A/N: Yes well, sorry it took so long. I've been busy having lots of fun and getting ready for my big vacation to the other side of the world. Don't worry, I will have computer access so you won't be left hanging for 3 weeks. Anyways, thanks as always to my loyal reveiwers. I appriciate the encouragement to continue and I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Tearing flesh. That was the sound he heard as he awoke from another nightmare. Had he been an innocent man he would not have known it, but as it was, Jonathan Crane was not innocent in the least.

Sitting up in his bed he rubbed his eyes trying to remember just what it was he had dreamed. There had been a crowd of… children. Yes that was it. He had been in the middle, cowering as he always had done when he was small. They had taunted him, cursed him, but this time something was different. This time instead of running away he put on the mask and became Scarecrow. Blood, there had been blood as well. Jonathan consciously slowed his breathing realizing he couldn't remember anymore.

He stood and walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light he stared at himself for a long moment in the mirror. His hair was disheveled as usual and there was a thin sheet of cold sweat covering his body. Jonathan knew what was happening to himself. He wasn't a stupid man. Perhaps he was only too smart for his own good.

Genius and insanity, he scoffed. What better combination for a city such as this?

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Christine opened her eyes suddenly, an image burned onto her retinas. It was a scarecrow crawling with maggots and ripping open at the seams. She ran a hand over her head again to be sure for the thousandth time that there was no bump there. Sighing she turned over onto her back and stared at the unyielding ceiling.

Several days had passed since she last had a private conversation with Dr. Crane. That was the one thing she was thankful for. Christine knew her number would be up soon enough, though. It was just a matter of time before he would decide she was becoming too comfortable in Arkham.

If there was one thing Christine had never done at Arkham it was become comfortable. In her mind's eye she remembered waking up for the first time there. She had been 13, only three years ago but it seemed like an eternity. Her arms and legs were strapped down and she was in a hospital gown. The room had of course been bleach white, as had the hospital bed sheets. In fact the only spot of color Christine remembered was the warning sign posted in bright red next to her bed on the wall. 5-Minute Checks. It meant she wasn't to be left alone for more than five minutes.

Wrenching herself from memories she looked around the room. Most of the children were awake and playing by the door. She stayed quiet so they wouldn't notice she was awake. Alone time was somewhat at a premium when you shared common sleeping quarters with 8 young children. Oh great, she thought as a small ball of energy came running her way.

"Christi!" shouted the energy ball. "You're up!" The child pounced onto Christine's stomach and knocked the air out of her.

"Yes, Charlie, I am," she managed after reclaiming her breath. She sat up and tickled his tender stomach, eliciting squeals of mirth. The other children all saw and wanted a turn as well so after making sure every child had his or her tickle quota for the day Christine stood up and stretched just in time to greet the food cart and, with it, Dr. Crane. She let her arms drop to cover her stomach.

While the kids ran to say hi to Dr. Jon, Christine threw on a sweatshirt over her tank top. Turning she walked over to the food cart to pass out trays but saw that Jonathan had begun doing that instead. Shrugging it off she grabbed her own off the cart, avoiding his eyes as usual, and settled against the wall to eat the slop on her tray. Her eyes scanned the group as they talked in higher and higher pitched voices.

A shadow fell across her tray and she looked up to see none other than Crane looking down at her. "What do you want?" she scowled. Christine was in no mood to deal with him so early in the morning.

"I just thought I'd let you be the first to know that Gregory is going home today," he told her, kneeling down so they were closer to eye level.

"What do you mean?" Her voice was almost as confused as the look on her face.

"Someone's father has behaved himself and I feel confident to release my collateral." He grinned. "Some plans always work." Christine tried very hard not to show how upset she was by this, but failed miserably.

"That's very nice," she spat. "So when do the rest of us get to leave?" Her hopes weren't high for herself but the kids truly needed to get out of here.

"That all depends on how well your parent's cooperate," Jonathan replied, drawing out each word. "Some like Lucy may well leave tomorrow. But then there are the chronic do-gooders." He looked into her eyes accusingly. "I don't suppose you know any of them." Of course she did. Her father was one of the major proponents for cleaning up Gotham's police force. There was no way she would ever get out of this place.

"Well," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "we both know how much I just love this place." Lowering her voice she added, "He won't bend to you, Dr. Crane. You are just a lying, evil, scheming sack of-"

"Think twice before finishing that sentence, Ms. Fellmen." Every word brought Scarecrow closer to the surface. Now his eyes held a danger that Christine had seen before. Not again, she thought. "You wouldn't like the consequences, although I have been meaning to show you the effects of certain pharmaceuticals I've been researching." He sighed. "I do love to hear screams." With that he stood and went to chat idly with the younger kids.

Noting how quickly he changed face Christine began to wonder if he really did have SDD. The changes in his personality tended to come when he was frightening someone. Perhaps that was the trigger: fear. If Jonathan did lose control and slip into his other personality what would he do then? Alone with a small, ignored conscience he was bad enough but with another voice to guide him, to aid his already expansive knowledge of the human psyche, Dr. Crane was a formidable foe for any of Gotham's citizens. There was one thing Christine was sure of: the longer she was here the more danger she was in.

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Jonathan sat at his desk, looking over the results of his latest test. He had been attempting to use a drug, which enhanced the power of suggestion, turning someone into a mindless drone. The results weren't as promising as he had hoped. For some of his test subjects the effect was total. They bent to every whim he had. Others had simply become non-responsive. Still others seemed to be unchanged by the drug.

Sighing he set aside the papers and pulled out a yellow legal pad. Dating the top right-hand corner he began scrawling notes furiously.

Personality changes becoming more frequent and uncontrollable

Psychiatric drugs yielding no change in symptoms

Trigger appears to be invoking or seeing fear in others

His notes continued along those lines for a page or two before he was interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Tossing the notepad aside he called out, "Come in."

At his invite a short, balding man in a gray suit came in. He carried a worn briefcase and a heavy look. Seating himself opposite Crane he pulled out a packet of papers.

"Mr. Eng," Jonathan greeted the man. He had been wondering why he had not come sooner. "I assume that the paperwork is all in order?"

Mr. Eng took a moment to shuffle the papers before saying, "Yes, yes, of course. Once you sign this Arkham Asylum will be open once more to house the criminally insane. As per your request the city will not seek the reopening of the minimum-security ward, which has already been closed for some time now." He placed a single sheet in front of Jonathan for signing.

"No surprises?" Jonathan asked pen poised to sign.

"No, Dr. Crane. None at all." Jonathan promptly signed the paper at the bottom and Mr. Eng snatched it up again. "Now you are aware that you will be in high demand for criminal cases once more?" Mr. Eng asked, as though warning him.

Jonathan grinned. "Yes, Mr. Eng. In fact," he added, "I've been counting on it." The two men shook hands and Jonathan found himself once more alone.

Now that he was going to be receiving more patients, he wasn't worried anymore about finding new test subjects for his hallucinogens. Christine had proved an interesting study of adolescents but she was not what he would call average. Her reactions were more of a case study than an example of good results.

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No one noticed when the door opened. The children and Christine were busy engaging in an all out pillow fight with their shouts drowning out any other sound. It wasn't until a small boy named Anthony, or Tony to his friends, stopped and shouted, "Dr. Jon!" that all heads turned that way and Jonathan found himself assaulted with pillows.

He stood stock still a moment before coping a look so annoyed and disgusted that Christine could not help it when she burst out laughing. Noticing this Jonathan quickly regain some semblance of control over the energetic bunch.

"Stop now," he told them, voice so devoid of fun that the children immediately snapped to attention. Christine bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I'm sorry to say that Gregory will be leaving for a," he paused searching for a word to explain it, "vacation."

"What's that?" asked Tony, being only 4 and not understanding.

Greg took it upon himself to explain. "It's this thing where you go and have fun for a long time with your family!" He was so gleeful he couldn't contain it and the excitement spread like wildfire. There were ringing shouts of "But I wanna go too!" and the ever popular "That's not fair!" Jonathan looked even more peeved if that was possible. Christine took it upon herself to end the chaos.

"I'm sure you'll all get a turn but because Greg is older than the rest of you he gets to go first," she calmly told them, lying through her teeth.

"But aren't you older than he is?" Emily asked. She had been one of the louder complainers.

"Yes but I'm not a kid like you guys are and kids get special things." Christine was almost bothered by just how easily the lies had spun themselves. Nonetheless the children took her at her word and resumed playing.

"Come along, Gregory," Jonathan continued as though uninterrupted. "Grab your things." Christine went silently to help him with that, all the while whispering instructions. The noise of the others kept her words a secret.

Once finished Greg shouldered his cartoon backpack and Christine gave him one final hug, slipping a folded paper into his back pocket as she did so. She was careful so Crane wouldn't see the movement. "Have fun," she whispered, winking.

"I will," he told her, winking back. With that he followed Crane out of the room. While holding the door open for Greg, Jonathan looked back at Christine. Her expression was angry but her eyes held a glimmer of hope. Suspicious, he had Greg's bag searched before he released him back to his father. Finding nothing he dismissed the notion that Christine had a reason to hope.

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Somewhere across town, out of the Narrows, Greg was settling back into his own room. His father sat watching him silently, thanking anyone who was listening for bringing his boy back safely.

He hadn't wanted to listen to Crane. When he became a police officer his intentions were to do something good for once instead of always doing what he was told but in Gotham that was near to impossible. He had been standing up for right up until his son went missing. The thought of anything happening to Gregory was enough to bring him to his knees, literally and figuratively.

He stood up and went to his son to give him another hug. "Daddy," he heard whispered in his ear, "I have something for you." Pulling apart he saw Greg holding out a crumpled piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked, curious. Unfolding it he saw it was a note, short but to the point.

"My friend told me it was very important that you got it," Greg said in a conspiratory tone. As the man read what was written, he quite agreed.

Sir,

My name is Christine Fellmen. I am 17 and the only daughter of Michael Fellmen, a fellow police officer. There are 7 others here, too. Crane is holding us for insurance. Please do something soon, or I don't know if 8 more will come out like your son.

-Christine

Michael Miller, 3 Emily Jones, 6 Charles Thompson, 6

Lucy Brandon, 7 Anthony Stewart, 5

Alice Walker, 4 Justin Ashton, 7