SEMESTER FINALLY OVER 60 PAGES OF ESSAYS FOR FINALS KILL ME NAO.
Ahem, I will finally be able to work on this a bit more now. Yay. I still have my job and I'm looking to get another, but that won't cut into as much of my time as *shudder* the essaaaaaaays…*HISS*
Disclaimer: DC owns everything. Technically even Hester-Mae as she was the wee little unnamed baby in Scarecrow: Year One. Although if they would be so kind as to hand over the old universe now that they've ditched it (WHY), I wouldn't refuse it!
Warning: Hester-Mae's fashion sense is briefly described below. She's not colorblind, but she might as well be. Seriously, Aquaman's colors, girl. Damn.
Chapter 3:
Hello Dolly
By the time Karen had quietly slipped back into the hotel room, her daughter was already fast asleep. The television in her room was still on, showing one of those old science fiction horror films from the sixties that for some inexplicable reason little Hester-Mae loved to death. She crept over to the silly girl to gently pry the remote from her limp fingers and turn the television off. Tugging off Hester-Mae's shoes, she noticed with some amusement how much larger they were compared to her own. Her Baby-Mae was always so tall for her age. At age eleven, she already towered over most of the kids her age at 5'9''.
He was tall too. 6'3'', that's what the papers said. They must have gotten it from Gra—her side. She had always been so tall. Had always towered over her and made her feel so tiny and insignificant. Karen had always seen her shadow creeping up on her before she saw her. Always telling her how horrid she was, what a wicked little girl she was, Eve's Sin leaking through every pore how on earth did something like you come from my bloodline!
No. Karen should not think like that. She was gone. He had killed her along with that bastard. All of that was over.
She gently slid her daughter under the cool and crisp sheets before stroking a few loose strands of hair from her face. She looks like him. She had figured Hester-Mae would look a little more different, given the separate fathers. They were still hardly clones; her eyes were more bright teal than ice blue, her hair was a little lighter and straight as opposed to curly, her face was rounder, likely baby fat, but Karen could still see so much of him that it hurt.
She rested her hand lightly on her daughter's forehead. At least no one will steal you away from me.
"I'm getting a coke from the vending thing in the hall!"
It was 10:30 in the morning and Hester-Mae really shouldn't be drinking soda so early, but it was vacation and Karen knew the girl would just get one anyway even if she was told no, "Don't drink it all at once."
It was advice that would doubtlessly not be followed, but she had to at least make an effort.
"Mm-hmm," the preteen exited the hotel room with one of the keycards, knowing her mother would take forever to get out of bed. Jonathan didn't come last night. Not that she was expecting him to on her first night in Gotham, but she had hoped. She was jittery. Soda would no doubt make it worse, but she didn't care. She wanted one.
She wondered how he was going to show up. Was he just going to knock on the door? Probably not. Was he going to send a henchman to kidnap her? That would attract too much attention from the cops and scare her mom.
Or maybe he just would not show up at all and get a good laugh out of tricking a dumb little girl into coming all the way to Gotham from Arlen.
No, Hester-Mae shook her head forcefully, Jonathan wouldn't do that. Everyone else would, but he's different. He's nice. Jonathan wouldn't never hurt me. He wouldn't never. Besides, plane tickets are real expensive and stuff. He wouldn't waste all that money on me to just trick me, right? Right.
Comforted, she continued down the hallway towards the machine next to the elevators.
There was another girl by the vending machine. She was about a foot shorter than Hester-Mae, with perfectly curled blonde hair held back in a careful ponytail. She was dressed nicely in a blue silk blouse and black slacks. They looked more like the style of clothes older aunts and grandparents wore than what a child would wear, but perhaps that was just how kids in Gotham dressed. Hester-Mae looked down at her faded orange shirt and slightly scuffed neon-green capris and suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. She always did her best to pick the coolest looking things in the thrift shops and yard sales and other places her mother could afford when she was in between hopefully bread-winning boyfriends. She wondered if people around could tell she was from that part of Georgia that the sane 99% of the state tried its best ignore. Lord, people in Gotham would be able to smell it on her, wouldn't they? She was brought out of her slight panic by the blonde girl huffing in frustration at the machine, "Seriously, is everything I want out of stock?"
Her voice was unusually deep for a girl her size. The girl gave a defeated groan before pressing the coin return. As she turned around to presumably head back to her room, the girl accidentally nudged Hester-Mae, "Hey, watch it!"
The blonde girl looked up to Hester-Mae's face presumably to start an argument, "Why don't you—!"
The girl's voice cut off as looked up and saw Hester-Mae's face. Hester-Mae was used to reactions to her height, why else would the blonde girl look at her that way, but she was way over-doing it. The blonde girl looked around as if checking to see if anyone was around. She turned her face back to Hester-Mae and said, "Hey, is your name Hester-Mae Keeny?"
Hester-Mae blinked in confusion. Should she answer? She didn't know this girl and she doubted Jonathan would hire a little kid like her to meet her. But who knew? How else would the girl know her name? Nervously, she replied, "Um, yeah. Why?"
The blonde girl held out her hand, presumably for Hester-Mae to shake, "Mary Dahl. I take it you've seen my show. No? Ugh, before your time, anyway," she stared at Hester-Mae oddly, "Huh. You know, you kind of look like him. Not that much, thank God. One of him's bad enough."
Hester-Mae was beyond confused for a brief moment, "You…are you the person who's taking me to Jonathan?"
"Jonny Crane, Mr. Big Bad Scarecrow? If only to keep him from gassing me into oblivion. And keep your voice down, will you? Other people can hear us and if anyone else finds out what's going on, it's my head," Mary said.
"I'm sorry, but I kinda thought you'd be older." Hester-Mae still highly doubted that Jonathan would hire someone younger than her to bring her to him. Was this a sick joke?
Mary snorted, "I happen to be forty-six years old."
The taller girl's eyes narrowed, "Yeah, right! You'd have to be, like, Mom's age. How'd that happen?"
Mary glared back, "Long story, you snot-nosed little brat. Bad genetics plus illegal hormone pills from my oh-so-loving parents. Got me the starring role on a TV sitcom and killed the rest of my career," she sighed, "Not to mention it's what got me blackmailed by Creepy into being your contact. A little brat like you hanging out with a cute little girl like me isn't suspicious. Even the flying rat wouldn't give us a second glance."
"So, you're not kidding?" Hester-Mae asked.
Mary groaned, "Why the hell would I kid about working for your psychotic sociopath of a brother? -I can't believe that spooky bastard has family- I really wish I was, but I'm not. And I would very much like to not be lobotomized by him, so listen up already."
Hester-Mae's face broke out into a huge smile and she giggled excitedly, slightly bouncing on the balls of her feet and clapping her hands, "So, you're really gonna take me to him? He really wants to see me?"
Mary quickly grabbed Hester-Mae's shoulders and whipped her head around to see if anyone was listening, "Calm down, for Christ's sake!" she whispered harshly, "This is why I hate working with kids! There are other people in this hotel, you know. Yes. For reasons I don't know and really don't want to know, Scarecrow wants to see you. I never really pegged him for the sentimental family type, but I bet I'm happier not knowing what goes on inside that head."
"Oh, he's really wonderful! I've been writing to him ever since I was seven. He's helped me deal with people who are mean to me and he's been teaching me how to be a supervillain like him! He's the best big brother ever and he's the only person who really knows me or loves me."
Mary stared at her for a long while. Finally, she said, "Are you sure your Scarecrow and the Scarecrow I and everyone else in Gotham know and loathes are the same person?"
Hester-Mae nodded fervently, "Totally! I told you, he wants me to be his partner to scare people and that's why I'm meeting him!"
"Huh. What, does he want to preserve his legacy or something?"
"Ooh, like he wants me to be the next Scarecrow or something? I bet he does! That is so cool!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure it is to you," Mary looked around again before leaning in and lowering her voice even further, "Look, are you sure this is a good idea, kid?"
Hester-Mae blinked, "Huh? What do you mean?"
Mary looked worried, "Well, you know, meeting with the freaking Scarecrow of all people. He's one of the, how do I say this, he's one of the more infamous crazies in the city. He's earned it, too. Even without his fear toxin, he can dig into your head and rip your brain apart. I've seen him do it. He enjoys watching people scream. Enjoys it. Kid sister or not, are you sure meeting him is the safest thing? I can always say you caught the flu or something and couldn't come. Seriously, kid."
"Hmph. I'll be fine. He loves me. He's my big brother. He wants me to be like him and he's taught me how. I like watching people scream, too. I've done lots of stuff already. He says I'm like him and he'll make me a goddess and we're gonna take over Gotham together," Hester-Mae replied, annoyed. Doesn't this person think I know my own brother? She sniffed and crossed her arms, pouting slightly. Nobody ever thinks I'm smart or capable enough to make my own decisions. It's stupid. I'm eleven. I just finished my first year in middle school. I had the Talk with Mom. I'm practically an adult already! And what is this blonde chick trying to say about Jonathan, anyway? She doesn't know him! Not like I do. She doesn't know that Jonathan was the only one to ever believe me when I said other people were being mean. He was the only one who ever really cared. He always made me feel better when other people were horrible. He taught me how to make them all go away. He's the best person ever. Who does this chick think she is to judge him?
Mary shuddered, "OK. None of my business anyway. It's your funeral."
Damn straight it's none of your business, Hester-Mae thought.
The blonde girl—woman, really—turned to walk away to her room, "I'll drop by at around seven. Tell your mother you made a friend and you're going to go to a movie with her and her parents. That ought to buy us a few hours."
With that, Mary continued down the hall and turned a corner, out of Hester-Mae's sight.
Hester-Mae was stunned. Wow. She was really going to meet him, wasn't she? After years of writing, she was finally going to meet her big brother. She squeaked a little from excitement before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. This was amazing. She was going to meet him and then they were going to team up and take over Gotham and—
"Baby-Mae?"
She jumped and shrieked in surprise as she felt a hand on her shoulder and heard her mother's voice, "Mom!"
"Sorry, Baby-Mae. Did I scare you?"
Hester-Mae took a few deep breaths, "No. You just made me jump a little. Why'd you sneak up on me?"
Karen shrugged, "Wasn't trying to, Baby-Mae. You were taking a bit too long getting a coke and I came to make sure you were OK."
"I'm fine. I just met a girl here and we talked for a bit."
Karen's face lit up, "You made a friend? That's wonderful. Ever since you and Madison had that fight after that little monster hurt her, I've been so worried about you getting lonely. And here you made a friend already! I knew it. I knew you could make friends anywhere other than Arlen. Everyone else can see what a good girl you are. I'm telling you, as soon as I save up enough money from cleaning up after the Sudworths we're selling the trash-heap we live in now and moving somewhere else. Not here because…well there are other places. Somewhere no one knows us and where no one'll what I do in my spare time and everyone'll treat us better. Jimmy'll be left behind, but I don't think we're gonna be together by the time that happens, anyway. What do you think, sweetie?"
I think me and Jonathan will be ruling Gotham by then. "Sounds cool, Mom."
"Doesn't it? Come on, hon. First day in the big city! What do you want to do first? Go see all three of those big bridges, I think they call 'em the Gates, walk around in the park, ooh! I know! We'll take a ride on the elevator to the top of Wayne Tower and look at the city from up there! That'll give us an idea of where to go next!"
Karen took her daughter's hand in hers and they headed for the elevators. As Karen pressed the button for the two of them to descend Hester-Mae suddenly remembered, Damn, I forgot the soda!
The guard had been easy to bribe. Boyce had always been one of the more corrupt men in Arkham. Five thousand dollars and a sincere threat to use him as a lab rat until his mind broke if he did not comply and Boyce had "accidentally" left a janitor's uniform near the showers. Private showers were one of the more coveted perks for good behavior in Arkham, mostly because they were excellent opportunities for escape. And yet the powers that be continued to award them to people like him. It was amazing that anyone still wondered how inmates could escape so easily.
Hunching over to hide his height and his face had allowed Jonathanto slip out unnoticed and it had been almost childishly simple to hotwire one of the staff's cars. As he began to drive out, he noticed that no alarms had even began to ring. He tried in vain to hold in a laugh. Honestly, with all of the money from the taxpayers and Wayne being funneled into the place, it should at least be a little difficult to break out. Nygma probably found Rubix Cubes more difficult than breaking out of Arkham.
Enough gloating, he thought, focus back on the plan.
His mother's appearance had given him a good shock, but he doubted that she would be much of an obstacle. She had been so docile and spineless. Granny and Grandmother must have done quite a number on her during her childhood. Seeing as her mother had been such a nonentity, it was hardly a surprise his sister had only needed a small push to commit any criminal act he put into her head.
It would only be the best for everyone involved if he killed his mother. He would be free from all ties to his wretched childhood, his sister would be free to be raised by him, and Karen herself needed to be put out of her misery. Happy endings for all.
He parked his stolen transportation in an abandoned alleyway about a forty minutes' walk from his destination and proceeded to make the rest of his journey on foot. There would be no use in being stupid and parking in front of his actual hideout and being caught so easily. Even the most dimwitted cop in Gotham, and there were some amazingly braindead cops in Gotham, could check license plates for stolen vehicles. Besides, it was refreshing to get a good walk after being cooped up in a small room for so long.
He wondered how difficult it would be to transform the girl into a decent partner. Given my success through letter writing, one-on-one sessions should be even more productive, he thought, She's a remarkably obedient little thing once I've managed to get into her head.
An abandoned warehouse was rather cliché as far as hideouts went, but there were so many of them in Gotham and it took so long for the Bat or the police to search all of the potential ones that he could be hiding in. They also provided plenty of storage space for supplies and equipment. Clichéd or not, it was convenient. He had hidden equipment in several of them so that he would never be absent a hiding place. This one near the docks was both the closest and the most heavily stocked. Enough canned food for a month, a miniature arsenal for the inevitable Bat attack sure to follow, and of course a wide variety of psychoactive chemicals to play with.
He gently pried open a small floorboard to reveal a tiny keypad. W-F-C-3-1-9-4-1 Enter. There was a small *click* as several floorboards raised an inch, allowing him to pull them completely up so that he could descend the staircase below. He pulled the hidden door completely down once more after he was low enough. He was most likely not being followed, but one could never be too careful when within 100 miles of the Bat and his ever increasing brood.
He walked over to a long table that was at the end of the room. A vast array of chemicals and compounds had been lined up before him along with various instruments with which to work them. Excellent. He ran his fingers gently over neatly printed labels: Bufotenine, Lysergic Acid Amide, Mescaline, Psylocybin, Psilocin, Dimethyltryptamine, and so many more. Usually the compounds were used in order to achieve a cheap high and escape reality, but he would use them to induce mind-numbing fear and make his subjects face the ultimate reality that was terror. Enlightenment in a syringe.
He wondered vaguely how his sister would react to some of the new formulas that he had devised whilst imprisoned. She had not reacted well at all to the weakened strain that he had given her earlier, but that was only to be expected. She was still only a child, her puerile attempts to seem more adult notwithstanding, and he himself had taken years to fully appreciate fear in all its glory. It was no matter. He would simply teach her to embrace fear as a proper disciple should. He had successfully molded her for years merely through writing. Being able to have actual contact with her would make his job all the easier.
He deserved a dedicated followerer. He deserved one more than his...colleagues ever did. They were shallow, empty things. He was a god walking the earth. The Clown had Miss Quinn, Nygma had those two biker women, even van Cleer had his spoiled brat of a daughter. They had people who would follow them into hell. What had he, the Lord of Fear, received? The traitorous Miss Friitawa and that Albright girl that had been one of his greater failures. Why? Why had he been betrayed and rejected when he deserved adoration more than any of them? Why had he not accumlated a mass of people who worshipped him as he should be worshipped? So many undeserving
There was no use in musing over his failures. He had the girl. He had shaped her ever since she was small. Metamorphosed her from an average grub like the majority of humanity into someone who rightfully worshipped him. She was his own blood, his sister. Half-sister technically, but that made no difference. She was his. She was utterly his. She had no identity apart from him. He would not fail with her.
Cobblepot and Miss Dahl would do well to keep their ends of the bargain. If they even thought of cheating him they would be pumped so full of fear toxin that it would leave them virtually lobotomized. Small minds such as theirs would never remain intact after such concentrated enlightenment. They would not interfere. He owned her. No one, not them, not the Bat, not their mother, was keeping him from her. He had not wasted all of those years to fail now.
He quickly searched the room for a clock he knew he had hidden down there. 4:36. Perfect. That gave him a few hours to be absolutely ready. He slipped out of the too-small janitor's uniform and rummaged for something more fitting.
He had a date.
AN: Stay creepy, Jonny.
Still burnt out from finals. I will try to get this thing updated at least once every two weeks, but we'll see. If I start lagging behind again, feel free to nag my lazy ass into gear.
And I didn't get to put it in until now, but Karen is a cleans at a wealthier person's home about a half-hour's drive from Arlen. Can you imagine the look on Granny Keeny's face at the thought of one of the Keenys, even Karen, working essentially as a maid? Haven't been able to put it in before since most of this is from Hester-Mae's and Jonathan's POVs and they don't really care what Karen does. Not because I'm a bad writer, no…
If you can guess the reference from Scarecrow's password, you get a virtual hug.
