AN: Alrighty then here you go. I almost regret to say that this will be the last chapter of this story but don't cry. It had to end sometime and I'm pleased with the way it did. It's a little open for interpretation at the end, but take a wild guess. Anyways, a last thanks to all of the people who took the time to review this story. It meant a lot. Well, I hope you enjoy the end!
On another note, RED EYE is out and it rocks. I'll soon be starting a Red Eye fanfic so, enjoy that as well.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"How can I trust you? You sold out! You let him push you around!" The voice of the woman was angry and frustrated as she paced inside her living room with a young man.
"I was weak," he pleaded. "You're not. Look, not only will Emily be hurt but so will three other kids with parents just like you." The woman stopped pacing and looked at him.
"What do you mean?" Quickly the man explained Dr. Crane's plans to the woman who stood silent until he was finished. "Christine Fellman?" she asked, just to be sure she had heard him correctly. The man nodded. "Dear God, what is Michael doing?"
"We have a plan, but we need more help, Laura. That's where you come in. All the other parents have agreed to help and now if you do as well our plan might just work." Jack Walker sighed as he looked down. "I hope."
"But he'll kill them?" Laura Jones whispered.
"Not if he doesn't know."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"I don't want to go home," Charlie complained to Christine as she crouched down helping him pack up his things. Apparently someone's father had finally cracked under the pressure.
"Of course you do," Christine consoled the child. "Don't you want to see your parents? I'm sure they want to see you."
"Yeah but," Charlie grabbed her in a hug, "I'll miss you." Christine couldn't help but smile at the poor kid. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight a moment before pulling back to look into his eyes.
"Don't worry," she lied. "Soon enough I'll be able to see you any time I want. Would that make you happy?"
"I s'pose," Charlie relented.
"Good," Christine told him working something from her pocket with her eyes making sure Dr. Crane had his attention elsewhere. "Now I need you to do me a big favor, can you do that?" When Charlie nodded, grinning, she leaned in and whispered to him, looking like she was still packing his stuff. Unfortunately while she was distracted Jonathan happened to glance towards Charlie and her. He noticed something white in her hand and kept his eyes discretely there. When it appeared as though she was going to slip it to him Jonathan made his way quietly over there.
"Can you do that?" Christine asked the shocked boy. He silently nodded again and she was slipping the note into his pocket when a cool hand grabbed her wrist. Her shocked eyes rose to see none other than Dr. Crane standing over them a look of question on his face.
"Would you like to share that with the class?" he asked in an unusually chilling voice even for him. Christine stood slowly in response, wrist still in Jonathan's grip but said nothing. "I thought not." With his free hand Dr. Crane made a grab for what he now recognized as a folded piece of paper Christine was holding. He had to bat away Christine's other hand but with one glare he stopped her from trying again.
While all this was going on Charlie moved away from Dr. Crane's furious figure towards the other children who were all silent and watching. None of the three made a move or a sound. They knew enough to tell when big people were fighting.
Dr. Crane released Christine's wrist and unfolded the note, quickly reading it. He pursed his lips and looked up over his glasses at Christine. Shoving it towards her he commanded, "Read it." Christine took the note but could barely breathe, let alone speak. Her insides had turned to ice the moment he grabbed her wrist and it was all she could do to keep from passing out from fear. Scarecrow knew this and was beating on Jonathan to let him out. Patience, Jonathan whispered.
"Read it," Dr. Crane told Christine again. All traces of humanity were gone from his face but from the icy gaze Christine knew he was still in control. She swallowed hard, briefly closing her eyes, and let out a breath she had been holding.
"Don't hurt them," she whispered, barely audible.
Jonathan grinned wickedly at her fear, letting it wash over him in waves. Once again he glanced at the note in her hand, which hung limply at her side. "Do it," he whispered manically. Christine weakly shook her head but brought the note up to where she could see it, though her eyes never left Jonathan's.
"Sir," she whispered, reading tentatively. Stopping after that she let her hand fall again and pleaded, "Don't do this to them. If you leave the kids out of this I swear I'll do whatever you want just don't hurt them. They had nothing to do with this." Her words were so soft that Dr. Crane only just managed to understand them. He was focused on the tears welling up in her dark eyes. She held them back with a glance at the kids who were watching silently from by the bathroom door. Their faces were full of fear and confusion. "Please," she breathed. Jonathan also glanced at the children and then back at Christine.
"Very well," he said loud enough for the children to hear. "Come along." Feeling no need to drag her along Jonathan went to the door and held it open for her. Christine glanced at the kids before walking through it refusing to look at Dr. Crane. She stood in the middle of the hallway and, hearing the door close, turned to look at him. His face was unreadable as he walked past her, down the hall towards the elevator. Christine followed, shaking but still upright. Her fear would have paralyzed her if she let it.
The elevator ride was silent but instead of studying Crane for a weakness Christine merely tried not to let her tears fall. In her right hand she still clutched the note she had written to Charlie's father, so like all of the other ones. Why did this one have to get caught? she thought, angry.
Lost in her thoughts she was only vaguely aware of following Dr. Crane silently to his office and watching as he locked the door with an air of finality. Once she heard the click of the lock Christine snapped back to reality and stared at Jonathan even as he stared at her.
"How many other notes did you send?" he asked sternly, taking off his glasses and putting them in the front pocket of his suit jacket. When Christine didn't answer he took a threatening step towards her. "How many?"
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"Are we ready?" Fellman asked his makeshift SWAT team. The other parents nodded at him from the back of their van. One last time he checked his gun and ammo. Finding everything in place he said, "Let's go."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Christine still didn't answer but nearly stumbled back a step. Here they stood, in the place that Scarecrow used so often, and she couldn't speak. Or she wouldn't. All Jonathan had to do was take one more step towards her and she winced, seemingly caving to his wish. "Five," she whispered.
"One for every child gone," he commented. "Impressive." Pacing around her he went to his desk and pulled open a drawer. Christine tried to see what he was rummaging around for but couldn't. Her fear was slowly waning and giving way to logic. He was distracted, or at least busy. She needed a moment to make a plan, that's all, but unfortunately she didn't even get that. Jonathan closed the drawer and pulled out what he had found, a knife, the same one Scarecrow had marked her with.
"I have been very understanding," Dr. Crane began, "of all of your whims and feeble attempts at defiance but now I find you have abused that from the very start. It's time I show you just how weak you really are." Christine stepped backwards towards the door as Crane stepped forwards, still in complete control, but not for long.
"Perhaps in your vast amount of therapy you sometime stumbled across what is commonly called repression," he told her in an eerily calm voice. "It's quite common among abuse victims or those who experience especially traumatizing experiences as children." He paused, running a hand over the knife, which lay on his desk. Its silver beauty was so like that of Christine's old knife, the one that had become her best friend for several years. She remembered gently running her hands along it as Dr. Crane did now. Christine forced her eyes back to Jonathan's and she unconsciously took another step backwards.
"I know what repression is," she replied.
"Good then. I needn't go into depth about it and we can start now." He stepped towards her but Christine held her ground this time, coming up with a plan quickly.
"Start what?"
"Tom and Jerry was on the TV, wasn't it?" The look in Jonathan's eyes was slipping into Scarecrow's and Christine prayed she could get out of this.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. Only half of her fear was fake now. A nagging feeling rose in the pit of her stomach, as though she should be remembering something just beyond her grasp.
"I wouldn't expect you to. That's what repression is all about. Forgetting." He took another step. "You were wearing that cute little outfit your mother got you for your birthday. It had an embroidered flower on the left side of the hem, you know, at the bottom of the dress." An image flashed before Christine's eyes. A girl, young, with her hair in pigtails, her long dark hair. A mother, smiling as her daughter spun around in circles. Christine's eyes then lost their glazed look and Scarecrow grinned. "You remember. She was in her long skirt with the hole in the right knees from when then two of you climbed trees in the park."
"What are you talking about?" Christine feigned. The truth was she could see her mother before her eyes now, as clear as though it was yesterday. Why isn't this making sense? she wondered. I should know what he's describing. Why can't I remember?
"Repression, Christine," Scarecrow taunted. "Daddy was late coming home. He promised you that he would be home in time for diner but the dishes were in the sink already, waiting for you to go to sleep so your mother could wash them." He stepped forward again but Christine was frozen in place. In another step he would be in front of her.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The men and women crept silently through the darkness surrounding Arkham Asylum. Still they were outside of the main building but they had managed to sneak past the guardhouse. The man in front held up a hand to stop them at a corner as a guard with a huge dog walked to the corner of the building before turning back. They then continued on in silence, breaking off to take different entries.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"Wasn't she brushing your hair?" He took a step and ran a hand down a lock of her silky dark hair. His own was falling out of place, partially hiding his eyes. "Mommy always told you that your hair was beautiful. Didn't she?"
"Yes," Christine breathed. She barely even noticed him there anymore. Her attention was focused somewhere deep in the past, somewhere darkness had claimed. Focus, she demanded of herself.
"Her laughter was echoing through the apartment, that deep laughter, the type that comes from the pit of the soul. She always laughed like that. You always knew it was her laughing." Christine heard echoes from somewhere close and they shook her body. Scarecrow took her by the arm and she let him lead her to sit down on the couch where she collapsed into sitting. He sat next to her and continued in a gentle, soft voice.
"But she stopped laughing. Something she saw that you didn't, some sort of sixth sense. Mommy knew what was going to happen and you didn't. You had no idea." Christine bit her lip and nodded. "The door broke open and you screamed when you saw the men. Tell me about them," he coaxed.
"No, please," Christine begged in a child's voice, shaking her head. "Don't make me, please. I can't. I don't remember." A tear fell down her cheek but she ignored it, staring into space and curling up into a ball, hugging her knees.
"Yes you do. You see them now, don't you?" Scarecrow moved around and knelt in front of her. "What do you see, Christi?"
"Masks," she whispered fearfully. "Black masks and-" she broke off shaking her head again.
Scarecrow grabbed the sides of her face to stop the movement and implored her, "What do you see?"
"They had guns," she continued quietly. "And they pushed Mommy away from me." Christine's description was broken by a sob. "She tried not to cry when she told them not to hurt me. She said, 'I'll do whatever you want just don't hurt her.'" The words nearly echoed her own from earlier that night. "She never even cried out, not once." Christine's eyes were wide, staring right through Scarecrow at something only she could see. Her eye's squinted as more tears fell.
"What did they do?" Scarecrow asked, not able to keep his grin away anymore. Christine dissolved into sobs, speech no longer a possibility. "I'll tell you," he whispered gleefully. Her fear had him high and the only thing he could think about was getting more. "They took her into the bedroom and you couldn't see. One man stayed with you and told you not to make a sound. You were to scared to even cry. Them man held you close, promised not to hurt you."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The parents flooded into Arkham, knocking out all they came in contact with. Slowly a pair found their way to a room full of children who, though scared, followed directions well.
Michael Fellman crept silent and alone through the entry hall of Arkham Asylum. He checked every room to be sure it was empty. Very slowly he was coming closer to a room labeled "Office."
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Images, sounds, feelings. All these flooded into Christine's senses even though they were nowhere around her. She closed her eyes but she still saw them. She covered her ears but still she heard.
"When they left you ran to your mother. Tell me what you saw." Scarecrow's voice was demanding and Christine, once more a child for all practical purposes, had to obey.
"I didn't understand why everything was so red. The room should have been blue and green but everywhere I looked it was red, bright sticky red. I never realized that a color shouldn't be sticky or smell so metallic."
"Was she dead?" Scarecrow asked eagerly. Christine once more bit her lip but nodded, bursting into sobs. Almost caring Scarecrow took her into his arms as sob after sob escaped her lips.
"She left me alone," Christine cried, trying to distract the good doctor as she put her plans into motion. Her right hand, which had been tightly wrapped around her knees, was gently working Jonathan's glasses out of his pocket.
"And scared," Scarecrow filled in. Christine had the glasses out and open. With a loud sob and a push she broke one of the lenses and grabbed a bit of sharp glass. Scarecrow never saw it coming because her body rocked with the sobs. Besides that he was completely absorbed in her fear and thought she was mentally broken.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
At that moment Michael stood outside the door labeled "Office and listened inside of any signs of life before he would enter. His gun was held at the ready.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"Not anymore," Christine whispered. With quick motions she stabbed the glass into the side of his throat and jumped away from him.
"You bitch," he cried out. Blood was pouring from his severed jugular artery and he pressed his fingers into it to stem the flow. Christine ran towards the door and banged on it to open it.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Michael heard the banging and stepped back. "Who's there?" he called out.
"Daddy!" he heard an all too familiar voice answer.
"Christine," he yelled. "Get back!"
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
Christine stepped back from the door and into the waiting grasp of Jonathan Crane who pressed the knife from his desk hard against her throat. She gasped and screamed out as the door burst open to reveal her father in full cop getup. He had his gun pointed at Crane and cursed loudly.
"Don't move," Crane demanded, "or I will slit her throat." Michael stopped walking forward but kept his gun-aimed level with Crane's head.
"Daddy shoot him," Christine whispered trying not to cut her own throat by talking.
"I wouldn't be talking if I were you, Christi," he whispered in her ear, eyes on Michael. "I'm very disappointed with your actions and it would be a small matter now for me to kill you. You are only alive for bargaining."
"Let her go," Michael said, not pleading at all. "This is between you and me." Crane laughed.
"Put the gun down, Fellman. Your brilliant daughter just stabbed me in the neck making herself a part of this situation we find ourselves in." His voice was taunting but a desperate look was forming on his face. I'm losing too much blood to stay conscious, he thought.
Michael bent down and placed the gun on the floor between them. He looked into his baby girl's eyes and saw what he always did, a smart girl. Her face was calm and he couldn't figure out why. It was as though she was trying to tell him something without speaking.
Christine wasn't as worried as she should have been. Her aim had been true, as Crane's pulsing wound told her. She had perforated Crane's jugular artery and in moments he should be unconscious from the blood loss. Her eyes pleaded with her dad to understand.
"Move," Jonathan told Michael. He obeyed and stepped out of the doorway allowing Crane to drag his protection along with him into the hallway. Unfortunately he miscalculated and felt something hard connect with his skull. "Shit," he said as he passed out.
Christine ran to her father, who grinned over her shoulder at Jack who had knocked Crane out, and they embraced a long time as she let out the tears she'd held back for far too long. "It's ok," he whispered in her ear as he held her close. "I'm so sorry."
Pulling back Christine looked into his eyes. "Why?"
"This is all my fault. I should have never put you in this position." Tears were now filling Michael's eyes as well. "Just my stupid pride."
"Don't talk like that," she told him smiling. "If you hadn't Crane would have gone on unhindered and threatened someone else. Now he can't." The last line was said with a sigh of contentment as they embraced.
"I'm so proud of you, Christi," Michael whispered. "I love you so much."
Through the tears Christine laughed. "I love you to, Dad."