Yin was silent on the drive after she made the necessary calls and arranged to meet Batman near Deenie's Café in downtown Gotham. The Riddler glanced to her now and then in concern as he drove—being more careful at the wheel than Yin had thought he might be.
"So this fear of yours involved Ethan Bennett reverting to his Clayface persona again," he finally said.
"Yes." Yin stared off into the distance, wondering if he was going to ask about the rest . . . or if she wanted to tell him. Maybe she would rather wait until she had more time to process it. On the other hand, would that be any time soon?
"And I was part of it. I heard you saying something about me." He turned a corner, noting a group of trick-or-treaters on the sidewalk despite the late hour. "Was I behaving as a villain as well?"
"No." It surprised Yin slightly to really stop and think about that. Did that mean that she still feared maybe Ethan wouldn't stay on the right path, but it wasn't really a worry where the Riddler was concerned?
Oddly enough, in reality it did seem like there was a basis for those thoughts. Ethan had failed to reform in the past, while the Riddler seemed to be adjusting very well.
. . . Relatively well, at least, considering his current occupation.
"If you don't want to talk about it, we won't," the Riddler said.
"I don't know what I want," Yin retorted.
She sighed, leaning on the inside of the door. ". . . Clayface killed you," she said at last. "At least, he said you were dead. He said you'd been trying to keep him from coming after me."
"I see." The Riddler fell silent now, processing that information. "So you also fear my death?"
"It seems like it, doesn't it." Yin sat up straight. "I guess if that's true, you dying on the Friday Night Killer case affected me even more than I thought it did."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea it would."
"Neither did I. But I don't blame you for it. Electrocuting yourself and the Chessmaster was probably the only way to stop him under the circumstances. If I blame anyone, I blame myself for not being able to find another way."
"There wasn't another way." The Riddler's voice was firm.
"I know it didn't seem like it." Yin stared into the distance. "I talked with Ethan about it and he told me the same thing."
She fell silent, memories of the rest of their conversation coming back to her.
"I understand it had to be that way, at least since The Batman and I weren't able to get up there to join the fight. I'm still upset with myself for that. But that isn't the only reason it haunts me, and I don't understand why it's affecting me so strongly. I've lost people on cases before. Other than with you, I was able to accept it and move on."
"I don't know, Yin; maybe it has something to do with how much you didn't like the guy? Suddenly you're realizing that maybe he's not as bad as you thought, and you're just starting to try to get used to that when BOOM! He's dead."
". . . Maybe that's it. But how do I get past something like that?"
"I guess there's no easy answer. It's probably different for different people. You, Yin, you're real professional and all, but you really care about people, so things like this would hit you harder. That's better than if everything just rolled off your back nice and easy. You wouldn't make a good cop if that happened."
"I know, I know. But it's hard, Ethan. I don't want to feel like this, especially since I know there's no way to turn back time and make it better. Riddler's dead. I have to deal with that."
"I wish I had more to tell you. I really do. It's really something only you can decide for yourself. That's how it was with me. People trying and trying to give me help just wasn't gonna work if I wasn't ready for their help. And you can't get past the Riddler's death until you're really ready for it. I know you'll work it out, but it might not necessarily happen as soon as you'd like."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
". . . So what was he like?"
"He was the most arrogant, obnoxious man I have ever met. He could become violent when angered. And he didn't seem to think a lot of most people. The things he did certainly weren't right. But it's strange . . . I don't think he was actually out to hurt anyone, except the people he thought had hurt him. He wasn't like Killer Croc, who doesn't care if thousands of people die when he's looting Gotham. He wasn't like the Joker either, who is just completely insane and twisted beyond belief.
"With the Riddler, part of him didn't like what he'd become. And he loved deeply, when he loved at all. He still cared about the girl who betrayed him and ruined his reputation at the university. He tried to save her from the Chessmaster.
"I never thought I'd feel anything but contempt for him. But I came to see him as a real person, someone who still had good in him. I wanted him to have another chance to make a fresh start. I don't think I realized just how much I wanted that until he wasn't around to even be able to try."
"It sounds like you got to know him pretty well."
"Oh, make no mistake—there's still a lot about him that's a mystery to me. And now it always will be."
"I'm sorry, Yin. Real sorry."
"Thanks. Me too."
"Yinsey?"
She started back to the present. "Oh. What?"
"We're here. Are you sure you're alright?" The Riddler was peering at her in concern.
"Yes," Yin said, too quickly to really suit either of them. "I'm fine."
He clearly didn't believe her. But before he could say anything to that effect, Batman knocked on the window and he rolled it down.
"Detective Yin." Yin looked over and Batman scrutinized her. "Are you suffering any aftereffects from the gas?"
"I don't think so," Yin answered. Not unless dredging up painful past memories is an aftereffect.
"You only told me the briefest summary of what happened," Batman said. "Are you up to talking about it in more detail? I need to get a clear picture of this madman."
"I'd be happy to fill in all the blanks for you, Batman," the Riddler said. "But you were already given a detailed description of the Scarecrow and how he escaped."
"And no one else has reported in with tales of seeing a scarecrow or anything else strange," Batman said.
"Maybe he's called it quits for tonight," Yin suggested. "Ugh, if only this would be the end of it!"
"I'm sure it's just the beginning," Batman answered. "More than likely, he'll be back tomorrow night or another night before long."
"Have you checked the parking lot where he attacked?" Yin asked. "Maybe he left a clue."
"The police are probably already there, but they might have missed something," Batman said. "I'm going there next."
"Well, I don't really know what else we can tell you, Batman," the Riddler said. "Unless Yinsey didn't mention the conclusion we came to."
"What conclusion was that?" Batman asked, sharply.
"That whatever Scarecrow's using causes people to see their deepest fears," Yin said. "Riddler saw his father attacking him and I saw . . . something that seriously upset me." She looked down, realizing that she didn't want to discuss it with Batman. Bruce Wayne, maybe—at least the part about Clayface, since he felt the same pain and concern over Ethan that she did.
Batman narrowed his eyes. "I was starting to come to the same conclusion after talking with a group of children he attacked earlier."
"What?!" Yin jerked, staring at him in shock. "He went after kids?"
"Yes. This is a man without conscience." Batman studied her. "Will you be alright?"
"Fine. Just go look for clues," Yin encouraged. "I want to see this guy stopped before one more person suffers because of him."
"So do I." Batman turned away. "And someone needs to get word to the inside girl at Arkham Asylum and let her know how urgent it is that she find out what's happening there. The person responsible must be on the staff, since it's the same sort of thing that you saw happening there, Nygma."
"I know," the Riddler replied, leaning on the steering wheel.
Batman turned back. "Can you think of anyone on the staff who might be more likely than others to be behind a scheme like this?"
"Honestly, Batman, they're all capable of it," the Riddler sneered. "Arkham is a place for lunatics, and the staff is as insane as some of the inmates. They see Arkham Asylum as the ideal breeding ground for their experiments. After all, most of the inmates don't have anyone to care about them and make trouble should something permanently go amiss."
That was not the answer Batman wanted to hear. But unfortunately, he supposed it was quite accurate.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked.
"Go home, probably," Yin quickly interjected before the Riddler could bring up the idea of the hospital.
"Do you think you should?" Batman looked from her to the Riddler.
"I'm alright. Really," Yin insisted. "Just a little shaken up. And that's better solved at home."
Finally Batman nodded. "If you start feeling strange, don't hesitate to get help," he instructed. "Remember, we don't know what this fear gas could cause in addition to the hallucinations."
"My thoughts exactly," the Riddler said.
"It's been hours, and you seem to be doing okay," Yin said. "You two really don't have to dote over me."
"Oh, but Yinsey, it's just how we show we care," the Riddler purred.
Batman hid an amused smirk. In the next moment he had vanished into the night.
"I still wonder how he does that," Yin muttered.
The Riddler glanced to her. "Home, then?"
"Yeah." She leaned back in the seat. "And if Batman doesn't catch this guy tonight, tomorrow I'm going to go through the information we've got on every Arkham staff member. He's going down."
"I want a part of this too," the Riddler said. "I was his first victim outside of Arkham."
"Fine. You'll probably hack into Arkham's computer mainframe if I say No."
"I might do that anyway," the Riddler grinned. "Arkham has more information on the staff than the police does. There's some things they keep quiet."
Yin sighed and shook her head. "Riddler . . ." She massaged her forehead.
"Sometimes staying entirely within the law does very little towards accomplishing anything. And while The Batman might disagree with me on some of my methods, he would at least agree on that. He wouldn't have taken up crime-fighting otherwise."
"I don't always agree with his methods either," Yin said. "Remember, I'm from a very by-the-book environment."
"I wouldn't forget that," the Riddler replied.
"My dad was a policeman in Metropolis for over thirty years," Yin said. "He wouldn't understand what I'm doing much better than Chief Rojas does. Consorting with vigilantes and criminals turned unlicensed private investigators? He'd hit the ceiling."
"Uh uh—I'm a consultant," the Riddler corrected.
"We both know what you really are," Yin said with a half-smirk. "I just can't prove it."
"Would you if you could?"
Yin frowned. "That's a loaded question, Riddler."
"But a legitimate one. However, I think I know the answer."
"Then enlighten me," Yin grumbled.
"You worked with The Batman long before Commissioner Gordon came on the scene and changed Gotham P.D.'s policy of chasing bats. It's not hard to believe that you would refrain from reporting me, as long as I seemed to be doing more good than bad. Naturally, the instant that you would come to believe that I am detrimental to Gotham City, you would have me brought to your by-the-book justice."
Yin had to concede to the truth of that analysis. "And would I come to believe that?" she asked.
"I would hope not. But since we've already established that our ideas of justice are not always the same, it is possible." The Riddler pulled in at Yin's apartment building and parked in the space reserved for her.
Yin finally had to give a slight smirk again. Sometimes he was good at reading people. Not that she wanted to admit it right now.
"Well," she said instead, "you'd better not let me catch you on the job, then." She got out. "Thanks for the ride home. But how will you get back? I know it's too far for a walk," she added dryly.
"I'll have some of my Riddlemen bring the van," he replied.
"That sounds logical." She took the car keys as he handed them back to her. "You might as well wait for them inside."
He smiled, removing his cane from the car and stepping back to let Yin lock it up. "I was hoping you'd make that offer."
xxxx
Still tightly locked in Arkham Asylum, Ethan didn't yet know what had been happening on the outside. But as he was being returned to his cell after a session with Dr. Portman, he was stunned when the Penguin came down the corridor from the opposite direction and perked up to see him. As they passed each other, Penguin hissed under his breath, "I've gotta talk to you, Bennett."
"What?" Ethan whispered back in disbelief. "Why?"
"Nevermind why!" Penguin retorted. "Not here. At the next recreation session tomorrow."
"Come on!" a guard snarled, prodding Penguin in the back. "Keep moving. This isn't a Friday night social."
Penguin growled and clenched his fists. "Okay, okay! Easy on the merchandise!"
Ethan stared after the portly inmate as he was led away. "What in the world?" he said under his breath. What could he have to tell me?
Neither of them noticed Dr. Crane walking past the corridor and pausing to look.
xxxx
Nothing more happened until Ethan was suddenly awakened from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. Arkham was old and not always soundproof, especially in its ventilation system. And the bone-chilling screams soon awakened everyone up and down Ethan's particular hallway.
"Who is that?" Poison Ivy mumbled from her unbreakable glass cell, which was much like Ethan's. In Arkham, as with some other mental institutions, there were not separate wards for the men and the women.
"That's Penguin," Ethan said, wide awake and sickened. He ran to the door and stared out, desperate to see some sign of the other inmate. But although Penguin's screams were very clear, he was nowhere near their section.
"What're they doin' to him?" Harley Quinn gasped, coming to look out the bars in her door.
"More important is why." Ethan clenched a fist in helplessness. Why Penguin? Why now? It can't be a coincidence. Somebody knew he knew something. And Ethan was getting the very worried, sinking feeling that Penguin might be the first fatality of Arkham's new experiments.
"Why?" Poison Ivy was more awake now, and looking at Ethan. "You know something about this, Copper?"
"I've only got suspicions," Ethan said. "Did Penguin talk to any of you recently?"
"Nah. I'd probably slap him silly if he tried," Poison Ivy said.
"He hasn't talked to me," Harley shrugged. "Actually, he don't talk to much of anybody. He mostly keeps to himself 'cause he doesn't wanna be around the looney tunes."
Ethan had to admit, he had never been sure why Penguin had been confined to Arkham. The man wasn't insane.
"What's talking to us have to do with anything?" Poison Ivy frowned. "Did he say something to you?"
"He wanted to talk to me tomorrow," Ethan said. "I think he'd found out something about what's been happening here."
"I don't think he's going to be keeping that appointment," Poison Ivy said flippantly.
"And why tell you, anyway?" Harley frowned.
"Maybe he thought I could do something about it," Ethan said, angrier at himself than ever at his inability to do a thing. He wanted to be out of here, to be free to do something about this! He would be released from Arkham soon, but it wouldn't be in time to save Penguin.
The screams were dying down now. They stopped completely after a final, choked gasp.
Poison Ivy turned away from the door, more shaken than she was willing to admit. "If they could do that to Penguin, any of us could be next." She spun back around. "In fact, that's probably why they made sure we could hear it."
"They made sure I could hear it," Ethan said darkly.
The door opened and one of the guards clomped inside, holding something in his gloved hand. When he stopped by Ethan's cell, he held it up. "You see this, Bennett?"
Ethan stared in horror. "Penguin's monocle," he gasped. A crimson streak slid off the edge and splashed on the stone floor. "Look, what the heck did you do to him?!" He slammed his hands against the glass.
"I didn't do anything to that bloated freak," the guard replied. "And no one else did, either. He did it to himself. You just remember that."
"Hey, that is completely bogus, man!" Ethan exclaimed, furious. "Somebody was torturing him!"
"If he had been playing by the rules, it wouldn't have happened." The guard turned to go.
"There is something seriously wrong going on here," Ethan snarled, not about to be quiet. "We all know about it. And it's gotten a lot worse lately." Ever since that Portman woman took over from Strange.
"You might think you know about it, but you don't know anything. None of you do." The guard looked warningly at every other inmate in the corridor.
"I don't know anything," Harley gulped. "I promise!"
"Good girl." The guard looked back at Ethan. "And just remember, Bennett—if you try to tell your friends what happened here tonight, someone else around here might have an accident like Cobblepot just did."
Ethan glowered, the outrage bubbling just under the surface. If he could become Clayface again, he could get out of here and get help. The guards wouldn't be able to stop him.
But he had been given the antidote. He was fully human once more.
And right now, the guards had power over him and everyone else in here.
"Just tell me one thing," he said, gritting his teeth. "Is he dead?"
The guard walked off without answering.
"He's either dead or close enough to it," Poison Ivy muttered.
Ethan frowned. Something didn't add up. Obviously something had happened to Penguin; the screams were proof of that. But hearing the screams and then seeing the bloodied monocle seemed too pat. Were they red herrings to make Ethan think that Penguin was dead? Did whoever was behind this think that would make Ethan less likely to so much as mention to Bruce or Yin that Penguin had wanted to talk to him? Had it been a warning to the other inmates who heard the screams, so that they wouldn't poke around and learn the truth, as Penguin must have done?
He slumped back. There wasn't anything he could do about this at the moment, but come morning, he would be looking for any way possible to secretly get a message to the outside. This could not go on indefinitely, with everyone too scared to do anything; it had to be stopped.
Odd, that it would be Penguin, of all people, who would push Ethan into action. In fact, it was odd that he had wanted to talk at all. Of course, Penguin's only motivation would be self-preservation, but still, indirectly he might bring about the rescue of everyone in this crazy place.
xxxx
A backdoor to Arkham slowly creaked open and a shaking, deformed hand gripped the edge. Not receiving any immediate resistance, its owner stumbled out onto the grounds, dizzy and swaying.
"Gotta . . . get out," he mumbled. "Gotta find . . . the way out. . . ."
He looked back at the mental institution, cold and dark against a sky that was growing gray with storm clouds. The lights were on in some of the rooms, most likely the offices, but no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to this door.
Actually, that was strange. But then again, everything had been strange from the moment he had been taken for one of the new experiments. He wasn't going to question this too much.
He half-stumbled half-waddled farther away on the grass. It wasn't going to be easy to get over the gate in his condition. He shivered against the chill night air. In his panic to flee, he hadn't stopped to look for his clothes, so he was only in the very thin Arkham uniform. It didn't hold up to autumn temperatures very well. Unlike the bird whose name he had chosen for his moniker, he was not a big fan of the cold.
A sudden breeze wafted an unpleasant scent towards him and he stiffened. He had smelled that for the last several hours, and it was always followed by the worst possible horrors.
He had to get out. . . . He had to get home before everything was gone. . . . And before . . . before . . .
He struggled, pushing himself up on the iron bars, coughing as the smell became stronger. He had to get out. . . .
Blinking back the dizziness that was threatening to overwhelm him, he hauled himself up to the top. He swayed, the shirt catching on the sharp points of the gate. It tore most of the way up as he fell over the other side to the ground. Cursing the increasing chill, he got up and staggered down the hill.
Halfway down, a rock abruptly and rudely got into his path. "WAK!" He went down, turning over and over as he tumbled to the bottom.
For a moment he lay there, stunned. Then, pushing himself up, he scowled as he looked down at the mangled uniform. "Oh great—grass stains!" he complained.
But at least he was farther from Arkham now. He hurried off into the darkness, his heart pounding and the dizziness threatening to envelope him.
At the top of the hill, Dr. Crane frowned as he watched Penguin's flight. "I don't like this, Dr. Portman," he declared. "He knows I'm behind the experiments in fear. If he manages to get to someone in authority, that could be the end of all of this!"
"The purpose of exposing him to the gas long-term was to see what would happen to his mind, was it not?" Dr. Portman replied. "He remembered nothing of the experiments when you completed your session with him. Now we'll see if that will last."
"And if it doesn't?"
"That is the reason why I took the liberty of placing a small device on the back of Mr. Cobblepot's neck," Dr. Portman smiled. "It will sense his thoughts. The moment he starts to reveal the truth, it will kill him."
Dr. Crane started to smirk. "You really are a devious woman."
"You've committed your share of murders, both in the name of revenge and science," Dr. Portman said. "I can't imagine one more will bother you."
"It won't," Dr. Crane said. "As long as the device can't be traced back to us."
"No one is aware such a thing exists," Dr. Portman said. "There isn't anything to compare it to."
"Then by all means, Doctor, let the experiment go on." Dr. Crane gestured as he turned to head back inside.
"I knew you would see things my way, Dr. Crane," Dr. Portman purred under her breath. "And as long as that continues, you are useful to me."
xxxx
Batman stayed alert as he drove around the darkened streets of Gotham, looking for any signs of gassed people or a living scarecrow. But as far as he could see, Halloween night had settled down without anything else going bump.
"Master Bruce?" The communicator crackled with Alfred's voice. "Have you almost completed your sweep of Gotham?"
"Yeah. It looks like Scarecrow has gone back to his cornfield for tonight. How's everything there?"
"The last of the treat-seekers was here over an hour ago. I do believe everyone is closing up shop for another year."
"And The Batman is just about ready to close up shop for another night," Batman said. "Wait. . . ." He squinted. Was that something on the walkway of that dilapidated mansion?
"Sir?" Alfred had that sinking tone to his voice.
"Just a minute, Alfred." Batman pulled over to the curb. "Something's going on at Cobblepot Manor."
"Oh dear. Vandals, perhaps?"
"No. A beached Penguin." Batman got out, going through the swinging gate and over to the escaped criminal sprawled on the walkway. "Something's wrong with him."
"If you'll permit me, Sir, it would be far stranger if something were right with him."
"Maybe so," Batman deadpanned, "but this is more wrong than usual. He's lying, presumably unconscious, on the walkway, still dressed like an Arkham inmate."
"Oh, I see. That is odd. Is he badly hurt?"
"I'm not sure. Hang on."
As Batman bent down to examine Penguin for signs of life, a shrill cry split the night and Penguin jerked away. "Stay away from me! Stay away!"
Batman jumped back. "Penguin, what happened?" he demanded. "Why aren't you in Arkham?"
"Arkham?" Penguin fought to get up, but couldn't. "No, I'm not going back there! You can't make me!"
Batman stared into Penguin's glazed eyes. "Did someone hurt you at Arkham?"
"Hurt . . . me?" Penguin blinked and looked honestly confused before an expression of utter panic crossed his features. "I've gotta protect the Cobblepot fortune before Bruce Wayne steals it all! He sicced Jeeves on me and said he was gonna make me serve him forever more! Now stand aside, Batman!" Again he tried to stand. This time he succeeded, but promptly collapsed. In despair he started to sob.
". . . Sir, did I just hear what I thought I heard?" Alfred exclaimed in disbelief.
"Yeah. Count Penguin in as the first known Arkham inmate affected by this fear gas." Batman studied the hysterical criminal. "But I think he's had a worse dose than the others. He can't even stand."
"Oh dear. What are we going to do?"
"I can't take him back to Arkham. That's obvious. Alfred, there's only one thing we can do."
A heavy, cringing sigh. "I'll prepare one of the cells in the Batcave straight away," Alfred promised.
"Thanks, Alfred." Batman looked back to Penguin, whose tears had not lessened. "This is going to be interesting."