The Courthouse was even worse than the rumors implied. Once within the doors, it was an almost post-apocalyptic scene: trash and broken things everywhere, guns everywhere, fights everywhere, blood everywhere...
On the lower level, the "accused" - a ragtag assembly of Gotham's elite, rebels, and suspected government informants - we all set up for slaughter in makeshift "pens" of barbed wire, guarded by overly-muscled men holding semi-automatics better suited for extreme warfare. Crane approached one of them, saying something that Evie could not make out over the near-riot level of noise. The guard nodded, leaving his post and walking toward her. Crane led the both of them away.
There was the so-called Grand Courtroom - not a real courtroom, but a ballroom area made for galas, but it suited its new purpose just fine. The focal point of the room was clearly the mountain of desks on the far side of the room, papers littered almost every square inch of the floor all around it. Evie also noticed several blood spatters on the tile, in various stages of drying. The guard placed her in the already sizable crowd of people who had gathered off to the side, who cheered Crane as he took his perch on top of the monstrous pile of mangled furniture.
She would spend her morning flagged by his silent WWE reject, going back and forth on she should be more horrified by: the helplessness in witnessing people loose their lives, the disgust at the people surrounding her getting off on it, or the knowledge that dozens more in areas below were awaiting such an inescapable fate. The lucky ones - besides those who still had another day to live - were shot before they knew what was really happening, corpses promptly dragged to The Pit outside and thrown in. The less lucky were taken to The Pit and shot into it. The least fortunate of all were "exiled" to cross the river, taunted with freedom on the mainland before inevitably falling into the freezing water, trapping themselves under ice and downing.
Crane was entirely nonplussed by the violence and gore - it was just a job to him, as normal as working an average day at the office, though he definitely was enjoying it more than your average desk-jockey. He really shone here, playing his role in the chaos, picking and choosing who lived and who died (mostly who died). She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of staying with such a person. His threats were decidedly no longer just threats, and she felt sicker still knowing what he would do to her family. With every "ruling", it became clearer and clearer that the thought of walking out of here and going home was no longer a safe or at all smart option.
A few more hours passed, before Crane collected her from the guard.
"What did you think of the show?"
"...W-why?" Her voice was embarrassing small and strangled, she barely managed to pass that single word, mind blanking on more to string together to convey how absolutely horrible it was.
He knew all to well what she was thinking of him, of all this. "That's the wrong way of looking at this, Evie." Crane said. "You think this is cruel? That these killings are senseless? Or that we're doing it for fun, just to stir the pot of anarchy?"
Evie stayed quiet, wondering where he was going with all that.
"That really is...beautifully naive of you, dear girl, and the thousands of other blindly idealistic folk who think just like that in this town. You need to take a closer look." He leaned forward, putting their faces inches apart. "The bigger picture, Evie. The files on these atrocious fat cats and government objectives. They own companies that push the sick and suffering from their hospital beds to save a few bucks. Kick whole families on the street by the dozen. Lure them into signing loan contracts no more ethical than share-cropping. Promote eugenics, and so on...
I'm sure they say the downfall of Gotham was an organized crime effort, strung up by mod bosses and their thugs, aided by crooked cops - it wasn't." Crane carefully logged every expression that crossed her face for later. "They all played a part, that much is true, but the real perpetrators, Evie, the ones responsible for the cesspool of crime and poverty that Gotham had become and you have always known...they sit in front of me, in that guided chair. And now they rot in The Pit, and decorate the river."
His eyes burned strait through her while he spoke, the intensity of them making her heart race. Then, suddenly, he stood up strait again, and grabbed her arm. They went up another set of steps and down a hall.
"I've never felt bothered by what I do here, not one bit." Crane continued. "Just as they never felt so much as an ounce of shame or pity in their souls as they made millions off the destitute - but I'm sure you're quite done with this topic right about now." Evie walked with him, growing numb to the disorder of the courthouse. He roughly grabbed her arm, pushing her into a room and slamming the door behind them. Like much of the city, the room looked a little worse-for-wear, but contained better furniture – even a whole desk. Probably the only desk in the building that hadn't been used to construct Crane's unusual perch in the Courtroom. "Do you feel I've given you sufficient time to consider my offers, or do you need the rest of the day?"
That had been...a lot, to take in those last few minutes. Evie felt overwhelmed by it. "Could I just...say goodbye?"
Crane smoothly masked himself, instead regarding her almost piteously. A goodbye to her family...There's a lot you can tell by how a person addresses and treats their family. Something that emotionally charged as a final farewell had the potential to be very telling, very useful for the future...He took a moment to reflect. He definitely wanted to witness the goodbye, but also didn't want her family to see him and get any ideas. "You can make a video. I don't trust you not to run."
A video. "What should I say." She whispered to herself. How could she possibly assure them of her safety, console them, and get her own feelings out, in a video?
"I'll leave that up to you." He looked down at his watch. "These are my chambers, I'll give you the rest of the day - about five hours - to think of what to say. I suggest you don't try to leave." Evie walked to the sofa in the corner, curling up on it. She was already second-guessing the video. Maybe it really was just better for them to think her dead somewhere in the streets.
She had nothing, and she still had nothing hours later, when Crane returned at the end of the day as promised, carrying a folder, a camcorder, and an apple. He sat the latter two on the table next to her, procuring a second apple out of his pocket before taking his seat behind the desk. He took a bite of the fruit, the sound almost ear-splitting in the silence between them, and, smiling directly at her, opened the folder.
"Evelynn Michelle Addams."
Evie bolted upright at the sound of her name. Her real, full name.
Crane smirked. "I thinks it's important that I start this off by letting you know that I am never just talk - I said I could find you easily, and I did. It took all of ten minutes." He pushed his glasses off. "Born February thirteenth...that age gap is even more upsetting to see on paper. Parents...Richard and Emma, little sister Allison Jane. Lived right off the expressway, attended East Side High School with Homeroom teacher Ms. Carson. Not what I'd call a top scholar, but," he continued, Evie still in shock as he put her life on display, "fairly proficient in math and and a TA for history. You were in orchestra, and the dance squad. Interesting combination of strengths - I definitely need to hear you play." Crane finally flipped the folder shut and stood up. He walked back to Evie, kneeling down in front of her, until they were eye level. "I think we've come to a better understanding of one another today, wouldn't you say?" The side table scraped along the floorboards as Crane pulled it too him to get the camcorder.
"Did you put your time to good use?" He asked, opening it up, finger hovering over the power button.
"Yes." She lied. He may have given her plenty of time to think, but for the subject at hand, it might as well have been five minutes.
Crane nodded, pressing the button and placing it back on the table. He watched Evie compose herself.
"I want you to know that I'm alive and doing fff-okay." She began nervously. No matter the time constraints, there just wasn't a "right" way to tell the people you loved you were never going to see them again, but she had a thought. "I've decided I need to do...more. I'm capable enough to help the city and, I know it's hard, but it's right."
Evie paused, her eyes flickering over to the stone faced Crane. "This video...it might be goodbye. I'm sorry I didn't know how to tell you another way but...I can still take care of you - I am not forgetting you, it's...I'm so sorry.
I'd like to talk to Al now." She gave another, shorter, pause, then gave gave the camera a small, watery smile. "Hey Alley cat. These things just keep piling up, don't they? But you need to hold it together - hold all of them together. I've said a lot of things I didn't mean the last few months, and I want you to understand that I didn't mean them. I was just scared, and it wasn't fair because I know you were scared too, but, I also know that you're gonna be fine. I'm so proud of you as a sister, Al, and I love you so much, I love all of you so...much." Evie quickly used her sleeve to wipe her eyes before the tears could hit her face. "Be safe. Goodbye."
Crane turned the camera off, watching her intently as the flood of emotion she had tried to urge on that morning started coming out. He joined her on the sofa, taking her in his arms. She instinctively pushed him away, only for him to pull her in, until her head rested on his chest.
He took a deep breath and smiled, calmly stroking her hair. That was everything he had hoped it would be and more – every bit as telling as he expected. So emotional, so entertaining. This was going to be fun.
A short while later. Crane was back in his chair, feet propped up on his desk as he sifted through paper and sorted them into neat little stacks. Evie had finished her crying fit, which induced a dehydration headache that made her even more annoyed at what that crying fit had just cost her He already had the higher advantage over her, but nonetheless, showing that sort of weakness was not how she wanted to start this deal. For the moment she just laid there, sulking over it.
"How did you find me?" Her voice was croaky and faint, not helping her cause in the slightest.
Sighing, Crane removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Evie is diminutive of Evelyn. You said you were in eleventh grade. You have a sort of...streetwise candor that is very 'public school' - likely in a bad area - but even if I missed the mark on your poor neighborhood, the fact is that there aren't many girls your age named Evelyn. I typed it in the search bar of a school district computer and got exactly two hits. Wasn't exactly hard to compare you to two school photos. Once I had a full name, everything else came easily enough: hospital records, address changes, your social security number, your Harry Potter blog...found within minutes."
He shot her a smug look from across the room. "You really thought you didn't give me enough to go off of, but I built a career off of noticing the little details."
Evie grit her teeth. "I can't wait to die."
"I wouldn't get your hopes up on that just yet." Crane went back to his papers.
"Why not?" She never thought she would be this indignant about her death or murder, but there was no point in avoiding it.
"I can leave any time I want and take you with me - they don't need me for the finale, and I've done my part for them."
She ignored that bit of bait. "Well if you do decide to leave, don't take me with you."
"Where's the fun in that?" He rose from his seat and picked up his jacket. "Don't be so morose, Evie - you know deep down things could be worse for you." Crossing the room, Crane gripped her shoulder and pulled her up. "And you have more advantages now than you realize."
Yes, all the advantages of a nobody girl no one in their right mind would risk their skin to help, even if their world wasn't about to go up in smoke. The advantages of being stuck with a man who wasn't as much of a liar as she hoped he would be, who would do god knows what else to her before he decided he was through. This was a mess, a big, steaming mess, and it was no one's fault but her own - but even, so, there had to be a chance.
There was always a chance.