Rosa heard the doorbell ring as she finished dressing in her room. She was looking into the mirror, trying to get the straps of the dress to cover more of her shoulder when it rang a second time. Isn't anyone going to answer that? She thought as she reached down to adjust her ankle holster. Apparently not.
As quickly as she could in the heels she was wearing, Rosa made her way down the main hall, weaving in and out of the long white party tables, already beginning to fill up with champagne flutes and fancy finger food, Alfred supervising all. He turned as the bell rang for the third time, his face red with exertion. "Don't they know to come through the service entrance; there's a sign on that door specifically asking them to come through the service entrance," he muttered to himself as he straightened his jacket and headed toward the foyer. Rosa followed closely behind him.
The darkening sky made the silhouette of Rachel Dawes look frail, but she stepped into the mansion at Alfred's invitation with confidence, carrying a small wrapped box in one hand, and struggling with her over-sized purse with the other. Rachel dug out her cell phone before she looked up, and her eyes widened at the sight of Rosa.
"Why are you wearing a dress?" was the first thing out of Rachel's mouth. Then, smiling crookedly, she passed the hand with the cell phone over her forehead before continuing. "Sorry. Instant reaction."
"Rachel," Alfred said warmly, inviting her further into the foyer. The door remained open behind her.
"I can't stay," she began, her eyes again straying over to Rosa. "I'm sorry, Alfred, but I've got some work to do that I can't put off." She handed the small package over to Alfred. "So if you could give this to Bruce for me?"
"Of course… are you sure you won't be…?"
"Rachel!" Another voice interrupted. Rachel raised her hand in salutation, and Bruce Wayne joined the group at the front of the house.
"Heavy night, Bruce?" Rachel said with the same crooked smile.
Don't blush, Rosa ordered herself furiously. Don't you dare blush. Don't you dare even think about blu… Sweet. Rosa's face felt hot and she felt a sudden urge to run up to one of the long white tables and down a flute of champagne.
Thankfully, Alfred interrupted. "Rachel just came to drop her present by, Master Bruce," he said quietly, edging back toward the caterers, and slipping the package into Bruce's hand.
"It looks like it's going to be a lot of fun," Rachel prompted, "but I won't be here to see it."
"Do you have some better plans?" Bruce said, his tone half-annoyed.
Rachel's face turned sour. "D.A. Finch hasn't shown up for work for over a week, Bruce. Which means that by now I should be either checking hospital morgues or dragging the river…" she trailed off. Rosa moved forward unconsciously and awkwardly patted her on the arm a few times. "I'm sorry," she said softly, and Rachel knew that she meant it.
"It's all right…" Rachel was interrupted by the sharp ring of her cell phone, which seemed to visibly vibrate her hand at its volume. Lightning-fast, she flipped it open and brought it to her ear. "Rachel Dawes… what do you mean? Who gave Crane jurisdiction to do that?... No. No, it's not all right. Get Dr. Lehman… I don't care if he's in a coma, just get him over to the Asylum... all right…. Yes, I'm going over there too. If Dr. Crane thinks he can keep Carmine Falcone in a cushy cage when he's just ready to be indicted, he is sorely mistaken."
At this, Rosa took in a breath of air very quickly, and felt a subtle hand pressing hers. Rosa's eyes darted over to Bruce. His face was perfectly composed, but one of his arms was at an odd angle to his body, and Rosa pressed slightly back. The hand let go, and Bruce Wayne put both his hands in the pockets of his bathrobe.
"… thank you, I'll be right over." Rachel snapped her phone shut. "Bruce, I really have to go. Have fun at your party," she said a little bitterly, and turned to start to make her way out.
"Wait!" Rosa said abruptly. "I'm coming with you."
oooooo
They rode up the elevator together; a slightly incongruous couple : Rosa in her white-tie attire and Rachel in a worn pair of jeans and casual purple shirt.
Rosa held a fold of her dress in each hand, gripping her hands in fists so tight that her fingernails made indentations on her palms, even through the thick and smooth fabric. She knew she looked tense; she breathed deeply a few times in an effort to make her shoulders leave their "at attention" positions. Her teeth were clenched together, so much so that her jaw was starting to hurt.
She knew that as soon as the elevator opened, she would be faced with a sight she had hoped she would never have to see again – that of her father, Carmine Falcone. Rosa wasn't exactly sure why she had insisted on coming with Rachel to see him. Maybe it was because she wasn't even sure he still existed. She had spent seven years of her life convincing herself that the first twenty years of her life hadn't happened, and maybe she had succeeded in some part. She had never contacted her mother… that was the only thing she regretted. She didn't even know whether Giulietta was alive or dead. She had had a detached sort of feeling toward Carmine through the past years, that as a policewoman trying to catch a criminal.
Rachel, who had put her cell phone away for the second time, mumbling momentarily about the impossibility of making calls in this building, finally looked over toward her friend. It was only because they had known each other for so long that Rachel recognized the tense posture – anyone else would have thought that Rosa was just concentrating hard on something. Which in its way, was true. She was concentrating on not showing any weakness.
"Rosa, I just want to say that, well… you don't have to do this if you don't want to."
Through her gritted teeth, Rosa replied, "That's not true, Rachel, and you know it. You're right. He doesn't deserve to sit in a cushy cell after all the things he's done. Do you think that the tape might help?"
It was a signal of Rosa's frightened desperation that she mentioned the videotape, so Rachel watched her carefully before she answered slowly, "No… well, I don't think so. Not if Dr. Crane is really able to prove that he's insane. It would be obsolete."
"I used to think that my dad didn't need anyone's help to prove he was insane, Rachel. But suicidal? He's got way too much pride for that." Rosa's voice was flat with hatred.
"… and that's why Dr. Lehman's coming. I want to get my own medical examiner in here. We both know, well… we both know that I don't hold Dr. Crane in the highest regard. Something goes on here that's too coincidental, too convenient."
"We can both agree on that." Rosa thought back to the night that Crane had poisoned her. An appropriate weapon for enemies that needed immediate immobilization, she thought with a hint of worry. These poor patients, she thought momentarily, to be in the hands of such a madman.
And that worried her even more.
oooooo
As soon as the door closed, leaving just Bruce, Alfred, and the huge team of caterers in the main hall, Bruce turned and started to walk briskly toward the music room. Sensing his direction, Alfred excused himself from the caterers and followed closely behind.
"Master Bruce, you can't possibly go right now. The guests are due to arrive any minute, and, I know it's crazy, but they're expecting Bruce Wayne to be at his own birthday party."
"It won't take long, Alfred," Bruce said carelessly, turning around to address his oldest friend. "Besides, I'm sure you can keep them entertained… tell them that joke you know." Bruce smirked and Alfred stopped in the hallway, his mouth open with incredulity.
Bruce continued on his way to the music room, to the piano. The three double sets of notes that opened the wall to the Batcave was soon enacted, and he was hurtling down at least four stories to darkness, ready to transform.
As he quickly put on the Batsuit, Bruce wondered. What am I going for? Rachel's cause or Crane's insanity? He suddenly thought of Rosa, her face tightened with rage and frustration, morphing suddenly into an expression of utter terror, and he frowned. If Crane hurt either of them…
Batman shoved his gauntlet onto his hand and flung a Batarang at the wall in his own anger. If Crane hurt either of them, then he would have to answer for it. And that was all.
The Tumbler shot out through the waterfall, and Batman raced through the darkening night to reach Arkham Asylum before… before…
He pressed the gas pedal to the floor of the Tumbler. He would get before anything happened. He had to get there before anything happened.
oooooo
Rosa looked through the thick plexiglass window at a somewhat familiar figure. She recognized his face, but that was where the similarities ended. The man in the cell was fidgeting endlessly back and forth, staring at the ceiling with unblinking eyes. He was in a straitjacket, and strapped to the reclined chair he was in as well. So many restraints, both physical and mental, on a man who had once been, for Rosa, all powerful.
She forced herself to keep looking as her father seemed to find a spot on the ceiling, and he suddenly began to mutter furiously. "Crow… Scarecrow… Scarecrow…!" She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
A silky smooth voice interrupted her thoughts. "Miss Dawes, this is most irregular. I assure you, I don't have anything to add to my report."
Rosa whirled around to see the calm face of Dr. Jonathan Crane, his blue eyes cool and controlled behind his square-framed glasses. She suppressed a shudder at his all-too-normal appearance. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men, the thought came out of nowhere, a memory of a memory of something she used to hear. I do. I know the evil in this man. Rosa glared at the doctor, waiting for her searing gaze to burn a hole in his forehead.
"Dr. Crane. I came because I have questions about your report – questions which arose just as soon as I heard about the defendant's so-called breakdown." Rachel turned from the cell window to Dr. Crane. "Isn't it a bit convenient for a fifty two year old man, with no previous symptoms of psychological trouble, to end up in a padded cell two days before his indictment?"
"As you can see," Dr Crane began, his eyes like a lizard's : waiting for just the right moment to snap out its tongue and catch a fly, "there is nothing convenient about it."
"If not convenient, then surely coincidental?" Rosa snapped.
Dr. Crane readjusted his trajectory. "Coincidence shows up in many ways, Miss…?"
"Ducard."
"Miss Ducard. It also shows up to those who are predisposed to believe in them."
"If you're trying to tell me that there's nothing wrong with this scenario, Mr…"
"Doctor."
"… Crane, then I'm the Queen of Sheba."
"Your majesty…" Crane inclined his head slightly, a mocking smile on his face.
"Rosa!" Rachel hissed under her breath. She turned to Crane. "I assume he's on some kind of medicine?"
"Of course. My major is in pharmaceuticals."
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to need an assessment of the defendant's reactions to the treatment…"
"Of course," Crane replied. "I'll have it on the Judge's desk in the morning." He gestured toward the elevator, edging around the back of the two, herding them into its open doors.
"There's no need," Rachel said sweetly. "I'm having my own doctor come in to examine Mr. Falcone. Dr Lehman? I'm sure you've heard of him. He's already on his way." The elevator doors moved shut, and Crane had somehow ended up in it with them.
He sighed. "Of course." Then, "Before he arrives, let me take you up to the pharmacy. It may answer your questions." He reached out and pressed the topmost level's button on the elevator, and moved upward in silence.
"Ladies," Crane said coolly as the elevator doors slid open. They entered a hallway that was only semi-lit. Something's wrong… something's wrong… something's wrong… The Quasimodo in her head was ringing the alarm bells.
"This is where we make the medicine," he said, opening one of a pair of double doors, richly enlaid. He all but shoved them inside.
Rosa looked around the room quickly. They were on a catwalk, and below them were dozens of men in white anti-contamination suits, wearing masks over their noses and mouths. They were dumping a whitish solution into a large pipe which was gurgling with water…
"Maybe you should have a dose, Miss Dawes… clear your head?"
And that was when Rosa realized that Dr. Crane had subtly picked up a suitcase, one hand opening it, the other reaching inside for a opaque bulb and setting it between his fingers.
"Rachel, run, now! Get out of here!" She pushed her out of the door and pulled it shut behind her. She heard the sound of Rachel's shoes skittering on the polished floors, and the sound of the elevator's alarm. It wasn't going anywhere.
"Noble sacrifice, Miss Ducard. Unfortunately for nothing, of course." Dr. Crane pressed the bulb between his fingers and a spraying sound was heard. Now sure of what was happening, Rosa ducked, trying to cover her face, but felt something wet hit it all the same. She waited for the suffocation to begin….
But nothing happened. Slowly, Rosa straightened. Dr. Crane was looking at her with his wide blue eyes.
She sneezed. It seemed that this was the motivation that Dr. Crane needed to act, and something seemed to click. "You… the Bat Man!" He whispered harshly. A mad gleam appeared in his eyes. Then, to two of the huge men who had appeared on the uppermost catwalk : "Restrain her."
"No!!" Rosa shouted as she felt her arms jerked behind her back. "Rachel!!"
Another man appeared in front of her, his arm in position to knock her on the head. Thinking and acting quickly, she threw her weight against the man who was holding her arms and brought both of her feet kicking up into the air. Her right foot met nothing, but she heard a satisfying crack as her left heeled shoe came into contact with the man's chin. There was a howl, which made Rosa smile, but then a noise that made her freeze.
Rachel, screaming.
A moment later, Crane reentered the room, carrying Rachel in his arms. He laid her down on a slab of a table.
"Who knows you're here?!" he shouted, and Rosa knew that Rachel was hearing something much worse than Jonathan Crane's voice risen in anger. Her eyes rolling, Rachel rocked her head from side to side, indicating that no one did.
That was when they heard the thump, magnified and echoed through the cavernous room.
Crane looked up from Rachel, his eyes scanning the ceiling, a half-smile on his face. "It's the Bat Man…" he said, his voice higher, excited.
"What do we do?" Rosa heard from behind her, and she twisted violently.
"First, we thank this wonderful lady for coming," Crane approached Rosa and chucked her under the chin. "Bait is always a good thing to have." Rosa spat in his face. Calmly wiping it off, Crane continued.
"Then, we do what anyone does when a prowler comes around…" he said, making the sentence into a sort of sing-song chant. "We call the police."
"But…"
"Oh, it's far too late for them to stop us now; the medicine has already been going into the water for months. Freeze the building, force the Bat Man out."
Out of the corner of her eye, Rosa saw one of the workers take a cell phone out of a pocket, and heard him talking to one of the policemen. Suddenly, a ray of hope. Gordon! Please, let Gordon come. Please, let him recognize the description. Oh God, please…
"Is it true what they say about him? That he can fly… and disappear?" The thug holding her arms was clearly worried. Rosa laughed.
"That's what we're about to find out," Crane said, again eagerly scanning the ceiling, from which ominous sounds were coming.
"You're about to find out, all right," Rosa said, trying to sound as menacing as possible.
Crane looked over her shoulder, presumably to the man who was holding her. "Miss Ducard, answer me this : Does bait need to be conscious in order to be bait?"
It was the last thing she heard.
