The next chapter will describe the characters' feelings in more detail. I wanted to concentrate on the raw facts for a reason. This is a prelude to the climax.

I want to make Crane's transition from Crane to Scarecrow gradual. In the movie, it was so sudden and unrealistic. I want to focus on the workings of his mind and how he eventually decided to be the Scarecrow, not just dress like him.

While writing this chapter, I had Machine Gun by Portishead on repeat.

Some DC Comics characters make a cameo appearance in this chapter.

CHAPTER 12

He opened his eyes as something sharp pierced his skin. He thought it might have been a mosquito, for all he knew, but then a warm, tingling sensation spread through his upper arm, the piercing object retreating, and he knew someone had injected him with a medication. He looked up slowly and saw St Clair looming above him, a blurry mass. He blinked once, then remembered he was without his glasses. But it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. He smirked, resting the back of his head against the wall. He felt stiff, the straitjacket constricting every muscle in his body, but still, he had enough energy left to smirk at the mess he had become. Victor one day, loser the next.

"Crane?" St Clair whispered. "I gave you the anti-dote."

Crane laughed feebly. "Why would you do that?" he asked hoarsely. He did not want to be entirely sane; he did not want to be lucidly aware of himself, for he was a failure, an utter failure. Under the effects of the toxin, he at least thought his situation was funny, but by sobering up his mind, St Clair would have taken even that comfort from him.

St Clair raised his eyebrows in surprise. "We need you to be completely yourself for this. He's called me. It's happening tonight. He will need you, Crane, so don't you back out now."

St Clair knealt by his side and gripped at the straitjacket. "Crane, Sergeant Jim Gordon is on his way here to question you. You know better than to tell him anything, right?"

Crane was hardly listening to him. He was paying attention to the inner workings of his body now. He had tasted the effects of his toxin; now, he was tasting the effects of the anti-dote and they were both marvellous and terrible. His body seemed to be on fire, but the fire did not burn him. It invigorated him, sang inside him, made him feel like he could do anything, had it not been for the straitjacket. He had not felt so extraordinary, so good, so alive, for years, if ever. The only other moment he could compare the sensation to was the disturbing evening, not so long ago, when a certain blond girl kissed him in her apartment. He wanted to burst out of the confines of the straitjacket like a super hero. At the same time, his mind was clearing up, shaping back into its old self, and that sensation he could not stand. His predicament did not feel ironic and funny anymore; it was simply dire and it made him sick, so awfully sick.

"Crane?" St Claire persisted, shaking him a little as if trying to wake him up.

"Yes," Crane hissed. "Leave me now," he demanded, not looking at St Clair for a second. He hated St Clair, he hated this asylum, he hated Gotham and he hated himself.

He was perfectly lucid now, mind and body, and he fully understood what had happened to him. He felt the gaping, yawning vacancy in his soul – or the lack thereof, he thought bitterly. In his previous state, he would have laughed at his mental remark, but not now. All these years he had prided himself on being the master of fear, but in truth, he had been afraid all that time. Afraid. All. That. Time. Afraid of trusting anyone ever again, afraid of getting attached, afraid of caring for anything and anyone. He was still that boy that was bullied at school, only that now, he was a boy with a good education who pretended to be scary. He thought he was uncaring, while he was simply hiding behind his mask of fear, instead of being the fear.

He had been so blinded and he hated that. He hated his own stupidity, his own naivety, for he had been extremely naive in believing that he had conquered his past. It was not just about the Squires sisters; it was still and foremost about himself and the cowardice he had never gotten rid of, but had simply repressed it instead. If someone had asked him right now, "Who are you, Crane?" he would not have been able to reply. As he struggled with the reply, the emptiness inside him deepened, a palpable entity that scratched at his insides like a demon cat. Because the reply was that Dr Jonathan Crane, PhD and MD, head of Arkham, was nothing. He had been so obsessed with becoming something else that he ended up becoming a nothing, an empty shell.

But it was time to remedy that. Something had snapped inside of him the previous night. Something had spoken in him and needed to make a new move. He was the master of fear; he would only have to start acting like him. And the answer had to be: Scarecrow. Crane knew and felt that only the Scarecrow could fill the void that was causing him pain. The time of politeness and self-control was over. It was time for a new era and it would have to begin on this evening, when a great metropolis would fall on his knees, and most of it was his own doing.

He smiled to himself. He already felt a little better.

Pearl didn't answer any of Angela's questions. She pretended to be perfectly fine, while inside, she was boiling. Suddenly, it was so easy to pretend. Once she had allowed hatred to consume her, she became an almost different person and it was much easier to make decisions and do things.

"Why do I have to inject him with this sedative?" she heard a nurse complain. "I don't want to go anywhere near him after what he's done!"

"Then don't go," Pearl snapped and took the syringe and the small bottle with translucent liquid swimming in it.

"Nurse Jones!" the head nurse chided her, but Pearl simply glared at her.

"I see no one wants to do it, but someone has to, right? How is that cop going to handle him, hm?" Pearl demanded and everyone gaped at her, unaccustomed to such behaviour from Nurse Jones. But it was true; Sergeant Jim Gordon had been in Crane's cell for almost half an hour and Dr Strange suggested they give Crane a sedative so he would be more pliant.

"You may go, Nurse Jones," the head nurse allowed resentfully and Pearl went, gripping the syringe in her hand.

She would not give him the sedative, oh no. She smiled to herself as she imagined what she would do. She would inject him with air and then, let the air bubbles take care of him. Everyone had to die, and for Crane, she had chosen gas embolism.

As she reached his cell, a police officer stopped her and touched her up like a criminal, which she resented. True, she was going to kill a man in a few minutes, but was it really a crime to kill a man like Crane? The man who murdered her sister and attempted to murder Pearl? It was a crime that she had fancied herself to be in love with him, but not anymore. The voice of her conscience reminded her that her decision was not right, but she ignored it.

She stepped into the cell and Jim Gordon rose from his chair, his face showing traces of anger and frustration. She looked at Crane, reduced to such a low state that simply did not fit a man like him, and for a second, her heart strings vibrated at the sight of him, but she tore them in her mind, string by string, until nothing was left but coldness. He looked at her and she winced as his blue eyes met hers and recognised her, but he said nothing. Was that a smirk on his face? He was a monster! Such a beautiful monster... She struggled to remember what he did to Sherry, and what he did to her the previous night.

She went to his side and pretended to fumble with the syringe. Then, as Jim Gordon looked away for a second, she raised the empty syringe, pulled in the air and began to approach his neck, lost in the sensation of finally avenging her sister, as well as herself. Her hand was shaking and she willed it to stop. Just three more inches and then – it would all be over. Crane turned his neck then, twisting it so that he could look straight into her eyes. The smirk was still plastered to his lips and as she looked at the lips, she remembered the kiss and her hand wavered.

Focus! her mind screamed and she had to blink to snap out of her short trance.

"Do you really think you have it in you to do it, Pearl?" he asked her softly.

His voice startled her, but that was the moment to leap into action. She hated him now and nothing could stop her from taking a pound of his flesh in punishment, in a manner of speaking. Furiously, she squeezed the syringe and was finally ready to stab it into his neck.

"What was the plan, Crane?" Jim Gordon demanded. He was getting sick of questioning Crane. In approximately half an hour, he had gotten no response from him at all. He had tried to be the good cop; he had even tried to be the bad cop; and now, he was just a desperate and frustrated man. He kept turning the burlap mask in his hands, as if the object could oblige him with an answer.

"Scarecrow...Scarecrow..." came a reply and Gordon gritted his teeth. There they were again, right at the beginning. It felt as if Crane was mocking him.

"How were you gonna get the toxin into the air, hm, Crane?" Gordon demanded more fiercely?"

No reply. Typical. Gordon was at the end of his patience. He had a city to protect and the only man who knew how to do that was not cooperating well at all.

"Who were you working for, Crane?" Gordon demanded one last time. He was afraid because so much was at stake. He was mutilating the burlap mask with his hands to alleviate some of the pressure in his fingers, but nothing helped.

"Oh, it's too late," Crane finally responded, with a shaky voice. "You can't stop it now."

Gordon's heart sank at those words, but as he saw a look of despair mixed with amusement on Crane's face, he felt the urge to punch the bastard right in the face. But Crane was not worth it; he would not get suspended for treating a suspect badly.

"Sir, a nurse is here with the sedative," a police officer announced and Jim Gordon got up from the chair, sighing deeply.

"Send her in," he barked.

He stepped aside for the nurse to come into the cell and watched her as she fumbled with the syringe and the bottle of the sedative that was supposed to make Crane more available. The nurse, a young woman, really, seemed to be on edge and Gordon didn't blame her. Crane had everyone on edge tonight. Sighing again, Gordon looked away for a moment, unable to stand the sight of Crane, who had been playing a less than amusing game with him for the last half hour.

"Do you really think you have it in you to do it, Pearl?"

Gordon turned around swiftly at the sound of Crane addressing the nurse. What he saw surprised him for a moment and he stood there, simply staring at the young nurse for two seconds. The syringe was empty, yet ready for use and finally, it dawned on Gordon what the woman was about to do.

"Stop!" he screamed as the needle approached Crane's neck and the nurse jumped, startled by his scream. She wanted to plunge the needle into Crane's neck fast, but Gordon was faster than her attempt. He was there in three long strides, grabbed the hand that was holding the syringe and squeezed it hard, so that the woman dropped the syringe on the floor, succumbing to the pain of his grip. She yelped and Gordon grabbed her other hand, pinning them both against her back.

"You can't do this!" she cried.

"Yes, I can," Gordon snapped and dragged the nurse out of the cell, handing her to the police officer who had let her in. "Cuff her, Norton."

"What?" she exclaimed in indignation and began to struggle, but Officer Norton had her hands cuffed in no time.

"What's your name?" Gordon demanded.

"Pearl Jones," the girl retorted, looking at him resentfully.

Gordon wiped his forehead with his fingers and looked back into the cell, only to see Crane smirking at them, and then, he closed the door of the cell angrily, focusing back on the nurse.

"Why were you trying to kill him?" he asked her and she laughed at him.

"Because he's a monster, that's why," she replied firmly, a sense of mischief sparkling in her blue gray eyes.

"Yes, well, Miss Jones, no matter what you think of him, homicide is still illegal and you just attempted to kill a man, so you're coming to the station with us."

"I didn't even touch him!" she exclaimed.

Jim Gordon chuckled in disbelief. "You were about to, and it would have ended very badly. I'm charging you with assault, Miss Jones. Consider yourself under arrest."

She huffed. "Right. Arrest people who want justice and leave the trash out in the open. He killed my sister. He needs to be punished."

Her words got his attention. "What do you mean?"

The nurse swallowed a sob. She looked like a hateful banshee before, but suddenly he saw her as a crumbling little girl and he felt sorry for her. He was sorry he could not simply release her, but assault was assault, no matter how one spelled it.

"Sixteen years ago, Jonathan Crane murdered my sister, Sherry Squires, and I'm willing to bet he did away with her then boyfriend Bo Griggs as well," Pearl Jones stated gravely, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Squires?" Gordon replied. The name was so familiar. Of course! He helped investigating the crime scene then, called in by the then Detective Liebovitz.

"I remember the case. I was one of the officers investigating the crime scene. But, how can you be so sure that Crane killed your sister? The culprit was never found."

"It's my fault," she whispered and lowered her head weakly, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "The detective asked me if I'd seen anyone, anything, and I did, but I told him I didn't. I was a stupid child. My silence ruined Sherry. I saw him. I saw Crane, through the window...It was him I saw, and I never told anyone, and it's all my fault..."

Her shoulders were shaking with sobs and Gordon was quite at a loss for words, but at least he knew how to handle this by the book. "Well, Miss Jones, I'm going to need your statement for this. Anything related to Crane, we need to hear it. Maybe we'll open up the cold case relating to your sister's murder."

Pearl Jones sobbed and looked at him hopefully. "You will? Oh, that's wonderful," she spoke between hiccoughing sobs. "And, am...am I still under arrest?"

Gordon nodded. "Yes, you are. Come, you're coming to the station with me, now. Sedative or no sedative, Crane won't talk," he said bitterly and began to walk down the hall, Officer Norton and Pearl Jones in tow.

Gordon kept thinking, This is a crazy city we live in. First, the threat of Gotham falling down, followed by Crane's arrest and then this girl. Everything was spinning dangerously out of control.

As he met with Dr Jeremiah Arkham, who was currently in charge of the asylum instead of Crane, he thanked him for letting them question Crane in their asylum and also explained the little incident with the nurse, Pearl Jones, who was under arrest. Dr Arkham looked at Pearl gravely and chastised her, although he did not really mean it, and made her redundant, as such was the policy of the hospital. The hospital's staff excluded anyone with a criminal record, and as Pearl Jones was soon to have one, she had to go.

"Oh, my God, Pearl!" a woman exclaimed and Gordon and Dr Arkham turned to see a nurse hurrying towards them. As she reached them, she put her hands on Pearl Jones's shoulders and looked at her sadly.

"Pearl?"

Pearl Jones gave a crooked smile. "I'm under arrest, Angela. I'm sorry."

"But why?" Angela squealed and looked at Jim Gordon accusingly. "Whatever she did, it can't be that bad."

"I tried to kill Crane," Pearl answered honestly. She seemed to be strangely nonchalant and it was not the Pearl Angela knew. She was so changed and Angela did not like it one bit.

"What?" Angela cried and stared at Pearl in disbelief.

"Angela, whatever you do in your life, never lie and never keep secrets," Pearl demanded with tears in her eyes and Angela felt horrible because Pearl sounded as if she were saying goodbye forever. "They have led me here," Pearl concluded feebly. "And after all, he's still inside me," she concluded cryptically.

"Okay, let's go," Jim Gordon said, ending the conversation of the two nurses.

As Officer Norton jerked Pearl forward, her knees wobbled, brought down by everything that had happened, and she fainted. Her friend, the other nurse she had called Angela, gasped and hurried to her side.

"Just my luck," Gordon muttered. "What now?" he asked Dr Arkham.

"We have an empty cell just over there where she can come to," he offered and Officer Norton carried Pearl into the cell, led by the other nurse, Angela, and followed by Dr Arkham and Gordon.

"Look, I have to go to the station," Gordon said. "Officer Norton, stay here with Miss Jones and when she feels better, bring her to the station immediately, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Officer Norton replied and Gordon left, feeling more frustrated than ever before.

Where was Batman?

Angela demanded that Officer Norton free her friend's hands of the cuffs.

"It's brutal to have an unconscious person cuffed."

Officer Norton complied. "But as soon as she wakes up, I'm putting the cuffs back on, understood? Now, I need to take a leak." Angela looked at him with disgust obvious on her face.

"Don't you dare try to do anything foolish while I'm gone," he warned Angela. "I'll be back in a minute."

As Officer Norton left the cell, Angela called him a jerk and focused on Pearl. She slapped her cheeks gently, poking and prodding her with her fingers to force her into waking up. Soon, she began to see signs of Pearl's consciousness returning, but before she could smile in relief and contentment, something happened.

Angela had to suppress a scream when she heard the sound of several gunshots in the hallway.