CHAPTER 11

White Light

Jonathan Crane opened his eyes suddenly. He was greeted by a low grey ceiling. The paint was peeling and a flake floated down, kissing his cheek gently. Jonathan brushed it off and sat up, pressing himself against the wall. There was a sharp pain that coursed through his middle and his doubled over, releasing a quiet groan.

Looking around, he tossed his head side to side to examine his surroundings, only to find that he was in some form of 5-by-4 cell. He was curled up on a bed — a flimsy metal frame with a worn mattress thrown on top. There was a crunchy feather pillow, that had been ripped at some point in the past, lying on the floor next to it. Jonathan noticed a restraint on the side of the bed and stroked it shakily with his forefinger. Three others were sewn to each corner.

He pulled himself forward and dangled his bare feet off the side, his toes brushing the cold, stone slabs below. Jonathan took in the rest of his surroundings: a small bedside table, a tiny barred window at the back of the cell, a wooden spoon and paper plate.

Lifting himself up slowly, he placed his feet on the floor and tried his best to keep his balance as he stood up. His hand never removed itself from his middle.

Jonathan took two steps and reached the back of the cell. He peered out of the window, letting his fingertips grip the iron bars. A gentle breeze brushed past his face and he suddenly realised he wasn't wearing his Scarecrow costume; instead, he looked down to find a thin, cloth shirt and a ripped pair of loose trousers draped over his exterior.

He ran a hand across his bare face, the dull light from outside making his grey eyes glow white.

Jonathan suddenly realised he was starving, and wondered how long he had been out for. He then recalled his last memory: making up a new batch of chemicals for Jerome. He thought about it some more, before remembering that he had been shot in the stomache at point-blank range. Jonathan pulled open his shirt gently and ran his fingers over several fresh stitches. Whoever had fixed him up had done a good job.

And then he wondered, where am I...?

After a moment of staring through the window at the clouds, Jonathan padded over to the door: a heavy, iron slab with a grate at the bottom. He leaned down and sat on his knees, one hand still clutching his middle still, and lowered his head so that his left cheek was pressed against the ground. The cold leached through his face slowly. He tried to make sense of the darkness beyond the door. As Jonathan's eyes adjusted, shapes began to appear. There seemed to be a table and a mass of tools of which he couldn't make out. He turned his head to the left. Judging by the mass of blackness it was a hallway. He turned his head to the right. The corridor seemed to continue.

Much to his surprise, the lights outside Jonathan's cell switched on abruptly. He rolled away from the grate and rubbed his eyes, looking up at the flickering light fixture above him. It lit up suddenly with a brilliant white light. Jonathan cringed, his nose scrunching as his eyes snapped closed tightly. Several seconds later, he made the decision to open them again. Jonathan allowed his pupils to adjust to the new level of brightness before blinking rapidly.

"What the hell...?" He muttered, feeling his way across the floor. Jonathan placed the palm of his hand against the cold door and listened, quietening his breathing.

The outside of the cell was silent — unnervingly silent. He frowned, but kept his position on the floor.

Tap.

Jonathan flinched slightly as something sounded out down the corridor. It wasn't the loudest of noises but, considering how silent it already was, it seemed louder.

Tap.

There it was again. Jonathan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer to the grate. He pressed his face onto the floor.

Tap-tap.

He hoped it was a leaking tap as he looked down the white corridor.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

The noise grew louder and closer. It reminded him of someone walking... that was it. It was the gentle sound of footsteps padding across a tiled floor.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, unsure whether he should call out. The footsteps were closer now, making him progressively nervous.

"H-hello...?" He said, trying his best to keep a fair amount of confidence in his voice. "Who's there? Show yourself."

The tapping stopped.

Jonathan's eyes widened, his heartbeat picking up an unsteady pace.

"Hello?"

A shining leather shoe placed itself against the other side of the grate delicately. Jonathan leapt back with a yelp, his eyes studying it frantically.

"Mr Jonathan Crane?" Chimed a deep male voice from the other side. "...is it?"

"Y-yes..." he stuttered, coughing a little before he spoke again. "Who are you? What am I doing here?"

"All your questions shall be answered," he continued. "For now, follow my commands."

Jonathan was unsure what to say. "Wait, n-now hold up one second," he edged closer to the grate and raised his voice out of a whisper. "Why should I do anything you say? I woke up in some cell, with no memory of how I got here or who you are. I have a right to—"

"The boss will not be impressed if you resist,"

He raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"The boss will not be impressed if you resist,"

"This is insane." Jonathan muttered. "Alright, w-whatever." He gulped down a lump in his throat.

The man on the other side continued. "Will you cooperate?"

"I-I guess so,"

"Excellent."

It was a good twenty seconds before he spoke again. "Now, listen to my instructions carefully. I will not repeat them a second time." There was a brief pause. "Five seconds after I have finished, this door will open. Go down the left corridor. Take a right, then a left, and a left again.

"Continue down this corridor. At the end of it, there will be a door. The door has a lock." A rusted chain slid threw the bars of the grate. On the chain was a key. "This key will open that door. Lock it behind you. From there, take a left. You will have reached your destination. There will be someone there to greet you."

Jonathan mumbled in a confused fashion before wrapping his fingers around the grate, trying desperately to see the man's face. "Wait! Stop! Why do I have to do this on my own? Why can't you just take me...?"

There was no answer. The leather shoe removed itself from beside the grate.

"Hey!" Jonathan rattled the grate. "I'm talking to you!"

There was a beep and a metallic thud as the door swung open, dragging Jonathan out into the corridor. He looked around frantically.

"Hey!" He called. "Where are you?! Come back!"