Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot and the characters not found in Batman Begins.
Please read and review!
Searching For My Shadow – Part II
Dr. Jonathan Crane always returned home via the same route after work daily, for there was no reason for him to vary it. Now, the feeling that every step he took was a mistake disturbed him, for he knew its cause and was suppressing it as best as he could. He disliked changes in his routine, but found that his steady gait had almost slowed to a stop. His feet had betrayed him. Sighing, he turned back.
Memories were best left behind, safely kept out of sight. But today's experience at Mrs. Peacock's apartment had unsettled him and punctured his bag of memories, so that little moments leaked out, poisoning his mind. Standing outside the optical shop, he paused, and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated to remember.
----------
11-year old Jonathan Crane knew it was a mistake as soon as he stepped out of the school gates. Usually, he wouldn't even contemplate the idea of going home immediately after school, what with those pesky bullies haunting every alleyway waiting to waylay someone smaller or weaker than themselves, just for their own selfish pleasure. Like Venus fly traps, he thought, or pitcher plants, mouths open wide to entrap any unsuspecting fly. But this was not any typical day. Julien was down with a fever at home, with no one to care for her. His mother had taken to sitting in a corner and chanting the requests of the "Voices from Heaven" (as she called it) in a low murmur, and they were somewhere along the line of "Kill. Suicide. Kill. Suicide." He was certain that he had hidden all the sharp implements and locked all the window grills, but he feared his mother's resolve to die. He didn't dare to gamble with Lady Luck, who had by far never failed to deal him an unfair hand in all matters. It was better to be safe, than sorry.
Nevertheless, he shouldered his backpack and headed for home, knowing beyond doubt that he was indeed asking for trouble. Walking straight into the spider's web, that's what he was doing, behaving irrationally, pretending to be oblivious of the obvious consequences. Somehow, he enjoyed it, although he preferred the beatings to the merciless taunts. Bruises, scraps, cuts, the places where skin could split and tear to expose raw tender flesh. Decorating his body, different shades of red, like water colours, stark against his pale skin that was the canvas. To allow the lingering pain to wash over him was a comfort that he desired, so that he could forget the hurt that was far deeper inside, the hurt that was fragile and untouched, like a volatile mixture of chemicals ready to ignite at the hint of the slightest spark, or the frightened animal within him that could spring forth, snarling. He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder, and pointed his toes towards the nearest shortcut home.
He knew the best way to journey through alleys: hunch your shoulders, eyes on the ground, move as fast as you can, run as soon as you hear someone calling your name, don't ever turn back. And then, he crashed head first into an obstacle, one of the older students it must have been, although in the dim light Jonathan thought he had encountered a living lump of flesh.
A push, a shove. That was all it took for him to lose his balance, and fall backwards on the ground. It isn't my fault, my backpack is too heavy, he mused silently to himself.
They crowded around his sprawled form. There must have been six or seven of them, some even younger than he, but all several times larger in size and physically much stronger. He couldn't breathe; the air was too dense. Taking a mental note of each and everyone, he silently vowed to exact his revenge in the secret world of dreams.
"That's all it takes to push little Jonny on the ground..."
"It would take even more effort to kill an ant!"
"Maybe he's a girl after all, what do y'all think huh? Maybe we should check..."
Echoes of laughter danced around, hovering above him, giving the air a sour tinge, taunting him to raise his fists in defence. He silenced the urge to resist their hands, which had either taken the form of fists, hard and clenched, or prying fingers that crept along his body. Their sneers complemented their violent treatment of him as a punching bag.
Once they had begun, it was hard for them to lose interest and stop. He couldn't see a thing, what with arms thrashing about him in all directions possible, and even legs joining in the fray. He hoped the contents of his backpack had not been touched. He would not allow them to be sullied by their hands. Blood dripped from his nose, and he wiped it away hastily, smearing it on his sleeve and leaving a faint trace on his upper lip. He licked it in sadistic fashion and tried to assume a kneeling position before standing up, before a kick in the back of his legs sent him flying about two inches above that ground. His palms were grazed in his attempt to break his fall, and his glasses grew wings and took flight from his face, landing in a spot where his myopic vision could not locate.
All of a sudden, he entered another world, a world of vague shadows and too-loud voices that hung lingering in the still air. Again, he betrayed his instincts and started to grope about the floor for his glasses. There is no reason to panic, he reprimanded himself, but the unknown, the blurred images at the edges of his vision when he still had his glasses on, now magnified before his eyes, had never failed to terrify him.
"Ooh, let's help little Jonny find his glasses..."
"Wait, we need a camera..."
"Remember to caption this picture as 'A Scarecrow on All-Fours', yeah?"
Laughter erupted around him, as he tried desperately to ignore and prickling sensation at the back of his neck, this nameless panic that crept up his spine and confused his mind.
"Why, isn't that ugly Scarecrow's glasses? Over there." One of them pointed, and Jonathan had blindly followed their directions, scrambling to his feet, rushing to that spot, tripping over his shoelaces. He fell on his knees, and began feeling the ground with his hands, waiting for the familiar metal frame to materialize at the tips of his fingers. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the boys with his arm raised, something in his hand, held high aloft in the air.
The boy walked in front of Jonathan, who now struggled to reach for his glasses, but was held back by two other brutes with vice-like grip.
He squinted, as he said as calmly as he could, "Return my glasses to me."
They snickered in response.
With a voice slightly raised, laced with a hint of irritation and desperation, he repeated, "Return my glasses to me, please."
A voice behind him added, "I'd bet a million bucks that he would just repeat that phrase forever..."
The boy in front of Jonathan gripped his chin, fingers pressing hard against his cheeks, causing him to choke in pain.
In a mocking voice, the boy, apparently the leader of the gang, addressed the rest, "Now, now. Let's not get too impatient, boys. We have plenty of time on our hands."
He handed the glasses to another boy standing next to him. With his other hand, the leader pulled Jonathan's head back by his hair, forcing the latter to look into his eyes. "What would you do to get your glasses back?"
"I..."
"You don't really need it right? It's just a piece of scrap..."
His glasses were dropped on the ground...
"...metal..."
...a shoe hovered just above it...
"...and glass."
...and was crushed underfoot.
He bit his lower lip. He knew that he couldn't afford another pair.
The leader picked up Jonathan's glasses, now a twisted piece of metal framing cracked lenses, and dangled it like bait before his face. Jonathan tried to free himself, but gave up and stared defiantly into the leader's eyes, which were grey and cold.
He muttered through clenched teeth. "I said, I want my glasses."
A high mocking voice repeated in imitation, "I said, I want my glasses."
Laughter erupted once more. Bored of the game, the leader drawled, "All right. Since Scarecrow is such a girl, we'd return his glasses if he begs for them," He fixed his gaze to watch Jonathan's reaction, and added, "Convincingly."
They waited. Jonathan swallowed hard.
"Come now, don't waste my time. I could change my mind, you know, and throw it into the gutter."
With blazing eyes and voice quivering with silent rage, Jonathan said in a low voice, "Give me my glasses."
"And what have we learnt about manners?" He yanks the glasses slightly out of reach, sniggering.
Jonathan threw an insolent gaze at the sneering boy before him, but knew better than to antagonise them further. He listened to the practical advice that his mind offered, and counselled his heart to swallow its pride.
He stammered slightly, "Could you...could you please return my glasses?"
"I shan't make life miserable for you, Scarecrow; I'm letting you off easy this time." And with that, the leader of the gang spat on the ground, threw the glasses into Jonathan's face and left. The rest of his cronies followed suit, but not before presenting him with a kick to the stomach as a farewell gift, causing him to double over in pain.
He passed a hand across his eyes and stuffed his glasses into his pocket. It would be no use trying to survey the damage done to it under this dim light. Picking up his backpack, he slung it over his shoulder and staggered home. Every inch of his body hurt with every step he took.
----------
At home, Jonathan tried his best to bend the metal frame back into shape. There was nothing to be done about the cracked lenses. He put them on, and saw the world through an elaborate spider web. He could endure that, but could not bare the stares of his fellow schoolmates and their whispered comments.
It would be three months before he could save up enough money to buy a new pair.
----------
Dr. Crane entered the shop, and left 15 minutes later. If one were to observe him, his step would be lighter than usual.
----------
A week after the visit from the strange doctor, Raphael Peacock received an article delivered by mail. He opened it apprehensively; nothing like this had happened before. Nestled in a green coloured box was a brand-new pair of glasses that resembled his own.
To be continued...