Everything She Saw

Something Wicked This Way Comes

 Edward sat across from me in my favorite coffee shop two weeks after our phone call. The same one I used to meet Jonathan in. He'd called me the night before to tell me he had information for me. That was good, as I had nothing to work with. Nothing whatsoever.

And despite all the teasing I'd gotten from Sam and Zoey, this was not a date. Not a date, but I could appreciate that Edward looked nice. Very nice, actually. Then again, I doubt he went anywhere without looking his absolute best.

"So, what do you have for me?" I asked him. I took a sip from the coffee Edward had ordered me. Too much cream and sugar to even be remotely close to coffee. I wondered how he'd learned that was how I drank it.

"No one knows where he's from. He taught at Gotham State a while back. He was a professor of psychiatry, but he was let go for reasons unknown. You've told me you know when he was hired. And rumor has it he has connections to the mobs," Edward listed. I wrote what he was saying down in a notepad.

"Is that it?" I asked when he hadn't spoken again.

"That's it," he agreed. He drank his tea.

"That's all you could find? There has to be more than that!"

"Of course there is, but it's nothing I can find. I'm the most intelligent person I know, but even I can't make information that isn't there appear out of thin air."

I dropped the notepad on the table. There was no doubt he could see I was clearly frustrated. How could one man have essentially no information? It should have been impossible. There had to be more somewhere.

"Well, Edward, do you think Strange could be making inmates disappear?" I asked. "Because I am out of ideas. How do inmates just disappear?"

"It's possible. Do you know how long the missing inmates were there for?" Edward asked. I did, but I didn't see why it would matter. I picked up the notepad and flipped to the page where I had dates listed.

"Ten years. Nine years. Eleven years. Fourteen years. Sixteen years. There's a couple more. All over a ten years period."

"Are you really not making a connection?" Edward asked. He could be so condescending at times and I hated it. I stared at the numbers, suddenly bent on seeing what he did. Incarceration rates of ten years or more except for one. Long periods of time.

"These people had no visitors," I said. It dawned on me. "Everyone who's missing has been there long enough that people have either forgotten about them or stopped caring."

"There you go."

"Someone with influence has to be doing it, though. The other inmates and doctors have to have noticed some missing inmates. Someone reported it anonymously. Someone must be trying to keep it quiet," I thought out loud.

Someone like Hugo Strange. But without evidence, what I thought didn't matter. And I was not going to Arkham. No way in hell.

"Don't hurt yourself," Edward's voice cut into my thoughts.

"What do you mean?"

"You're thinking too hard."

"Ha-ha, aren't you just hilarious." I dropped the notepad and pen into my purse. Neither of us made a move. "Do you have any plans for tonight, Edward?"

"Why do you ask?" Edward asked. I shrugged.

"Nothing else to do today," I said. "You were my last appointment for the day."

Edward relaxed into the chair. "Go on, then. I have time. I am at your disposal for whatever it is you wish to talk about."

Talking to Edward was a welcome distraction to the mess that had become my life. But the hours I spent talking to him could not be considered a date. Definitely not a date. Even if I liked the way he looked at me and the way he spoke to me. It was not a date.

I was home later than I would have liked. The time had got away from me when I had been talking to Edward. Even though it wasn't a date.

I flipped the light on and locked the door again behind me. I put my bag on a hook near the door, along with my jacket. Something felt off. Something felt out of place. I was pretty sure I'd turned the coffee pot off before I'd left home, too.

"You've been gone a long time, Amber."

My blood ran cold. I inhaled and exhaled. I was not afraid. There was a figure I hadn't noticed before sitting on a chair in the living room. And there was a mug on the table next to him.

"Jonathan. What are you doing here? You shouldn't be there," I said. I avoided the fact that he knew I was gone. It implied he had been here for quite some time.

"Where have you been?" he asked again. He avoided my question.

"Out."

Jonathan stood. I stayed in place as he slowly walked toward me. He wanted to intimidate me. I couldn't let him notice. Not allowing him to notice fear, though, would be a near impossible feat.

"Out where?" he asked, stepping closer. I arched my neck to look at him.

"Why are you here?" I asked again.

"I wanted to see you. I've been out of Arkham as you very well know. Now tell me where you have been," he demanded.

"Out. Research for a story," I answered, hoping the vague answer would be enough for him.

"Really?" he asked. His eyebrows raised slightly. Jonathan didn't believe me. "Tell me about this story."

"It's not important."

His hand reached for me. I took a step back. His lips turned up in a smirk. He knew I was afraid. Jonathan's fingers brushed my hair.

"Who is Edward?" he asked.

The world seemed to stop for a moment. There was no way he could know about Edward. Not unless he'd seen me. Or had someone else tailing me.

I sucked in a breath when his fingers gripped my hair. He tugged at it. "Who is he, Amber?"

"Just a friend," I said. Jonathan stepped closer.

"Really? I get the sense that he is more than that."

"He's not. I swear, he's just a friend."

Jonathan let go of my hair. He stepped back. It wasn't until I had space again that I realized how heavy my breathing had become.

"I don't think you understand how much trouble you're getting yourself into," Jonathan said. "You would do well to remember that I am the only one you can really trust."

I didn't know what he meant by trouble. "Trust you? You can't honestly believe I can trust you! After what you did?"

"Better to trust the devil you know than the devils you don't."

"What the hell do you mean? Stop talking in riddles!"

"I am not the one talking in riddles, Amber."

I couldn't understand why he was speaking so cryptically. The Jonathan I had known hadn't liked riddles. He had been straightforward about most things.

"Get out, Jonathan," I demanded.

"You'll understand what I mean in time," Jonathan promised. I watched him leave. I should have been on the phone with the cops. Yet I wasn't. It was impossible for me to say why.

"Damn him," I muttered.

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A/N: Chapter title borrowed from Ray Bradbury