The Fear Dissertation // A Jonathan Crane Dark Romance

11

It takes two more days for the police to come.

I've taken the days off work, refusing to give them the opportunity to make the arrest at Arkham. Trying to preserve what little dignity could possibly remain in this ordeal. In this time I've packed up my things and moved them into storage. The house belongs to Matt's parents. They'll be wanting it back.

I tape up the last box, frowning slightly. I really need new clothes. I can't find my favourite underwear anywhere, and my satin pyjama set has gone missing.

I'm wearing light jeans and a green tank top when a knock comes at the door. Instinctively, I already know who it is.

Officers Penny and Brooks are grim-faced. "Miss Moore. We have updates on Mr Carter's case. May we come in?"

I struggle to move, the air feels so thick with fear. Closing the door, walking through to the living room, sinking slowly onto the couch. It all feels like moving through sludge.

"We found Mr Carter's body in a forest out west. I'm sorry to say he is dead."

I nod. I already know this. I've already begun working through my grief, my complicated feelings on the matter. I never loved Matt. But I never hoped he would die.

"When did this happen?" I ask.

Penny clears his throat. "Three days ago."

I give a thin smile. "And why am I only being told now?"

Brooks folds his arms across his chest and leans back. But Penny disregards my question.

"Our voice analysis came back for the video of Mr Carter on the train."

I wait.

"He's saying, scarecrow. Over and over. Scarecrow, scarecrow." A chill sweeps through me. "Any idea why?"

I know why. Because we spoke about it. He brought up what happened to my family that night, how badly it fucked me up.

But why would he choose to hyperfixate on that, on a train headed out west?

"No idea," I lie.

Penny's eyebrows lower. "Miss Moore, are you aware this is a similar pattern to that exhibited by two patients at your own Arkham Asylum?"

I frown. "Excuse me?"

"Two of Falcone's thugs. Both given insanity plea deals. Shortly after arriving at the asylum, both went loopy. Mutter the same thing — the scarecrow."

I eye both police officers with suspicion. Corrupt. Both of them. They've clearly been investigating me, and connected the dots — I'm the sole survivor from the serial killer's attack on the farmhouse. The one who posed as a scarecrow. They're trying to get to me. It's the only explanation. Matt probably wasn't saying the word scarecrow at all.

How I wish, in this moment, I had persevered with Doctor Crane's treatment. How I wish I could be fearless, rather than reduced to silence, hearing the ghost of heavy footsteps and an axe dragging across the floor.

"I once again urge to you to turn over all your records, Miss Moore," Penny says. "There's a connection here. It might be the only way to clear your name."

"No," I say quietly.

Penny sighs. "Then we're gonna have to get a subpoena."

"No, you're not." I meet his gaze. "You would have already done so by now. The Judge refused, didn't he? That's why you're here. Trying to trick me."

Penny's silent. It's Brooks who speaks.

"What's your connection to Dennis Oldham?"

My brow furrows. "Excuse me?"

"Dennis Oldham. Gotham thug."

"I've never heard that name in my life."

Brooks hands a piece of paper to me. I stare into the unrecognisable face. The sunken eyes, greasy hair. He looks like any other criminal.

I shake my head. "I've never met him."

Penny speaks again. "Once again, connected to Falcone. To the scarecrow loonies in your asylum. Two days ago, he confessed to the murder of Mr Carter."

I glance up. "This man killed Matt?"

"No." Penny stroked his moustache uneasily. "Mr Carter died of self-inflicted asphyxiation."

"He hanged himself," I whisper. Grief pierces through my heart, stabbing me in the chest. Matt. Why? But then I frown. "Why have you been treating this as a murder case?"

Penny sets his jaw. "Because Mr Carter is connected to some very powerful people. All of whom demanded this be looked into."

"That's why you wanted to frame me." My chest burns like I've inhaled fire. "To appease them. Well? What did Oldham say?"

"He said that he simply told Mr Carter what to do. To take the train, and a rope. Told him exactly which tree in exactly which area of the woods. But here's what troubles me, Miss Moore. He gave us details. Details about this house. How he accosted Mr Carter. Details only the killer could have known."

"Then why," I ask furiously, "Are you still sniffing around here, desperately trying to pin the blame on me?"

Penny launches himself to his feet. "Because I don't buy it, Miss Moore. Some low-level gangster decides to confess to this now? No. I don't buy it at all. Oldham was paid off, or he was blackmailed."

"Then perhaps you ought to be investigating crime bosses," I suggest, standing to my own feet and crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm afraid I am not one. Will this be the last we see of each other, or do I need to file a harassment order with the court?"

Penny's eyes narrow. He considers me in silence. "We'll close the file," he finally says. "But I'd be extra cautious if I were you, Miss Moore. Should anyone else around you go missing, I won't hesitate to put you behind bars."

I see them out of the house. Lock the door. When I hear the motor of their car pull away, I release a long, held breath. Cross the house to the bedroom, where I pull a shirt of Matt's out of the closet. I hold it close. I hadn't loved him. I hadn't even liked him towards the end. If this hadn't actually happened, I might have argued he deserved to die for hitting me, for lying for so long. But he didn't deserve this.

Whatever corrupt shit he'd gotten himself into — for that's the only explanation I can think of — he didn't need to die.

"I'm sorry," I murmur into the fabric.

Then I compose myself. Neatly hang it back up. Glance around the room, bare and empty of all my things now.

Where the fuck am I going to live?