epilogue
Inside of the Intensive Treatment wing of Arkham Asylum, down three floors in a special cell, a thin, pale man was rocking back and forth on his bed, arms wrapped up in a straight jacket. He had a pencil in his mouth, holding the wooden stick between his teeth as he leaned forward, doodling on the wall above his cot. The picture he had been drawing was simple. The skyline of Gotham rose and fell across the wall, the familiar Bat Insignia lighting up the sky and the image of two winged creatures were flying through the air. One with long flowing hair, the other completely black. The second picture, just beneath it, was the same background, and the two beings that been soaring through the Gotham sky now lay broken and bloody on the ground. The woman's eyes had been yanked from their sockets, hanging by nothing but thin pink tissue. The man had chunks of skin missing, weeping blood, fingernails scratched down to the the quick and covered in blood. Looks of horror were on both of their faces.
The Scarecrow was tired of his plans being destroyed.
The Scarecrow was plotting the Bat Clan's demise.
It would be nothing less than a masterpiece.
Jonathan Crane had been gone for a while, his mind belonging completely and utterly to his alter ego, the sadistic, violent side. He continued to doodle and giggled to himself. There was a loud sucking noise and he looked behind him to see the glass wall sliding back and an orderly walking in. He sat down the tray and gave the patient a weary look before leaving. The Scarecrow looked at the food in disgust. He hadn't eaten in over a week. Not since he'd been in Arkham. Curiously, he crawled towards the tray and looked over the meal and a small smile rose on his pale lips when he saw the french fries, coupled with a small packet of ketchup. He grabbed it in his mouth, tearing at the plastic and then retreated back to his cot, right next to the picture of the dying Bat. With careful precision, he guided the red substance in a specific pattern and finally, he spat the the empty packet to the ground, basking in his artwork.
Written in blood red, just above their heads were two single words. WAYNE, GORDON.
Wild laughter rang out from his throat, maniacal and terrifying in it's intensity. Through the halls of the asylum, all the patients and staff shivered at the sound. Even rooms away, where Batgirl was walking through the halls, following the orderlies that were taking a new patient to his cell, she froze suddenly. The Scarecrow's laugh was the last thing that registered in her mind before she sprinted towards the doors.
I'd like to thank everyone whose reviewed, or read this story! Your support was more help than you could ever know. Please check out some of my other fanfictions, including my other Bats story, Too Much Good Whiskey! I hope to hear from you all again!
Your loving author,
Chokes.