Al:
Waking up is hard to do.
When the Scarecrow comes back to me, I find I hardly have the energy to react. He seems disappointed.
He sees that he's made a mistake. I have nothing left to fear.
"Your friend, Emily, is still alive," he says finally, irritated with my indifference. I shrug. Lies. "She's in no shape to hold a conversation, but I'm sure she'd love to see you." I don't respond. I can't bring myself to care what trick is up his sleeve.
--
Scarecrow:
I didn't intend for the depression to his her so hard, so fast. The crime queen is more caring than she would seem. Selective about who receives her friendship, I believe, but wholehearted when she gives it.
I realize I have gone too far. My goal is to destroy her utterly, not sink her so far inside herself I can no longer reach her. The guilt and sorrow are overpowering her fear. I need to get her back under my control.
I need to bring back the little friend.
Emily is lying on the floor exactly as I left her. I have removed the duct tape. The only thing binding her is her fear.
I know she sees me, because her eyes follow me as I move into the room. I know she has enough of a mind left to recognize me, because she makes a soft sound of fear in the back of her throat as I approach.
I know I have broken her, because she makes no move to fight me or escape.
She is almost too heavy for me to drag down the hall. Dead weight.
If I were still a child…
Yes, I know what they would say. I can still hear their mocking voices in my head even after all these years.
"What kind of villain can't even carry a helpless woman down a hallway?"
I put it out of my mind. Who cares what a bunch of dead children think? I am the master here. I am in control.
I will do what I set out to do.
I open the door and drag Emily into the room. I drop her in the pool of dried blood at Alice's feet. Alice doesn't react.
I am not wearing my mask. I know these women are more frightened by Jonathan Crane, the man, than Scarecrow, the monster. Still, I feel naked. Alice can, if she chooses, see every change, every nuance of my expression. I fear she will read me before I have her. I know she will see that I'm flustered and out of breath.
I want for her. Still she does nothing.
"Well? Kiss and make up." Alice doesn't even open her eyes.
"I wish we'd let you die that day." She sounds tired. Empty.
Emily's head moves slightly.
"Al?"
Alice's eyes snap open. She looks down and sees her friend lying in the blood.
"There's not a scratch on her," I say. Alice locks her eyes with mine.
"You son of a bitch. I should have killed you when I had the chance." Angry now, and on the verge of tears. Good.
I think it will be safe to leave them alone for a while. After all, Emily isn't likely to get up and run, and the only thing it seems she's able to say now, other than my name, is, "Al?"
She says it almost like a prayer.
--
Al:
I try to get her talk to me. I try to tell her that everything will, honestly, be okay. All she does is lie there, whispering, "Scarecrow, Scarecrow."
Once she looks up at me and says, "His eyes, Al. Watching all the time. Scare…crow…Scare…crow…Scare…crow…"
I can't even tell if she's really talking to me or not.
I want to believe that she'll get better. I realize that when he gets done with a victim, there is no such thing as better. There is simply nothing left to cure. But I tell myself that my friend is different. There's still time. If I can just get her out of here, she will have to be okay.
Not that she was really okay before. For the past nine years she's been a paranoid shut-in whose only friend is the Crime Queen of Gotham. Before that, she was an antisocial bookworm who had to be dragged into friendship and the outside world kicking and screaming.
But if Emily's messed up, then I'm calling the kettle black.
"Scarecrow," Emily whispers just as Charles Foster Kane whispered, "Rosebud." The unintentional similarity is eerie.
"Don't worry, Em. Whatever he did to you, he's not going to do it again. I won't let him." It only remained to figure out how.