After all the windows were checked, and all the doors locked and barricaded, Rachel turned on the TV set. It was the closest thing she could have for company, and in all fairness, she didn't want it. A news report mentioned undercover medical research, and the efforts of the press to find out what was going on. A shot of Arkham Asylum in daylight loomed on the set, and Rachel stopped listening. She wasn't going to bring that place into her home…
A shadow outside her window caught her eye as she turned the TV off. Slowly, she put the remote back on the settee beside her and squinted through the glass into the blackness. It wasn't a tree…there weren't any on that side of the house…
The shadow took a step forwards and she stifled a scream – Crane had people roaming around outside her place…he was checking up…making sure that she didn't do anything stupid…didn't do anything to jeopardise his precious work…
She grabbed the phone and began to press 911 before she realised that the dial tone was missing. Someone had cut her phone line…someone who didn't want her calling the cops. She was trapped in her house, and Crane could be nearby, even in the house. She pictured him seated comfortably in his car outside her driveway, watching the lit windows and giving calculated orders to his henchmen…
There was a click and a comforting hum in her ear. She realised, in her panic, she'd been holding down the 'end call' button. The breath she had been holding rushed out in relief - Rachel replaced the receiver gingerly, and began to laugh manically as a black silhouette tapped at her kitchen window.
A silhouette sporting an angular black mask.
- -
She pressed a hand against the windowpane, Bruce still waiting on the other side. His low voice could just be heard through the glass as he tried to check up on his childhood friend.
"Let me in, Rachel." His expression didn't change when she shook her head. She looked more pale than usual, and he supposed her eyes were ringed through lack of decent sleep. "Who are you with?"
"No-one. I just can't. Go away, Bruce." Her voice rose a notch, and she prevented herself from biting her lip in front of him.
"You don't trust me – this isn't like you." The mask gave nothing away, and he didn't offer to share. She paused knowing people could be watching…Crane would know if he'd been. She couldn't talk to him.
"It's not that…just go. There's nothing here, I've got a long day ahead and I need some sleep."
Please stay, she pleaded silently. The telephone trilled, and she turned away for a split second. "I've got to…" She looked back to the glass to find her back yard empty and still. She was alone, and the only person who knew how badly she felt was a crazed scientist who awaited her return, in the basement of an insane asylum.
- -
"I'm pleased, Miss Dawes. Your fears appear to have elevated." Crane's voice was unassuming as usual, and slightly gravely over the landline. She resisted the urge to hang up, her fingers sliding in sweat on the receiver.
"You're watching me."
"Not personally, no. I don't watch over people at home – I find that to be a pointless pastime. I feel the need to analyse your behaviour for the next twenty-four hours. I hope this isn't a problem." There was a click, and the line went dead.
Rachel Dawes, she thought. Rat in a cage.
- -
The new toxins were working perfectly, if better. Not only were fears and concerns amplified, they were brought to the surface to remain there…ever-present. Imagine a community of nervous wrecks…completely willing to bend and change at command, simply due to an everlasting fear…
It was perfect.
Crane let out a short breath and made a few notes in a notepad before locking it away in a filing cabinet. The biggest test was tomorrow evening – the girl's scheduled return. The least she could do was come back, after the way she treated him.
He ran his fingertips over his burns, which were now slightly hard and sore to the touch. His lower eyelid on the same side twitched with the pain, and he allowed himself to wince. Supposedly injury was a small price to pay for his sanity – the gas concentrate had, at the time, wiped his mind of all sense…or rather, the effects had. He now knew that madness felt like leaving your body…but what had brought him back?
Crane twisted one of the probes from the TASER between his fingers, the broken insulated wire frayed at one end. What part had it played? His lucidity had only returned after the shock…
Eventually, he concluded that Miss Dawes' actions had been a crude equivalent of Electric Shock Therapy – through the pain, his mask of fear had been lifted and he had felt relatively normal, but empowered, like something had been added to his mind. Another section.
He called this part of his mind The Scarecrow.