I: your own shadow

Jonathan Crane looked at the idle tarantulas behind the glass of their tank.

"They are bored again, Igor."

It was not an easy task to force a tarantula down someone's throat, he had learned. He would need gloves this time. He didn't like to touch them.

Calling the man Igor was a grim private joke. But in the cloistered universe of Crane's apartment, the man was nobody else but Igor, an unwitting lab assistant to Crane's experiments. The man was already cowering, and Crane had not even administered the fear toxin yet.

He dipped the needle of his syringe into a vial of the murky green chemical produced by his ad hoc laboratory. Crane jabbed Igor's arm, pushing in the poison. Every evening's entertainment, from now on.

"I know how you like spiders," he said to Igor.

The man was crying, his body in a perpetual shiver. He didn't try to run; he knew it would just make things worse. A dog, Crane thought. A helpless dog.

"You're my learner now," he said

He would've smiled, if he still could have.

Crane reached into the tank to extract one of the tarantulas.

"There are places even Batman cannot reach," he said, gesturing to his shack of an apartment, cracks running through the walls, the furniture disordered as if there had been a minor earthquake. "Don't I know it."

"I'm sorry, but the experiment requires that I proceed," Crane said.

He split open Igor's mouth with two fingers, as if they were medical tools, and shoved the tarantula inside, and down. He clamped Igor's mouth closed until it was clear his esophagus had served as a functional tunnel.

"Do you feel it?" Crane asked.

The man clawed at his throat, gasping, screaming, new gashes forming over old ones. He clutched Crane's leg, as if it would provide solace. As if there were mercy.

"Fear is intimacy," said the Scarecrow, "Don't you remember?"


The Biographer looked through the glass wall of Crane's cell in Arkham. If he weren't so preoccupied, he might've felt sick standing so close to such a vile human being.

"I had urges, I don't deny that. But that's where Igor came in," Crane explained. "I poured them all into Igor. I was trying to control myself. Then Batman showed up. Batman who assumes that anyone receiving pain is a victim.

When he took Igor away, what was I to do? I couldn't control myself."

"But by the time of the incident you'd already started your plot to sabotage Gotham's water supply."

Crane stepped closer to the glass. "No. You're confusing the dates."

"The records say—"

"It's my life."

The Biographer glanced at his notes. He decided to move on—this was not why he had come. "Batman was following up on the missing persons case of a Dr. Todd Milgram, according to his statement to the police."

"One day Batman was at my door. 20 years late."

The biographer tried to disguise his distaste beyond a mask of interest. Another sob story.

"He knew nothing," the Scarecrow said, shaking. "Not about Milgram and his experiments on me. I was a lab boy. My parents were friends with Stanley Milgram, and I'd go there after school sometimes. Todd was an assistant researcher, Stanley's cousin. They were short a participant for the famous obedience experiment with teachers and learners. The shocks. Todd had me fill in. He told me they needed one more. Please proceed, he said. And I'd shock and the learner would scream. I wanted to stop. The experiment requires that you continue, he said. I was just a boy. I looked up to him. I started having horrible nightmares, even though I found out afterward that no one was actually hurt. I'd wake up sweating. Todd told me not to tell anyone. It was a horrible time. One day in class there were huge spiders in my backpack. I had a panic attack. He said he'd help me. He hooked me up to all these wires. Later I found out he was just recording, observing. More tests. It went on for a long time. Years later, when the urges started, I came back for him."

The Biographer instinctively checked his watch, but didn't note the time. It was not a matter of minutes or hours; it was an instinctual urgency. He needed answers. "How did you escape Batman when he intruded on your…experiment?"

"He underestimated me, didn't know about the toxin then. It was before my mask. I sprayed him. I had him— I could've killed Batman."

"Why didn't you?"

"It was something he said while he was under the influence of the toxin. You really think you can get me out of here? You think—"

"Yes," the Biographer said impatiently. Finally, what he had been waiting for.

Crane sunk onto his cot.

"I had a knife to his throat, but it wasn't me he was begging. He was apologizing to someone. He said, 'I was just a boy.'"


GOTHAM HERALD: Well-known lawyer Vincent Vertas resigns from renowned firm Massey, Birnbaum & Johnson, pledges justice for Batman's "victims"

"He called me last week and said he was leaving. Out of nowhere. I don't understand it. Vinny's a great lawyer, but he's just not a political guy," said Larry Birnbaum, one of the firm's partners.

Vertas, reached at his apartment by telephone, was vague about his reasons for leaving. He would only say that "it's time someone gives the Batman a closer look."