The Schemer

The Things That We Carry

Her unnamed relationship with the Scarecrow was interesting, to say at least. Really entertaining at times, annoyingly serious when he was irritated or angry, and also sweet and almost caring when they laid on the ground or on the couch, Clara's head in Crane's lap, talking about the mass world domination and the ways to improve the nowadays educational system. She got warmed to Jonathan's aquamarine, hooded gaze and analytical mind, while he got used to Clara's dry sense of humor and cynical persona. 

The thug, clearly scared, terror reflecting in his eyes, remained silent as a grave. He watched Dent flick the coin into the air and slap it onto the back of his gun hand. The White Knight showed Thomas Schiff the coin. Heads. A shaking exhale escaped the thug's mouth. "I don't know anything!"

"You're not playing the odds, friend." The coin was tossed once more. This time, when it landed, Dent stared at it intently for a few seconds. Then, he moved his eyes towards Schiff, a weird expression making its way on Harvey's face. "Tails." He was a good actor. And a good liar, too. 

"Wait! The woman! He was with a woman!"

The fish was cooked, cooling on the plate next to a pile of fresh watercress, chopped parsley and tarragon. Clara put it on the table, sitting down and taking in a deep breath, a breath full of the aroma of spices and herbs. The firsts bite was like a feast for her taste receptors. The second went down with as much pleasure as the previous one.

During his third year at Harvard, Jonathan began experimenting. Nothing serious at that time, only psychedelic herbs and weak chemicals. It was fascinating to watch him, entertaining to listen to his fantasies and ideas on how he intends to reform the world of psychology. Sometimes, Clara added her own insight, contributing to his plans and formulas of various future drugs. The woman was excellent at chemistry, after all. It didn't cost to share knowledge with your friend, did it? 

Dent stared at the dark-haired man, void of any words, suspicion evident on his face. "What woman?" Schiff swallowed, his mouth shut once more. "I asked, what woman? Don't make me execute the initial action. What knowledge are you carrying underneath that thick skull of yours?"

"I DON'T KNOW! Okay? I don't know! The woman. The tattooed woman. She was with him. She killed the other men."

"The Joker works with a tattooed woman who killed his goons?"

"YES! Yes! He told her to kill them during the parade after he killed the Mayor. She shot them, six of them!" He started shaking once more, wide-eyed and sweating like a pig. "He also said the surgeon is a very dear friend of his." Dent's eyes narrowed in confusion. The surgeon? A tattooed woman and also a surgeon? He couldn't think of one, his mind in a haze. The man kept staring at him, not blinking, just taking in deep gulps of air.

The trout was finished, Clara's stomach full of delicious fish. She stood up, making her way towards the sink with intention of washing the plate. Standing in front of a large window, her eyes lowered, she followed the movements of her own hands. The woman watched. Clara felt water running down her skin. And if she hadn't lifted her steely eyes at that precise second, if her gaze had remained lowered, she wouldn't have caught the moment when a large, wide-eyed bird smashed against her window, its wings spread wide, huge nails aiming for the woman's head. The window was closed. The creature hit the glass with such force that the construction of it vibrated. It fell at the same moment when Clara felt a sharp pain in her hand, shards of a shattered plate digging deep in her palm. Lowering her eyes, she saw red water running down. 

"Fuck." Cursing silently, the woman quickly turned off the water, collecting pieces of the white porcelain with her good hand and throwing them into the bin. Then, she made her way towards the bathroom, where the first-aid kit was. Although the wound was probably clean, the surgeon still disinfected it with an alcohol-based solution, putting a white bandage on the fresh cuts. These were deep wounds, jagged and ugly-looking, promising some disgusting scars after healing if she didn't take good care of them.