Those who help are those most hurt.
Looking back now I'm not sure that what I did was the greatest idea of my life. That being said neither was taking me and my haphazard set of qualifications to America, to -arguably- the most corrupt and downright dangerous city in the North.
Like I said, not the best idea.
So, back to the main event, I was walking down a street unlike any other I had previously encountered (turns out I was about halfway into the Narrows) when I heard an awful scream from a near-by alley…
Jumping at the sudden unearthly howl, my eyes give the dark street a quick glance, my quiet breathing a mist in front of me. Past it I watch in mild disgust as a couple pass by the apparent source of the scream without a glance, intent on reaching their destination and high from their nightly delights of alcohol and sex.
Shuddering as a slight breeze picks up, I feel for my trusty mobile as I take jerky, hesitant steps towards the back alley and its noises of laughing men.
The screams had stopped.
Upon this my jaded senses spring to life, whipping out the phone and dialling the '911' for help. All the while my footsteps grow louder and more frequent as I begin to run –blindly- into the jaw of the alleyway.
He's dead, isn't he? Sounded like a man. Please don't be dead! Will they have knives? Guns? Don't think! At least I know some self defence… Damnit! They'll try to kill me; wait 'til they leave… that might work…
The couple hurry now as the laughs grow louder, a sickly scraping noise, like a body being dragged, growing louder with them.
The attackers are bringing him into the street!
I immediately reduce my speed to a creeping walk, slinking back into one of the many shadows of the grimy district, in this case, a narrow gap between two blocks of flats.
From my hiding place I can't help but stare at the unfortunate victim as he's tossed from one slab of muscle to another in some sort of bully circle on steroids. The darkness may make the visibility low; but squinting slightly I can somewhat make out the victim's face through my glasses. Lanky; yet lithe, breakable; yet still in one piece, helpless; yet… what's that? A gun? A gun literally up his sleeve?
The several men pushing about the smaller –dark haired- man about suddenly begin to throw clumsy punches –obviously drunk- at their victim, bored with simply pushing him about.
I need to do something. Now.
Claiming my body my own from a terrible mind-numbing terror which had previously chained me to the shadows of the decaying flats, I take a hesitant step.
The streetlight was blinding until their gazes found me, shivering in a scarf so long both ends of it were almost trailing in the slushy snow which immersed the streets at this time of year.
For a moment there was silence. The men even stopped laughing, the dark haired man made no noise, odd seeing as blood appears to be running a bit too freely from numerous places on his scrawny frame.
Making an effort to keep my body language as low profile and as unaggressive as possible, I eventually find the will within myself to speak.
"S-stop." Damn it! Damn it! Stuttering will only make it obvious that I'm frightened! Need to put them on the defensive… "O-or I'll call the cops." Then for good measure. "Beat it and leave this guy alone! I… I don't know who any of you are or why your doi-!"
"Ah!" One of the broader men took a few steps towards me, his knowing grin, shaking of the head and his open attitude put me off the fact that a moment ago he and his goons were beating another human (to death?) for a moment; but not for long he didn't. Although he appears to know something I don't… not hard seeing as I've only been in America –never mind Gotham- for a barely a week!
"You're new here, am I right?" He continues, a few of his 'buddies' sniggering loudly. "You see, Dr. Crane here," the human bulldozer jesters to the wiry man fiddling with something on his suit jacket sleeve, a cufflink perhaps? "Is, uh, how shall we put it…? Insane? A madman? You see darlin', Crane here tried to poison the whole of Gotham City, was locked away in Arkham –a loony bin for freaks- and just keeps escaping… So, we, as the good men of Gotham should do, beat him to a pulp when we see him out as a warning… no way are we gonna tell the goddamn cops about it, so don't go calling 'em if you know what's good for you!"
The last part of the thug's little speech was snarled out through gaps where his teeth should have been, giving quite an unpleasant effect. I shiver again, this time with the winter weather at the back of my mind.
"But," feeling the cogs of my brain spinning wildly with such an immoral issue, my tongue feel too clumsy to form what I want to say; but something has got to be said, "are you going to go down to Dr. Crane's level? By beating him – or anyone- like this, how can you say what any of you are doing is moral, is the 'right thing to do'? Please," I let my legs carry me forward, "just-"
"Stop."
The new voice seems almost amused with the situation, his situation, the voice laced with a cool-headed confidence, a doctor's voice, the voice of the infamous Dr. Crane.
In a blur Crane sweeps a burlap sack with eyeholes cut out of it, a crude mask of some sort, from his breast pocket, plunging it over his short boyish curls in an instant. In the mere heartbeats which follow, a terrifying, rasping growl orders,
"Get away from here girl!"
Riddled with dread I comply just as the sound of gas escaping a pressurised container hisses from the circle of men.
Running, I risk a look at what and where the gas came from (and for open flames), when it begins.
The screeching, squealing, shrieking of scared, scratch that, petrified men, who –moments ago- were 'at the top of their game', now lay sobbing on the cold, dead ground.
I can't remember stopping, but the laughter of the man I had been previously trying so desperately to help, has the blood frozen in my veins. His laugh, so unlike the (dare I say it?) happy, glad, laughter of the thugs, feels like ice against my ears, the trailing of knifes down my spine, the whisper of lies in my mind that everything will be okay…
Not this time. Not with him.
Eventually our eyes meet. Although it is intentional. Crane could have choreographed it, he turns to face me with a smile in his eyes, a dead smile, it is all I am able to see for that mask and the cloud of… gas. Ice watching, waiting for the earth the give-in, to run, to hide, to beg… Normally I would shake my head to clear it of such frightening and vivid thoughts, but right now is the first time where I am truly frozen in fear.
If Crane can make a group of burly thugs scream, what can he do to me?
White spots obscure my vision as the crazed masked man makes his way smoothly towards me, his every movement considered as predatory.
Something gentle; albeit frigid and wet caresses the side of my face. Blinking dumbly I realise that the white spots in my vision are in fact snowflakes.
How out of place. Snow being a symbol of purity, in a place like this…
The wailing of the group of intoxicated men fades with each step Dr. Crane takes until the world narrows itself down to the lanky man in the burlap mask and me.
Crane may have left a seemingly generous distance between us; yet I still could not prevent the feelings of discomfort from being within an arm's reach of the strange 'Doctor', especially since his eyes did not seem to be looking at anything in particular, almost as if he were hallucinating…
Silence.
"D-Dr. Crane…?"
More silence, until a soft dripping sound rings out into the pale abyss surrounding us both: Crane's blood dripping from his wounds into the fresh snow. Red staining the white, from here there was no turning back.
I sigh, uncharacteristically frustrated with his silence, hoping foolishly that he would end whatever he had started quickly, so that I may return 'home' to my heavy stone apartment where no one can hear each other's music thanks to the thick walls, where people can feel safe and secure… which is great seeing as I'm not planning on leaving my home anytime soon…
"Crane," feeling pleased that I had managed to speak relatively normally to the nightmarish man, I swiftly realise that –if Crane really is hallucinating- there would be a good chance that he could not see nor even hear me.
The light bulb went off as they say, and so objective: Escape! is born.
Without taking my eyes off his blank stare, I will my body to move.
Nothing.
Glaring in a panic at my sneaker clad feet I try again.
Luckily this time my body seems to jump-start itself into action; yet this tiny twitching of muscles on my part gave Crane something real to focus upon and before I know it his fingers dance along the damp paths left by the snow on my skin down my face, stealing the warmth.
"You're so warm..." He coos in what could be described as an affectionate tone; his eyes give a different story, of deviousness and a desire to harm.
I flinch from this mocking touch, taking care to bat away his hands from underneath as I do so; I'm not used to being touched.
"Please stop it! Y-you're bleeding… I, I can-"
"Help? You want to help me?" Crane pulls off his mask using a strange amount of effort for such a seemingly simple task, pulling a rather charming; most likely fake smile. "Is this what you want!"
I shake my head. That wasn't exactly a question was it? His tone was defiantly accusatory…
"I just like to help is a-all."
His eyes narrow into little more than blade-like slits of winter itself, I shiver unintentionally from the malice of it.
"Like you 'helped' back there?" Now he sounds amused, a shadow of doubt flickers across my mind (and probably my expression judging by the widening of Crane's grin) as to the sanity of the man.
"I was frightened for a while that was all!" I burst out, feeling the need to explain my lack of action, "After all, there were a lot of larger guys there and not everyone has a spray can of… of…" I racked my memory of American knowledge which I'd previously picked up from a few friendly people on the long flight over, in hope of a clue as to what the strange gas could be.
Dr. Crane -retaining his psychotic smirk- appears to be enjoying my failure in this subject at least…
"…oh! Was that 'mace'? No wonder that's banned in the UK if that happens to the unfortunate souls who get sprayed by it! Um… they will be okay won't they? When they wake up I mean?"
A seemingly fleshless hand slaps itself onto my shoulder, Crane bending double before me, begins to laugh madly- at what I'd just said no doubt. Hey! You can't be good at everything can you?
"Oh my, you really must be new! Do you really think that they would sell this," A shake of a –hopefully empty- can of the gas, "in the shops?"
I shook my head again, though adding,
"But here they sell guns to people so freely, so it wouldn't surprise me that much really."
Once more Crane chuckles, straightening up only to gaze down at me with his soul piercing eyes, finding this rather unfair I quickly wrench my eyes away from his to check how the gang are doing. At the sight of their stony colouration and stillness I freeze, terrified. The winter wind moans.
I notice Crane moving; although the movement is so flowing I could have discounted the apparent movement entirely as an effect of my over-imaginative mind.
Yet when a low growl of a man's voice came from right next to my ear, with breath scarcely able to be called 'warm', I knew Crane had in fact moved. He was standing behind me.
My own breath is now coming in short, barely audible gasps from the overall shock of the situation finally sinking in…
"Now then," Crane begins, genuine glee lacing his words, "let's find out what you fear…"
In a desperate attempt to flee this bizarre, this... frightening Crane, I make a sudden movement- in preparation to run.
Fingers take a firm grip in my long, bark brown hair, wrapping his hands in it, Crane smiles- his hands are already warmer.
"Scared?"
Unable to answer, I can barely breathe as a cloud of gas engulfs us both.
The world becomes a nightmare.
