CHAPTER FOUR – PERPLEXED
"And don't try anything!" the burly guard yelled as he forced Jonathan into his designated cell in solitary confinement. The comment was punctuated by a considerable amount of spit landing on the floor by Jonathan's foot.
"Charming," Jonathan muttered as the guard marched away. "Do you think the Warden is aware half his people are Neanderthals?"
Perhaps they could use a little… medicine, a harsh voice replied. It wouldn't take much to arrange, it continued slyly.
"No, Scarecrow," Jonathan chided his companion. "These mindless guards would be a waste of toxin. And anyway, I have a mind to save my special dose for someone in particular."
He heard Scarecrow chuckle right by his ear, and instinctively clawed at the empty air as if trying to swat away an irritating fly.
The young Miss Raven, Scarecrow hissed, immediately understanding Jonathan's meaning. She certainly could do with a lesson or two in fear, especially after being so very disrespectful to us.
Even without a face to be seen, Scarecrow's sneer was evident in his voice. Jonathan could feel his companion's sour displeasure at the back of his mind.
"She would not be the first to try and feign bravery," Jonathan commented. "But she held her composure better than most," he added, recalling the young woman's level stare.
She should be pleased: she's caught your interest in a big way, Jon, Scarecrow responded, his tone bordering on mocking.
"You can hardly talk," Jonathan retorted. "You were being unusually quiet until Miss Raven made an appearance."
You can't blame me for taking an interest when a promising new test subject shows up, Jon. The Carlton boy was such menial fare – virtually a waste of toxin, Scarecrow complained.
"Experimenting on him was your idea, if you recall," Jonathan reminded his companion.
He disrespected us, the harsh voice spat by way of explanation.
Jonathan fell silent for a moment, thinking back over the incident with Tyler Carlton.
He had set out that night with the intention of scouting for potential test subjects. Having recently mastered a new and more potent variation of his formula, he was eager to observe its effects.
At first, the Carlton boy hadn't warranted more than a passing glance: drunkenly clinging to an alley wall as he threw up the contents of his stomach into a dumpster, he was nothing more than an example of human stupidity. Jonathan had shaken his head despairingly at the sight as he continued walking, content to leave the boy in his drunken stupor, but was halted abruptly when someone pulled hard on the sleeve of his coat. Jonathan had turned around, more concerned with whether his coat had been damaged than what his attention was wanted for, and had found himself meeting the bloodshot eyes of the drunkard from the alley.
"Can ya gimme a couple bucks f'r a cab?" he slurred, and Jonathan had recoiled at the stench of vomit and stale alcohol on his breath. Refusing to waste his time on an answer, Jonathan had attempted to push the revolting man off him; the brute's intoxicated state meant that even a light nudge could topple him, and sure enough his bulky form ended up sprawled on the sidewalk. In hindsight, Jonathan realised, the move had been a very poor choice. For the boy was soon clambering onto his feet, muttering a colourful string of curses.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled. "You think you're tough shit, huh? I could break you into little pieces! You look weaker than my whiny bitch of a girlfriend!"
Before Jonathan had a chance to respond, the boy had swung his fist in the general direction of the tall man's face. Thankfully, the alcohol in his system had thrown off his aim, and Jonathan's face remained unscathed.
Tsk tsk, Scarecrow had tutted in Jonathan's ear. We ought to teach the boy some manners.
Long fingers wrapped themselves around the slim canister in Jonathan's pocket, and a moment later a cloud of gas had enveloped the drunkards face. The potency of the new toxin was obvious: gasping and choking turned to primal, terrified screams within seconds; fingernails clawed at invisible horrors crawling across the boy's skin. Within minutes, the cries faded and the brute fell unconscious, crumpling to the floor like a discarded ragdoll.
From what Jonathan had heard, the effects of the toxin had not loosened their hold on the Carlton boy since. By the sound of it, his latest formula had pushed the young man's mind past breaking point. Jonathan doubted whether even he could perform a successful treatment of the boy's condition – not that he had any reason to want to. Regardless, Carlton was a matter of the past. Jonathan's focus was now on the intriguing girlfriend and her unexpected message.
One would have thought that, having witnessed the effects of Jonathan's toxin on someone she was close to, Miss Raven would have more reason than most to fear him. Especially when meeting him in such close quarters.
But she had not so much as flinched, not even when her face had been a mere inch away from Jonathan's.
Scarecrow laughed, cruel and mocking. One of Gotham's greatest minds, stumped by a common girl, he taunted.
"Be quiet!" Jonathan snapped. He declined to think of himself as boastful, but his intelligence was one of the few things he had left that he took pride in, and he would not stand to have Scarecrow insult it. 'Nothing, not any more. All thanks to you' – Miss Raven's words still rang clear in Jonathan's head, as if they were taunting him.
"Not anymore," he repeated aloud, grinning as he reached a conclusion. "So she's giving me responsibility for removing the source of her fear – which can only mean that it was Mr Carlton that she was afraid of."
Perhaps the boy was cruel to her more than just verbally, Scarecrow mused, calling to recollection Carlton's comment about his 'whiny bitch of a girlfriend'.
"That could explain her insistence on seeing him locked up – confirmation that she was safe from him," Jonathan agreed, scowling at the memory. If his theory was true, then his experiment had rid Gotham of a worthless waste of a human being – and the city had repaid him by flinging him back into Arkham. So much for 'justice'.
"I should like to confirm my suspicions, however, one way or the other," Jonathan continued.
Why does it matter so much, Jon? She's just a girl, Scarecrow scoffed. Unless he was observing someone under the effects of their fear toxin, people rarely kept his interest. The way he saw it, common people did not merit the attention of his – and Jonathan's – superior minds.
"Gratitude, while considered a positive emotion, is one that people generally wish to be rid of. Usually by repaying a favour. If Miss Raven feels indebted to us, then she may be of some use," Jonathan explained, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Scarecrow's attitude. It was like dealing with a toddler, the way he so easily became bored and distracted. A malicious, sadistic toddler.
Scarecrow continued his mockery of Jonathan's interest in Miss Raven, but the bespectacled man was no longer paying attention. Already, detailed plans were coming together in his mind. He was not done with Miss Raven just yet.
