Samhainophobia

General disclaimer: All distinctive characters and related elements featured in this publication are trademarks of DC Comics. I claim no rights or profits.
The text of the publication is intellectual property of myself, Lana Dragičević. Not to be used, altered or distributed without my expressed, written consent.

Notes: The next chapter will be devoid of action. You can sit back and enjoy the character interaction instead... ;) A question if you're interested: Would you prefer the forcoming chapter divided into three smaller parts, or two slightly-larger-than-ordinary parts?
Thank you all for the reviews and comments, they really make my day! ^^

To Trumpeteer34: I'm glad you liked the parallel scuffle and thoughts... And the waitress bit, I couldn't resist it.

To Carycomic: I don't know where you keep all these ideas! :D I liked the info on Kane's Manhattan Island (must have been a tough place!) - I myself mentally mix up New York, Chicago and some European architecture. Also, I hope you'll find more parts that will be serious and with humour, if I pull them off in a satisfactory way, of course. D:

To Rocku: I'm very pleased the chapter was fun to you! I like how you analyse the Crane character, he really ought to function in the way you describe him, very logical assumptions. Also, the waitress and the drunk guy will return later on. Poor Scarecrow! Or perhaps poor them?

Chapter Three: Hypegiaphobia (Part 2)

Having finally reached the bed and breakfast, Crane was unamused when he found no trace of Ms Beth Tembrooke. She was supposed to give him the key to his room back. He placed the bags on a table and walked around to the back of the house.
He came out on the back porch, where the sunset burned into his eyes. He blinked in the light, taking in the landscape. The back yard looked onto a field of corn, the glow of the dying sun colouring it bright red. Several crows flew past him and landed on a gaunt scarecrow silhouetted in front of the field. Crane gazed onto the scene appreciatively.

'Beautiful, isn't it? D'you like the scarecrow, Professor? I'm thinking of entering it into the competition for Halloween. There'll be at least one in every field by then.'

Crane looked sideways at Ms Beth, who was sitting in a rocking chair and smoking a pipe. Her round face was glowing contentedly in the dusk.

'Yes, I think you should. Still, it could use a bit more work.'

'In what way?'

'Make it more frightening. It looks nice, but it's far too friendly for Halloween.'

'Scarecrows are meant to look amiable, though, aren't they?'

'No. Trust me when I say it, scarecrows are definitely meant to be scary. Would you mind if I sat down for a minute?'

'Not at all. I'm expecting Grentley and his boy over soon. Maybe Hugh will come along, too. We play cards in the evening, when the weather's fine. You can stay, too, if you like', she added as an afterthought.

Crane bit his lip. He considered saying he was ready to go to bed, but the idea of learning more about his future test subjects appealed to him. He smiled at the old lady and leaned back in his wooden chair.

'Tell me, Ms Beth, is there any secluded facility in town I could temporarily set up a work-room in? It is vital for expanding on my thesis, but it would necessarily have to be a quiet spot. I prefer to work without interruptions.'

'What did you have in mind? We could ask Hugh if he'll help. I'm sure he'd be pleased to know you picked Charleston for your studies. Hugh Bentle's the mayor', she announced proudly.
Ms Beth blew a cloud of fume from her pipe. They sat in silence for several moments, when she snapped her fingers and took an object out of a tin box next to her. Crane looked at her, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

'Do you smoke at all, Professor?' She asked, offering him a smaller pipe.

'No, thanks. I find it a risk in my chosen profession. I have a set of work clothes that is highly inflammable, you see.'

***

Hector Pyckle braced himself against a wall. He nervously ran his chubby fingers over the dome of his head, a habit kept from the happier times when he'd still had hair. His heart was racing and he shakily poured himself a glass of sherry to calm his nerves.
Hector sat in his expensive black leather armchair and wiped the sweat from his brow and neck. He downed the sherry in one gulp and stared at the room in stupor.
The blasted Batman had really gotten to him. Hector swore off any double-dealings and little jobs on the wrong side of the law from now on. He'd do anything to keep his record clean, if it meant the Bat would never, ever come to his house again. Hector didn't fancy dangling upside down from his balcony again.

Across the street form Hector's house, Gotham's vigilante drove slowly in the direction of one of the City's less elite residential areas. This night had begun with a success. He had finally cracked the Riddler's code and hoped to find him in a few hours, tampering with the security system of Daimatea Labs. The clue within the riddle had suggested his next moves. As he'd had spare time, Batman had decided to pay Pyckle a visit first.

Ten thousand dollars! The cash the Scarecrow had stolen was dirty money, no doubt turning itself at this very moment into canisters of fear gas. What worried Batman was that there was no trace of the Scarecrow's business, no signs of his presence within the underworld of crime. This raised the issue of finding him before he took the citizens of Gotham, or nearby cities, completely by surprise.
But as to how he could achieve this, the Dark Knight as yet had no clue. He dreaded at the thought of what horrifying activities the Scarecrow could be up to at this very minute.

***

Jonathan Crane scratched his chin. He'd backed out of playing card games and was now watching the other three players interact. There was a lot to learn about subjects from careful observation, especially when they were at ease. He'd bet anything that his current landlady would win. She was a poker-faced player if there ever was one.
Professor Tattiebogle had been introduced to Mayor Bentle, who was a sturdy man of about fifty and had insisted on being called Hugh. Crane had been just as insistent on not being called 'Johnny'.
A consensus had eventually been reached and Ms Beth's visitors now called him either Jonathan or simply the Professor. He could live with that, and more to the point, so could they.
Crane left the terrace for a few minutes to diligently place his new materials for the toxin in his room. Upon returning, he saw Grentley the dry cleaner cough uncomfortably while looking at his own cards. Crane smirked. Someone clearly had a fear of losing. An interesting fact to note.
Behind him stood Grentley's son, the unfortunate Andrew. Surprisingly, the boy had been quite excited to see Crane again. He had babbled happily to his dour-faced parent about how the Professor had put Earl in check. From what much Crane could comprehend, Andrew didn't remember specifically that Crane had been in his Scarecrow mask when they'd first met, but he did recall the Professor being 'real scary'.
Crane walked over to the boy with an easy gait. He leaned against the wooden rail of the terrace and turned his head slightly to Andrew.

'Been living here long, Andrew?'

'Oh, yeah, sir. All my life!'

'So... Been drinking long, Andrew?'

The young man reddened and intensely looked at his own feet.

'No, sir. Look, my dad doesn't really know all the stupid stuff I've been doing. I'm hoping to stop messing around soon, though.'

'Hmmm. What do you intend to do, precisely?'

'Um, I dunno exactly. I reckon something'll turn up. I'd really love to get a job in the City! I could work for a newspaper, I did a course in photography last year. Or maybe in an office for a public agency. Tell me, Jonathan, is Gotham as they say? I've only been a few times...'

'I suppose it is. Look, boy, you can't merely expect a solution to turn up. You won't get a job without doing anything by yourself. I worked hard for my doctor's degree in psychology, I spent years of research and experimentation on my, ah, works... You, you just sit there, doing nothing, and think about how it would be like to theoretically achieve something. What you might have is hypegiaphobia', Crane said and, with a glance at Andrew's clueless expression, added dully,
'That's a morbid fear of responsibility.'

'Oh. Well, um. Maybe you're right, doc.'

Andrew frowned and tensely looked across the corn field. Crane glanced at the scarecrow. It really needed a makeover, that smiley face it had was a disgrace.

'Hey, Jonathan? I've mentioned your enquiry to Hugh here, could you come?' Ms Beth called over to Crane. He arrived swiftly and sat on a bench next to old Grentley, who was muttering to himself about losing to a woman who knew nothing about cards. Crane's upper lip curled in vague amusement.
Ms Beth leaned toward the professor, one hand holding her pipe and the other beckoning him closer in a conspiratory fashion. She placed the pipe between her teeth in the edge of her mouth and said in a slightly muffled voice:
'Y'know that work space you said you needed? Well, we think we've found just the thing. Only problem is, you wouldn't be supposed to go there, so you'd have to keep quiet. It wouldn't normally be a big deal, but we'd be going somewhat against current politics.'

'I'm good at being very discreet with my preliminary research. What did you have in mind?'

'Charleston High School. Been shut down this year', grunted Mayor Hugh in reply. He took a swig of drink from his glass:
'Apparently, the expenses of running the place have made it insufficiently worthwhile to keep open. Small matters: roof leaks, old windows, the works. Not covered by the town's budget. We've had a rough few years, speaking in business terms. '

Grentley nodded and extinguished his cigarette end by pressing it very heavily on the ash tray. Hugh continued:

'But that's not the main reason for shutting down the school. Gladston, that's locally the biggest town in these parts, emphatically insisted on it, as it suits them to undermine us in every way. Kids now go to school over there. This is what it starts with. In ten, twenty years, there'll be nothing left in this town. Then the Gladston corporations will move in and all that'll be left of this place will be the fields and granaries. They bring money. Schools don't.'

'How unfortunate! You propose I use the empty school, then?' asked Crane without paying much attention to the tale. In afterthought, he should have. He'd have learned the truth about the Charleston collective psyche sooner. Currently, he was interested only in obtaining a workspace to complete his toxin in secrecy.

'Yes. Gladston wouldn't like to know we'd opened the place up for scientific research. It'd seem like we were opposing them. So long as you pretend you're going there without our prior knowledge if you're asked, we're letting you put the old place to some use.'

Crane bowed his head slightly in acceptance.

'Thank you, Mayor Bentle', he said with genuine gratitude. These fools didn't know what they were doing to themselves, but Crane was glad of their naïveté.

'You're welcome, Professor Tattiebogle', stated Hugh formally, a wry smile playing on his lips. 'I just hope you'll make us famous with whatever you're doing...' he added as a joke.

'Oh, I'm sure everyone will remember Charleston after my work is done', smiled Jonathan Crane thinly in return, a dark feeling of pleasure rising in his chest.

Note: I spelt Jonathan's hated nickname as 'Johnny' on purpose. Perhaps it's because I'm not a native speaker or something, but I simply can't spell 'Jonny'. It is the correct way, but it just doesn't feel right to me (I keep returning the H back). D: