Daughter of Fear

No Longer Counting Weeks, What Shall I Count?

I awoke early, way too early even for my usual standards, but I couldn't go back to sleep. My apartment felt foreign to me and I could barely identify my furniture and books. It was all so unsettling to me, these everyday items.

I had another dream. Again, I can barely remember any significant detail besides the cornfield and a sky full of crows. But this time it wasn't those things that woke me up. There was a scarecrow in my dream. It looked like any other scarecrow in a field, if it wasn't for the human eyes and teeth. I think it was smiling…or sneering.

Cold sweat covered my body and I ran a hand through my damp hair. I might as well take a shower.

When I got out of the shower I dried off and half-assed it, too. I quickly pulled on a giant, blue sweater and a pair of clean underwear. I didn't have work in a few hours, so why bother getting dressed now? As I was brushing my hair, I heard a hard tapping sound.

I stopped mid brush and slowly put the brush down on the sink. The tapping was coming from my room. My heart was pounding and I was practically on my last nerve! I don't think I can handle anymore surprises. Well, I better start .

The tapping seemed to become more frantic or agitated. I bit back a laugh, the tapping was annoyed with me.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming. Sheesh!" I whispered hoarsely.

I scanned my room, looking for the source of the ceaseless tapping. There was a huge, unidentifiable shadow lurking on the other side of the curtain. The shadow was tapping on my window.

A part of me screamed at me to not go near the window. The biggest portion of my brain told me curiosity killed the cat, but the "little idiot" in me simply responded, "But I'm not a cat."

And that "little idiot" was what motivated my body to move towards the window, and to open it. My feet dragged across the carpet, painfully slow. The shadow was hopping and moving about on the other side of the curtain. I think I could make out the shape of it, but I still can't tell what it is yet.

But the shadow was huge, maybe a small animal of sorts. As I neared the covered window, I could make out the form a lot better. It was a…

Bird. A large…bird. I could see the thin legs, what looked like a beak, and now it's flapping it's wings.

What the hell kind of bird is that fucking big? A hawk? No, not "broad" enough and the beak was too long. Are there even hawks in Gotham?

Why am I even asking myself that?

I grasped a firm hold and the paisley curtain and quickly pulled it aside.

"H-hey…you look…familiar," I stammered.

It was a crow. A large one, even for a crow. And it did look familiar. I could never forget those eyes. You know, most animals would turn away if they were given eye contact, especially from a human, but not this scavenger. It stared me down. I was the one who had to look away.

"You were the one watching me…"

It wasn't a question. I new for a fact it was the same damn crow.

The massive creature glared at me for a moment longer before taking it's sharp, cruel beak and jabbing at my window insistently. I could see a crack starting to form on the glass.

I unlocked the window and slowly slid it up. I made a mental note to myself: talk to landlord about screens for the windows. I smirked to myself. Random thoughts often pop into my head at the most inappropriate of times. It can't be helped.

When the window was only halfway up, the enormous bird dived into my apartment in a fury of black feathers and talons. I threw my arms up to protect my face. I stumbled back and fell to the floor with a violent thud.

No more fluttering, no cawing. It was silent. A calmness had descended upon the apartment.

I slowly sat up and opened my eyes. The large crow was perched at the foot of my bed, it's cruel talons digging into the wooden post. It continued to stare at me. All I could do was stare back. I was terrified to move, less the crow would attack, and looking at it's talons…I could only imagine how much damage they could do. I noticed there was a piece of paper tied to one of the crow's legs.

The glared daggers at me as I stood up. I looked at the piece of paper once more. A message? The crow ruffled its feathers impatiently. I took tentative step forward and then hesitated. The savage creature didn't move, just looked at me.

I swallowed; then I took another step. When the crow didn't attack I took a few more steps. Okay, still not trying to kill me. I finally made my way over to the bird . It shifted a little bit on the post, but didn't try to harm me. Yet.

My hand trembled as I reached for the piece of paper. The crow's eyes seem to follow the movements of my hand. I grasped the paper, then looked at the bird. I took a deep breath and untied the string holding the paper the its leg. The string came undone easily and I quickly snatched it, and backed away form the crow.

The paper was no more than a scrap and it was rolled up tightly. Before unrolling, I glanced once more at the crow.

I fumbled with the paper before I finally unrolled it.

It was a note. The hand writing was neat and professional looking. I had trouble reading it, since the handwriting was small. But I managed.

Dear Margaret,

I feel I must apologize for Scarecrow's behavior; he doesn't know the meaning of "personal space". I do look forward to our next session. Oh, and would you mind giving Nightmare a treat. He expects one after doing a good job. It's much appreciated.

Sincerely Yours,

Dr. Jonathan Crane

PS He bites.

I felt my face drain away of color. I looked back up at the crow, called Nightmare apparently. I felt it laughing at me.

A treat. What the hell am I supposed to give Nightmare as a treat! It's not like I have road kill lying around the house. I sighed and walked out of my room and into the kitchen.

I heard flapping; it appears that the crow is following me. Just terrific.

I went to the pantry to see if anything that could be considered a treat for a crow was in there. Peas. No. Bread. No. Twinkies. No. No. No. No. NO!

Teriyaki beef jerky. Hm. Better than nothing.

I opened the packet and pulled out a strip of jerky. I tore the strip in half and popped one of the two into my mouth. My mouth watered as I tasted the meat. Damn, I love jerky!

A cawing noise came from behind. I turned around to see Nightmare hoping about on the kitchen counter. Despite how fearsome Nightmare looked, it was almost a comical sight. I approached the crow and slowly extended my hand out with the piece of jerky dangling between my fingertips.

Nightmare paused and took a look at the dried meat I held out to him. He cocked his head to the right and scrutinized the treat. He hoped forward and, before I could flinch, snatched it quickly from my grasp. Nightmare swallowed the jerky greedily. If birds could lick their beaks, this crow would.

I don't know how, but I could tell he liked it. Perhaps it was how he flapped his feathers, or maybe the gleam in his eye.

A smile ghosted my lips. You know, when he wasn't being threatening, he was kind of…cute. Cute. A weird word to describe a giant crow.

I reached into the bag again and gave Nightmare another piece. He took eagerly.

I giggled and gave him another and another.

And again and again, he took the jerky.

When Nightmare seemed to be full he flew off towards my room. I ran after him. He flew out my window and back out into the night.

I sighed and look towards the clock on my dresser. That much time has passed? Really? I sighed more heavily. Looks like I'll be getting ready for work soon.

I looked down to find myself still holding the packet of teriyaki beef jerky. Breakfast. I reached into the bag and ate another piece.

My stomach growled for more. I thought again of Nightmare.

I need to remember to buy more jerky.

I sat in my cramped office going through Crane's file. I already skimmed over it, but this time I would pay attention to every detail. There is a lot of information about his crimes and his years as a professor and a psychologist. But there wasn't a whole lot about his life before then, except that he came from Arlen, Georgia. Hm. Weird. He doesn't have the accent. Oh, and he strangled his mother on Mother's Day. Lovely.

There was a knock at my door. I adjusted my glasses and cleared my throat, "Yes, come in!"

Dr. Arkham opened the door and stepped into my office. Great, the last I wanted to see.

I stood up and tried to feign politeness.

"What can I do you for, doctor?" I asked, then mentally slapped myself for my poor grammar. Sometimes my Kentucky dialect slips.

Arkham pursed his lips noticing the grammar mistake as well. I noticed he was caring a tattered notebook that had seen better days. I cocked my head to the side as I examined it.

He noticed my attention on the notebook and held it out for me, "Jonathan Crane wanted you to have this. He insisted. Don't worry, we've already checked for any trace of toxin. It's clear."

I reached out and gingerly took the notebook.

"Is that all, Arkham?"

He stiffened, "No. I came here to tell you that you are scheduled to meet with Crane later in the evening. Possible around five at the latest."

I nodded, "Fine."

Arkham turned to leave. He paused in the doorway, "Personally, I wouldn't allow to interact with him after yesterday's incident, but since you are so damn persistent…I see I have no choice."

I could hear the sneer in his voice as he said it. When the door slammed shut, hateful thoughts clouded my brain.

That…bastard. That god damn, slimy bastard! I clinched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. My teeth dug into my bottom lip.

Bastard! Fucking bastard! I'll show you. You'll see. Everyone will see. I won't be mocked nor will I be an old bastard's joke!

He'll see.

Now, I couldn't wait for my next session.

To pass the time I decided to look through the notebook Crane left me. I opened it to the first page. It was covered in doodles of scarecrows, crows, and what looked like a snarling Batman.

I smirked. It was so childish looking.

I turned to the next page.

Fear.

That's all it said. Scrawled out all over the page at every angle and covering the entire page completely, and leaving no blank space. Fear. How fantastic.

The third page was different from the first to. There was writing on it; the same elegant and professional writing as the note I got on Nightmare. I decided to read:

"My research is becoming more difficult to practice behind these filthy walls. Jeremiah is an infuriating and incompetent doctor that I have groan to loathe…"

Hey, something Crane and I can agree on.

"…he is preventing me from interacting with the other inmates as punishment for my last experimentation. Personally, I don't see what the problem is, the guard I gassed was a complete moron and did very poorly at his job. Guard indeed!"

I had to stop myself from laughing too hard. I turned to the next page. More writing.

"It has been brought to my attention that I will be receiving a new doctor. A female. I currently have her resume and have been skimming through it to learn what I can of her. An art therapist. Ha! Amusing indeed."

Amusing? Bastard.

The next set of writing was different. It was written so hard that there were holes where some of the words were. The pen punctured through the paper, it appeared. It looked like another person had gotten a hold Crane's notebook and wrote in it himself.

"MARY had a LITLLE LAMB…little lamb…yellow like straw! STRAW HAIR…pretty…yellow…STRAW. How does her GARDEN grow? CHILD…she's a child! Straw hair…Mary had a little lamb…SCARECROW WILL HAVE A LAMB!"

What…the hell. I threw the notebook back onto the table, as if it burned me. What the hell! What was that?

There was knocking at my door. It startled me so that I nearly jumped right out of my seat.

"W-who is it!" I called out.

The door opened to reveal Dr. Leland. I sighed in relief. Finally, someone I can tolerate or…doesn't scare the crap out of me.

"Leland! What is it?"

Dr. Leland closed the door behind her as she entered my office, "Margaret, I need to have a word with you."

I nodded and motioned for her to take a seat.

She took a deep breath, "Listen…I don't think you should do this."

There was a pause.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't think you should have another session with Crane. I know you don't want to hear this, but I must interfere before things get out of hand. Dr. Akham is only letting you proceed with these sessions in hopes that you would fall victim to the Rogues."

My eyes narrowed, "I know that."

"Then why are you doing this! Margaret, I fear for you! I don't want you to end up like all of the others. Scarecrow will tear you apart and you either be dead or another Drooler and I-"

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave!"

We stared at each other for a long time before I spoke again, "I will not let Arkham win."

"Win? So, this is all a competition for you! Margaret, I expected better form you."

"You didn't expect shit!" I stood up so fast that I knocked my chair over, "I have had enough of everyone in this hell doubting me! I have taken shit from Arkham as well the entire Rogues Gallery, and I will not take anything from you!"

Leland stood up, holding her hands in a defensive position, "Margaret, please, I'm not trying to make you feel incompetent. I worry about you. You're still young and full of great potential, don't throw it all away because of your pride!"

"Enough! Get out and leave me be. I will continue with these sessions and soon, everyone will see. I will not be laughed at!"

Dr. Leland's face went red. She didn't say anything more; she stormed out of my office, slamming the door behind her.

She'll see.

I sat waiting for Jonathan to be brought to me. I had everything ready and my impatience was rising. My finger drummed out an irregular rhythm on the table as I gnawed on my bottom lip. I was never a patient person, but now it was all so unbearable!

Voices were on the other side of the door, now. I immediately perked up and sat up straighter.

The door was opened and Jonathan Crane was escorted in. This time the guards escorted him roughly to his seat. When Crane had sat down I motioned for the guards to leave. They hesitated and were about to object if I hadn't narrowed my eyes at them.

The guards quickly left the room.

"Good evening, doctor. I trust you had a lovely evening?" Jonathan Crane smiled.

I frowned.

Crane raised his eyebrows, "Oh, dear. What seems to be troubling you so, my pet?"

My pet. It was the second time he called me that.

"It's nothing to concern yourself with, Dr. Crane. Arkham's being an ass, that's all."

Jonathan Crane's narrowed as he face pulled back into a sneer, "Ah, yes, Arkham, such a pathetic excuse of a doctor."

"Yes, you've mentioned that in your journal."

He appeared to be pleased, "You've read it? What did you think?"

"I-I've only looked at a couple of pages, but…"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering about one passage. You see, the handwriting's different and seems to contain bits of nursery rhymes-"

"Scarecrow."

I was puzzled, "What?"

"Scarecrow now and then gets a hold of my journals and writes in his own input. It is quite a nuisance, but I suppose Scarecrow has a right to express himself."

"But-wait a minute, aren't you Scarecrow?"

Crane chuckled and shook his head, "Silly child, there's so much you don't understand."

"Then let me understand, Dr. Crane."

He paused once again and studied me. Crane smiled, "Very well. You see, Scarecrow and I are in the same body and we can tend to be one and the same. But there are times when he completely takes over my body and is in full control while I'm, in a manner of speaking, in the passenger seat. And there are even times when we share, we are both operating the same vehicle at the same time."

"So…it's like DID?"

Crane let out a little laugh, "Dissociative Identity Disorder? Yes, I can see how you would think that. How funny, but no. Scarecrow isn't another personality, he's another being. Something else entirely."

I crossed my arms, "Now it seems you're hinting at possession, Dr. Crane. Is that what you think?"

I never thought anyone, much less Crane, could laugh so damn hard. He was holding his side and rocking back and forth. Tears were threatening to spill out of his eyes as he laughed.

When he finally regained his composure, he wiped his eyes and sighed, "Oh, my pet, you are a delight."

There he goes again with the "my pet" thing.

"You keep calling me that."

"Calling you what?"

"Calling me 'my pet'. What's the deal with that?"

Dr. Crane straightened himself up and folded his hands in his lap, "I believe it is a term of endearment."

"Well, I know that. What I want to know is why."

Crane was quiet; he didn't seem to know how to answer my question. He tapped his finger repeatedly on his chin. His eyes looked up at the ceiling, as if the tiled would provide an answer.

At last he spoke, "I suppose it is because I do feel some ounce of affection, of course. You see, I find you a most peculiar young woman: stubborn, rash, foul mouth, passionate and…angry. You fascinate me, Margaret. I hope to…get to know you a bit more."

My eyes widened, "Oh, well…one more question: why did you 'hug' me?"

Jonathan Crane grinned, "Scarecrow's much better at showing affection than I."