Disclaimer: I don't own Dr. Crane and/or any of the characters/places associated with Batman Begins

Jonathan stumbled out of Arkham with a pain in his head so intense, he could hardly think straight. As much as he hated to admit it, Vanessa had been right; he could not have stayed in that hallway, surrounded by his former patients. One-on-one, they feared him; but, they might find courage in numbers, and Jonathan was certain they would be thirsty for revenge after he'd used them as his personal guinea pigs for all this time.

He made his way into the Narrows, casting off his tattered straightjacket and suit coat, his glasses already long gone. Coming across an unconscious, possibly dead man lying in the street, Jonathan removed the poor sap's leather jacket, scarf and hat. Acquiring the new outfit served a duel purpose, changing his appearance and keeping him warm at the same time.

In a way, he owed Vanessa his thanks for the beating she had inflicted on him. He no longer resembled the Dr. Jonathan Crane everyone knew and respected; he looked like another one of the beaten and bloody citizens of Gotham, trying to survive the riots. He followed the crowd over the only bridge in the Narrows that hadn't been raised. Law enforcement had left one bridge down to get the injured out, and allow the police and firefighters in. He kept his head down, avoiding all eye contact. In an ocean of frightened and injured people, it was easy to maintain his anonymity.

A police officer stopped him in the street and, for a moment, he thought he'd been caught, but the officer simply pointed him in the direction of the paramedics and told him to get himself looked at. Jonathan nodded and continued moving, quietly exhaling with relief. After that, it was easy to slip away. Looking back, he was shocked at how easy it had been.

He knew exactly where he was going. It was less than two miles from here. Sticking to the back roads, he made his way to Twenty-Eight Spruce Lane. Luckily for him, Vanessa lived in a corner unit, meaning she only had one neighbor to the left. The right side of her townhouse abutted the woods; probably the reason the men who had attacked her that night had chosen it in the first place. Under the cover of darkness, Jonathan made his way to the back of the house. Though the night was cold, he couldn't risk breaking a window to gain entry into her home, so he huddled in the bushes beside the basement window and waited.

When the neighbors finally left for work that morning, he used a rock to break out one of the small basement windows. It was unlikely anyone would notice his crude mode of entry with the windows obscured by shrubbery the way they were.

My naïve Vanessa, hiding places like these are attractive to criminals. You were asking for trouble.

He boldly walked up the basement stairs into her living room, grabbing a flashlight along the way. Depending on how much light the streetlamps outside cast, he might need the light to maneuver, especially without his glasses. He'd have to be sure to use the utmost discretion, of course. He wouldn't want the neighbors to become wise to his presence.

Vanessa's home looked like a tornado had passed through it. Her attackers had ransacked the place looking for valuables; the police had been through after that, looking for traces of evidence. Early in his career, Jonathan had worked with patients who had survived violent crimes, similar to the one Vanessa had experienced. They often spoke of the horror that awaited them when they returned home, and the excruciation experience of having to clean up their own blood.

Morbid curiosity was driving him to investigate the master bedroom where the crime had occurred, but hunger drove him to the kitchen first. Jonathan rummaged through her pantry, snacking on granola bars, dried fruits and crackers. He noted that she seemed to love Spaghetti-O's and Kraft dinner - not really his taste per se, but beggars can't be choosers. Maybe he'd cook something later before the neighbors got home.

He opened the refrigerator and noticed the beer inside; he'd have some of that later as well. Yes, he was going to make himself quite at home. After downing several glasses of water, he ascended the stairs in search of her bedroom. As soon as he reached the upstairs hall, the odor hit him. It was a miracle the neighbors hadn't noticed the stench of stagnant blood and grey matter that had been left to rot over the past three months.

With unfettered excitement, he entered the bedroom. It had been torn apart, just like the rest of the house; furniture had been knocked over, clothes were strewn about. The sheets and blankets had been stripped off the bed, and only a bare and heavily blood stained mattress remained. For the sheer amount of violence that had taken place in this room, things didn't look that bad; he had been expecting worse. There were four little spots of blood on the carpet by the dresser, and another smear of blood approximately two-and-a-half feet above them. Jonathan knew exactly what had happened here; he could see it vividly in his mind. Vanessa, struggling for air, a bag wrapped snuggly around her head. How would she react when she saw this?

He'd spent the long, cold night fantasizing about that. He would be waiting for her when she came home; he'd be hiding in the house somewhere, maybe in the spare bedroom. She would see the blood; smell the odors and she would break down in tears. That's when he would make his presence known. He would come up behind her, gag her, and bind her wrists with some of her husband's ties. That semi-literate troglodyte Gordon had called him a pervert and a rapist; well, he would force Vanessa onto that mattress, shove her face into that putrid stain and show her over and over again the true meaning of rape. She would beg him to stop, beg him for mercy and when he was finally finished with her, he would be merciful. He was not an unkind man after all, and he would take pity on her. She would be allowed to die; he just hadn't decided how he wanted to kill her yet.

Reluctantly pulling himself away from his fantasy, he took some of her husband's clothing from the closet. Since he knew the neighbors were gone, he decided to risk taking a much needed hot shower. He shaved, brushed his teeth and even used her husband's deodorant. Jonathan was pleased with how quickly and how well he had slipped into the roll of husband. He planned to take good care of Vanessa, make sure she got everything that was coming to her. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror; his ear and the side of his face were badly bruised from where she'd hit him with the fire extinguisher. Her fingernails had left deep scratches along his neck, and even he could not dismiss the crazed look in his eyes.

His reaction to the toxin had been unexpected. Instead of being reduced to a sniveling heap like most others, he had been set free. Of course, Jonathan Crane had spent his entire life confronting the fears most would run from; all save one. He had wasted so much time being afraid that he would lose control of his well-ordered life. Now that it was gone, he finally felt release.

Jonathan searched through what was left of Vanessa's belongings, wanting to get a feel for the life she had led before that night; why he felt the need to gather this information was a mystery even to him. He found her wedding album nestled in the bookcase and removed a five-by-seven photograph of her and her husband. He traced over Vanessa's image with his fingers and felt his heart sink. He softened, if only for a moment. Jonathan couldn't begin to understand or describe what he was feeling; he missed her, yearned for her, and longed to possess her. It wasn't because he loved her; that had nothing to do with it. She represented a time in his life, not too long ago, when he had been on top of the world- now, all of that was gone. He had lost everything. Jonathan sneered at the photo and tore it apart, scattering the pieces on the floor. He stormed out of the bedroom and went back downstairs. His stride was purposeful. He would succeed in one thing; he and Vanessa would finish their therapy.

He returned to the living room and turned on the television, setting the volume as low as possible.

So, is this what it's like to be a celebrity?

He and his toxin were on every station. They spoke of him as an evil genius, which made him laugh. When a picture of Vanessa appeared on the screen next to his, he perked up. The newscast said she was in the hospital being treated for hypothermia. I knew you would find a way to evade those inmates. You always were a clever one. The anchorwoman went on to speak of Vanessa's bravery while in the hands of the evil Dr. Jonathan Crane. He sighed, and looked at her picture on the screen again, more closely this time. There was nothing at all special about her; she was five-foot-one on a good day, more cute than pretty. She looked younger than her thirty-two years with her soft face and wide eyes. It was that naiveté, that vulnerability that had first drawn him to her, like a moth to a flame.

Why am I here? This is too risky. Why can't I just let you go?

He knew damn well why; because when they had been together for the first time, just the two of them moving as one, she had said something to him that haunted him to this day. When she had first begun whispering to him, he was prepared to hear the clichéd "I love you," or something equally as corny. He would have dismissed that as an outright lie, or attributed it to her being caught up in the emotion of the moment; but that had not been what she had said. She had made a request, a request that rocked him to such an extent that he had made up his mind then and there to go through with his plan to kill her; a plan that, until that moment, he had been on the fence about.

Jonathan turned off the television in disgust and paced around the room. She would regret having made such a request of him. When they met again, there would be a reckoning.

Two car doors slammed outside, immediately catching his attention. Jonathan looked through the peephole of the front door and saw two white vans parked in front of the house - one from a cleaning service specializing in crime scene cleanup and decontamination, the other from a home security company. He ran upstairs, unsure of what to do. In a matter of minutes, there would be people all over the house - people who would be meticulously cleaning every inch of it. Unless he came up with a plan quickly, he would not be able to stay here. Getting out without being seen would be difficult, getting back in would be next to impossible. He ran back to the master bedroom and grabbed the wet towel he had used after his shower and his old clothing; he certainly couldn't leave that kind of evidence behind, no matter what he decided to do.

The irony of the whole situation was not lost on him. Vanessa had been locked in his asylum with no way out for three months; now here he was, trapped in her home with no clear means of escape.

Jonathan froze in the upstairs hallway as the front door opened. He listened to the people file in; shortly afterward, a vacuum cleaner started. In desperation, he looked up. A wave of relief washed over him as he sprung into action.

Vanessa, you're not safe yet, my love. I'll be waiting for you when you get home.

Author's Note: First and foremost; thank you Not Human for the beta read and for helping me take my writing to the next level.

Dreamer.0110, golden peaches, xOx Samantha and missmae2185, thank you for your wonderful reviews. You are the wind beneath my wings ;)

Okay, in this chapter I've hinted at a lot of things that have, and are going on behind-the-scenes. For instance – what did Vanessa say to Jonathan to get him so fired up? Who sent those workers to Vanessa's house? (That one is kind of obvious though) Where did Jonathan run to, and what are his plans now that someone has thrown a monkey wrench into his well thought out scheme? Find out the answers to all these questions, and more, in the coming chapters!