A/N: Well, this is it. Last chapter of this story. I might expand more in a sequal to this story, but for now, I think you guys have suffered enough :)
So, please review if you haven't, even if it's a little blurb like...one word. I'd like to know if you guys liked it and if I should try starting another fic.
Thanks again and I hope you guys like it!
...Amazon...
Bruce's head hung so low that Alfred had to tap his shoulder to make sure he was awake. "Master Bruce, it's six in the morning. Would you like to stay longer?"
Bruce looked up from his seat and stared across the room at the supine figure of a woman on a hospital bed. Her long brown hair fell around her face, and her eyes fluttered as she slowly rolled her head from side to side.
"You can go home, Alfred. I want to stay."
Alfred shook his head. "No sir, I am staying here. Miss Dawes is an old family friend. I couldn't dream of leaving her here now."
Bruce looked up as another nurse came into the room to check Rachel's vitals. The young woman looked so different with her hair splayed out around her and tubes and wires sticking out from her nose and arms. Whatever Crane had given her was worse than a concentrated dose of his old fear toxin. He probably bought street drugs…Bruce wondered how a man like that could get his hands on the right objects to pull off his crimes, but he had succeeded.
"Is she okay?" Bruce asked quietly as the nurse turned to face him.
"She's suffering from delusions. That's why we're keeping her here overnight. But I doubt the condition will change. We're going to call the director of Arkham in an hour if her condition is the same, or worse." She saw the hurt filling Bruce's eyes and gave a sigh. "If he feels that she is mentally capable of returning to a normal life, then we'll make sure she's fully stabilized and release her." She gave him a kind smile. "Don't worry, she'll be fine."
Bruce watched the woman dolefully as she walked by, but as Alfred cleared his throat pointedly, he quickly looked away.
"At least she was nicer than that last nurse…" Alfred murmured as he glanced over at Bruce. The young man held his head in his hands and let out a soft breath. "What is it, sir?"
"How did I let this happen, Alfred?" He murmured, shaking his head. "I knew…I should have helped her. I should have been there sooner…"
"Master Wayne," Alfred placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and frowned, "you did all you could."
-------------------
It was only a few hours ago. Bruce kept Crane pinned under his foot, refusing to let go. Batman's special equipment picked up the faint noises of Gordon and his men outside, pouring into the office. But he wouldn't be able to focus on them. Suddenly, below him, Crane began to go wild, screaming and clawing at the pieces of mirror he lay on. He was screaming about the Scarecrow.
Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to see that man suffer, had to pull him to his feet to keep him from hurting himself. Crane whipped around and stared at Batman in terror.
"No…god no! Don't let him take me! Don't let him take me! No! You promised!"
Bruce stared at the man, bewildered. It was as if the young man were looking right past him…
It wasn't long before Gordon was able to find Batman, what with all the raving and screaming that Crane was doing. The lieutenant pushed the bathroom door open and blinked, staring at the duo inside.
"Batman? …you…you got Crane?"
"Here…" Bruce held the skinny man out by the collar like he would a dog and scowled. "I don't want this guy running around in my city again."
Gordon opened his mouth, still holding a puzzled look on his face, but quickly shook out of his stupor. "Uh, I'll…I'll get the Arkham staff. H-here…" He pulled out his handcuffs and deftly attached one to the sink's pipe, and another around Jonathan's wrist. "I suggest you get out of here. The commissioner's coming, and I'm afraid—"
Bruce frowned harder. "Yeah, I know your boss hates me. I won't get you in trouble, Gordon. Just get rid of this guy for me…"
With that, Batman slipped away into the darkness of the old office. Gordon looked over at the wild-eyed man that clutched the bathroom pipe.
"Don't…don't do it…" Crane sputtered, shivering and bringing his hands around him, holding himself tightly. "Please…don't…"
Some attendees of Arkham slipped into the bathroom, which looked more like a war zone now, and quickly sedated the huddled madman. The two burly orderlies picked up Jonathan, almost surprised by his light weight, and carried him off to the awaiting van outside. Gordon looked around, eyeing each detail in wonder. Blood smeared across the floor, a complete mess wherever he looked, a shattered mirror…whatever had gone on in here…Crane was not willing to go without a fight.
-------------------
Jonathan's stared blankly at the sky above, not even knowing how he was moving, not even caring.
Now, Jonathan…that wasn't very nice…you hurt my feelings back there.
I'm not listening to you…
Why? What did I do?
"You're a LIAR!" Jonathan shrieked, startling the two orderlies. They prepared to give him another shot to calm him, but the young man went limp again and let his head hang back.
There you go again…hurting my feelings…
You're have no feelings…and you know it. You promised you'd keep me safe…warm…fed…
The voice chuckled inside Jonathan's head. Oh Jonathan…are you truly so naïve? Tell me, where are we going?
Jonathan had to think for a moment. Arkham.
Good boy. And…tell me…is Arkham safe?
Jonathan hesitated, furrowing his brow. I suppose…
Is it warm? Warmer than that ridiculous barn we stayed in?
Yes… Jonathan's eyes widened. Oh no…
And, tell me…they feed you don't they?
Oh no…no, no, no…no! This is NOT what I wanted! NO! Jonathan no longer kept the mental struggle within the confines of his mind. "NO! You're twisting my words! You're twisting them!"
He began to writhe in the grip of the two orderlies until he was not-so-gently tossed into the back of the van.
Jonathan contorted his body, his angular limbs sprawled out before him with the graceful pose of a pile of twigs. He let his head rest against the soft padding of the van. Even the van was padded for his safety…
One of the orderlies leapt up into the van and held up a clean straightjacket. "Goin' home again, huh Crane?"
Jonathan looked up at him with bleary eyes and trembled with unfettered rage. "Home?"
The orderly sneered and began to secure Jonathan in the straightjacket. "Home sweet home…"
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The new director of Arkham was a stocky, middle-aged man. His rounded face was lined with wrinkles, evidence of years of hard work in his field, but was composed with such an air of authority that no one wanted to cross him. His salt-and-pepper hair was tinged yellow, and a pair of wiry glasses rested on his crooked nose. Everything about this man seemed normal. Bruce could trust this man's diagnosis.
"Mr. Wayne, I'm Doctor Roger Adams, director at Arkham Asylum," the older man shook Bruce's hand. It wasn't what Bruce would consider a kind handshake, but it was firm, professional, and cold. It seemed being distant and professional was a requirement over at Arkham.
The older man turned to look at Rachel, whose eyes flickered and moved rapidly behind her lids. Doctor Adams peered over his glasses and cleared his throat. "This is Miss Rachel Dawes, I presume?"
"Yes sir," Bruce replied politely, throwing a look at Alfred, who yawned sleepily beside him. Good old Alfred, faithful to the end.
The doctor hovered over Rachel, studying her small twitches and spasms with interest. Pulling on a pair of gloves, he pulled out a small pocket flashlight and opened Rachel's eyelids, shining the light at her eyes as they darted back and forth. "Hmm," He grabbed a small notebook from his pocket and scribbled illegibly.
Bruce peered over at the man and clenched his jaw. "Is she okay?"
Doctor Adams didn't turn, looking as if Bruce's innocent question were the stupidest, most naïve thing he had ever heard. "Her heart rate has been fluctuating sharply, though it seems her breathing has been stabilized," Adams motioned to the untouched respirator beside the young woman's bed, "but she is still convulsing, and in a completely unbalanced state. So, I'm guessing no. She's not okay."
Bruce bristled at the obvious jab at his intelligence and locked his blue eyes with the older doctor's brown ones as they danced with triumph and turned to look at the girl.
"You say she had delusions? Hallucinations?"
"Yes," Bruce managed to subdue enough venom in his voice to keep it pleasant.
"Could you elaborate?"
Bruce shook his head. "She was screaming…she wasn't saying anything I could understand. Most of the time she was just muttering. Again, I couldn't hear what she said."
Doctor Adams placed his pen back in his pocket and turned to Bruce. "I see. Well, in my professional opinion, I wish to take Miss Dawes under my custody and observe her for at least 24 hours, perhaps more."
"Arkham is an institution for the criminally insane. Rachel is just—"
"Miss Dawes is suffering from hallucinations and severe mental disorders due to the drugs she inhaled." Doctor Adams stiffened and squared his shoulders. "She is a danger to herself, and, perhaps, others."
Bruce found himself rising to his feet. "Rachel is not insane."
"She will be under our care as of right now."
"She needs to stay in the hospital!" Bruce shouted, but Adams was undeterred.
"We have an excellent medical wing, as well as very up to date machinery and capable doctors. She'll be fine."
Bruce blinked, opening his mouth to protest, but nothing came out.
"Now if you'll excuse me," The doctor stood in the doorway and waved his fingers, commanding someone to come into the room, "I'll have Mr. Kelly here take care of Miss Dawes." Mr. Kelly was a rough, burly-looking man. He looked less like a caretaker at an asylum and more like a mass murderer. Doctor Adams jerked his head at Rachel. "Miss Dawes requires our care. Contact the infirmary and have them prepare a single room. Tell them I'll also need a twenty-five milligram capsule of chlorpromazine waiting for me and—"
"A capsule of what?" Bruce interjected finally, after a numbing silence.
Doctor Adams cast him a side glance and frowned. "Chlorpromazine; an antipsychotic drug…not too strong, but I think your friend needs it."
"She's not crazy."
"Mr. Wayne, I hate to sound frank, but you are not a doctor. I know what I'm doing." He practically sneered as he watched the stunned boy billionaire. "Now, I must be leaving. Mr. Kelly will take care of the paperwork for your friend until transportation to Arkham can be arranged." Adams saw the suspicious look in Bruce's eyes and smiled as best he could. "I studied many years and know quite well what I am up against. Good day, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce watched the receding figure of Doctor Adams bitterly and threw a look at Alfred, who shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, Master Bruce."
Bruce looked sick and stared at the floor. "I am too, Alfred…"
-------------------
"He's been sitting there for hours, sir…not a single word." A security guard murmured as he pointed a stubby finger at the dim black and white security camera screen.
"Nothing?"
"Won't say a word to nobody. We tried giving him food, wouldn't take it. Dr. Harris went in to try to get some reaction, but the guy didn't bite. Some lawyer came in to talk but…nothing. He's like a toy, just sitting there."
Doctor Adams cleared his throat, focusing on the screen and scratching at his unshaven chin. "Have they given him his medication?"
"Refused to take it."
Adams glared down at the guard as if he were spewing absolute gibberish. "Refused to take it? And this stopped them? Where is Dr. Harris? I don't care if a patient refuses anything. Medication is medication."
Before Adams could set his radar on his younger, less experienced colleague, the door to the office rang with a resounding knock. "Come in."
A nurse cleared her throat and held a clipboard tight against her chest. "Doctor Adams, Miss Rachel Dawes has arrived, she's down in the infirmary." The nurse pursed her lips. "And…she wants to know what's going on."
Adams tilted his head. "She's conscious?"
"Yes sir."
"Well," the doctor picked up a folder off the security guard's desk and nodded to him, "get a hold of Doctor Harris. I wish to speak to him later."
Adams walked down the hall behind the nurse, reading his file along the way. Taking over Arkham was hardly a major transition. He had been selected specifically, since his previous job had been at a mental institution in New York as a head psychologist. He was used to the workings of the psychiatric hospital, but taking over where Doctor Jonathan Crane—better known as patient #52576—had left off would be a challenge. Crane was meticulous with his work, but his impeccable record was riddled with hints of bribery, blackmail, and other seedy underworld workings. Crane, it seemed, was nothing like the saint and deliverer of the mentally ill he portrayed himself to be. He was no better than that Falcone character.
Doctor Adams entered the infirmary to see Rachel Dawes laying flat on her back in a white hospital gown, looking around with wide, frightened eyes.
"Who are you?" She asked hoarsely when her terrified brown eyes landed on the doctor. "Where am I?"
"My name is Doctor Adams, and you, Miss Dawes, are in the infirmary of Arkham Asylum."
Rachel blinked.
"You suffered a total mental breakdown a few hours ago…do you remember anything?"
She blinked again and closed her eyes. No, she didn't remember anything. Her mind was as blank and dark as the van she had been brought over in. Tears began welling up as broken memories struggled to piece themselves together.
"I said, do you remember anything, Miss Dawes?" Adams repeated, looking up from his portfolio.
She pursed her lips as bits and pieces flared up to reveal their clues. A dark alley, a chair, a desk lamp, lots of dust…
"Rachel?" The doctor frowned and placed his folder down. "Miss Dawes?"
A body, thin, pale, something sharp on her throat, something pulling her hair…Rachel's breathing quickened as tears began to pool around her lashes and slide silently down her cheek. A voice, a smile, those eyes…
Rachel gave a ragged gasp and her eyes shot open. "Get…get away…"
Doctor Adams glanced over his shoulder at the young nurse and then back at Rachel. "Excuse me?"
"No!" Rachel sat straight up, her eyes filling with terror. "NO!" She screamed and clawed at her own arms frantically, ripping off the wires and tubes in them. She still felt the restraints, the ropes that bound her to the chair. "Get them off me! Get them off me!" She wailed.
"Nurse!" Adams barked at the woman behind him. "Sedative, now! Get Kelly and Danson in here!"
The woman nodded shakily and raced to a drawer filled with syringes.
Rachel finally peeled away her invisible 'restraints' and threw her feet over the side of the bed. "Get away!" She wobbled on her feet like a newborn deer, but that didn't seem to stop her. She stumbled towards Doctor Adams, her hands outstretched like claws and her face twisted with a mixture of horror and hatred.
"NURSE!" Adams roared as Rachel collided with him and clawed at his face, tears falling down her cheeks.
"Take that off! I know! I know who you are! Take off that mask!" She screamed, sobbing. "It's a mask! Take it off! Take off the mask!"
Adams had managed to hold her wrists and held her away from his face. He was stronger than she was, since she was still under effects of the small dosage of medicines given by the hospital.
The nurse rushed over, syringe in hand, and raised it to administer it to Rachel. But the young woman, in her frenzy, loosened an arm and smacked the needle from the nurse's grip.
"No more! No more, god, please stop!" She cried hoarsely just as the infirmary doors opened. Rachel's eyes widened and she leapt off the doctor and raced towards the door, her only escape.
Unfortunately, the two security guards that had been called blocked her exit. Rachel almost squeezed by the surprised guards if they hadn't been standing close to each other.
Each man caught her by her arms and they were almost jerked off balance as tore past them.
Rachel's tears poured down her face and her voice was as broken as her spirit. "Please let me go! I want to go home! Stop! Stop! Let me go home!" She writhed in their arms and dug her bare feet into the cold concrete floors, trying to pull herself free. "It wasn't me, it's not my fault! He did this! I'm not crazy! He did this to me! The monster! The devil!" Rachel felt a sting in her arm and whipped her head around, her brown locks slightly obscuring her face. But there was no mistaking the panic and terror in her eyes. "THE SCARECROW!" She screamed at the top of her lungs like a banshee. Her screeching voice bounced off the walls, echoing through nearly every hallway in the building. Even the guards and doctor shivered at the mournful wail she managed to scream out loud.
Just as the words escaped her lips, the powerful sedative began to take effect and she went limp in the arms of the two guards.
Both men looked stunned and turned to their employer. Doctor Adams held a syringe in his hand and breathed heavily.
"Find her a cell in suicide watch."
"Sir? You think she's gonna do something like that to herself?"
The doctor looked down at the young woman's arms where she had clawed at her flesh. Deep, scarlet gashes contrasted with her fair skin. Doctor Adams nodded.
"Better safe than sorry. Nurse, clean her wounds and you two bring her immediately to her cell, is that clear?"
"Yes sir," both men murmured.
Adams grabbed his file and stormed out of the infirmary with a steely, angry look in his eyes. What had set her off? Something about a mask. Hadn't the policemen found a mask at the scene?
He was passing the security guard's booth, not bothering to look up from his folder until he heard a loud tapping. Adams's head snapped up and he glanced up at the guard inside the booth, who was motioning for the doctor to join him.
"Oh wonderful, what is it now?" He sighed and made his way into the booth. "Yes, what is it?"
"Sir, he's talking." The guard pointed at one of the screens and then looked up at the doctor. Adams set his jaw and raced out of the booth.
-------------------
Jonathan sat in the farthest corner of the room, leaning his head against the padded wall and hugging himself tighter.
Scarecrow…scarecrow…scarecrow…
Yes Jonathan? The voice answered sweetly.
Jonathan licked his dry lips and shifted as he drew his legs under him. You lied to me.
No I didn't.
You told me I'd be safe.
And you are…
You said I'd be fed.
You didn't eat your meal today. That isn't my fault.
Jonathan paused in his thoughts, a small twitch shaking his eyebrow. You said I'd be free.
…I never said that.
You promised me…and now you broke that.
The Scarecrow fell silent. Jonathan stared at the same spot he had been staring at for the past five hours. At least he thought it was five hours. It could have been more…it could have been less…it still felt like eternity.
Jonathan's face held the spoils of war…scratches along his cheeks and forehead, a split lip, a large bruise along his jaw. The rest of him was just as beat up, but the tight hold of the straightjacket numbed his pain.
Jonathan looked at the plate by his feet. Cold, stale bread, mashed potatoes, and peas. Of course, the orderly sent to feed him had to sit with him and help feed him. He, however, refused to be fed like a child and kept his mouth shut. The orderly gave up and decided to leave the food there in case he wanted it. Jonathan was disgusted.
This isn't a petting zoo. I want to eat with my own hands, is that so hard to comprehend?
Jonathan let his head fall forward and closed his eyes. His stomach snarled for food, and his body shivered with the chill in the room. This was his life. He was no longer Jonathan Crane. He was…Scarecrow.
Earlier that day, a man had come to see him. He was dressed in a proper suit and had curly brown hair. He looked incompetent. Jonathan gave a small grin.
He said his name was Harvey Dent. He said he was going to give Jonathan the worst sentence he could imagine for what he had done to Rachel. Jonathan simply stared at him with indifference. Whoever this man thought he was, Jonathan thought otherwise.
So far, that was his only visitor, other than nurses and doctors.
Jonathan sighed again and glanced up to the spot in the ceiling. His life would consist of this…forever. How boring. His night would be filled with visions of his crimes. His mother's constant nagging silenced only by the quick cut of a scythe. The loud guffawing laughter of Professor Hawthorn struck down with the piercing stab of wooden stake. His shame caused by his sudden firing from the college due to that sissy little student Daniel…Hmph, I'm sure Daniel is enjoying a nice cell here at Arkham somewhere.
Jonathan let a soft chuckle escape his lips. And now…now Rachel Dawes, the bane of his career here at Arkham…well, she was—
Jonathan's head snapped up as he heard the most piercing scream he had ever heard ring suddenly through the room.
He blinked out of his stupor and listened carefully. Could it…could it be? Jonathan pushed against the wall with his shoulder and shakily rose to his feet. Making his way across the cell, he placed an ear to the door and…smiled. His lips turned up into a sinister grin and a thrill sent his heart racing.
She screams our name, Jonathan
Jonathan stumbled back from the door and looked around, his eyes darting to and fro until he spotted what he was looking for. The camera. He knew no one was behind the observation window, because the click of his microphone being turned on would have alerted him.
Jonathan grinned at the camera and shook his head.
"Do you hear that? Can't you hear it? Little Rachel Dawes…what have you done to dear little Rachel?"
He waited a moment, watching the camera intently, and heard the click of the microphone. He had a visitor.
Slowly, he turned his head towards the two-way mirror a good distance off the ground. "Rachel…Rachel is screaming." His twisted grin returned. "Is she screaming for me? She remembers me…doesn't she?"
Doctor Adams watched in fascination as Jonathan placidly walked towards the window, keeping his eyes directly on him.
"What is she screaming, doctor? Please tell me." Jonathan was met with silence. He shook his head and chuckled. "No matter…I know what she fears. She fears me…" His eyes empty blue narrowed and he slowly backed up, growing obscured when hair fell in his face. Adams watched as the man sank into the dark corner he was just in, but never let his eyes off the mirror. "She fears me…she fears the Scarecrow. She…fears the Scarecrow…" Jonathan mumbled before slowly returning his eyes to the spot on the ceiling, his smile never fading.
Adams was stunned. The rooms were thick steel rooms, and padded all around with even thicker padding. How had…how had he heard the young woman scream?
If Adams had been able to see Rachel, he would have been even more bewildered…
Rachel Dawes sat in the corner of her cell, her body consumed by her straightjacket that was just a little looser than it would be on any other patient. Her eyes kept watch on the ceiling, and her lips moving soundlessly.
If her microphone were on, the doctor would have been shocked. Not so much by what she said, but…
"Hush little baby, don't say a word…mama's gonna buy you a mockin'bird…"
He would be shocked at the fact that Jonathan and she were singing the very same song…at the very same moment.
The Scarecrow…had won.