A/N: Thank you 4SeasonsChick and Guest for your reviews, and thank you BloodPoison13 and Doggy Bye for following/faving!
:)
Redemption, Restitution, & Resurrection
-Chapter Eleven: NIGHTMARES-
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Danielle stumbled back from the body.
How could this have happened?
A large black bruise was forming on Greta's still face.
How could she be here? She had died! No... no it couldn't be. Had Greta somehow survived, come to warn Danielle about the Note Writer... and then Danielle had killed her own student?!
With growing horror, she looked down at her fist. A small bruise was forming. It's finally happened. Danielle bowed her head. "I'm so sorry, Greta."
She was a murderer. Instead of protecting her student, she had killed her. She had murdered an innocent. Her greatest fear was real: she had finally become Victor Zsasz.
With blurred eyes, she knelt down to touch Greta's face...
Her lips were blue. This couldn't be right. Her limbs were rigid. Oh my God...
Greta was already dead after all! Some sicko had put Greta's body in her doorway to scare her!
Her head darted out. No one in the hallway. She listened carefully. No footsteps.
Her cell phone was on the coffee table. Phone in hand, she froze. Call the police? She had to, but... She glanced over to the body in the doorway. How would she explain-?
The body was gone.
A chill ran up her spine. She reached for a nearby broom handle and took a cautious step forward.
Where was the intruder? Were they hiding just outside the open door? She felt sick with fear. No, she couldn't go that way.
She opened the sliding glass window and climbed out onto the fire escape. Step by metal step she descended, craning her head up. No one was following her.
From the bottom it was a long drop to the pavement. She landed hard and looked around frantically.
Nobody there but the cold moon. The rainbow around it had grown in size and now blotted out half the night sky. Its ethereal light seemed to descend upon her like a snare. She shivered and pulled out her phone.
"Hello? Cindy?"
"What's up?"
"Cindy, we're in danger." Her mouth was moving too slowly. "There's a maniac on the loose. Call Mrs. Phillips. Both of you meet me at-"
"The hospital?"
"Sounds good." She hesitated. Something didn't feel right. "Cindy - stay safe."
The line clicked.
She slipped the phone into her pocket. The streetlights seemed darker than usual, a smoky orange. A wind chilled her skin, and the fait smell of cinnamon drifted through the air. She passed the pastry shop quickly.
The streets were getting darker - or maybe the streetlamps were disappearing one by one. Soon she would only have the cold giant moon for company. Its pure whiteness had changed into a pale blue, and it looked like the face of a woman in the sky - perhaps like the face of Zsasz's tattoo.
Her eyes must be playing tricks on her. As she stared, the moon's face changed, morphing horrifically. For an instant, it resembled a jack o'lantern's face.
She blinked. She didn't know where she was. Somehow the streets had gotten twisted around while she was watching the moon. Her surroundings were still somewhat familiar - she must be near the hospital.
There was a light ahead. Curiously, she approached. It looked like a small square or park...
Her stomach dropped; suddenly she knew where she was. This was where I met Zsasz - it was the park where he had murdered the young couple.
There was a group of people crowding around a park bench. She didn't want to see. Her feet moved forward anyway.
It was the same bench where he posed them.
Step by heavy step. She couldn't see what was on the bench. The crowd was too thick.
As she approached, they all moved, though no one turned to look at her. She didn't want to see the couple again, cold and dead in the moonlight, but she braced herself.
She wasn't prepared for what she saw.
Ever since she had come to this country, there had been a small group of people who had become her family. Every day since she had met Zsasz, she had feared that something could happen to any of them. She thought they had been so careful... but now, standing above the two dead bodies, she knew she had just been lucky all this time.
Mrs. Phillips and Cindy lay on the cold bench, their throats cut.
Her breath left her. Even in death, her friends looked so heartbreakingly beautiful. She tried to reach out and hold them, but she was crying too hard.
The crowd was staring at her now. Her students. They were all there, staring accusingly at her. First Greta, then Cindy and Mrs. Phillips. She had failed them all - and her students knew it.
The whispers began. The vicious accusations that she had put them in harm's way intentionally, that she had caused their deaths, that she hadn't tried hard enough to keep them safe. Her face burned in sorrow and shame, but there was nothing she could do. They were right.
Cindy's hand was lying open, something clutched in her still fingers. Gently, respectfully, she prized her best friend's hand open - her hand, she noticed, was still warm. Something deep red fell out - a garnet! As Danielle stared in confusion, the stone fell onto the pavement. When she blinked, she realized she had seen it wrong the first time - it was a can of mace. Had she meant to defend herself from her attacker? Danielle picked up the can of mace, and felt a surge of strength suddenly, as if somehow, everything was going to be OK...
Someone was coming!
She couldn't yell fast enough. Zsasz materialized abruptly, knives already splattered with blood. Rage swept through her - he was the one who had killed her friends! Her students stood, staring, as Zsasz cut through them one by one. It happened so fast - Danielle couldn't scream, couldn't fight. She raised her hand - but the can of mace was gone!
Soon bodies surrounded her, freshly killed students and friends, and it was just her and the psycho. And then, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, Zsasz's blade descended into her neck too.
A spooky hospital corridor was no place for a playboy billionaire to be wandering at night.
Then again, Bruce Wayne wasn't like other playboy billionaires.
His meeting with the hospital board of directors had let out late. Some sort of mess with funding to sort out. He suspected embezzlement and knew he'd be doing some detective work soon to uncover who. And to think, that was only his day job.
He had a long night of patrolling ahead. But first, he wanted to check on the self-defense teacher. No doubt she was home already, if she had come in at all today. After the bad news this week, he hoped she was taking some time off.
He hadn't yet been able to examine her office for clues about the Note Writer, though he was already certain he knew who it was.
He had already made sure the nearby security camera had a temporary malfunction. He picked the lock quickly and stepped into her office.
The first thing that struck him was the large vent, cover loose and hanging by a single screw. His eyes narrowed. So that's where he was hiding. Typical, he always could fit in small spaces... Like me.
There was a pristine piece of paper on her desk. The fourth and likely final note. He doubted this note was left here for Danielle but rather was put here to taunt the police. He looked around and spotted a scarf hanging from a coat rack. He tied it around his face. If there was another fine sheen of that toxin coating this paper... well, he could do without more nightmares.
When he read the note, his fears were confirmed:
So many chances wasted,
Crushed and disregarded in haste!
And now your time draws near;
Reveal to me your deepest fears!
Errant was your predecessor,
Corpse she is now made to fester.
Rather you hoped you would fare better -
Or will the Scarecrow see you deader?
When I find you, we will see...
He dropped the note. The Scarecrow! "I was right." His mind was working even as he headed to the door. The notes had been coated in fear toxin; small amounts were nightmare-inducing, and the amount he used was so subtle... Batman hated to imagine what a full dose would do.
The last note, like the others, was an acrostic poem; the first letter of each line read vertically formed a word, in this case, the Note Writer's own name. Scarecrow had been taunting them from the very beginning! A contract job, no doubt, but knowing Scarecrow... Some part of this was for his own sick amusement too. Usually the Riddler was the one who enjoyed leaving puzzles, but most of his Rogues Gallery enjoyed a good mindgame. And there was no one who could mess with your brain quite like Doctor Crane.
The self-defense teacher was in terrible danger! Most likely he was already with her. He needed to hurry, start by checking her apartment. Batman finally reached the roof and began suiting up. He hoped he wasn't too late.
The ground was cold, but not hard. Where am I?
The soft smell of wisteria lingered in the air.
She opened her eyes. Couldn't be.
She was lying on a dirt floor. The wind that blew past seemed to glisten silver. It carried the fine strands of dust out and away, across the grand valley before her. Orange and lemon trees surrounded her.
She was home.
Her farm was ahead. She wasn't dreaming, she was really here! She stood up and raced to it.
Something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it. She slowed as she approached the gate. Everything was too quiet.
Where were her parents and sisters and brother? Where were all the children?
The gravel crunched beneath her feet. The noise seemed deafening. She craned her head up and stared at the sky. Flat-bottomed, dark cumulonimbus clouds were moving in. The air smelled damp and heavy... and strange. As if something were decaying.
She ducked her head in thought. Only then did she realize what she was walking on.
Not gravel. Teeth.
Pure white teeth littered the ground, so deep she couldn't see the soil beneath. Her stomach churned as she realized that the entire path was made of teeth. The smell was unsettling. Quickly she hurried off the path.
The wind blew and she swore she heard it whisper mockingly to her. The path of teeth was leading to her house. She didn't want to go inside.
She ran for the produce fields instead.
Her feet whispered across the soil. She didn't know where to go. There were the greens ahead, and beyond that, the carrots. The stables were close to here... Should she go there?
She stumbled across a small clearing. The wisteria smelled especially strong here. There was a shower of petals blowing in the wind, like purple raindrops. Then the scene changed. Lightning flashed, and the petals were blood red, running in currents through the soil.
Ahead were the wheat fields. In the center of it stood a scarecrow, its head gone. Something about it spooked her; it looked too much like a person. Reluctantly she turned back to the main trail made of teeth. It led beyond her house.
Here were the stables. She couldn't hear the horses, but something was moving inside...
She threw open the door.
Time slowed. When she finally took in what she was seeing, she screamed.
Her father, mother, older sisters, and younger brother lay bodies facing down in the hay.
She kept screaming.
The bodies of children - no doubt her cousins, nieces, and nephews - surrounded them. At least she believed it was them. She recognized her youngest niece's doll in her outstretched hand, a certain outfit on one of the boys-
They all were missing their heads.
Danielle screamed until her throat was hoarse, her pained cries echoing through the valley.
Hours later, it seemed, she was wandering the produce fields again. She had to get away from here... But where would she go? There was evil stalking the land... It would find her, no matter where she went.
Somehow she wandered into the pumpkin fields. There was an especially large one in the center of the patch. She came closer... It was a thing of beauty, huge and nearly round, and seemed to be glowing slightly. She gasped with delight; the veins in the long green stem were glowing, pumping magic into the pumpkin.
The clopping of horse hooves interrupted her reverie. The evil was returning! She knew it somehow. If she could reach the tall grass, then maybe she could hide-
Her feet were stuck! She looked down. The vines from the magical pumpkin were binding her in place!
She struggled fruitlessly. The steps were getting closer!
Into the clearing rode a magnificent black steed. Steam shot from its nostrils. The clouds above had extinguished the rays of the sun, and the air was dark and foreboding. Atop the mount was the tall, bean-pole thin scarecrow from the fields.
It was still missing its head.
As Danielle watched with horror and astonishment, the scarecrow made a beeline for her. She gasped, resuming her struggles.
In the scarecrow's hand emerged a scythe, glowing as if made from fire.
The scarecrow raised the scythe. Danielle shrieked.
Thunk! The blade embedded in the pumpkin. With a mighty heft, the scarecrow wrenched the pumpkin free from the earth and took it in its hands.
"Oh no-" She knew what was coming next.
Slowly and deliberately, the scarecrow placed the pumpkin on its empty shoulders. The orange skin began to glow and the flesh moved, fearsome eyes cut out with an invisible knife, a jagged sneer - a jack o'lantern for a head. The scarecrow looked down at her with a sinister expression, then threw back his new head, and laughed and laughed. As he laughed, his head burst into flames.
Somehow his exertions in freeing the pumpkin had loosened the vines. Shaking with terror, Danielle yanked her feet free and tore off through the tall grass. She could hear the monstrous mount's hoofbeats behind her, feel the scorching wind from the burning jack o'lantern.
Swoosh! She felt the wind from the scythe as the scarecrow swiped at her. He was the Headless Horseman, the Grim Reaper - and he meant to reap her!
She dodged left and heard the horse scrambling to correct itself.
She crouched low in the grass to avoid his gaze. Here the grass was higher, several feet tall, wheat ready for the harvest. It concealed her well. An orange glow caught the corner of her eye and she held perfectly still. Her own heartbeat sounded faintly in her ears over the roaring wind… and the mocking laughter.
Then suddenly the orange glow blazed brightly, and Danielle realized with alarm that the field was burning. She caught sight of the scarecrow holding the scythe to the tall grass like a makeshift torch. He held her in his gaze, and she shivered and fled again.
Lungs screaming, she stopped. No sounds of hoofbeats. No fire here. She was safe. She-
Whoosh! The huge black steed materialized in front of her. She stumbled back, tripping over a large rock, and raised her arms protectively.
The horse whinnied, rearing up, and the scarecrow cackled maliciously, raising the scythe above his head.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the giant rock. It wasn't a rock. It was a box, she realized, made of cherry, with an enso symbol on it.
The scythe descended, and the last thing she heard was the scarecrow's laughter and the cawing of ravens as they took flight.
Shattered glass littered the ground, and two bookshelves lay overturned. The window was open now, and a blast of cold air washed in aggressively. Scarecrow stood in the darkness of her apartment, watching the self-defense teacher struggle, like a fly caught in a spider's web. Her limbs were jerking, but aside from the occasional whimper, she wasn't making any noise. He wondered what she saw. Was it delightfully frightful? Was she just dying of fear?
He wanted to take notes, but the syringes on his hand made writing difficult. He sighed and lowered the clipboard.
"Subject appears to be growing more subdued," her murmured to himself. "Another dose ought to liven her up." The syringes slipped into her arm, and a choked scream slipped out between her clenched lips.
She was already reacting marvelously to the initial dose. He had gassed the elevator as she returned to her humble home; she never stood a chance. And when she walked in the door and discovered that the phone was dead, she had fallen perfectly into his trap. This particular fear toxin was different from its predecessors. In small doses it induced nightmares - as she had no doubt discovered from the notes. In larger doses, well, it didn't appear to do anything at first… Until the subject first experienced a strong sensation of fear. That was what triggered the toxin's effects. From there, they could be in their own private nightmare world for hours… days… until death. Death of fear, death of starvation, death because someone decided to murder them while they were oblivious… It didn't matter. They were totally disconnected from reality… totally at his mercy.
The syringes were now a quarter empty into her bloodstream.
How much more could she take?
Scarecrow watched her body slowly straighten up, spasms wracking her. She turned her head slightly and appeared to be waiting for… something. Perhaps a little power of suggestion would give him an interesting result.
He leaned close to her ear and began whispering instructions.
Her head bolted, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she took a tentative step forward. Behind his mask, Scarecrow smiled darkly.
"Keep going, my dear… And show me what you fear!"
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A/N: Yay! The Note Writer's identity has finally been revealed! :D You all had great guesses! Sorry it wasn't Riddler - I honestly don't think I'm smart enough to write him, lol. Guest, you were right, I read "The Long Halloween" recently, so that might be where some of Scarecrow's rhyming comes from. Watched Sleepy Hollow (the one with Christina Ricci) recently, so that's where some of the inspiration for the nightmare scarecrow comes from as well...
The inspiration for the acrostic poems came from another storywriter on here - my friend Comix777! :) He has a very clever one in one of his stories, and I got inspired. Check his work out! :D
Til the next chapter! :)