CHAPTER SIX

"A Dose of Your Own Medicine"

With Dick's Sedan temporarily out of commission — he could fix it easily if he had the time: new rear tires; new pins in the door hinges — they opted to take a taxi cab back to the carnival instead, and when they were dropped of, they made straight for the golden tent wherein housed the cursed gypsy woman.

They wasted no time. They wanted answers as to how and why all these unfortunate things were happening to them and also have Damian apologize for his previous actions, if the woman would accept it.

Damian had grumbled all the way to the carnival, but Dick insisted this had to be done. There were just too many instances of misfortunate to be mere coincidence. Something other-worldly was happening. Maybe Damian's claim that Dick was too gullible was right, he didn't know, but whatever was happening, had to stop.

Dick, Tim and Damian entered the tent.

The atmosphere hadn't changed, everything was as it was before.

Tapestries lined the interior walls of the tent and the round table with the crystal ball centred them all. But the mist was a little thicker and a slightly heavier smell of honeysuckle invaded their noses from a scented candle. It bellowed out an unnatural smoke from a far table.

"Where is she?" Tim asked, slightly panicked. He looked around, even in the back area. But he couldn't find her. He shrugged. "She's nowhere. Do you think she left the carnival?"

"No, her tent is still up, and her incense is heavy," Dick said. He waved the mist aside, it was suffocating. "If she's not here, I bet she's somewhere around. Probably with another vendor getting something to eat."

Damian folded his arms across his chest. "This is stupid. No one is cursed here. We should just go home."

"FOOLS!" came a booming voice from somewhere within the tent. It startled everyone.

Tim came back to stand next to the others. There was strength in numbers, Bruce had always taught them.

"Tim, Damian — get out! Now!" Dick ordered.

Tim began coughing violently from the heavy mist, he was nearest to the incensed candle, and suddenly collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Suddenly Damian's eyes bulged wide and his body began to twitch. His arms dropped to his side and he looked to be having some sort of seizure, Dick observed.

"Damian!" he shouted, gripping the boy's arms. "What's wrong?"

Tell me your name, boy…
You will do what I say…
Tell me your greatest fears…
You will tell me all your secrets…
Who do you serve…

"Damian Wayne…" he began saying.

The boy seemed to be in some sort of trance now, his face and body calm. He was no longer experiencing seizure-like symptoms. His eyes looked dead as he looked straight ahead; controlled and powerless. He was responding to a voice that Dick couldn't hear inside Damian's own mind. The mist wasn't incense but some sort of hallucinating drug. And Damian's own consciousness was being subverted by a higher power.

He had seen this before, just days ago in fact, before Tim and Damian were attacked in the warehouse.

The man who attacked them went berserk after he was exposed to a new type of airborne drug. He had believed both boys were demons from another world who wanted to kill him. Tim and Damian stayed and fought the man, while Nightwing went after the man's boss who fled on foot through the back streets of Gotham.

It was obvious now. The gypsy was a disguise, a masquerade, designed to expose people to his new powerful and sinister hallucinogenic drug…

And he could only think of only one person could be behind this diabolic plot. He must have been using the carnival to hide in plain sight, using it as cover to coordinate his operations elsewhere, pretending to be a fortune-teller, while using his hallucinogenic drug on unsuspecting people to convince them of things, make them do what he wanted, see what he wished them to see, even have them commit crimes while they take the fall.

All those donations to charities, all those people from every walks of life, fortunes lost, jobs cost — it was all him!

Dick coughed. It was hard to see.

Dick had to wonder. All that bad luck that took place at the Manor, it wasn't misfortune but controlled chaos. And did Crane/Scarecrow actually know all of their secrets? Damian had been alone in the tent before he found him the day after yesterday. He must have been exposed to Crane's hallucinogenic drug back then and said things involuntarily.

Scarecrow's drugs had the power of "suggestion"; that little voice in a person's mind to nudge them to do something— like the archaic notion of an angle and demon sitting on your shoulder. Only the demon had more influence with Damian, and the angel was muzzled. Crane knew how to manipulate the unconscious mind no matter how strong a person thought they were — even the son of Batman, even with all of Ra's al Ghul's mental training.

He knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for everything that occurred. Alfred had been right.

It was Damian's fault, but the boy could not be blamed. It was actually Scarecrow in control, his hypnotic voice in the back of the boy's mind telling him to do things.

He recalled events now. He saw Damian near the sink in the kitchen during breakfast. He had been washing his hands. Crane's voice must have told him to rotate the spray nozzle upside down, unnoticed, knowing someone would eventually use it, and think it was misfortune.

The flour bag that fell to the floor when Tim yanked the towel off the counter, Damian must have placed it there, too, arranging a set series of events to occur and to allow the curse to flourish.

There was also a time in the afternoon Dick had not seen Damian for sometime when he was working on his Sedan in the garage. He assumed Damian was on his phone texting with Jon Kent, or playing around on a game system like he often did. He knew Tim was down in the Bat Cave. Damian must have been dismantling Tim's bed undercarriage, but leaving it just shy of collapsing, so when Tim went to bed, misfortune would transpire. Even a small slash to the side of Tim's pillow would cause it to explode its feathery contains when Tim suddenly dropped his head onto it.

Tim's pink hair could also be explained. Damian was not averse to chemicals. Schooling may have taught him how to mix certain chemicals that could've had a delayed reaction when it came to Tim's special blended shampoo/conditioner. The pink dye like substance rubbed into Tim's hair and later altering his hair colour with exposure to oxygen over a couple of hours. It wasn't rocket science.

But he dreaded to think what Damian may have given Titus to make him sick and cause the poor dog diarrheic distress. If the boy had given Titus something that hurt him, and he had done so unwittingly, he'd never be able to forgive himself. He loved Titus more than life itself. It was a testament to the boy's uncanny love of animals. Despite his tough, sandpiper like exterior, he was a kind and gentle kid who cherished all forms of life.

So everything could be explained…mostly.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow…Show yourself now!" he demanded. "Your charade is over! I know it's you!"

"Ahhh…" Scarecrow's voice seemed to echo all around him through the mist. "You've finally seen through my carnival of tricks, I see. My drug is very powerful on a suggestible mind. But you, on the other hand, are a different breed. He's taught you well — Batman's first apprentice, the great and noble Nightwing — Richard Grayson."

Damian couldn't be blamed, Dick now fully realized. And the gypsy — Scarecrow — did know their names when "she" first recited them. Grayson originally thought because they were well known in Gotham, the gypsy got their names from the media. Now he knew better. Damian must have told Crane their secrets — their crime fighting identities — coaxing them out while asking the right questions.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was, in a pervious life, was a well known psychologist. Triggers within questions could reveal a lot about a person's psyche and secrets they didn't want revealed. He was one of the more dangerous villains Batman ever faced on a psyche level. Crane had a very high I.Q. that rivalled some of the best minds in the world. Pity he didn't use his brilliance for good. But when he was subjected to his own experiences, and a drug he designed to help his patients, it caused him to go insane — and he became the villain known as the Scarecrow.

"Call me whatever you like," Dick said, not caring what Crane knew. He projected his voice to seemingly empty space. Damian was still in a trance and Tim was on the floor. "Give it up, Crane. I've figured out your scheme. All those people who donated to your fake charities, the transfers to those off-shone numbered accounts. I know it all."

"Do you now? But you cannot know everything, no one knows everything, even when they think they do. Secrets are my currency and my money is very valuable." Scarecrow's voice was hypnotic. Was the mist starting to affect Dick now? "And with what I know now, your days of protecting Gotham City are over!"

"Grayson — HELP ME!" Damian suddenly shouted.

"Dick — HE'S HURTING ME!" followed Tim's voice from the floor.

"I have them within my spell of unconscious thought, Dick Grayson," Scarecrow said. "They will believe what I want them to believe, do what I want them to do — like all the others that I have controlled with my hallucinogenic drug. They'll never be able to break free from my grasp. Their eternal nightmares will be my pleasant dreams of thought. Damian Wayne was mine to control from the start."

"You brainwashed him, put thoughts in his head, to control his unconscious mind," Dick said. All the bad luck they'd experienced was just confirmed, done by Scarecrow's in control of Damian.

"When you came into my tent, I felt it was gift from the gods. The riches that adorn within Wayne Manor must be splendid, I recognized you from the start. How can I not? You are the darings of Gotham, to its Prince, Bruce Wayne. Like a royal family. I watched you from the shadows, but that dumb dog prevented me from getting close, or from entering the Manor. So, I gave him something to munch on to put him to sleep, but obviously he has a soft belly. You spent some time cleaning up after that mutt when he was sick. That was unfortunate. But now that I know all your secrets, I don't need to steal anything — you'll give it to me of your own free will."

Scarecrow laughed, but it sounded more like a muffled, low, deafening laugh; sinister albeit.

Dick's eyes drooped, the strange fogginess he felt earlier was filling his conscious mind, as if he was entering into a deep sleep…the mist was so thick now. It was penetrating every core of his bring, his skin, and eyes…and his body felt like it wanted to fall over, like Tim did moments ago.

But he knew something Scarecrow didn't.

"I'm afraid you made one final error, Dr. Crane," Dick said, sounding tired.

"Really? And what, pray tell, would that be?"

Dick's eyes opened wide, his body straightened, and he smiled, seemingly unaffected by the drug. "We had a sample of your drug from the warehouse, and analyzed it, and devised a suitable antidote. Obviously this is a similar drug within the mist, but with a more concentrated potency. We took the antidote after it was formulated because we had your nanobots swimming in our blood from before. You're not the only one who has a trick or two up his sleeve. But Damian obviously had a much larger dose when he first entered the tent the first time, and now a second, here."

Dick reached into his pocket, took out what looked like a small metal drug kit and took out a small white pill. He forced feed it to Damian, held his nose, to make him inhale, and made him swallow it. He also swallowed a pill. He brought a couple with him.

"As you now know, Crane, we are the Children of the Bat, and we never yield." Grabbing Damian by the shoulders, he literally lifted the boy off his feet, and forced him aside to safety. Dick then shouted, "TIM…NOW!"

Tim twisted on the floor, he had been playacting. Dick saw Tim had been covering his mouth and nose on the floor from the incense for less exposure to it — Damian had not. And with a quick hand movement, reached into his back pants pocket and wiped out a weaponized mini-disc of his own design — shouted: "Head's up!" — and threw it into the vicinity of the round table with the crystal ball.

Along with the blast, the device had an interesting feature, it forced the gas to go inert, releasing the antidote they had devised to counteract Scarecrow's hallucinogenic drug, as snow white particles.

Dick had turned when Tim shouted before throwing the disc, shut his eyes from the blast, and shielded Damian with his arms, almost in a hug. When he opened his eyes, he saw Damian looking up at him with a strange look on his face. "Why are you hugging me, Grayson?"

"Because I care," he simply said, and he quickly explained what had happened. He released Damian, and asked him if he remembered anything. Damian shook his head. Dick knew he'd have to explain things to him later.

Dick also gave Tim a pill as well to counteract any further expose to Scarecrow's airborne drug.

After everything was said, Scarecrow was nowhere to be found. They looked everywhere, in and out of the tent.

Tim returned from the back area after a thorough search, shrugged his shoulders. Dick had searched the exterior, while Damian remained inside. They were all back inside.

"Where is he? He's not a phantom. He can't just vanish," Tim said. "He has to be near-by to speak to us."

"Unless he used a voice box," Damian said. "But that's not Crane's style, he likes to personally taunt his victims."

Dick thought for a moment, then looked down at the table with the crystal ball. He put a finger to his mouth. Then kicked it over. Scarecrow in his mask gave a little yelp when he was discovered in his hiding space, huddled up. Without his influence over others, Dr. Jonathan Crane was a small, weak man, with no true physical strength.

Dick ripped off the villain's mask and then grabbed him by the lapels of his weird looking costume he liked to don — he actually dressed like a scarecrow often seen on the side of farm dirt roads to scare away crows from eating corn — and brought the man face to face. "You reign of terror is over now, Dr. Crane," he said with clenched teeth.

"Ah, but is it? The boy spilled the beans," Crane said. "I know your secrets. Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin — and Bruce Wayne is Batman. When the rest of the Rogues hear about this, you're all finished." Crane laughed, and he seemed to laugh like a crazy lunatic. "You may have won the battle, batboy, but I have won the war!"

"Let's kill him," Damian said matter-of-factly. "No Crane; no secrets revealed. Let me do the honours…" He cracked his knuckles. "After all he's done to us, he deserves it. And they'll be one less loon to send back to Arkham Asylum."

Tim came to stand next to Damian. "You know, for once, I'm in total agreement. He knows too much."

"I'm not one for it, but maybe you're right," Dick said with a sinister grin. "You messed with me family, Crane."

Crane's eyes bulged wide. "Huh? What…wait! But Batman doesn't kill!"

"Times change, doc. Do you see Batman here? I don't."

"Neither do I," Damian said.

"Neither do I," Tim added.

Dick's eye darted down to Tim's hand. The teen has reached into his front pants pocket and took something out. Dick knew what it was. Tim had brought a sample of Crane's hallucinogenic drug with him in a small easy to use rubber, finger, puff-spray. And brought it up, and used it on Crane, directly jettisoning it into the villain's face.

Crane coughed. "What was that?"

Dick said, "Time for a dose of his own medicine, doc. We came prepared. You're not the only smart one here."

Tim leaned in close and began to whisper something into Crane's ear. "The demons are here, and they're here for you, doc. They want to eat your flesh and devour your soul. You have no hope other than the salvation of redemption. You must forget everything you have heard here, forget us. Only then will the demon's leave you in peace."

It was payback for what Crane had told his minion back at the warehouse.

Crane shook his head in disbelief. "No, you can't trick me. This is my ploy. I will not be…"

But almost immediately the drug began to take effect and Tim's suggestion began to resound inside Crane's mind.

Crane looked at the trio, eyes wide, as if seeing the very thing Tim had "told" him to see — demons of his own design — and his face contorted, mouth agape in horror, as if he was seeing something so frightening, so demonic, that even his own sadistic, warped mind saw it was beyond comprehending.

He couldn't look away…

And Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow shouted out with a bloody-curdling scream.

To be continued…