Better To Be Feared Than Loved

Prologue

Natalie Cross glanced nervously over her shoulder as she hurried across campus in the dark, starting at every shadow and the rustle of the leaves in the wind. She wasn't normally a paranoid person, but she knew wandering around in the dark wasn't a particularly safe thing for a young lady to do. But her volleyball practice had lasted longer than expected, and her boyfriend was already out drinking with his friends and she didn't want him driving back to pick her up. So she had no choice. There wasn't anything particularly unsafe about Gotham University's campus, but all the same, Natalie felt uncomfortable. She felt as if someone was following her…

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Natalie?" asked a voice. She turned to see Bill Whitmore, captain of the football team, and two of his teammates, smiling at her.

"Um…back to my dorm," she replied, slowly.

Bill took a sip from a bottle of beer. "Where's Mark tonight?" he asked.

"At Mickey's," she replied.

"Not here then," he said, grinning at her.

"No," agreed Natalie. She cleared her throat. "Well, I gotta run, Bill…"

"Not so fast, Natalie," he said, catching her arm. "Maybe you and me could get to know each other a little better, huh?"

"No, Bill, I really don't want…" she began, but the other two surrounded her.

"C'mon, baby, there's no need to be like that," murmured Bill. "I'm sure you and me could be really good friends, y'know?"

"Bill, no, please…" began Natalie as he approached her.

"Is there a problem?" said a voice.

Everyone turned to see a tall, thin man illuminated by the light of the moon, carrying a stack of books under his arm. They recognized the man, and he recognized them, smiling grimly. "Ah. Mr. Whitmore. Good evening."

"Professor Crane," stammered Bill. "We weren't…um…we were just…"

"Oh, I believe I am perfectly aware of what you were doing," murmured Crane. "You will unhand the young lady now," he snapped at the other two. They obeyed without question.

"Mr. Whitmore, I fancy the Dean will not be pleased if he is informed by the police of your intentions toward this young lady," murmured Crane. "If I were you and valued your potential career in atheletics as highly as you do, I would be very, very careful not to tarnish my reputation with scandal of any kind. I think you understand me."

Bill's initial shock had worn off, and he snorted, knocking past Crane as he went. Crane suddenly seized him around the throat, and Bill was taken aback as he struggled against an iron grip. Crane smiled. "Fear is not a pleasant sensation, is it, Mr. Whitmore?"

"Let go of me!" gasped Bill. "Please!"

Crane released him. Bill massaged his throat. "You're…you're crazy!" he stammered.

"Perhaps," agreed Crane. "Which is all the more reason for you to fear me, Mr. Whitmore. I am warning you now, do not cross me again."

Bill hurried off with his friends in hot pursuit. Crane turned to see Natalie shivering in fear and cold. He put down his books and then removed his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. "Thank…thank you, Professor," stammered Natalie.

"Not at all, my dear," he said, studying her face. "You look shaken, and you cannot be blamed for that. Where is your dormitory?"

"Other…side of campus," she murmured.

He looked at her. "If you will come with me to my office, I will drop off these books and drive you there," he said.

"Thank you, Professor, that's kind, but I shouldn't trouble you…" she began.

"It is no trouble," he said. "But of course you are welcome to refuse if you would not feel comfortable…"

"Oh no, it's nothing like that," she said, hastily. "I…I…" She sobbed. "Oh yes, please, Professor!" she cried, hugging him suddenly. "I'm just…so scared…I…"

He shushed her. "You cannot be blamed for fear," he murmured. "But you cannot let it master you. Now come with me."

He picked up the books again and put his free arm around her shoulders. She clung to him, realizing she must be making a terrible fool of herself and looking utterly pathetic, but it didn't matter. He had saved her. And she wasn't afraid when she was with him. Something about him banished fear.

He opened the door to his office, a small, cosy room filled with books from floor to ceiling. He removed a pile from a chair and gestured to it. "Sit down," he said. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Yes, please," she murmured. He plugged a small kettle into the wall and retrieved two mugs. When the kettle had boiled, he poured one for her and handed it to her. "Thank you," she murmured, looking around as he poured his own, and sat down at his desk.

"You have…a lot of books," said Natalie, trying to make conversation.

"Yes," he agreed. "It's Miss Cross, isn't it?"

"Natalie Cross, yes," she said. "And you're Professor Crane. You teach psychology."

"Yes," he repeated.

"Are all these books psychology books?" she asked.

Crane smiled. "I like to think every book is a psychology book of one kind or another, Miss Cross," he said. "For what work does not reveal something about the mind of its author? That is my particular area of interest – the mind and its workings."

"And do you learn a lot about that from reading these?" she asked.

"Yes, but I do not always read to learn," he replied. "Sometimes I read to…escape. When life becomes unbearable, there is always sanctuary within these pages," he said, laying a hand on a book. "One can live in a better world, at least for a time. A world without fear."

Natalie nodded, but didn't know how to respond. "Do you read much, Miss Cross?" he asked.

"I used to," she replied, nodding. "I used to a lot. But I don't really have a lot of time for it these days. Friends and things keep me busy…"

"That is a pity," he said. "Books are the truest friends a person can have. Always here for you. And sometimes you're able to…find yourself in them."

Natalie didn't know how to respond again, so she sipped her tea in silence. "Do you intend to report Mr. Whitmore's assault to the police?" asked Crane, quietly.

She shook her head. "No. It wasn't really an assault. And I don't like to make trouble…"

"He deserves to be punished," murmured Crane. "No one should ever make another human being feel afraid without suffering punishment. It is one of the cruelest acts mankind is capable of. They all deserve to be punished."

"They?" repeated Natalie.

"Mr. Whitmore and his kind," muttered Crane. "Bullies. I know what it is like to be bullied, Miss Cross. There is nothing so damaging to the human spirit than constant abuse and humiliation."

"Is that why you study psychology?" asked Natalie. "So you can fix people who have been subjected to abuse and humiliation?"

Crane looked at her and sipped his tea. "I study psychology to try and understand the human mind, which is capable of all things," he murmured. "If we understand that, we too are capable of all things. Deeds of great goodness and kindness and mercy, and deeds of great cruelty and violence and horror. But there is a power in knowledge – it is both a defense and a weapon. I merely seek to possess that power."

"Is it good to seek power?" asked Natalie.

"Good or bad has nothing to do with it," he murmured. "I do not regard morality as being particularly relevent in the quest for understanding."

"But surely there is always a good path and a bad path to follow in life?" said Natalie. "And it's important to choose carefully and consider whether the things we do are good or bad. Otherwise doesn't that make us just like the bullies? If we sacrifice everything to understand them, surely we just end up becoming them?"

Crane looked at her. "Let me give you an example of a scenario, and you tell me whether the decision is good or bad, in your view," he said. "A child is being bullied at school. Day after day he is beaten mercilessly, and subjected to all kinds of humiliation. The school will not interfere. The child's family will not interfere. The police will not interefere. He is alone. And so he resolves to fight, to strike back at the bullies. He takes a knife to school. He stabs one of the bullies. Was he wrong to do so? Oh, the school thought he was. His family thought he was. The police thought he was. But was he, in your view? Did he make a bad decision? Or was it a just decision? Was it good?"

Natalie was silent. "I don't…know," she stammered.

"Yes, it is difficult to tell when you look through the lens of morality sometimes," murmured Crane. "Better to throw it away altogether, and save confusion. To make decisions based on what you know is right in your heart. And the child knew that decision was right, in his heart. It was good. It was just. And I think if you had seen his poor, battered face, his eyes perpetually red from tears, you would have agreed."

Natalie finished her tea in silence, and Crane finished his. Then he stood up. "Shall we drop you off home?" he asked.

She nodded, and followed him out to his car. They drove without speaking until Natalie pointed. "Here," she said.

He stopped the car and pulled over. "Thank you," she said, stepping out. She pulled off his jacket and handed it back. "And…thank you. For everything. For saving me, and the jacket, and the tea, and…and the talk. I don't think I've ever met anyone like you, Professor. You have an…interesting mind."

Crane smiled. "Possibly the kindest thing anyone has ever said about my mind. Thank you, Miss Cross."

"It's Natalie," she said. "I hope we'll see each other again?"

"Possibly," agreed Crane. "But I am resigning my teaching post at the end of this term. I have an…experiment I intend to conduct, and I'm afraid I can no longer be employed here to do so."

"What kind of experiment?" she asked.

"Oh, it's not very interesting," he said. "And rather complex. A small study in the nature of fear in human beings. Very dry, dusty lab work."

"Oh. Well, I hope it goes well," she said. "And if you do come back within the next few years…well, maybe we can meet for another cup of tea."

He looked at her and nodded slowly. "I'd like that," he said.

She smiled. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Goodnight," he murmured. She shut the door and he watched her until she was safely inside the dormitory. "Natalie."

Ten Years Later...