Before I say anything, I would like to thank the lovely LeighhVanMonroe Xx for allowing me to revise/reinvent (I am not quite sure what to call it) her story, and for letting me publish my finished work. Keep in mind I have only done the first chapter. Also, I have changed the title ,but please keep in mind that this is partly her work as well! She was my inspiration, after all.

The title of her story is Nothing to Fear. Look it up on her profile. =)

Now, there are a few things that I would like to mention. The reason Dr. Crane is not referred to as Dr. Crane is because it gives him an air of anonymity. I portrayed him as both Jonathan , and Scarecrow which is why he seems to be a bit bipolar. My interpretation of his character is that he is two separate people inhabiting one body. You do not have to agree with me in the slightest that is just how the story goes.

PS: Thanatophobia = FEAR OF DEATH

Thanatophobia

The metal table was pure ice against her skin, the light above her, blinding. This omitted her from being able to see her surroundings, which increased her already elevated anxiety level up to more than just a few notches. He was pacing around the table, silently examining her trembling, and indefinitely confounded form.
She looked absolutely terrified, speechless, even. He smiled at this fact, although it was more of a smirk than anything. It was the kind of expression that would make Carmine Falcone babble like a newborn baby.

"I want to assure you, Grace, that everything you are about to experience is, quite specifically, in the name of science."

He retrieved a certain syringe from the rickety, metal table that sat right beside the slab of metal where her restrained body currently resided. Then, he proceeded to flick the needle, making sure that the lustrous liquid would coat her veins with absolute terror.

"However, I would also like to inform you that it is my job, my very intention…to make you scream."


Grace had willingly admitted herself into Arkham Asylum for treatment, but the 'treatments' she had been receiving in the basement of the ancient building were only making her condition(s) worse. In all honesty, her 'doctor' proved to be more of a basket case than she could possibly ever be.

Yet what on earth could she have done to prove his insanity? Nobody would have possibly believed her if she had told them the truth, and nothing but the truth (so help me God!).

And the truth was...

Every evening, she found herself groggily awakening onto the same cold, heartless slab of metal. Of course, it usually included the mad doctor looming over her, calculating her every twitch, blink, and sigh.

She knew how the evening would play out. Most likely, she would struggle, scream, and cry but the straps would easily restrain her, preventing her from escaping the nightmare the 'good' doctor had been inflicting on her for weeks.

Then, with great ease, he would inject her with yet another harmful toxin, calmly record her reaction, and repeat the process until she would pass out from sheer terror.


"However, I would also like to inform you that it is my job, my very intention…to make you scream."

Grace didn't know how to respond to such a statement. She knew that he meant it, and she knew that she would eventually scream – there was no doubt in her mind about that.

She chose to remain silent. He eyed her curiously, wondering why she had reacted to what he had said in the manner that she did. Shouldn't she be pleading for mercy? Or was it simply that she was getting used to the fact that almost every week (Grace miscalculated the 'torture' sessions to be every day) she would succumb to paralyzing fear? He really did not know, but he wanted to. Yet now was not the time to analyze such things. NOW was the time to test his new creation. And NOW was the time to make his test subject …scream.

Setting his beloved syringe to the side, he reached for a scalpel. It shined menacingly in the bright, cruel light. He made a cut just below her collarbone, remaining impassive as the blood dripped onto the glass slide. She had an inkling that the slide would be examined as a kind of "before and after" project, what the contents were from before the terrorizing chemical, and what they proved to be after they had been brutally forced into her blood stream. She winced in pain as the blade sliced into her flesh, and she emitted a small gasp.

She could not keep silent any longer.

"Why are you doing this to me? You are supposed to be helping me, not hurting me! What is wrong with you , you sick, sycophantic –"

"Bastard?" He finished her sentence, reaching for the syringe he had prepared earlier, his icy blue orbs gracing hers for a few seconds, as his mouth twisted into a sadistic grin.

"I have already answered your question, Grace. I don't feel the need to reiterate myself. As for helping you… hah… you cannot be helped. In fact, you are as helpless as you will ever be."

He held the syringe in his hand, holding on to it as if it were pure gold. She struggled, as usual, mentally refusing to be injected with this week's newest cocktail of evil. But what good would it do for her to struggle?

"You still didn't answer my other question, though." She replied, her voice wavering slightly as the needle neared her vulnerable arm. In all honesty, she was trying to distract him so that she would not have to be subjected to the pure anguish that would, ultimately, be inflicted on her, anyway. But it didn't hurt to delay it a bit…right?

"There is nothing wrong with me, Grace. I am not the patient – you are. That is why you need this medicine. It is the only way you will get better." He said mockingly, as the syringe finally pricked her arm. His smirk turned into a mask of indifference. After all, there was time for play, and then there was time for work. And now…it was time to get 'the ball rolling'.

The weakest batch of the new toxin invaded her blood stream, instantly wreaking havoc on to her body. She began convulsing, her eyes darting frantically from side to side. As she scraped her nails across the metal table, barely suppressing a scream, he scribbled, quite excitedly, into his battered notebook. His icy blue eyes pierced right through her, as if invading her very soul, yet his expression remained neutral. Those cold, soulless eyes – they never stopped observing her. And they certainly never stopped haunting her.

"Do not fight it, Grace. Let it fill your entire being, encompass your senses. You have everything to fear, yet nothing to gain."

Gradually, her breathing steadied, but this small triumph was only short lived. The deranged doctor retrieved yet another syringe, and practically stabbed her with it, a wicked leer gracing his mostly feminine features. This dose was different; it was stronger, definitely stronger than the last one had been, and the previous one was horrible enough.

"Tell me Grace…what do you fear? Are you afraid of losing control, of going completely mad? Or do you have a serious case of arachnophobia…?" He chuckled at the last part, returning his attention to the notebook that was sitting on his lap. His pen made a distinct 'click' at the exact same moment Grace had been hit –hard- with the recent drug cocktail.

This time she gave into her senses, and emitted a blood curdling scream. This dosage felt as if it was burning her from the inside out, tearing away at her very being. She continued screaming, but begged for it to stop between gasps of pain and despair, her eyes flooding with justifiable tears.

"What do you fear, Grace? Tell me. In fact, if you tell me, I will make it stop." He interjected, his face a blank canvas, as he, once again, began to jot down even more notes.

"I…I don't k-know. Just…just…" Grace could not complete her answer, since her throat began to close up, making her gasp like a fish out of water.

No matter how much she wanted the horror to stop, it simply would not obey her silent, albeit desperate wishes. The convulsions proved to be even worse, at least sevenfold compared to the last dose and the sound of metallic clanking filled the room, barely audible under the control of her heart-wrenching wails.

"Your step-father abused you for five years. He hit you with a chair, which caused you to black out. Yet, when you woke up… he wasn't finished." He said the last statement in a false, caring voice, wanting to see how she would react, if she would say something- anything…

The doctor noted that her skin paled significantly after what he had said. He suppressed a satisfied grin, as she began to speak, her finally being able to breathe after a few anguished seconds of no oxygen.

" I…I am not afraid…of him…no, no….not…" Grace trailed off, her body suddenly going limp, and her eyes glazing over, as if she was ready to die, to just quit without a care, to float into an infinitesimal abyss…

He reached for yet another syringe, mentally calculating what would possibly happen with this final dosage. The doctor was thrilled, ecstatic, and nothing more than menacing, as he injected the third batch of toxin into her already vulnerable body. This strength sent her over the edge of madness, and straight into the land of no return. Her scream loudly reverberated around the basement. It was a wonder that no one situated above this circle of hell could even hear a faint whimper. Blood began to seep from her nose, her eyes overloading with tears of horror. He jotted all of these symptoms down into his tattered notebook, all the while showing no sign of remorse, or even an ounce of sympathy, in his bottomless gaze. He paused for a moment to check her temperature, scribbling down 103.2 F, without a care in the world. He also checked her pulse which turned out to be skyrocketing as the seconds passed by: 180/120.

"I'm …afraid…of…of…death." She screamed in anguish, angry at herself for even admitting such a thing. In all honesty, she had wanted him to guess. But, if this would make him lessen his torture on her, she was willing to try it.

Thanatophobia…

Yet another bought of scribbling. And more scribbling, and more scribbling, until his eyes met hers. He paused for a brief moment, and averted his gaze, focusing his attention back to his obsessive writing.
That simple look was enough to drive her insane, along with his constant scrawling. Yet, eventually, everything began to turn fuzzy and dark. Suddenly, his face appeared before her, his voice soft and calming, soothingly telling her to let it all go, that everything would be just fine.

"This chapter is over now. You must move on…to the great beyond." He smirked joyously, enjoying the look of sheer terror on the girl's pallid features.

Before she knew it, she plunged into darkness, but not before hearing the 'good' doctor's sadistic chuckle. For now, everything would be just fine. Tomorrow? She couldn't be quite certain. But one thing she knew for sure is that the nightmare would definitely begin again. And she will die over, and over, and over, and over, and…


So...? Tell me what you think! ;) Constructive criticism, please. No bashing. Nu-uh, no way.