Footsteps echoed loudly on the polished floor, and the corridor turned orange as a light was flicked on. Rachel swallowed, her mind screaming at her to turn around and go home, forget about Crane, and call the police. Her sense told her otherwise – Crane would be waiting…all it took was a pager message and she'd be on the run from various authorities under his power.

Her heels clicked as she made her way back to the interview room. She looked creased and dishevelled, having not slept a wink the night before and wearing the same clothes as her first meeting with him. The blood pounded in her veins as each footfall brought her closer to the metal, bolted door. She thought of her warm sofa, and her friendly TV…how she had shunned it…she thought about Bruce's visit…

"Miss Dawes. Thank you for coming." Rachel realised she had stopped outside the door, and hovered there as she let her imagination run away with her. Crane had opened the door and was now waiting patiently.

"…Are you coming in or not?" He stared at her over the top of his spectacles. She nodded sharply and he gave her a satisfied smile. She stepped past him and he offered her a clinical seat in the middle of the room as he took the adjacent one – he didn't seem to have rearranged anything from the previous night.

"So…" He picked up his notebook and rested an ankle on his knee, though still sitting perfectly bolt upright. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not your patient." She shot, feeling the unconvinced quiver in her voice return…it kept coming back. She saw him blink slowly and glance elsewhere in an irritated way.

"Miss Dawes, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Which would you prefer?" He waited, tapping his ballpoint against the edge of his pad.

- -

The hard way would mean more work, but he might just give up and let me go if I make it too difficult…but he'd never do that because I could go to the police…he might just make me go mad and lock me up with his other nutcases…I don't want to be a fruit-loop…I just want to go home…the easy way might just get me out of it quicker…

- -

"I see. Very well, we'll do it your way."

Rachel was jerked out of her battling thoughts as Dr. Crane rose from his chair and tended to his briefcase. She must have stayed silent too long – he thought she was being uncooperative. The D.A. sat up straight and began to panic – what was he doing?

Seating himself again, he opened the case in his lap and pulled out a familiar piece of sacking. "Yet another of my little gadgets, Miss Dawes. I believe you've seen this one before, too?"

He slipped the mask over his face and hit the release button on the corner of the briefcase. The gas spewed into the room and she coughed and jerked, trying not to breathe it in. In an instant her senses felt like they had been dumped under cold water – the walls blinded her, and this…creature…stepped out of the light and into her frame of vision. She flailed as sounds roared deafeningly in her ears.

"Is this how you wanted to do it?" The Scarecrow rasped into her face. Rachel screamed and clawed at the material, trying to push it away, but drew back and fell from her chair in repulsion as an army of maggots squirmed out of the seams.

"Is this what you wanted to see? Did you think this would get you out?" The Scarecrow stood over her, looming amongst the pulsating walls. His voice was distorted and scratchy, the words etching into her mind. Rachel howled and writhed, trying to get him out of her vision.

Crane paused, removed the mask, and stood before the trembling, crying girl…still with notebook in one hand. He detected her beginning to compose herself, and let her remove her hands from her face. He smiled his usual lop-sided smile, lips always closed, but it faded as her eyes widened again on sight of the Doctor unmasked.

Doctor Jonathan Crane was smiling knowingly at her amongst the vibrations; lips still stitched together like those in his mask. She began to scream in terror, and threw herself facedown on the floor.

This was a turn up for the books, he thought, and started to scribble furiously.

- -

"Enlighten me…why are you afraid of me?" Crane later asked casually, still writing. Rachel blinked – she didn't quite know herself, though to be fair, he hadn't done himself any favours over the past fortnight.

He laid his pen down with a click. "You fear me…when you know what I do, why I do it, and you know who I am…" He dampened his lips. "How about the Batman?"

Rachel apprehensively looked him in the eye. Did he know about Bruce? Did one of the most dangerous scientists of the mind know who the Batman was?

"Batman keeps his identity a secret." He continued. "Nobody knows who he is, where he came from and why he's doing what he does…yet people trust him. You talk to him, let him save your life and your loved ones…without even asking his motive."

"He's a good person. He's trying to help Gotham." She shook her head, trying to comprehend otherwise…Bruce wouldn't jeopardise the city his father loved…would he?

"How do you know? Has The Bat told you this?" He regarded her coolly. She opened her mouth to set him straight, but something niggled.

Bruce had told her. Batman hadn't.

"I thought as much." Crane gave a small cough and made another quick note. "Yet someone like me puts himself out in the open, making it quite clear what he's doing, open to questions…" His voice softened tentatively. "And people panic. They don't listen to reason…they'd rather not know."

"All right then," Rachel challenged uncertainly. "Open to questions…you can uncover the mind from actions…who is the man in the mask?"

"Maybe it's me."

Rachel swore she saw a glint in his eye in the moment before he packed up his mask and commenced with what she could only guess would be a log of his findings, though she wasn't completely convinced by what she'd seen. Perhaps she really was going crazy. He spoke to her without looking up again.

"You may leave now. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

She didn't need to be asked twice.