I always knew it would happen. I mean living in Gotham City, how can it not? I just hoped it would have happened later. The most ironic thing is, while I was on the ground, the side of my face bloody from being dragged across the rough cement, my hands scratched from falling, and one of my captors digging a blade into my arm that was twisted behind my back, I was thinking about what new Halloween treats I could make for my bakery this season. Strange right? Well I thought so. Finally my captor let me go and I watched him and his buddy run away after thoroughly going through my one strapped back pack. I sighed, got up, and walked home.
Home was an apartment on the second floor. No one in the complex lived on the first floor, and on my floor there was only one other apartment. This one belonged to someone who worked just as much as I did. Both working late, though I have never met them, I already liked them. I appreciate people who value work like I do.
As I reached the landing I dug in my bag for my keys: not there. My cell phone: smashed. Just perfect. I looked at my watch: 10:45 PM. I was in high hopes that my neighbour was up. I knocked lightly on their door and waited. But thirty seconds later it opened to reveal a tall, slender man with strikingly blue eyes and brown hair. He wore glasses, a button up shirt ,and dress pants, his tie was slightly loosened. He stared at me with confusion but recovered quickly and returned to an expressionless face.
"May I help you?" he asked with a deep and calming voice.
"Yes, sorry to bother you so late, but I was wondering if I could borrow your phone," I asked as politely as I could. I didn't want to seem crazy, I must have looked it with my bleeding face and hands.
"Why did you come all the way up to an apartment room to ask to borrow a phone?" he asked sceptically.
"Well I live next door, but I had a little mishap on the way home and seemed to have gotten my keys stolen and my phone broken," I explained calmly.
"I see," he paused and took a good look over of me, "come in." He walked away from the door and I followed. He handed his phone to me and a book of yellow pages. I nodded in thanks and looked up and dialled the closest locksmith. A few were open late, luckily. They said they would be over in a few minutes. I hung the phone up and placed it on the counter.
"He said he'll be here in a few minutes. Sorry again for bothering you," I said.
"It's fine. Please have a seat," he said and indicated his couch. I took a seat on the black leather couch and looked around. There were lots of books everywhere, but for the most part it was pretty bare. Another indication of a work-a-holic.
"Thank you. I'm Katrina Tassel, by the way," I said holing my hand out.
"Jonathan Crane," he replied. He sat down next to me and looked at the palm of my outstretched hand
"Oh, sorry," I said lowering my hand.
"You should get that looked at," he said staring at the side of my face that was scratched up.
"I will. I'll clean it once I can get into my apartment," I said.
"Do you mind?" he asked pointing to my scratched face.
"No," I replied. His smooth hand touched the side of my face as he moved it to see it better.
"There is a lot of dirt in this cut. If it doesn't get cleaned soon an infection is almost positive," he said releasing my head.
"Are you a doctor?" I asked genuinely curious.
"Yes," was the short reply.
"Well if it bothers you so much then I grant you permission to clean it," I said. He nodded and stood up. He left the room only to return moments later carrying a first aid kit. He sat back down again and began to work on cleaning out my wonderful wound. First he patched up my face, then cleaned my hands and he figured out my arm wound from the blood dripping down my arm.
"Anything else?" he asked. I shook my head 'no'. He put the first aid kit on the coffee table and leaned back in the couch.
"So what kind of doctor are you?" I asked just trying to pass the time.
"A psychiatrist. Namely, a psychopharmacologist," he said.
"Nice, do you have your own business or work in a hospital or something?"
"I am the director of Arkham Asylum."
"Impressive. That's not too far from here."
"And what do you do?"
"I'm a baker. I own Gotham City Cakes on the other, more nicer, side of town."
"I've read an article about you. Named top pastry artist in the city."
"Yes, well, in this city, how many could there possibly be?"
"Good point."
"But I like my job. I get to deal with different people. Mostly crazy brides, which on their wedding days I might be more happier then they are because then I don't have to deal with them anymore." We shared a short laugh. A knock on the door made Jonathan Crane answer it. It was the locksmith, but that was predictable. I showed him the lock and he got me in and we made arrangements for him to make me another key, said it would be dropped off in the morning. I thanked him and he left. Then I turned to Jonathan Crane; my neighbour who I had just met.
"Well thank you for everything," I said.
"If you can tomorrow stop by, I would like to check on your cuts," he said. I nodded and entered into my apartment. I heard his door shut and I closed mine after. I've lived in this apartment for almost three years now and this is the first time I met my neighbour. I honestly don't know what to make of that.
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A/N: New story. My very first Batman inspired fan fiction. It's about my favourite Batman villain (use to be my favourite villain until Heroes came along. But I'm not complaining). Tell me what you think, my last story I didn't get many reviews so if you think other people are reviewing, guess what, they aren't. Thanks for reading.