"Shall we try this again?"

Dr. Crane's spidery fingers tapped the edge of his desk as he awaited Barbara's response.

But Barbara was in no hurry to answer, too preoccupied with swirling the lumpy bowl of gruel in her lap. It was the color of uncooked rice with some sort of yellow liquid drizzled across the surface. She had never seen a more unappetizing meal in her life.

"Let's try something different," Dr. Crane continued. "Tell me about your greatest fear, Barbara."

Barbara's head shot up in an instant. "My what?"

"Your greatest fear," he repeated. "Surely, you must have one."

"Of course, I have one," Barbara scoffed. "But that's none of your business."

"Remember, Barbara." He rested his finger against his temple. "I am the psychologist here. And you still need to complete your evaluation."

Barbara returned to her porridge, lifting a clump of it before letting it plop back into the bowl. Would Dr. Crane believe her if she said food poisoning was her greatest fear?

"It was fear that led me to become a psychologist in the first place. I was a cowardly child growing up, afraid of my own shadow," Dr. Crane answered to a question that hadn't even been asked. "I was the perfect target for bullies. An ideal punching bag who wouldn't fight back because all he could do was stand there, frozen."

While none of this came as a surprise to Barbara-Dr. Crane looked exactly like the gangly nerd bigger kids would bully-she wasn't going to stop him from his tirade. The more he talked meant the less she had to.

"I knew I could never beat them with strength alone. But then I came to realize, I didn't need strength to overcome them. I had my brain with its vast amount of knowledge. Specifically, my knowledge of fear."

Dr. Crane's fingers had come to an abrupt halt against his desk, leaving the both of them in uncomfortable silence. Even Barbara had stopped her incessant churning, suddenly engrossed with how the rest of this story would play out.

A smirk crossed the doctor's features as if he knew he finally captured Barbara's attention. "Around the age of adolescence, most children have the same fears. Insects, large animals, the dark. And growing up in the countryside, none of those aren't hard to come by." He let out a low chuckle.

"After that, they never bothered me again. But I knew what knowledge I unlocked couldn't just be left alone. I had to continue studying. Continue learning what shaped people's fears. And I learned that if you know what someone's greatest fear is, then that's all you really need to know about the person."

He gave a sharp turn towards the various degrees hanging on the wall behind him. Although Barbara couldn't see his expression, she could practically hear the grin on his face when he said, "So what would your fear be, Barbara? Let me guess, you're a daddy's girl who makes every decision based on pleasing her father. So when he raises his voice at you or drops you off at a psychiatric hospital, it's your worst fear come true. That you're nothing more than a disappointment and a failure."

If Barbara hadn't thought of Dr. Crane as a demented sadist before, she certainly did now. With every word he said, pure delight dripped from his mouth. Only a complete sicko would get off on her supposed fear, much less major in it.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Barbara." He turned to face her with that same arrogant glint in his eyes.

"Dr. Crane!" A shaking Frank appeared in the doorway, looking as if he had just seen a ghost.

Dr. Crane groaned. "What is it now?"

"Bru-Bruce Wayne is here," Frank sputtered.

"What?" Barbara and the doctor asked in unison.

"Well, don't just stand there. Send him in here!" Dr. Crane shuffled papers around his desk in a hurry. "To make such a long trip out here, unannounced... It must be something important. Did he say what he wanted?"

"Well..." Frank shifted on his feet. "He wants to see the girl."

Dr. Crane gawked at Barbara as if she had suddenly sprouted another head. "Her?"

"Mmm-hmm." Frank nodded. "He's in the visitors' center."

"Aren't you a popular patient?" Dr. Crane sneered at Barbara. "Two visitors, two days in a row. I don't think I've ever heard of that before."

Barbara shrugged. "Maybe you're just not as important as you thought. Or should I say, as you feared?"

Dr. Crane let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a squawk and a snort. "Go on, what are you waiting for? Take her to him," he ordered.

Poor Frank scurried over to Barbara and grabbed the handlebars of her wheelchair, pushing her out of the office at a dangerous speed.

Gone was the warm, musty smell of Dr. Crane's office, now replaced by the strong odor of fresh bleach. Unlike before, the scent didn't burn Barbara's nostrils. She only got a quick whiff of the chemical, unable to fully inhale it thanks to how fast Frank was pushing her. In a blur of fluorescent lights and white walls, Barbara soon found herself in an unfamiliar room. The vacant tables and chairs to the sides of her told her this must be the visiting room.

A dim bulb of light hung down from the ceiling above her, nearly reaching her brow. And behind it, with eyes shining as bright as ever, sat the man responsible for all this.

Bruce Wayne.

"Ms. Gordon," he greeted with a voice as smooth as silk.

Barbara glanced back. Frank was long gone, having been replaced by a lone guard in the corner.

"What do you want?" She glared at Bruce. Oh, how she wished she could grab him by the collar and yank him over the table. But not only did she not have the strength to do that, she knew it would just earn her another seventy-two hours stuck in Arkham.

"I don't have much time, so I'll just get right to it." He glimpsed down at the Rolex on his wrist. "Your father doesn't know I'm here, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Oh, right. I doubt you two would be on the best terms right now," Barbara hissed. "Do you have any idea what I've been through? All because of your little plan?"

"I admit, it was my mistake." Bruce's soft timbre suddenly hardened into a sneer. "Thinking I could trust a little girl like you."

"You bastard!" Barbara jerked forward, losing her grip on the bowl of now-cold porridge. It hit the metallic table with a splat.

Bruce didn't so much as flinch.

"My dad already knows. He knows you gave the stake to me." Barbara slammed her fist against the edge of the table.

"Yes, he called me yesterday." He stared down at the overturned bowl, clearly not worried about the mess spilling onto his suit. "It was all an accident, as I explained. Complete negligence on my part. Richard, being the curious teenager, snuck into my office and took the stake from my drawer. Sometime later, he showed it to you and you must have taken it behind his back."

Barbara shook her head at the despicable lie. "I should've never trusted you. Not only would you throw me to the wolves, but you'd really blame your own son to save your skin?"

"What did you expect to happen? To admit my role in all of this?" His brows knitted together and his mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile. "Your father is one of my most valuable allies, and I will do anything to keep him at my side. Richard understands this."

Ally, not even a friend. Barbara chuckled to herself. If her father was really the ally Bruce thought he was, then he should know James would never believe such a ridiculous story like that one. "Sorry, Mr. Wayne. But you're not half the liar Pamela is. Why would you even have a wooden stake in your desk?"

Bruce shrugged. "A souvenir from a trip to the Middle East. They have very... strange and superstitious beliefs over there."

Unbelievable. Not only was she dealing with a liar, but maybe even a racist. Yet if this man was willing to throw his adopted son under the bus, there probably wasn't any line he wouldn't cross.

"So that's it? That's your big apology?" For all the lies Bruce told, this might just be his worst one. "It'll never work. My father isn't that stupid."

"No, but it's a start." Bruce glanced at his watch and sighed. "I will have to leave soon. I have a business meeting to attend. But before I go, I need to know what Pamela wanted yesterday."

"How did you..." Barbara cut herself with a groan. "Nevermind. Of course, you would know."

Bruce stared at her with an impatient look on his face, waiting for her to answer.

"She's marrying my dad in a few weeks. But I'm sure you already knew that."

"No." A grimace found its way to his lips. "I didn't."

Barbara blinked. So much for being allies.

Looking even more stone-faced than usual, Bruce rose to his feet and signaled to the guard. He was about halfway to the door when he abruptly turned on his heel and looked over at Barbara's slouched form.

"Unlike me, Richard doesn't think you're a complete lost cause. You still have another chance to end this. Let's just see if you're smart enough to take it."

"Not if it requires any of your help," she muttered. Screw him and his help. Why she even bothered to trust him in the first place, she didn't know. But never again. Fool her once and that was it.

She started to shift her body around, thinking he was still behind her, ready to tear into her again. But when she looked over her shoulder, he was gone.

Good.

Finally able to breathe again, she couldn't help but recall Dr. Crane's words from yesterday. No, not about Bruce being an interesting man-he was way past being just that anymore-but about Arkham's grisly history.

Stakes, bats, crosses. What did it all mean exactly? Were these really just superstitions from the Middle East? Or something more?

There had to be something more. It couldn't all be a coincidence, right? These stories had to all come from somewhere.

But could that somewhere be Gotham City? Or a place much older, much further like another continent altogether? Maybe even another civilization?

"Oh, Barbara. What have you gotten yourself into?" she asked herself as Frank came back in to retrieve her.