Disclaimer: Batman and all related characters are the property of DC and Warner Brothers.

Trigger warnings: Domestic violence and violence against children mentioned but not shown in detail. Please keep that in mind.

Twisted Reflection

Chapter 3

By

Y. Honey

"Stop daddy! Don't hit mommy! You're hurting her, stop!"

"Shut up, you fucking brat! You want some too? You little whore! You think I didn't see you talking to those boys from the store? Seven year old girls don't talk to boys! I'll kick some decency into you, come here I say, come here!"

"Leave her alone, you monster! She's our daughter for God's sake! Don't kick her you beast!"

"My leg! It hurts! I'll be good daddy but stop! I'm sorryI'msorryI'msorry!"

…

"…I'M SORRY!"

Eyes wide open, her face wet with tears, chest heaving, mouth dry and hands trembling. That is how Rebecca Albright woke up from her nightmare, a terrible dream which was nothing more than a horrible memory of the past burned with fire and pain in her brain. A memory so terrible she always kept it buried but sometimes, sometimes it came out at nights like a hungry wolf ready to devour her sanity.

"I heard you scream," the door opened, a click and then light. "Are you alright?"

The troubled young woman looked up to find her mother standing there, her hand still on the light switch, her concerned expression doing nothing to ease Becky's own fears.

"It was just a dream…" she managed to say, "just a very scary, very bad dream."

"Becky…" Diane sat beside Becky and pulled her in, holding her close. "It's ok now, my dear, you're safe here."

"Mom I… I was dreaming…" Becky swallowed and felt her throat close, she coughed and noticed new, warm tears slid down her cheeks. She covered her face with her hands and sank into a feeling of impotence that finished cracking the composure she thought she had regained and started crying hard, like a scared child. "Dreaming about dad… about what he did to me…"

"It's ok, Becky… It's ok," the mother said and kept a firm hold of her daughter. "He can't hurt you now, he can't hurt you anymore, you're safe, honey. You're safe."

"But my leg… he… he broke it… and my…" Becky couldn't stop shaking, the memories were too strong and the pain too great. She had held these feelings back for years but they had finally overflowed the dam she had hidden them behind. "He crushed my knee and broke my leg and back, mom! That miserable drunk crippled me!"

"That is in the past; he's dead now," Diane reminded her daughter. "He can't hurt you again."

Becky slid away from her mother and stood up, hands balled into fists. Her mother's soothing words were not helping diminish the biting bitterness now burning in her heart. "He doesn't fucking have to! Look at me! Damn it mother, just look at me! That bastard broke me! Because of him I…"

Rebecca crumbled, falling on her knees and crying again. "I'm a cripple… just like everybody says… I can't even walk right… and I hate him for this! Can you even imagine how much I hate him? How hard it was to put on a happy face in front of people? How hard it was to pretend I didn't care?"

"Becky, I was there with you. I had to do it too," the mother said in a low, calming voice. She kneeled in front of her daughter and held her again. "But you have to let that go, it isn't healthy and…"

"I can't do it, mom!" Rebecca argued between sobs. "I will always blame him for this! I tried to bury it in the past but now I…"

"You will leave this behind in time," Diane assured. "I used to resent him so much and for so long for what he did to us that I thought I'd go mad… but I realized holding to that resentment was poisoning me so I fought to let it go. It was not easy but eventually the pain went away. You'll manage to do the same. You're a strong girl, Becky."

"I… I would kill him if I could," the younger redhead muttered; she wasn't crying now, and had listened to her mother in silent contemplation only to realize she did not want to do as she said. She wanted retribution, and it angered her that fate had denied her the chance by taking her father before she could face him.

"W-what did you say?"

"I said I would murder him and feed his corpse to the rats!" she repeated, louder now, her teeth gritted and hands shaking with unreleased rage. "And I would make him suffer first! I would make him scream! I would make him fear me! And I would enjoy it, too!"

"You don't mean that, he was a terrible man but…"

"Of course I mean it!" the furious redhead snapped and pushed Diane away with surprising strength. Becky was standing now, breathing hard and trembling but she was no longer crying. She was smiling instead, smiling in that way that sent chills down her mother's spine. "I would make him feel the horror he caused me multiplied a thousand times over! I would laugh at the panic in his eyes and then I…"

"You're scaring me, Becky, please stop talking like that!" Diane interrupted as she reached for her girl, but her hands came short as her daughter turned to her. The older redhead was terrified of the expression in her daughter's face and could not find the courage to touch her. The horror on Diane's face, however, made Becky react and she stopped her angry monologue. Her face relaxed, the hate in her eyes faded and she crumbled on her bed.

"He was a piece of shit, Diane," Becky said, feeling completely spent, "he was nothing but a piece of shit."

"I…"

"Can you bring me some warm milk with honey?" she interrupted, not really feeling any interest in what her mother would say. "Please, mom… my throat's dry."

"Fine," Diane agreed. She stopped at the door and looked back at her daughter; she considered saying something but in the end she simply lowered her face and went to the kitchen.

Becky ran her hands over her face and then spent a few seconds staring at her palms. Had she always hated her father this much? She had never honestly thought she felt that way for him. Now though, after her nightmare and abrupt fit of fury, she could admit she had always resented him greatly, even if she had never blamed him consciously for hurting her when he was drunk.

It was now evident that she did blame him and that she hated and feared him so much thoughts of killing him had been lurking in her subconscious for quite a long time. What surprised her was not that she could admit how she felt for her father, what surprised her was how calm she felt now that she had accepted it.

'Admitting one's fears grants the power to face them, conquering and controlling them, and that of course brings us a sense of satisfaction. We must not shy away from such an event; for it is a victory well worth savoring.'

Becky remembered reading that on Crane's book. She turned to look at it, resting on her night table and after hesitating for an instant, picked it up. She looked up that quote and found it quickly on page 62. She read then the next few lines:

'This victory, however, brings along a certain boon: an ability to project our fears on others. Take for instance a hypothetical little girl with a fear of loneliness, once that child learns what she fears, once she understands it, even unconsciously, she will do all in her power to avoid it and will instead harness her own fears as power, threatening her peers with deserting them so that she is not alone herself. Power born of fear is a power obtained by projecting our own fears on those around us and it is something as natural for a human being as breathing.'

Becky considered this for a moment and realized that the fear of being hurt by her father had never left her and thus, she had never stopped fearing him. Was that why she had just declared that she would have hurt him and make him fear her if she had had the chance? Was that really what she had just done? Admitting her fears and harnessing them as power?

"Seems that… yes… I think that's just what I did," she muttered, a new understanding hitting her then. "And… and it is what I did when I punished Carol and David… I feared their derisive jokes and insults would hurt my career so I harnessed that fear and projected it on them… I used it to get the necessary strength to deal with them, to make sure nobody would mock me again…"

Becky closed the book and turned it over so she could look at Crane's picture on the back cover. It was obviously an old photo, as he still kept his black hair combed and his deep blue eyes were not staring back with scorn. She had dreaded that picture before as it made Crane look normal, but now found that a strange form of respect for the man and his ability to understand how fear worked on people and how it shaped and motivated them grow inside her chest. This man was indeed a brilliant psychologist.

"You really were right about a lot of things, weren't you Crane?"

The redhead made a pause, realizing she had never seen Jonathan without his costume outside of a courtroom. It was a silly idea, but it helped distract her from those dark thoughts of cruel revenge against her father.

"I guess I was afraid that we could have some things in common," she murmured, recalling what he had told her on that roof several months before. "Perhaps it's time I admit that we do."

She placed the book on the little table and got up; feeling a little better now that she understood what had moved her to act that way in front of her mother. It was all a matter of fear, but she now understood that fear could be faced, harnessed and most importantly, used.

…

Diane was extremely concerned by the way Becky had been acting. She had noticed a few changes in her child, as every good mother would, since her graduation day. The deliberate slow pace when she picked up her diploma, her edginess while she waited until the ceremony ended, the way she carried herself now, straighter and with a certain… pride? No, not pride… smugness. The same smugness Becky had exhibited as a little girl when she felt she had gotten away with something. And then there was that smile, that scary and dangerous grin.

"Could it be… could it be that this is all because of the stress she endured when that horrible man attacked her?" she wondered while waiting for the milk to warm up. Diane was not a nurse or a doctor, but she had been around them long enough to pick a few things, and was starting to believe Becky suffered some type of post-traumatic disorder triggered by her experiences with the Scarecrow. It was the only reason Diane could think of that would explain why all those things her daughter had kept bottled in would suddenly erupt like this; what worried the woman, however, was that she wasn't sure Becky could handle such an emotional burst by herself.

"Do we still have cupcakes? I hope my uncle didn't eat all of them."

Diane turned to see Becky was entering the kitchen, looking much better than a couple of minutes before, "in the freezer, dear."

"They don't taste good cold," Becky complained as she grabbed two and placed them in the microwave. "Mom… sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to scare you; that nightmare was horrible and I was afraid… I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"Perhaps it was time you did," the older redhead said as she poured milk on a cup. She added some honey before stirring it with a spoon. "You've kept your emotions in check for too long, Becky… I'm amazed something like that didn't happen sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you told me you let go of some negative feelings with the help of two classmates, didn't you?" Diane said, handing her daughter the steamy cup of sweetened milk. "I think it's time you let me help you let go of that bitterness you feel for your father."

Becky took her cupcakes out of the microwave and sat on the kitchen table. She stared at the milk and sighed. "I don't think I can do that, mother."

"You can," her mother insisted. "And Becky, I'm not asking that you forgive him. If you can't forgive, then forget. Don't let him win, Becky. Don't let him win."

The younger redhead drank a sip of her warm milk and managed a smile. "I won't. I promise you mom. My father's memory won't control me."

"Good. Tomorrow we'll talk to doctor Eagles and we'll ask her if she can help us," Diane offered. "Do you like the idea?"

"…I think I do," Becky agreed. "I have to see her for my physical, so why not?"

…

The apartment building was a stark contrast to the well-kept houses of Accord, but Becky was glad to be back here. She had spent almost the whole week at her mother's house, and while she didn't regret it, she did have things to do here in Gotham and her own life to return to. Sure, her mother, her uncle and even doctor Lynn had all promised they would visit her when she was admitted in one of the Wayne Foundation's hospitals, but that was still two weeks away. In the meantime, she had other things to do; quitting her job was one of them, as she wouldn't be able to continue working there since Sandra had told her the estimate time of rehab they were looking at was of a year. She would have to pack things and talk to her landlord too, as she would be living in a Foundation building as well.

Becky was still thinking about this when she reached the door of her third floor apartment. She had lived here only for a few months, but she liked it better than her family's house in Greenvale. That thought reminded her that she had to talk to the married couple she had rented the house to, she'd have to let them know that from the next month on they would have to deposit rent on her mother's bank account.

"So many things to do…" Becky whispered as she opened the door. She actually didn't mind having a long list of things to take care of, it helped her feel less stressed and nervous about the upcoming surgeries and rehab time.

She entered the apartment, locked the door behind her and dropped her bag on the floor. She had picked her mail on her way up and was more interested in reading it than on unpacking, so she made her way to the kitchen while looking at the six envelopes. Five were bills she'd have to pay before leaving and the last one was a letter from the University. She read that one first just to see it was the obligatory 'congratulations you graduated' letter she knew would arrive. Bored by it, she tossed it to the table and opened her freezer to find it as empty as she left it. She'd have to order something for dinner, and go shopping the following day. Settling for a water bottle and some cookies from the jar on the counter, she made her way to her bedroom.

What she saw there made her drop the bottle and cookies.

The costume, her costume, was perfectly laid on her bed. The cans of fear gas on her pillow and a large manila envelope on the chair she kept next to her bed completed the picture. Becky knew right away who had done this.

The Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane. He'd been in her house. She turned, expecting to see him standing behind her but he wasn't there. She went to the bathroom but no, it was empty, same with the other room. She went back to her bedroom and stopped. Realizing that she was acting stupid; she should be running out of the apartment, not looking for the one who had invaded her home. That was just what she was going to do; she was going to turn around and leave the apartment.

She entered her room instead. She didn't know why, she really wanted to go outside but… the costume, the cans of fear gas and above everything else that envelope. They were too alluring for her to resist and, like a moth drawn to a bright light, Becky Albright walked to where her Mistress of Fear attire waited.

Her fingers brushed the rough fabric of her costume and she felt a pang of excitement, a desire to put it on but she easily ignored it. She grabbed the cans and noticed they weren't the ones she had kept in her closet. These were new. Becky's left eyebrow rose slightly, so she had fresh fear gas… that could only mean that Crane had taken the old cans. Leaving the spray bottles on her pillow, she picked up the envelope and opened it. She didn't think for a moment that it could be dangerous; she was completely sure that Jonathan wouldn't want to hurt her now and if he did, using a poisoned envelope was not something he'd choose for her.

There was a letter, written in Crane's impeccable handwriting, as well as two pictures. She focused on the photos first and what she saw made her gasp in horror and the impression forced her to sit down. The black and white photographs were of her. One showed her receiving her diploma and the other was of the moment she had spun her cane.

"He was there," Becky muttered, feeling a wave of fear spreading all over her body at the image of the Scarecrow walking around his apartment, looking at her things and touching them. "And he was here."

Hands trembling, the young redhead placed the pictures on her bed and forced herself to read the letter. She looked at the date on the upper right corner on the paper and noticed it had been written the previous day. This comforted her a little since it meant the costume had not been out for too long. The letter said this:

Dear Ms. Albright,

As you may have guessed by the pictures enclosed in the envelope, I was there during your graduation ceremony. I imagined you would not be glad to see me there so I made sure you would not notice my presence. Besides, I am not such a monster I would ruin your big day. I am quite respectful of academic achievement, after all. And speaking of which, I must say that academicals do suit you, my young lady. So, congratulations, you've finished college!

Before I forget, I must also say that I looked at your grades and some essays written by you during my visit to your lovely apartment. I couldn't stop myself so I apologize if it bothers you. I admit I expected worse, to be honest. And your work hints at you being smarter and not pushing yourself to the limits; it truly surprised me you were not in the run for Valedictorian. I imagine you did not pursue it to avoid unwanted attention? If so, then you're a clever girl, I did the same thing while in college.

I had things to do the day you graduated so I could only stay until after you were called for your diploma, so my apologies for not staying during the whole event.

Oh yes, I prepared two presents for you. I must admit I did not feel inclined to give you anything after your previous rejection, but after seeing you kept the costume, how could I not give you something?

You must know I'm not good at giving presents, but I do believe you will like what I have for you. For the first gift, I took the liberty to anonymously pay your student loans; don't worry, if they check they'll think it was the Lawton Foundation. 2) I brought you two new cans of fear gas! I would be honored if you considered using them to experiment on something, so can you please consider that request?

Thank you for keeping the costume, I hope that means you'll be ready to accept the title of 'Mistress of Fear' soon, Becky. I've decided I won't push you into accepting it anymore so find me when you're ready, I'll welcome you at my side then.

With kind regards,

Professor Jonathan Crane.

P.S.

I apologize for taking the pictures, but I couldn't just leave without a memento of my Mistress, could I?

Becky sat in silence for a long time, conflicting thoughts filling her mind. On one hand, he had not stolen anything, had paid her student loans and had left her new cans of fear gas, not that she needed those, and had even found the time to compliment her both for graduating and for the way she looked in her graduation gown. On the other, he had entered her house, learned she had kept the costume and fear toxin cans and violated her privacy. And she knew he would do it again. Also, she did not want to think about what he had planned to do if he had caught her here.

"Perhaps he wouldn't have done anything bad?" she wondered. "He did pay my loans, after all… Oh, who am I kidding? He would have kidnapped me or something worse!"

Becky blinked as she understood something; Crane did not know about Carol Ann and David, and that was very, very good. If the Scarecrow knew that she had already used his fear gas as a weapon and that she had punished (murdered) two people… she didn't dare think about what he would do.

Another thing that worried her was that this time, as she read the letter, she had felt… more inclined to the idea of joining him. If she had felt interested months ago when he first made his offer, this time she believed she may have been too tempted to refuse if he had asked her face to face.

But that was not happening, because she would not see him again. She would not let him ruin the future she had planned for herself. She would go to the Wayne Foundation to get her surgeries and rehabilitation and by the time she was done with that, she would have a job there and then, her resolve to resist Jonathan Crane would be as strong as steel.

But she couldn't get away from him on her own. That much was clear. If she was to escape the Scarecrow and all he represented, help would be necessary, and Becky knew a woman who would help her without delay.

The redhead opened her cellphone, looked for the correct phone number and called. She got a response almost immediately.

"Hello, Ms. Deveraux," Becky greeted. "Yes, this is Becky Albright. Listen… the Scarecrow was here while I was on Accord. He left pictures and a note. I will need your help relocating."

Three hours later, people from the Wayne Foundation were already taking her things to a truck, and she had given the pictures to a police officer for evidence.

…

Becky Albright had to admit her new apartment in a Wayne Foundation building was better than what she had expected. It was inside a private complex, so there was security all around, and she had nice neighbors. It was smaller than her previous one, but it didn't bother her, she had enough space to be comfortable, and that was all she cared about.

She walked into her room, the only room in the place, actually, and sat on the floor, right in front of a large wooden box she had gotten months ago when she moved from Greenvale to the apartments near the university. She opened the box and dug until she pulled a sack she'd hidden at the very bottom. She undid the knot keeping the bag closed and smiled once she saw its contents: her costume, the two new cans of fear gas and a letter folded in 8.

Becky's grin grew as her hands touched the costume. She had considered giving it to the policeman from earlier, but she had already hidden it when he arrived, so she had not. Besides, this was her costume; it was hers. And the fear toxin was also hers and the letter, too. She didn't think she would need them again but, better safe than sorry, right?

0-0

Notes: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too.

The Lawton foundation gives scholarships and money to schools all over the US, it was created as established in the will of the parents of Floyd Lawton, AKA, Deadshot.

I will delve a little more on the damage Becky suffered as a girl and why it was so long lasting in the next chapter. Apologies for the mentions of domestic violence in this chapter but those are necessary for the story to work