Chapter Four: Crane Chemical Labs
She wasn't sure what was pushing her to drive so fast or recklessly, only that it stemmed somewhere from inside her, as deep as bone marrow. Somehow, she managed to keep from doing much more than scratching up the Thunderbird. Once out of the district, she felt the Scarecrow's hand settle on her shoulder.
"Slow down. You persist with this ferocity, the police will be on us in moments and you can kiss this old heap of a metal deathtrap farewell." he said sharply, the grip of his fingers surprisingly strong and painful for such a frail-seeming man.
Instantly she relented her pressure on the gas pedal, and brought the car down to the speed limit that was posted on the roadside. If there were any cops around, they paid no attention to an old T-bird with two passengers. Guen guessed that if any had noticed her speedy departure from Arkham, none of them had been able to take down her license plate number.
"Take a right onto the bridge there." came the command, a long, spidery finger pointing it out. Guen was a bit confused as to why they would, but she said nothing, obediently clicking on her right turn signal. The high-wire suspension bridge was mostly deserted, and it gave her an eerie feeling of being exposed, watched. The T-bird was halfway across when the Scarecrow let out a hissing noise, his grip growing more painfully tight on her shoulder.
"It seems my dear cowled friend is on the prowl. In broad daylight, no less." he said, leaning forward to look out the windshield. Sure enough, against the dying afternoon sky, the obsidian shape that was dubbed "the Batwing" flew over the suspension bridge, far lower than any normal plane might fly. Guenhivyre Pendragon swallowed hard.
The Batman.
"It's not broad daylight. The sun's setting." she heard the words walk out of her mouth before she could stop them. Trust her need to be technically correct to kick in when she was scared witless and alone in the company of a dangerous criminal who reveled in the fear of his victims.
For his part however, the Scarecrow seemed to be ignoring her.
"Undoubtedly the authorities have contacted him by now. More likely than not while he was patrolling for the Joker. And now he's on the hunt for me as well." he murmured, and Guenhivyre thought she heard a note of triumph in his voice.
"Isn't that a bad thing?" she muttered, slightly annoyed. She hadn't meant for him to hear, but the vice grip on her shoulder suddenly disappeared and when she glanced at him, Crane's fists were balled up on his thin hips. He let out a sigh that seemed to suggest he was having to put up with a very slow and dim-witted child.
"Never you mind, Miss Pendragon," he said briskly, the gray eyes glittering behind the amber ones of his mask, "You'll understand later."
An indignant anger arose in Guen at the 'tsk'ing sound he made and she pulled over as she descended the bridge's ramp. She hastily put the Thunderbird in park and turned, glaring at him fiercely, her green eyes burning into the burlap mask.
"I don't appreciate you talking to me and treating me like I'm stupid, Dr. Crane! And I've got half a mind to turn you over to the GCPD right now!" she yelled, grabbing her cell phone from her purse. But in doing so, she made the mistake of taking her eyes off him. The Scarecrow's right hand grabbed her wrist, squeezing just enough to loosen her grip on the cell, while his left hand shot out, long, thin fingers closing over her neck. He didn't apply enough force to choke her, but plenty to get his point across, and more than enough to make her eyes doe-wide in terror.
"If you'll recall, Miss Pendragon," he said very quietly, "I never said you were stupid nor did I treat you as anything but ignorant on a subject you know nothing of. But I would highly recommend you reconsider your threat. You do not want to make me angry, Guenhivyre. The fingernails on my gloves can sever flesh as easily as they can release my special reserves of neurotoxin." As if to emphasize his point, he dug his nails in, threatening to pierce her skin. Then, his right hand moved up from her wrist, closing over both her hand and the mobile phone. He released his hold on her throat, his face leaning in close, the expression on his mask becoming a frown. Guenhivyre felt her heart pound, and she remembered the face of Jonathan Crane beneath his mask.
"I'll take that." he growled, snatching the cell from her grasp. She let out an indignant noise of protest, and the Scarecrow pressed two of his fingers against her lips, glaring at her with such malevolence she was almost sure he was thrilled at her horror.
"Silence, or I'll have to demolish it as well as apprehend it! Now…I insist you try to be a bit more agreeable. It'll make this whole endeavor far easier."
Reluctantly, she nodded and managed to grip the wheel again, despite how badly she was shaking. She pulled the car back onto the road and said nothing as Crane cheerfully continued to instruct her on their way.
The sun set on Gotham City, an Guenhivyre noticed he was having her circle the same areas over and over, in no particular pattern. They continued on in this manner for over an hour, until when she was finally ready to say something, he directed her down a new road and had her drive away from their little "haunt section." The road led onto a freeway, which he had her stay on for a while. Suddenly, she heard a low, rumbling growl issue from the passenger seat. Guen had no idea what she'd done wrong this time, but when she glanced over, the Scarecrow was staring down at his stomach in mild surprise.
"Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere to eat." she said gently. His eyes flicked to her, as though suggesting hunger indicated she was searching for a weakness. but then he let out a sigh.
"Yes. The needs of body—even if it is mine—must be met. However, I'm not properly outfitted to dine with the…norma public. Just in case you'd forgotten."
Bitter and sarcastic though he tried to sound, Guenhivyre had to admit he had a point, and it had been probably several hours since he'd last eaten anything. She gently turned the wheel, pulling off at the exit, and started to cruise around, looking for a good restaurant.
"Anything in particular calls to you, tell me." she said. This won her an instantaneous skeptical glare.
"Didn't you hear a word I said just a moment ago?" Crane snorted, his tolerance for stupidity running in low reserves like always. She nodded.
"Mm-hmm. But most restaurants will let me order something as carry-out. It may take them a little while, but they'll get it made for you so you don't have to go in." she said, her own patience wearing thin again. Crane listened a moment, then shrugged. It was an all right solution, and he didn't mind. Though trying to find something on a menu he couldn't hold in front of him was rather bothersome, if he may add, thank you please. Guenhivyre Pendragon gnashed her teeth irritatedly in response.
After a few moments of silent window browsing, Guen pointed out a small, homely-looking restaurant she'd once eaten at before.
"They make good chicken pot pie." she threw in, the tone in her voice making it perfectly clear this was her first choice to stop. Crane glanced at the lit sign and gave a short sniff at the curtains in the windows, the flowers gracing the front of the store, the sheer amount of lights blazing.
"Very well then, Miss Pendragon. I'll try it. I trust your opinion, since you seem the expert in this particular area. Though I beg that you do park somewhere in the back, where the glare from the lights is less likely to reach me." He said coldly, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms behind his head as he threw his feet up on the dashboard, ankles crossed.
"Of course, oh Wise and Powerful Star of the East. You're the genius." she muttered sarcastically. As the brim of his frayed hat fell over the eyes of his mask, the Scarecrow gave a tiny smirk. If she always proved to be this easy to annoy, he may as well keep her around after all. He did need a good laugh every now and then.
Guen put the car in park, near the back of the building, and turned it off as she stepped out of the door. She started to go, but then grabbed the key out of the ignition, warily casting a glance in her passenger's direction. There was no way he could possibly see her expression, but she saw him sneer as he said, "Do go on, Miss Pendragon. There is no need to worry; rest assured, I'm not going anywhere."
She gave a hard swallow, thinking, Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of. But somehow, she imagined that would only serve to let him have the advantage, so she chose not to give voice to that particular thought. Instead, she merely responded, "I should be back soon."
The car door shut, and the Scarecrow nudged his hat ever so slightly, watching her progress until she rounded the corner out of sight. He still had her cell phone, so he doubted she was planning to alert someone. The panic it would cause could easily play into his hands, and the police would be there too late. She would definitely have considered that tiny, yet ever so crucial piece of it all by now. Plus, she was astonishingly easy to manipulate for one so clever. It was a pity in a way, but Jonathan was going to risk no chances. For several minutes he waited, growing all the more bored and thus tired with having to stay in one spot, but he decided against the idea of removing his mask and waltzing inside.
After a bit he noticed a hardcover book in the back seat, the gold leaf on the cover having caught his eye in the reflection in the rearview mirror. He reached back and his fingers closed on it as he made to pull it to the front of the car. It turned out to be weighty and caught him initially by surprise, but he shook it off and managed to finally get the book on his lap. To his astonishment, it was a complete collection of all the short stories of Edgar Allen Poe.
"Well now, Guenhivyre. You never told me this little detail about yourself." he murmured curiously, and opened to the bookmark on The Premature Burial. Very fascinating, that they would have similar tastes in writers. He even forgot his hunger for a while, getting lost in the stories, and the sound of the car door opening made him jump. Startled, he looked up as Guenhivyre slid into the driver's seat, balancing two steaming white boxes between her hands as she tried to shut the door. She thrust a plastic-wrapped spork and one of the boxes at him, none too gently.
"There you go, your Highness. One fresh chicken pot pie." she muttered. He tossed her a skeptical look, then rested the box on his thin, spindly legs as he removed his hat and mask. Damn, but burlap got so itchy! Brushing the hair out of his eyes, he murmured a quick "thank you", and dug in. He ate slowly, like a dignified gentleman at first, but then his hunger got the better of him. For ages, that dreadful asylum had given him little other than soup and water. To eat something with substance for a change! It was like he'd just had all of his birthdays remembered at once. He ate ravenously, just barely remembering his manners, and ignoring the fact his taste buds were mostly being scalded off his tongue.
"Guessing my hunch was right." Guenhivyre said with a smirk of her own. She didn't really mind his manners, considering first off that they were in a car, and secondly that he had not eaten in a while. She watched as he quickly inhaled his pie and finished off the rest of hers. Once he'd finished eating, he let out a happy sigh and leaned back in the chair again, his eyes misty and dreamlike.
"My thanks." he said. She nodded. She had a feeling his thanksgiving was not something that happened very often.
"If I may ask you something, when you were talking about the needs of your body being met, what did you mean by 'even if it is mine?'" she asked, curiosity killing the cat.
For a long time, he sat there in silence, astonished at the question, then with a frown, he turned his head in the opposite direction.
"You'd best not poke your nose into others' pasts, Miss Pendragon." he replied stiffly, the tone in his voice indicating that there was going to be no straying back onto the topic.
"Okay, then. Sorry I brought it up. Now where to?" she asked, nodding back toward the highway. For a moment, he looked like she'd just told him that he couldn't have a nap, but after a roll of the eyes, he began his job as the road map once again.
She followed his instructions to the letter, though soon she noticed the clock was reading a quarter to one. She pulled off another exit and when he began to get irritated, she explained she had to take a break, had to rest. She reached into the back seat and pulled something off the floor. It turned out to be a cassette tape, something the Scarecrow thought were all but outdated now. She stuck it in the tape player on the main panel, then got out and stretched a bit at the rest stop. The tape played when she turned the car back on, and to Crane's surprise, the song that it started out with was about nothing other than his favorite holiday: Halloween. It was interesting enough, though it acted like it was telling a story to children, and when he asked, she told him as much.
"It's from a kid's movie, by Tim Burton. The music is done by Danny Elfman. He also is the singing voice of the main character." she said. Then the song changed and she nodded, indicating the composer's voice. This song confused him though, as it turned out the main character was indeed the spirit of Halloween but was growing bored with the fright-and-delight routine and falling in with Christmas.
"What is this pathetic simpering? Bored with frightening?" Crane scoffed, crossing his arms and feeling particularly insulted.
"He undergoes a transition and in the end, only ends up with more ideas for Halloween." Guenhivyre explained.
"Did you put this in to spite the Scarecrow?" he snarled at her, leaning uncomfortably close, his breath tickling the hair on the nape of her neck. She barely managed to keep the car from swerving back and forth, silently cursing herself for not using foresight on how the music might affect her…special passenger.
"No, I did it to keep myself awake so I don't feel as tired. It just happens to be the only tape I have in the car." she answered wearily. To this, the Scarecrow stared at her suspiciously for several long, quiet, agonizing moments, and finally sat back, listening to the music and directing her when he had to. Guenhivyre's mind was caught in the grip of the fear that the Scarecrow loved so well, and for her part, she obeyed, humming along to the tape in order to take her mind off her trepidation. She actually sang along to the bogeyman's song, which earned her another stare, though she doubted it was an angry one.
Time seemed to move agonizingly slow whenever she would constantly glance at the clock, and when she would take time off of worrying about time itself, it often shocked her how much of it had passed. Then finally, she began to nod off, and pulled to a stop along a dark, deserted street, parking the car and turning it off.
"Are we tired?" Jonathan Crane's soft voice asked her gently as her vision began to fade.
"N-not tired. Just need…to rest my…eyes a minute…" she murmured, and then fell into a weary sleep. The Scarecrow let out a pleased chuckle. Mere minutes later, anyone wake on that particular street who had seen the arrival of an old chestnut Thunderbird saw it take off again, this time going further down the road toward the abandoned outskirts of Gotham. But surely that was nothing more than a trick of the early morning darkness. Nobody in their right or sane minds would go that way, so the observers must have still been half asleep when they looked out the window onto the street below. It was the only plausible explanation that actually made sense. Which only meant it was time to hit the coffee extra hard today.
Guenhivyre Pendragon's dreams were troubled. She first noticed something was strange when the street's lampposts were giving off a light that seemed to suck the color out of whatever they illuminated. But beyond what the lamps lit up, everything was in darkness. Complete and utter darkness, the kind that pressed in on you suffocatingly, the kind that boiled and writhed at the edges, the kind of darkness that was sentient, alive, and watching your every move. Gooseflesh raised all over her arms, and she shuddered, though whether from the cold wind or…something else, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was a bit of both. The wind brought with it an eerie moan, like someone crying softly in the distance. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
"W-who's there?" she called out, but to no avail. The only answer she received was another ghostly moan, this one a little louder than before. Still trembling, she turned her back to the direction the sound came from and began to walk, with nothing to guide her but the light of the lampposts. Her mind went back to when she read C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia, and the lamppost that played an important part in the books. If she recalled correctly, the witch had been the one to plant the lamppost in the first place.
As her mind flicked to her childhood's mind's eye of what Jadis had looked like, she heard a footstep behind her. She stopped and turned, seeing nothing behind her except the lampposts she'd passed.
"Who's there?" she called again, a little louder this time. The footsteps had ceased and for a long moment there was a frightening silence that added to the oppressiveness of the darkness. Turning back slowly, she started to walk again, this time changing her pace ever so slightly. There! There were the footsteps again. They'd been caught off guard by her slowing down and were still walking at her previous gait. She stopped abruptly and wheeled around, the sound of her pursuer stopping a second after she had. She stared into the darkness, trying to adjust her eyes, to catch a glimpse of this mysterious stalker. At once, the darkness writhed and there came a fluttering of wings.
Bats, hundreds of them, having made up the sentient black void, rose on the wing with a resounding chorus of screeching. They came at her, flying around her madly, tearing at the wing buds on her back until they burst open, two black, limp, fluttering wings dripping with blood from tearing the skin on her back. They flew around her in a vortex, rising higher and higher toward the moonless, starless sky. Then they were gone altogether, the last of their screeches fading with the night air.
"What was that?" she asked herself aloud, looking up toward a midnight sky.
"Twinkle twinkle, little bat.
How I wonder what you're at."
The voice came from behind her.
She wheeled around to see a person dressed in a long, blue jacket and trousers, British shoes, and a high top hat adorned with a "In this style 10/6" card in its brim leaning up against the lamppost casually, arms folded over his chest. A person with messy blonde hair, malicious eyes, and a grin wide enough to do the Cheshire Cat justice.
"Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky."
Jervis Tetch, the Mad Hatter.
"Mr. Tetch? What are you—?" she stuttered, but the cold malevolence she'd seen in his eyes rose to the surface as he bodily lunged at her, grabbing her wrists and pinning her to the ground.
All rationality left Guenhivyre. This was her worst nightmare come to life. She cried out, but his gloved hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
"Ah-ah-ah, Miss Pendragon! Scream and I won't show you the way to Wonderland. And you're making such a fuss! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late…"
Her mind reeled, panic fueling adrenaline, and something primal started to surface. She started to kick her legs, twisting and turning, but it did little other than to serve the Hatter's idea that she might be interested in what he was trying to do to her. Finally, unable to think of anything else, she bit down on his hand—hard.
"AAARRGHHH!"
He pulled away, but she only sunk her teeth in more viciously. He cried out in pain again, jerking his arm, and this time he pulled his hand away.
"WAKE UP!" He shouted, in Jonathan Crane's voice, and there was a stinging sensation in the side of her face. She blinked, and the image of Jervis Tetch began to blur.
She lunged out with another bite, and the hand that had tried to slap her awake retreated quickly. Then she saw the walls of the parking garage beyond the Thunderbird, and the Scarecrow hastily taking a step back from her.
"Astonishing…I'd heard of the "fight or flight" instincts of adrenaline rushes, but to think it could be activated during a nightmare! I'll have to run tests on this." he said in a fast murmur that she was sure he'd not meant her to hear.
"D-Doctor Crane! Where are—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—where are we, I'm sorry, I didn't know I was biting—eh, why am I in the passenger seat?" the words spilled out of her mouth in a rush when she suddenly realized there was no longer a steering wheel in front of her.
"To answer your incomplete question, we've arrived at my laboratory." he reached over her and tilted the rearview mirror. She sat up straighter to get a better look and saw the mirror image of a sign outside of the parking garage, not too far off. Having played a few games involving the mind's perception of a reversed image in a mirror with Edward Nygma, it only took a few seconds before Guen read it.
'Crane Chemical Labs and Research.'
Then below it:
'CONDEMNED.'
"If your lab is condemned, why are we—?"
"Because it isn't," Crane answered briskly, "The first time I set out, having donned my mask, the Batman traced my trail from the Gotham University charity ball back to here. That was the first time I'd been sent to Arkham. After my first escape, I happened to plant the condemned notices up here to ward him off, should I ever need to use it again."
"Wouldn't he have guessed you did that?" she asked, but he waved his bitten hand dismissively.
"Of course he would have. Which is why since then, I've taken pains not to come back here. It adds to the illusion. This time, however, it was necessary to be used again, as it seems that my expected guests arrived sometime yesterday."
"None of that explains why I'm in the passenger's seat." she pressed on, irritated.
"It was a necessary evil I had to perform after you fell asleep so that we could keep traveling. And don't sit there with that innocent expression! Not only did you bite when I tried to wake you from your terror-induced nightmare, but you are also bothersomely heavy." he simpered, turning up his nose. Guenhivyre looked again at his thin arms, (borderline anorexic-thin when you really got down to it,) and felt a little guilty. Of course she'd be heavy for such a spindly man to move!
"I'm sorry." she whispered.
"Never you mind. Care to explain what that nightmare was about?" he asked, eyes glittering hungrily, "It had you tossing and turning and crying out in your sleep, never mind the mumbling."
She glanced up at him, and then down at her feet.
The Scarecrow let out an exasperated noise.
"Oh, fine! But you'll tell me later. Ulysses has already gone to inform my visitors that we've arrived. You're going to have to get yourself up, as I refuse to haul your carcass around." he growled, the mask taking on a decidedly frustrated expression.
"Ulysses? Visitors?" Guen asked, and looked beyond him, to two more vehicles parked in the garage. One was a black, nondescript car whose model and make she couldn't discern, but the other was a large purple van, built like one of those black ops that she'd seen in spy movies, or the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo. And spray-painted on the side of it, clashing with the purple, were two black circles and a large, red crescent on its side.
Her blood ran cold and she thought she felt her heart stop for a second.
"That's his van, isn't it?" she breathed.
No need to ask who 'he' was; the Scarecrow gave the tiniest glance over his shoulder, then nodded.
"Indeed. I'm sure you've heard of his recent escape. He happened to ask me sometime before if he could—I think the idiom he used was 'crash'—here. Being the generous soul that I am, I gave him the directions. The man seems to have a brain that can visualize any auditory description he may hear. As for Ulysses, he's known as "Twitch" among the Underworld of Gotham, owing to his Tourette's syndrome. I happened to find a while back in a difficult situation, and offered him a way out, so he's been working for me since." the Scarecrow explained boredly, as though anything in the world could interest him more at the moment then talking about his unofficial tenants.
Guen, you are in over your head, girl! You should just run right now! You helped the Scarecrow escape from Arkham, and you're about to be trapped in the same building with the only other inmate that's just as depraved and deadly. she chided herself mentally, but then one of Jonathan Crane's long-fingered hands stretched out to her in offering.
"Don't want to keep them waiting. Ulysses is nervous enough as it is about me taking this long to come in, he's probably ready to have a seizure." he said, and reluctantly, she unbuckled her seat belt and took his hand, sleepily staggering out of the T-bird. Shutting the door, Crane led her up a flight of stairs to the door, and they stepped inside the warehouse of the laboratory. Some of the lights were already on, flickering a little, as he led her across the carpeted floor. She looked toward another flight of stairs, which led to upper rooms and a wrap-around catwalk to even more rooms. Several empty tables stood around the vast room, and a row of gas tanks aligned one wall below several rows of shelves adorned with different vials and beakers.
Unexpectedly, her nose began to feel itchy and Guenhivyre let out a loud sneeze. There were numerous layers of dust on everything, and guessing from the recent arrival of the Scarecrow's "guests", a lot of dust had been kicked up. Crane looked back at her, as though she'd done something highly offending, and started walking all the faster, turning sharply to the right and down a hallway with off-white walls and a tiled floor. His strides were long, owing to his spindly, lengthy legs, and she had to nearly jog to keep up. The hallway seemed almost out of place, like a hallway in a church, as he led her around another turn to the right and then stopped at a doorway on his left. Panting a little, Guenhivyre came to stand at his side and looked into what appeared to be a kitchen and dining room, like something you'd see at a big company office. A mini-cafeteria of sorts.
Then gooseflesh raised on her arms again and a shiver ran up her spine. The people in the dining room all looked at her curiously, then directed their attention back to the figure at her side.
One man was easily identifiable as Ulysses, owing to the small jerking motions made by his hands. He was about average in height with a gaunt face and messy, dark brown hair. He wore a frayed brown trenchcoat and brown slacks, with black shoes. His gray eyes were almost clouded over with fear, and he opened and shut his mouth several times while he looked at Dr. Crane.
Another was a slightly burly man with a squarish face, in nondescript blue jeans and tee-shirt under a beige jacket. Standing slightly apart from him was a young woman that Guenhivyre had seen several times before. Her face was adorned with white powder and a black domino mask, and she wore a red-and-black motley suit with a double-pointed hat.
Next to the illustrious Harley Quinn was a shorter girl, with blue and silver streaks in her messy, shoulder-length hair. Her eyes were such a strange color of brown that they were closer to red, and her chapped lips parted to reveal a mouth full of teeth that had been filed down to sharp points. A jester's crown sat teetering on her head, and she wore a halter top of sorts with a frayed skirt and a wicked looking pair of combat boots. Clamped in her arms was a black kitten with large blue eyes, puffing up its fur. Guenhivyre knew the girl to be Stitches, and had seen her photos before, but she'd never actually met her among the Arkham inmates. Stitches looked at her curiously, tilting her head.
And finally, there he was. Purple coatjacket and pants, green vest, spotted tie, messy green hair, black eyes, red mouth set in a white face, and all. His tongue flicked out as he smiled, standing up from his chair and stretching his arms wide in greeting.
The Joker.
This time a shiver ran up her spine and she had to fight to keep her wings folded behind her back as he spoke.
"Evening, Pro-fessor."
