Everything She Saw

Where Angels Fear to Tread

 A month after I met Katie-with-no-last-name, my plans fell through the roof. A story would be needed to explain why I was outside of the one place in this city I absolutely hated: Arkham Asylum.

The day after I met with Katie at the cafe, I went to the cops as I said I would. I gave Detective Renee Montoya the photos. I wasn't surprised when she asked where I got them. Since I had promised Katie I wouldn't mention her name, I used the anonymous source card. It wasn't something I necessarily wanted to do, but I did promise her.

And I never ended up dropping the case. Montoya had taken the photos directly to Gordon, and he asked me if I would stay on the story since I had done such a good job with the last one. I wanted to say no, but if the Commissioner asks you to do something, it's probably a good idea to say yes. So I stayed on the story. That was only part of the reason I was at Arkham.

The other involved Jonathan. He'd finally been captured and returned to the asylum. It had been Bruce Wayne's idea to speak to him. I loathed to think about speaking to Jonathan again, but he was on the inside. There was a good chance he would know something.

So could Zsasz, though. And I had no real personal connections to him.

It'd been a long time since I'd been in this building. I still hated it. It was still so, so loud. The patients still sounded miserable. The building was exactly the same. It may have been the only thing that hadn't changed with time. That was a sad thought.

I walked to the receptionist. She looked bored. They always looked bored. The woman didn't even look at me.

"Hello," I said. She kept her head down.

"What?" She didn't sound happy.

"I'm here to see a patient."

"Your name?"

"Amber Connery."

She glanced up briefly. "Here to visit your boyfriend, I see."

"He's not my boyfriend," I said firmly. The woman didn't appear as if she cared. She motioned to one of the orderlies passing us.

"Take her to the visitor's room," she said.

I followed the male down the hall. I vaguely remembered the path we were taking. I was sure I had taken it once before. He stopped before a room and opened the door leading inside it. There were guards beside the door. There was no warning from them. I didn't need it; I'd done this before.

Jonathan sat straight up in the chair. His wrists were chained to the arms and I'm sure his ankles to the legs. He was calm, not agitated. Passive, not aggressive. I'm not sure which I would have rather had.

"I was rather surprised to hear you wanted to come here, Amber," he said. His voice was the same. Cold. Clinical.

"I have questions."

"Another story you have no control over? You're getting yourself into far deeper trouble than I would have thought you capable of."

"You taught with Hugo Strange? You never mentioned that. Tell me about him," I demanded. It had taken me an embarrassingly long time to come to that conclusion.

"Do you want a description? Or confirmation that he is the one making patients disappear?" Jonathan asked. Both would have been preferable. I would accept the latter more than the former, though.

"I'll take either at the point I'm at."

"He's obsessive, though intelligent. Sadistic and unstable," Jonathan listed, sounding incredibly bored. It sounded like everything I had previously heard about Strange. There was nothing new that Jonathan was saying.