The Schemer

The Grudge

"Remember what I have said."

It was way past noon when Clara finally exited the Scarecrow's apartment. They talked, and they played, and they discussed how to apply placebo and therefore save the government's money on pills. It would be much cheaper to use a placebo - sugar, glycerol, some distilled water instead of the real stuff. Both doctors have acknowledged a few incidents in the past where patients experienced improvements without actual medicine, only believing that they got something that is supposed to help. Furthermore, it was legal. What else would one call homoeopathic drugs other than a placebo? Above a board of chess, there was room for a variety of topics to be discussed. The Joker got his honourable place and time, too. Crane updated, informed Clara on what he knew about that man, which, bearing in mind that it was the perspicacious doctor she was talking with, was surprisingly little.

Moving towards her car, the woman mused on her weekend plans. Forget the exploration of the city. She wanted some time alone, as Jonathan used up the remainings of her reserves of time for human interaction. Humorously, when Clara was younger, she used to imagine her patience's resources as this weird hourglass. Every time when the woman encountered a social interaction, she felt a mental tickling of sand. When it was all down, Clara would go to a quiet place and 'refill' that clock. Loneliness in the most direct meaning was her way of recharging. 

Nearing the Mustang, Clara's sixth sense was silent. She didn't see a man exiting an underground kitchen. A man, with a purple suit full of small, self-made bombs, curiously following her retreat with dark, bottomless eyes. Jonathan lived next to a quiet, unpopular restaurant which lacked its customers due to the bad location. Convenient for Crane who hated cooking, but not prestigious enough for the so-called royalty of Gotham, powerful people who ruled this city. It was partly their own fault that at some point in Gotham's history, due to the lack of movement nearby, the restaurant became somewhat popular among criminals. And while Clara had her afternoon tea and games with the psychology professor, the Joker had his own trip to the kitchens, attending criminals' group therapy session. But now, when his appearance was made, threats and propositions presented, he had all the time in the world. Like a lucky cat, unnoticed by the unaware canary, with hungry orbs, the clown eyed a metaphorical open door of the cage. In reality, it was the turned back of an unaware woman and her lack of knowing what's behind. He eyed the sharp curve of his victim's spine, outstretched, seemingly strong torso, hidden by a long, dark coat which was not able to hide the unusually powerful build of this weird woman. That, and the fact that the Joker had a physical reminder of her fist and shoulder in a form of severe bruises, marking his skin. The man followed her movements closely, memorizing the car's numbers. "Little, uh, assassin,  whatcha doin' here?" Murmuring underneath his breath, silently so he wouldn't spoil the advantage of woman's cluelessness about the Joker's whereabouts, the man experienced a hesitation inside his head. He could follow her now, strangle from behind, perhaps crack open her head, give a concussion or knock out so he could murder her later, adorn with a smile which her wintry face lacked, and push the dead body from the roof. "No, it's a, uh, special method for the fake Bat." Or, the Joker could track her location, her house through the car numbers that should be registered, tied with the name of the person who owned it and pay a short visit at night. "Short and painless-s." Grinning, the man remained where he was, hooded eyes displaying unhidden excitement. Licking his lips, he stood up, seeing the dark Mustang speeding down the road. The Joker made his way towards the black van. Inside his own vehicle, he took a phone from the glove compartment, dialling a number that he had memorized a long time ago. "Hello-o?" With his nasal, comic voice, the man asked to find the location of his soon-to-be victim, reversing from a hidden spot that the van was parked in and aimlessly driving down the street. He waited for a few minutes, drumming his fingers on the wheel, like a child on a day before Christmas, knowing well that the presents will arrive so fucking soon.