, is your class done?” He asked.

“Yeah, it just ended.” I said, my voice faltering a couple times.

“Are you coming home soon? I making us lunch.” I was so surprised by what he said that I went completely silent. I forgot all about my job interview and about the scar on my face. It was all because my father, my multimillion heir father was making my lunch. “Alizabeth?”

“Yeah. I’ll be home in about ten minutes.” I hung up the phone, all feeling of exhaustion leaving. If I knew my father, lunch had nothing to do with my coming home. He almost never called me and I was lucky if I saw him in a week. He wanted something from me. That much was clear. I couldn’t hide the tiny hope inside of me.

Just as he had said before, my father was setting the empty dining table as I walked through the door. Phoenix was perched on the top of the stairs and lightly stepped down the stairs towards me as I entered. I picked him up and made my way into the kitchen. Everything smelled of chili.

Sure enough, my father stood over a pot of steaming chili. He was a very tall man with broad shoulders and very handsome. At home, he looked completely different from his businesslike alter ego. He had dressed in a dark green sweater and jeans. He turned to look at me, a smile coming onto his face. “It’ll be done in a few minutes. How was class?”

“It was good,” I nodded. Phoenix struggled in my arms. I set him down and he ran over the fridge and turned to look at me. Connecting the dots instantly, I walked over and got out a can of tuna.

“Oh yeah? Learn anything interesting today? I have no idea what goes on in those colleges.” He got out a couple bowls from the cupboard and began ladling chili into them.

“We had a visitor from Arkham today.” I pressed the unthaw button on the microwave. “I may have a job interview.”

My father turned around, a ladle dripping chili onto the white tiled floor. “Did you say Arkham, Arkham Asylum?” I nodded. “I’m in business with them. I could put in a good word.” He went back to preparing the chili, adding cheese and sour cream.

Phoenix meowed and I set the can of tuna down in front of him. I poured two glasses of milk and went to the table. I was soon followed by my father who carefully set a bowl of steaming chili in front of me. I scooped a spoon full and blew on it.

“Look, Alizabeth. There’s this work promotion thing next week and I wanted to know if you could represent me.” I looked up at my father, the spoon of chili still at my lips. “I can’t make it. I have to be in Los Angeles by Friday.”

“Why me? Don’t you have partners to take care of this?” I asked.

“I only can trust you. It’s better anyways because this way I don’t have to worry. It’ll be fine. Just go to Wayne Manor and mingle a bit.” He took a bite of chili. “So, what do you say? This could open doors for you.”

I watched the pleading look in my fathers’ eyes and I knew that I could take this moment to get back at him. This was obviously was very important to him, that I could tell by his lunch invitation. I could get him back for always bailing on me, for never being there for me. Because of him I was alone.

“Alright,” I exhaled. I could never hurt my father. He was my father after all. Maybe the party could open doors for me.

“Which reminds me.” My father reached across the table where a small red box sat with a white ribbon. He pushed it towards me. “A little thank you present.”

I lifted the box lid to find a tiny golden bird with golden spread wings. I picked it up, finding that it was a necklace with a fine gold chain. I looked up at my father, gasping in surprise. “Dad, where did you…,” I lost my voice. It was so beautiful.

“It was your mother’s. I know I should have given it to you earlier, but I just never knew when the right time would be.” He smiled as he took another bite of chili. “You can wear it to the promotion party next week.”

“I suppose I can,” I whispered. I wrapped the necklace around my neck and clipped the clasp. I fingered it before letting it fall just below my collarbone. I smiled at my father and we continued eating our chili. In a strange sort of way, everything seemed to be falling into place.

“I forgot the crackers,” my father said standing up and walking into the kitchen. I smiled after him and took another bite, my eyes finding the scrap piece of paper from the other night. One word stood out amongst the rest this time; Zsasz.