Chapter 3

Dawn felt like she was being watched. It was a nagging feeling that started somewhere around fourth period, just after track and just before history. Now it was eighth period and more than halfway through English class, the school day almost over, and the feeling was still there. Worse than ever. Tapping her pen against her teeth, she glanced out the window at Tompkins Street. There were the same dingy, graffiti-covered apartment buildings across the street that had been there yesterday. The same run-down coffee shop. The same kids cutting class and smoking cigarettes in front of the coffee shop, too. Nothing out of the ordinary. Unless you counted the creepy feeling she had.

This wasn't Sunnydale, Dawn told herself. This was Thomas Wayne High. As far as she or any of the Scoobies knew, there were no Hellmouths in the basement. The portal that had opened before Ra's Al Ghul's first attack was a good twenty blocks away and it was closed. Well, maybe dormant was the right word, since the energy field that created it was still there, despite Willow's best efforts.

Pulling her attention back to her teacher's discussion of imagery in A Farewell to Arms, Dawn waited for the bell. There were some extra protection charms in her locker that she figured couldn't hurt to have with her on the walk back to the apartment. And if all else failed, she still had her trusty cell phone with Buffy on speed dial.

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"More coffee, sir?"

Scarecrow tore his gaze from the coffee shop window and offered a curt nod to the waitress, watching her refill his cup. Task completed, she hesitated for a half second for some acknowledgement, but getting none, she moved back to the counter to serve the gaggle of high school girls that had just entered. None of them paid him any mind. Why should they? If they looked, they wouldn't have recognized Scarecrow, camouflaged as he was in his guise of Doctor Jonathan Crane. Crane's suit hung a bit looser on Scarecrow's body, but he supposed that only gave credence to the illusion that he was either a poor graduate student or an underpaid substitute teacher.

Turning back to the window, he again focused on the glowing form of the girl sitting near the window of a second floor classroom. The Key. Somehow, Crane hadn't recognized what she was when they'd met at Arkham, though Scarecrow had known and filed that knowledge away until it could be used. Scarecrow always knew.

When Drusilla first suggested taking the Slayer's sister to begin a campaign of fear against the Slayer, Scarecrow's interest had been piqued as he recalled that the sister was something more than ordinary. Locating the girl was easier than he'd imagined. Drusilla, it seemed, knew other vampires in the city and they, in turn, knew the Slayer was in the Narrows. There was only one high school in the Narrows and now here he was, watching and waiting.

Taking the girl during daylight was the right approach, he'd explained to Drusilla. After sunset, the Slayer would be alert for attacks. She wouldn't be expecting this nor anything else that would follow.

The bell signaling the end of the period rang, echoing itself on the speakers mounted outside by the fenced off concrete that served as a schoolyard. Scarecrow smiled. His new patient would be coming out any minute…

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"Hmmmm."

"What? What's hmmm," Buffy asked Willow.

The redhead paced across the small confines of the apartment. It, like everything else in the Narrows, had seen better days. Not even the scented candles that she'd lit to add warmth and charm to the otherwise drab space did anything to dispel the sense of hopelessness that seemed to permeate this part of Gotham. And somehow, despite the protection spells she'd put in place, Willow couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled on her the second they'd set foot in the Narrows.

Turning to Buffy, Willow fingered a small fetish that she'd put in a corner. "What Batman told you last night about the way Al Ghul found somebody to take the blue poppies and turn them into airborne weaponized hallucinogens… Well, it made me think about Jenny Calendar."

Buffy quirked an eyebrow. "Will, I mean no offense when I reply: huh?"

A smile spread slowly across Willow's face. "Every single story we found about Ra's Al Ghul and the destruction of cities or towns talked about fear. Our first thought was that he used fear demons or a spell. The coven back in London found a handful of spells and counter-spells using the flowers."

"And still I say: huh?"

"Each time Ra's Al Ghul laid waste to a population," Willow explained, sweeping her hair over her shoulder, "he got more sophisticated. There were diseased rats spreading plague. Fires. You name it. But there was also mass panic, worse each time, and this attack on Gotham was the worst yet. I think that may be because he found someone who could scientifically enhance what he couldn't enhance magically."

"Hence the Jenny Calendar connection," Buffy finished. "I remember. She was all about taking witchcraft into the twenty-first century."

Willow nodded. "Exactly. Unfortunately, it's not just the good guys experimenting."

"True, but somebody at Wayne Enterprises had an antidote handy."

"Which was awfully convenient."

The Slayer stiffened. "You think somebody at Wayne might be working with Al Ghul?"

"More likely, against Al Ghul, which means we might have a useful ally." Willow grinned and flexed her fingers. "It's time for a little cyber detective work to find out who commissioned the antidote."

"Who? What about why?" Buffy asked, following Willow to the kitchen table, where Willow's trusty iBook was already plugged in.

Settling into a chair and tapping a couple of keys, Willow peered at Buffy over the screen. "Once we know the who, you and your new bat-friend can work on the why together."

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Fifteen blocks, Dawn told herself, as she walked down the school's front steps and into the street. It wasn't a long walk really and it was still daylight. She had a stake in her pocket, the charms around her neck and a couple of incantations ready if she needed them. Fifteen blocks. Piece of cake.

Hitching her backpack in place, she set off for the apartment on Skidmore Avenue. As she turned the corner of Tompkins Street onto Kane Avenue, Dawn could feel a presence behind her. Her fingers curled around the stake, feeling the reassuring roughness of the solid length of wood.

"Miss Summers."

Dawn started at the sound of her name, letting out a small squeak as she turned and saw the doctor from Arkham Asylum, the one Batman said had created the toxin. The one who was now calling himself Scarecrow because he'd gotten a heavy dose of his own drug, courtesy of Batman. Crane looked pretty much the way she remembered him from Arkham, a slight, incredibly uptight condescending technically good-looking man in an expensive suit. The one difference – really big difference – was that she knew he was dangerous and certifiably crazy. Dawn swallowed hard and tightened her grip on the stake. "D-doctor Crane."

He smiled slowly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm pleased you remember me, Miss Summers."

As he took a step closer, Dawn stepped back, sliding the stake from her jacket pocket and slipping it up the sleeve of her windbreaker, just the way Buffy taught her, so that she had it concealed but ready. "Is there something you wanted?"

"Yes." This time the smile reached his eyes, but it was the feral grin of a predator. "I want to see what makes you scream."

Dawn threw her backpack at him, hitting Crane or Scarecrow or whoever he was in the face. "You wanted to see it," she told him, taking off at a sprint, "There you go. Trig makes me scream every time."

She ran, turning corners down unfamiliar streets, hearing Scarecrow's – because this thing chasing her had to be Scarecrow and not Crane – breathing as he pursued her. The one good thing about Sunnydale was that the streets were well-paved. Such was not the case in the Narrows. Dawn had to dodge homeless people with their shopping carts, potholes, cracks and uneven sidewalk and cope with the fact that she'd only been living here a few weeks. Ducking around a corner, Dawn realized she'd run into a dead end alley. Spinning on her heel, she saw Scarecrow standing there, blocking the only way out with a triumphant grin on his face.

"You don't want to do this," she told him, lowering her right arm, letting the stake slide into her hand. It wasn't right, staking a human, but she didn't have to go for the kill. All she had to do was wound him enough to slow him down and call the police.

"I think I do." He took a step closer.

One thing Dawn had learned from watching Buffy and the other Slayers fight was that there was a time for banter and a time for fighting. Faith, of all people, taught her that sometimes the best strategy was just to go straight for the kill. Without hesitation, she launched a kick at Scarecrow that sent him stumbling backwards. She followed it with another. Backing him against the wall, she aimed a punch at his jaw, her fingers still curled around the stake.

He caught her fist in his own and squeezed with surprising strength for a man of his build. The stake clattered to the ground as Scarecrow reversed their positions, pushing Dawn against the brick wall of the alley. His other hand came up and pressed itself over her mouth and nose. There was a familiar sickly sweet scent and as the world started going black, Dawn's last thoughts were, 'Damn. Chloroformed again.'

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Dawn moaned softly as she fought her way back to consciousness. Struggling to focus her eyes, she felt a hand slide under her head, lifting it slightly and a straw press against her lips.

"Here, drink this," said a soft, reassuring voice. "Sip slowly."

She obeyed, sipping at the water. As her vision came back into focus, she saw Scarecrow looking down at her with a smug smile.

"And how are we feeling?" he asked, taking away the water and the hand supporting her head.

"Like somebody chloroformed me," Dawn said, between clenched teeth. She tried to move her arms and found that she couldn't. Her legs were also tied down. Craning her neck, she saw that she'd been dressed in white hospital scrubs bearing the words Arkham Asylum. Not good. She tugged in vain, trying to free at least one limb.

"My assistant was kind enough to retrieve a bed and restraints for you. I wouldn't bother struggling if I were you. I've had a good deal of experience restraining patients." Scarecrow told her, stepping back, he turned and nodded at someone just out of her line of vision. "Ah, my assistant is here, Miss Summers. I do believe you know each other."

Drusilla came into view and Dawn could feel a sensation of dread curling in her stomach. "Oh, such a pretty green glow," the vampire exclaimed, staring down at Dawn. "How brightly she burns!"

Dawn swallowed hard. Of course Drusilla could see it. She was crazy. Which meant…

Scarecrow moved closer again and ran a finger along Dawn's cheek. "You would expect something that glows so brightly to be very hot or very cold to the touch. But, no, our Miss Summers is an ordinary 98.6 degrees."

"We could change that," Drusilla suggested, leaning down and baring her fangs with a low growl. "She could be room temperature."

"No." Scarecrow nudged Drusilla away. "At least, not yet. Not without trying to treat her."

"I don't need treatment," Dawn protested, quickly, knowing it wasn't going to do any good except stall for time while she thought of a way out of this mess. "I'm fine. Really. Never better."

"Fine," echoed Scarecrow. Leaning close to her ear, his face filled her vision. She felt his fingers brush her wrists. "These scars on your wrists say otherwise."

Dawn suddenly felt dizzy as she remembered cutting herself when she found out what she really was. Am I real, she'd asked. Is this blood?

And then she felt Scarecrow's touch at her stomach, where Doc cut her to open the portal for Glory. His blue eyes stared intently into hers as he said, "And these, Dawn. You cut yourself to let the pain out, don't you? We're going to talk about the pain."

His face was too close and his breath was hot on her face. And that smirk. Frantically, Dawn tried to think of a spell – any spell – that could help. When he took her clothes, he took her defensive charms and anything that might have been useful in casting a spell to free herself. All she had was whatever skill she'd learned. And anger. She had anger. Anger, Dawn thought, just might be enough. "Blessed be the name of D'Hoffryn. L-let this space be now a gateway to the world of Arash Ma'har, where demons are spawned. We come in supplication. We bend as the reed in the flow of the…uh….whatever. D'Hoffryn. I summon you! I seek vengeance!"

Scarecrow backed away quickly looking around. After what seemed like an eternity, he leaned over Dawn again. "Guess he's not coming."

"Maybe not, but Buffy will." She hoped. Before one or both or however many of Crane's personalities there were killed her or drove her mad.

"By then we'll have made progress in your treatment." The smirk that Dawn had come to dread in such a short time was back. "You know, good and evil are classifications that Doctor Crane was trained to reject. But Scarecrow recognizes what you are, what The Key is. Evil. A primal, evil force. What does such a powerful being fear, Dawn?"

"Y-you're making me angry," Dawn ventured. "I'm powerful. You sure you wanna make me angry?"

"No," he said, his voice low and menacing and, Dawn realized, the true persona of whatever Scarecrow was. "I want to make you afraid."

The last thing she saw with any real clarity was Scarecrow moving in with a syringe.

And then the screaming began.