As If They Could Erase It

Thank you to all those you have faved, follwed, reviewed and to those that are reading. Again, I am sorry for the delays.

Johnathan had visited her twice more over what Claire thought was a day and a half, they had talked about the Jekyll and Hyde and her childhood.

Now, having finished the collection of short stories, she was ready to put her plan into action.

It had been bubbling in her mind, festering into an unavoidable spark of panic. It was the only way out that she could think of that didn't have completely disastrous results.

Claire swallowed, breathing a wordless prayer and yelled for Johnathan.

When no one appeared she called again.

A thin scruffy looking man appeared on the other side of the bars. He scowled at her.

"Yes?" His voice was as gruff as his appearance.

"I'd like to see Doctor Crane please." Adrenaline raced through her veins, making her light headed. She fought to keep her voice calm, her hands steady.

The man sneered in disgust. "I'll inform him of your request." He skulked out of the room and Claire glared at his back. At least the blame wouldn't be placed on Winson for her escape.

"Hopefully my escape." She muttered. The sudden urge to touch wood raced into her mind, Claire ignored it, there wasn't time. She waited a moment, counting the seconds, to make sure the guard was gone before running to the cot.

She had less than a minute.

Claire grabbed hold of the grey blanket and stuffed as much as she could into her mouth before biting down on it. The scratchy material rubbed uncomfortably against her lips.

She breathed deeply, in and out, her heart racing. She'd envisioned this moment perfectly, even seen an inmate in Arkham do it himself in a warning video. But being ready to do it to herself was very different indeed.

She was almost sure that she didn't have to break her thumb, just dislocate it and because only one of her hands was bound and not double locked she hoped it meant she had a chance.

Claire wrapped her right hand around her left thumb, breathed deeply and pulled down sharply and suddenly-

She had expected it not to work and had planned to use the heavy ceramic lid of the toilet cistern to smash her thumb joint against the metal bars of the cot. But instead there was a horrid snap and a swirl of nausea and pain that was like nothing she had ever felt before. Nothing compared to her now healing broken nose.

Black spots grew and pulsated in her vision, unconsciousness beckoning. She fought to keep awake, sweat pouring from her skin, the colour drained from her face.

Her hands shook as she pushed her thumb close to her hand and pulled the chain off. She was free.

Claire blinked heavily before rushing to the door, cradling her left hand as nausea claimed her.

She vomited bitter acid onto the cell floor before gathering herself, cursing the waste of precious time, and crashed into the door. She wrenched it open, the nausea still strong in her stomach.

She ran left, knowing the guard entered and exited from the right.

She sprinted as fast as she could down the corridors, trying not to let the pain completely cloud and overwhelm her mind. Claire glanced over her shoulder to check if she had any pursuers. The fact that she saw no one only seemed to intensify her panic.

Rooms littered the hallway, some doors locked, some empty of all use, all deserted. She assumed that the building must have been one of the old industrial offices in the west of the Narrows.

She started to panic at the identicalness of each corridor; she had no way of knowing how to get out.

By luck a room caught her eye as she raced past, an old fashioned cord phone in a small office. She ran back and into the room, hope blocking out the panic and closed the door behind her.

She grabbed hold of the receiver, praying for a dial tone.

The monotone constant sound was like music to her ears.

She swallowed, her mind freezing on what numbers to call.

There was small square of glass with black wire mesh in the door allowing a passer by to see in.

She quickly dialled the only connecting digits she could think of before she crouched down, hiding behind the desk the phone sat on.

She pressed the receiver to her ear, trying to steady herself as waves of sickness passed through her.

The phone rang three times before a familiar voice answered. It gave Claire a strange cool comfort.

"Detective Lawson."

"Andrea-"

"Claire? Oh my god! Fabry get a call trace on this, now! Get Gordon!"

Claire couldn't help but smile at Lawson's voice, black spirals eating at most of her sight.

"Claire? Claire, you alright?"

"Well, I've been better..." Even her own voice sounded tired pale and faltering to her own ears.

"Where are you?"

"I'm not sure; I think the industrial district in the Narrows. I-I'm-"

"You're going to be fine Claire." Her voice was so calm and reassuring. "You're going to be fine. Is Crane still there?"

"Somewhere." She could taste bile.

"I need you to find a way out, okay? Stay calm and as out of sight as you can but get out of there. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"Alright, I-" A horrible thought crawled into Claire's mind.

"McKenzie!"

"What?"

"Don't trust him, he's, working with Cra-"

Claire didn't hear the door open, but she heard it slam shut.

She looked up slowly to see the bright blue eyes and burlap sack of Scarecrow.

She didn't have time to even scream before the toxin was sprayed in her face. The familiar sting and bitter taste hit the back of her throat with the force of a bullet.

She gasped, her body convulsing. Claire collapsed to the floor, her muscles stiffening, her eyes wide and unable to blink. Her breathing became shallow and difficult.

"Claire? Claire?" Scarecrow ripped the phone from the wall silencing Andrea and flung it across the small room so that it smashed and lay broken on the floor.

Scarecrow leaned over Claire, watching the terror in her unmovable eyes.

"I've been testing a new toxin, it contains a mild paralytic." If possible the fear in Claire's eyes increased. "Not enough to kill but..." He raised his hand and slowly closed her eyelids, grinning underneath the mask.

For someone who has a fear of the dark, is there a worse fate Johnny?

I can think of none.

Good.