AN: I'm fudging the dates a bit. There is no reference in the books or the movie about the date other than the seasons. Somewhere I read that for Nolanverse, Bruce's birthday is in November? I don't know. Seems plausible (even though the original Batman's was in February) since in the films it's still warm enough for them to dress light. Also, I'm combining some scenes from the movies into one day. In the movie Crane changes clothes between his time with Rachel at court and Falcone. It makes it look like a different day. In the book it's worded to sound like just very later in the same day. I don't know. I like my version. I'm also leaving Cady out as much as possible. I can do that. I'm the writer.
Also, I somehow think that my Schiff is influenced by the works of agent0fchaos and chaumiamor from livejournal. I don't know why. Possibly because I've read so much of their works. Ah, whatever. I give the masters homage!
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Close. So close. Jonathan leaned back in his chair. He sighed, sipping his black coffee. Soon everything will be complete. Soon my experiment will come to fruition. Soon.
The office was quiet with out the sounds of typing and humming that he had grown accustomed to. He checked his watch. He had an appointment in court today. I sincerely hope this is Falcone's last request. Jonathan finished his coffee, throwing the empty Styrofoam cup into the trash can under his desk. He glanced down at the file that lay open. 'Zsasz, Victor' it read in neatly typed print. He scanned through the contents. Thankfully, Mr. Zsasz was insane. That part was more than glaringly obvious. He didn't need to do much research on the man. Most of his crimes were well known to the public. Because of this, he had also met with him as little as possible. The man was a loose cannon. No need for Crane to do the wrong thing and get himself killed off by a psychopath before he could finish his greatest accomplishment to date.
Organized crime does have an attraction to the insane. He grinned to himself. He reached down, grabbed his briefcase, and set it in the clear spot on his desk. The sound of the case unlatching echoed in the room. Grabbing the file, he slipped it in then closed it. He stood up, letting the heavy case bounce at his side. He loved the way it felt when he held it; carried it. He was more than intimate with its contents. There was a certain comfort that wound its way through his muscles when the case was near him. He sighed again and set out on his way.
*
Rachel absolutely hated-no despised the man speaking so calmly on the stand. His egotistical manner made her skin crawl. She listened to him speak. He serenaded the court with his lies and half truths. It was so easy for him. A game. Rachel just wanted to slap that smirk right off his face.
"In my opinion, Mr. Zsasz is as much of a danger to himself as to others." Crane spoke confidently, slowly. As if he was explaining a highly complicated chemistry problem to a group of children.
His eyes flicked to hers for just a brief moment as he spoke. Twice. She wondered what was going on inside of his head. It certainly wasn't the case. He was never fully there when in court. As if he had some place better to be. She smirked.
"...and prison probably isn't the best environment for his rehabilitation."
Rehabilitation? The man is a cold-blooded murderer! Her mind screamed. She had seen the pictures of his victims. Maybe he was crazy. But, there was no chance in hell that he could be rehabilitated. Not for a man like him. Not for what he did. How he did it. The reports said that some of the women and girls hadn't died right away. It took hours. Hours! The man didn't just kill for the mob. He butchered. Tortured. He was the one they'd call not for just any hit, but for a revenge hit. A hit that meant more than vengeance. A personal backhand in the face of whoever the target was. It took everything in the woman's power not to stand up and scream at the man on the stand. Not to scream at the judge. At the rest of the court for giving in to his psychobabble. How could they believe Crane? Zsasz kept a running tally of his victims on his body. He had no empathy. Crazy or not, he deserved worse than just being locked away for life.
It was only too soon when the trial was over. Crane walked past her with a confident smile. A bounce in his step. She hurriedly gathered her things and ran after him.
"Dr. Crane." The woman called.
"Ah, Ms. Dawes." He said in his normal tone.
She noticed that Crane kept walking.
"Do you seriously think that a man who butchers people for the mob doesn't belong in jail?" She questioned.
For a man shorter than her he sure walked much faster.
"I hardly would have testified to that otherwise would I, Ms. Dawes?" He said, turning to glance at her before he continued.
Did the word 'duh' have an expression? If it did, that was the look Crane gave her. She managed to step in front of him. He shot her an annoyed glare.
"This is the third of Carmine Falcone's thugs you have declared insane and moved into your asylum."
"Well the work offered by organized crime does have an attraction to the insane." He tilted his head to one side, trying to hold in a smile.
Rachel wanted to respond, but he walked away too fast. She wondered if he ever spoke to Cady in the same detached way. She made a mental note to call the girl. She hadn't been able to get a hold of her recently. She was worried about her. It wasn't like Cady to dodge calls. Crane went through the ornate doors that separated the two areas. She had to run to keep up with the doctor. He made sure to swing the door shut behind him as he walked into the main area. She pushed it open and continued to follow him. She would risk a lot if someone heard her. This was where they let the reporters run amok. At this point, it didn't matter. It was apparent he was trying to dodge her; trying to avoid her questions.
"Or the corrupt." She called out.
He stopped.
*
You little...Crane seethed. He smiled inwardly when he saw someone on a moral gray ground. "Mr. Finch. I think you should check with Ms. Dawes here to see what implications your office had authorized her to make. If any." He had to hold back the hiss.
Finch stopped his conversation with the pretty blond to speak with Rachel. Crane just kept walking. Everything was falling into place. Like puzzle pieces. He knew she was the one who was sniffing around. Stirring up trouble in small places. Sticking her nose where it didn't belong to ruin his plans. Ms. Dawes was a bitch in every sense of the word. He let his legs carry him out into the midday sun and chilly air. He walked down the steps, pulling out his phone. He wouldn't be able to make it to his next afternoon appointment. He hit the speed dial for the asylum.
"Arkham Asylum."
"Mrs. Delane. It's Dr. Crane. Something unexpected has come up. I won't be able to make it to my next appointment today. Please get one of the other doctors to fill in." He said coolly.
"Yes'sir. Do you have anyone in mind?"
"If possible get Dr. Leland." He said, walking to his car.
"Will you be missing Mr. Schiff's appointment as well?"
"No, I'll be back in time for that one."
"Yes'sir. Anything else?"
"That'll be all." He hung up.
As he set his briefcase in his car he caught a glimpse of something colorful on the stick shift. It was one of Cady's bracelets. It had been a while since she had been in his car. It had been a while since he'd even spoke to her. His fingers traced over the keypad of his phone. He dialed another number. It wasn't Cady's. He would speak to her later.
"Hello?"
"We need to talk. This afternoon." Crane said, looking around to make sure no one was around.
He slipped into his car.
"Sure, sure. We'll do dinner."
Crane's eyes narrowed. "No. I have other plans. We need to meet now."
"Alright. I'll be in my office."
Crane snorted. He hated that man's office. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes." He hung up.
He made his third call of the day. It was the most action his cell phone had seen in a long time.
"Hi, this is Cady. I'm not here. Leave a message!"
Crane sighed, hanging up. He knew she was just refusing to answer her phone. She was being childish. He didn't mind. She went to school, came home, repeated. Occasionally, she went out to lunch. She always came home within two or three hours. She was falling into a depression. He didn't mind that too much at the moment. There would be plenty of time to fix her after everything with Gotham went down. She wasn't a risk. She was too smart for that.
He pulled into the parking area in the back of the building for Falcone's office. Around the front was the entrance to his restaurant. Crane could smell the cooking. He never ate there. He'd never be caught dead eating in a place like this. It wasn't so much the food as the atmosphere. For a mob boss he sure was cheap. The front of the building was only a few shades from dilapidated. Crane got out and let the door slam shut. He walked solemnly to the man's office. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting.
Five minutes into the meeting and Crane was ready to leave. Falcone wanted more favors.
"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, Doc. I'm bringing in the shipments." He said in his weaselly tone.
Crane was caught off guard. "We're paying you for that."
"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favors." The man across the desk said as if he had any authority in the matter.
Crane didn't have the patience for this. For dealing with ingrates. He took a deep breath and slid off his glasses. "I'm more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone." He looked the man straight in the eye. "But, you know who I'm working for. And when he gets here-"
"He? He's coming to Gotham?"
Falcone was visibly shaken. Crane wondered why, but didn't dwell on it.
"Yes, he is. And when he gets here, he's not going to want to hear you have endangered our operation to get your thugs out of a little jail time." He couldn't hide the disgust that came out. He was tired of hiding. These pathetic people had to see. Had to understand.
Falcone seemed to get it now. In his own way, the man apologized. Offered a way to set his transgressions straight with the doctor.
"I don't want to know." Crane sat back in the chair.
The man looked down at his desk, then back up at him. "Yes you do."
Crane frowned. "Excuse me, Mr. Falcone. I've got other appointments that I need to be at." If Falcone was smart he would read between the lines. Drop it. He moved to get up.
"I heard about your assistant. It's too bad. Good help is hard to find in this town. Did you offer her a raise?"
He slipped on his glasses. "Someone like Ms. Clein doesn't put money before important matters." He said icily.
Falcone looked the smaller man up and down. He had a smirk painted across his treacherous face. Crane didn't like the look. His fingers itched for the briefcase he had foolishly left in his car.
"Why don't you bring her down here for dinner? I could fix you both up with something real nice."
Crane scoffed.
"Oh, I know your plans. You don't go out with anyone else. I can put two and two together." He held up two fingers as if they made his point any more clear.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Falcone. But, I think Cady's tastes are a bit higher up on the food chain." You fool. He thought.
He heard the man chuckle as he left the office. The sound was like someone dry heaving sandpaper.
Back outside in his car, Crane contemplated stopping by to see Cady. It would be out of his way. However, there was something in Falcone's tone that unnerved him. The man was up to something. The mice in Falcone's head were running vigorously on their wheel. It probably had nothing to do with Cady. She wasn't someone a low life piece of trash who was only vaguely smarter than pond scum would be interested in. Unless she can be used as leverage. To his credit, the thought had never crossed his mind. How strange that he would only think about it now. Revenge was served on a chilled dish, with those closest to the target as the main course. But, Cady also had friends and family in high places. For once, Crane thanked the girls adoration for the ADA. That was probably the pesky woman's only saving grace.
He pulled out of the parking lot. He decided against seeing Cady just yet. It would look strange if he had to miss another appointment. It was rare that he even missed one appointment.
*
The metal chair's legs screeched across the tile floor. The patient just watched, only a small wheeze coming from his mouth. He was stifling a giggle. His brown eyes peered at the doctor.
"Hello, Mr. Schiff." Dr. Crane said, sitting down and letting his briefcase rest on the floor next to him.
The man smiled.
"How are we feeling today?" Crane asked as he opened the file on the table.
He kept smiling.
Crane looked up at the man then down at the file. He wrote some notes. He was aware how Mr. Schiff felt. He hadn't really given him a new treatment, just changed the order in which he received the pills. Any sane person would notice they were the same. Schiff had been highly agitated when it first happened; he'd thought the female nurse was trying to poison him. It had taken nearly an hour of convincing from Fred, one of the male nurses on his staff, before Schiff had taken it.
What interested him the most was that Schiff had not believed him, Dr. Crane. A licensed professional with a doctorate at an absurdly young age and a knowledge to rival every other doctor within the area. The patient had a...problem with women. Crane knew his features were more feminine than most men. It added to his looks. Many people were drawn to the apparent innocence that his too puffy lips and softened law line afforded him. Schiff however, wasn't. (Neither was Ms. Dawes, but that was a matter for another time.) Crane's delicate features added to his patient's distress. He had yet to see if it was because of Schiff's history or something else. Somehow, women were equated with flies. It was most unusual.
"It seems that you are adjusting to the new treatment." His voice sounded detached. Odd.
"Mm." Schiff said, watching Crane slip off his glasses.
"Have you noticed any unusual side effects?" The doctor asked, looking back up at the man through his long lashes.
*
"Have you noticed any unusual side effects?"
Thomas starred at the pretty doctor. Every time he spoke he could see the hints. The suggestions. Vapors. They were flies. With every breath Crane took they flew up from his curvy mouth, his girly nose and evaporated to be mixed in with the air. He had tried to explain this once to the pretty man sitting across from him. He was asked if he was afraid of flies. "No," he had said, "Just afraid of what they say."
"Flies don't speak, Mr. Schiff."
Thomas jumped at the doctor's cool voice. He didn't realize he had said anything. His lips felt dry. Was he still talking? They weren't moving. He wondered if Crane's were dry. Or are they soft? Soft like his skin? Thomas had brushed across Crane's hand once. It was very soft. But, dead. What keeps the pretty, dead doctor alive? His mind wanted to know. His eyes fixed on the pink tongue that darted across Crane's lips to moisten them.
"Mindreader." He mumbled. Right? Dry lips? That's what pretty people do, isn't it? To get the dryness off. Lick their lips. Does he wear lipstick? Thomas licked his own lips thinking about it.
The laugh caught him off guard. Had he spoken something else out loud that he didn't know he'd spoken? His mouth hadn't moved. He didn't feel it move. Apparently, Dr. Crane was in that mood today. He groaned.
"Hardly, Mr. Schiff." His face curved upwards into what they called a smile. It wasn't nice.
Thomas's eyes went wide. Crane slipped on his real face and leaned over the table. Thomas fought against the handcuffs that held him to his chair.
"I think an extra dose of medication is in order." Crane purred. He wasn't a cat. Why did he purr?
The doctor grabbed the man's collar with his spidery, pale fingers and pulled him close. Thomas coughed. His eyes burned. He frantically blinked them. Pulled at the chains that dug into his skin at his wrists. Anything to make the stinging in his mind go away. Anything to make it stop burning. He opened his mouth to scream, but his throat was crawling. Bugs were under his skin. Larvae. Maggots. Trying to erupt! From the doctor. Pretty, dead doctor. I breathed in the tainted air! There were more flies. They weren't coming from him. Oh no. They were coming from in between the black stitching that held the gates of hell closed.
"What's wrong, Schiff?" The Lord of the Flies asked.
Thomas screamed. It made his throat burn. He couldn't stop.
*
The door to the cell slid closed. Crane took a deep breath but his nose wrinkled up. The smell of human defaecation was strong. It clung to the air.
"Jules, get someone to clean up the mess in there. And Mr. Schiff will need his shower right away." He said to the male nurse walking up to him.
Jules nodded. "Will we be in for a long night, sir?" He asked, grinning.
"Of course." Crane smirked as he left to go back to his office.
It was times like these he was grateful that in his briefcase, along with his more intimate possessions and the files, he carried a toothbrush, mouthwash, and a comb. The case shifted in his hand as he walked up the stairs to his office. There was something throwing its weight off. He took a quick mental inventory of everything in there. File on Mr. Schiff, his mask, toothbrush, mouthwash, comb, hair gel, case with toxin, another two files...and lotion. He had found it in Cady's desk earlier. He had placed it in his briefcase to give it back to her when he saw her next. It smelled like her. His lips curved upwards. Maybe he would see her tonight.
*
There was a knock on her door. Cady glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:23 p.m. She yawned and stood up from the couch. Moving to the door, she frowned when she saw who it was through the peep hole. She opened the door.
"Hi." She said, the frown still visible.
"Good evening, Cady." Dr. Crane said.
She just stood there, waiting for him to continue.
He sighed slightly. "I was just checking up on you."
"I'm pretty popular today. First my mom, then Rachel, and now you."
"It's nice to know you have people who care about you." He said calmly.
Cady laughed. She saw the look that had crossed his face when she mentioned Rachel. "Yeah. I guess." She backed away to let him in. "Want some tea?" The door closed behind him.
He looked around before back to her. "That would be nice."
She walked into the kitchen area and made him a glass. The water in the kettle on the stove was still hot from when she poured herself some a few minutes earlier. Cup in hand, she walked up next to him. He was sitting on the couch looking over her homework.
"Thank you." He said quietly as he took the cup from her. "Are you enjoying your break?" He asked as she sat down on the other side of the paperwork.
She shrugged. "I have a lot more time to do nothing in. It's kind of boring."
"You can always come back to work. The position is still open for you." He glanced at her over the rim of the mug as he took a sip.
She glanced at her own cup on the coffee table. "Not just yet."
He sat his drink down next to hers. "Don't let your uncertainty stand in the way of your potential."
Her eyes darted back up to his.
"Or is this a personal vendetta?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled slightly, looking away again. "No."
His hand reached up and cupped her cheek. She looked at him again. He smiled. Tiny, but it was there.
"I'm glad to hear that." He said.
He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. She pushed her work off the couch. Her book knocked his cup of tea over onto the floor as it tumbled. His foot moved away from the chaos, but not before a few drops hit the cuff of his pant leg.
"Oops." She said, pulling away from him to pick up the mess.
He let out an annoyed breath. She hid the grin on her face.
"Would you like some more tea?" She asked, straightening back up with the paperwork and book in her hands. She held his cup up with her other hand as she spoke.
"No, I'm fine. I should be going. I have a lot of work to catch up on."
She nodded. "Alright. Have a good night."
He let himself out. She waited for a few seconds before she let out the giggle she was holding in. What she did was childish in every sense of the word. It didn't stop her from laughing. He deserved that.