Chapter Nine: In Which Dream Becomes Nightmare


Caitlin purposely bumped into Dahlia in the crowded hallway before classes began. At first Dahlia was going to continue on and ignore it, as she learned to do throughout the years of bullying, but the fact that Caitlin had shifted quickly to stand in her way, she grew curious of what the popular had to say. So, her eyes lifted from the floor and met Caitlin's bitter hues. For a moment she just waited there, questioning with her raised eyebrows what she was to say, shifting her weight over onto one leg.

"Natalie's condition got worse." She said in an almost suspicious manner. Dahlia listened quietly, this news very surprising on her ears, yet her compassion already gone. "I got word that just this morning, an hour or two ago, that she turned completely crazy. They said she was screaming and kicking, and every chance she got tried to either run out of the hospital or stab a nurse with a pair of scissors. She managed to get one of the doctors though, in the neck, among a few other places. They don't know if he'll make it or not." Another pause. "They decided to send her to Arkham, so she doesn't hurt herself or anyone else."
Finally Dahlia spoke up, one of her eyebrows lifting. "Why are you telling me this?"
Caitlin stepped forward, hovering right over the shorter girl. "Because I think you have something to do with it."
Dahlia, calm and in one of her more defensive moods, spoke up for herself, "You go ahead and think whatever you want, because as long as I know I'm innocent, nothing else matters. Plus, the Scarecrow was a man around 5'10" - I'm 5'02". Get your facts straight before going and accusing people."

But as she began once again for class, Caitlin intervened again, and quickly spat out, "So what are you and Professor Nerd doing tonight?"
"What?" She hadn't told anyone . . . so how did . . . ?
"I was eavesdropping, duh." Caitlin rolled her eyes. "So, is this where he recruits a bunch of his slutty girl students and sleeps with them?" Dahlia then rolled her eyes, and finally shoved by Caitlin, plowing on ahead and ignoring whatever else she might have called out.

You're the slut. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Professor Crane . . . I think. What was he doing last night?

Dahlia day-dreamed and thought hard about Crane's secretive lark the previous night all during psychology. Even the dismissal bell didn't stir her from deep thoughts, only her teacher's light shake of her shoulder. "Miss Rhodes, class has ended." Dahlia shook her head and stared up at him, an apologetic look on her face for having missed most all of the lesson. Before she could say anything, he simply smiled and continued, "Rough night?"
"Oh . . . n-no, not really." She replied, standing and gathering her things together. Crane slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned over on the desk next to Dahlia's. "I'm so sorry, Professor Crane. I just have a lot on my mind. Home life has its ups and downs too." In her hurry to organize her belongings, one of her notebooks fell from the table, but Crane swiftly reached out and caught it.
As he handed it to her, he replied, "Don't worry, I understand. You didn't miss much."
Smiling back, she took the notebook and put it on the stack set in front of her. Then lifting all of her things carefully, she nodded. "I swear, I'll take the time to study up over the weekend." And she quickly made her way out of the seating area, but didn't get far past the first row of desks before Crane called out to her.

"You haven't forgotten our arrangements already, have you, Miss Rhodes?"
She had completely forgotten. But, what if the strange chemicals Crane had gathered were meant for her? What if they were meant for this seemingly innocent behavioral study? What was he going to do - Poison her and study how many times she twitched before she'd pass out?
No no no . . . That's silly. Crane respected her and thought of her as a friend, right? And friends don't poison friends. She had to stop being so neurotic.

Dahlia turned to face him and said with a bright smile, "No, of course not, Professor! Nine o'clock, right?"
"Yep." Crane replied. "At my home."
"Okay. See you then." She left quickly.


It must have been at least half an hour that Dahlia spent standing at the front door to Crane's secluded home. She was, quite literally, shaking in her boots, and every time she reached out to knock on the door, something in her nerves caused her to jerk back in terror, as if it were covered in roaches and spiders. The conflicting sides in her head refused to settle, leaving her suspicious of her quiet psychology teacher, and yet at the same time unable to believe he was up to anything.

Dahlia's eyes shot up in surprise as the door creaked open, Crane standing inside with a curious look on his face. "Miss Rhodes? How long have you been standing there?"
Crap!
"Oh, h-here?" Dahlia said as a filler while she frantically thought, trying her best to be more nonchalant. "Just a second. I was just studying the . . . the beautiful architecture of your home. This place must cost a fortune."
Glancing around to the other houses and buildings beyond the street, Crane stepped out of the door frame and replied while keeping his eyes peeled, "It's much more affordable than one would assume." Then looking to the girl with a smile, he said sweetly, "Please, come in. I'm glad you showed up."

Sheryl let out a loud shriek, startling Dahlia and causing her to suddenly turned towards the bird in an almost defensive posture. Hoping Crane didn't notice, she acted as if nothing had happened and quickly headed for the sofa, taking a seat and keeping her spine straight and upright. She quickly smoothed her bangs down over her forehead, and a nervous foot tapped to a quick and silent beat.

"You seem nervous tonight." Crane said, his eyes narrowing slightly, as he walked towards her, feet softly plodding along the plush carpet. "Is something bothering you?" As he came closer, his hands came to rest atop the sturdy back of the sofa, leaning forward in curiosity to look at Dahlia's face.

. . . That's it, I shouldn't be so nervous. I'm probably insulting our friendship by acting like I used to, and he can probably tell. He's a psychology buff after all, and I bet he's just being polite and not saying anything. I'm so stupid . . . What's there to be nervous about? I trust Professor Crane. I trust him. And he deserves some trust, after allowing me inside his home and into his personal life.

Looking over her shoulder to him, Dahlia smiled and replied in as kind a tone as she could, "No, not anymore. I'm sorry, I guess I'm just having difficulty letting go of a few stresses from earlier. I'm okay now, really." She pivoted in her seat to face him.
Nodding, Crane replied as he stood upright, "Very well. Would you like something to drink? Water, tea . . . ?"
"No, thank you." She declined.
He nodded once again. Then he glanced towards one of the doors of another room and said with hushed benevolence, "Ah, well, I need to prepare a few things for the study. Would you mind waiting a few minutes?"
"No, that's okay. Take your time."
"It will only be a moment." Crane threw her one more smile before he went off to the other room, shutting the door behind him.

As if that was some sort of cue, Sheryl fluttered from her perch and off towards the arm of the sofa Dahlia was now reclining on with relaxation. Stretching her arms out, she ran her slender fingers along the pillows and the soft fabric, a smile still planted over her face. Her cheeks were tinged a slight pink as her thoughts continued to stir around Crane. Now that she had finally managed to push her paranoia aside, she realized just how hard she was crushing on him. Being inside his house was a blessing to her, and sitting on the same sofa he must have sat on a regular basis somehow stirred up her excitement and joy.

How crazy must I be to have not trusted Professor Crane? Oh, wait, what was his first name? Jonathan, right? Jonathan Crane . . . He has such a nice name. I bet he rounds up a lot of female admirerers, too. I'm so lucky that he chose me for this study . . . and so lucky to have him as a friend. A friend who has experience my pain at that, so he understands me, and respects me. Well, anyway, I can be so paranoid sometimes . . .

Sheryl gave another caw as she suddenly flew off for a different door nearby the kitchen entrance, sticking her beak in the tiny creak between the actual door and its frame. Cleverly she shoved it open slightly and squeezed through, cawing several more times as if trying to alert attention . . . or trying to play the role of Lassie. Dahlia giggled to herself and leaned back forward, peering towards the door. "Sheryl, what are you up to?" She stood and sighed as she headed for the door, ready to retrieve the crow and take her back into the living room. Resting her hand on the door knob, she opened it up to step through . . .

. . . and found an amazing sight below. It was Crane's basement, and every single suspicion Dahlia had suddenly became true. Her eyes were wide open as she looked over each of the tables from the top of the stair case, slowly descending with her hand sliding down the wood rail. Though the lights weren't on, she could still make out each of the vats, the machinery, the steel containers and clipboards strewn about . . . Sheryl had found a comfortable spot on the closest table that Dahlia had then approached, gazing at the container and finding herself reaching out to touch it with curiosity. Slowly, as if it were made of a thin glass, she lifted the lid and leaned over to peer inside - It looked like a white powder. Not sure of what else it could possibly be, she concluded it to be cocaine.

So this is what Crane was doing. He was manufacturing drugs of some sort and was probably needing the poison from the chemistry class to stifle anyone who found out, right? Or maybe, he was to put the poison in the drugs themselves, to kill people or make them sick. Whatever the story was, Dahlia did not want to stick around to find out.

With haste, she turned and headed back up the stairs as quietly as she could, hushing her rapid breaths. She had to make an excuse to leave, immediately. But who would she tell, the police? Her father? The administrators at school? Anyone. Suddenly, Crane seemed such a dangerous man. However, she was probably concentrating too hard on the steps to avoid tripping . . . as she slammed right into a warm object that gave in slightly to her push. Quickly looking upwards, she came to meet the cold blue eyes of a man in a scarecrow mask. And as she let out a blood-curdling scream, he rushed forward and tackled her, and attempted to pin her up against the wall.

Eight years of Aikido martial arts were not completely gone from her memory, and Dahlia quickly put it to use as she landed an instinctive right hook into the side of the masked menace's gut. He gave a grunt and hunched forward, giving her just enough room to frantically tear away from his grip and sprint as fast as she could towards the front door and to freedom.

But freedom wouldn't come so easily. The Scarecrow's powerful hands quickly came up from behind and he wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up off of the floor and turning around as she flailed and continued to scream. One of her elbows managed to make contact with his face, another grunt escaping his throat, though his hold held strong. Trying her best to think and be tactful, Dahlia swiftly jerked her foot back and felt the heel of her boot make contact with his knee. His third grunt was louder than the rest, and losing his balance with the surge of pain, the two both fell onto the floor. Though this stranger too was thinking ahead, and managed to land atop her, both hands holding her wrists down above her head and his throbbing knee planted over her upper legs, doing his best to hold her down.

And it was working as well. Dahlia could only lift her abdomen from the floor, doing her best to jerk free, but no such luck. Her head turned quickly from side to side as she screamed desperately, pleading in a raspy, wailing voice, "No! Please, let me go! Let me go! Please, please! Don't hurt me!" As if signaling her silence, the Scarecrow pushed himself into a more upright position, adjusting Dahlia's captured wrists so that he could hold them with one hand.

His unnervingly calm voice didn't need to be so loud in volume nor sharp or demanding to grab her immediate attention. "I understand your pain, Dahlia. And I want to help you."

Dahlia's tightly shut eyes finally opened, wide, red and puffy with her sobs. She looked up to the masked man, her lips trembling with fear, as she watched him take the bottom half of the burlap sack and pull it up and off of his head. His brown locks, now free from the close captivity, fell into thin and pointed strips over his forehead and sides of his face. Still grasping the mask, he rested his hand back on the floor to help balance himself, otherwise unmoving from his dominant position over his prisoner. The same blue hues now seemed less threatening and with less malice.

". . . P-P-Prof . . . Professor . . . Crane . . . ?"