When she woke up, Bethany's head was pounding, and she desperately wished she had stayed asleep. She kept her eyes closed and touched her hand to her forehead.
"Mama...water..." she said, her voice hoarse. Nobody answered. Beth was suddenly very aware that her bed was considerably more comfortable than usual. She opened her eyes, and looked down.
She almost screamed. Blood covered her clothing, and the actions of last night flooded her mind. She became dizzy, and she closed her eyes again. "Oh, no..." she muttered. Where was she? She remembered the person that helped her last night, and wondered if they were waiting for the cops to come and get her.
She opened her eyes again, and looked around. She frowned. For a home, it was pretty dingy. Wallpaper was falling away in various areas on the wall, and the room smelled damp. She looked at the window. It was cracked, and covered by loosely hanging boards.
"Weird..." she muttered, and looked at the wrist she remembered being slit the night before. It was bandaged. She felt her neck. That was bandaged, too. Beth felt her stomach, and winced at how sore it felt to the touch. She looked to a small table set by the bed and found empty blood packs and used gauze resting there.
"What..."
"Ah, you're awake. Good. Change into these clothes." said a man's voice. Bethany blinked and looked to the door that lead to the small bedroom. A tall, thin man walked in, carrying a change of clothes in his arms. Beth took in his features. His eyes were dark brown, and looked through rectangular glasses that slid down his nose. Strands of his wirey red hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears, hung over his face. He looked young, mid-twenties, maybe. As he walked to her bed, Beth noticed a very dignified air to his steps, like everything he did was important in some way. He dropped the clothes on the bed and began to leave.
"Wait, where are you going!" Beth asked quickly. He turned and looked at her in mild surprise.
"I'm assuming you would prefer privacy while you change, miss Niles." he said. Beth felt a rock drop in her stomach.
"How do you know my name..." she asked in suspicion. The man adjusted his glasses.
"Simply because your name is all over the newspapers and television. It's getting a bit tiring, to be quite honest." he said. She began to panic.
"Papers? News?"
"Yes, apparently your being searched for. Your family was horribly murdered and they fear you may have been kidnapped by the killers." he said. Beth blinked. She couldn't believe it. They didn't know it was her. "But," the man continued. "We both know that is not what happened..." he said, looking to her bloody clothes. She gulped. So he knew it was her...
What would he do?
"Yeah..." she said dumbly. He sighed and turned to leave again.
"Get dressed. We can talk about this when you come downstairs." he said, and closed the door behind him. Beth reached over and picked up the change of clothes; a white, long sleaved button-up shirt and black pants. Each item was much too large for a child her size to walk around in.
"Must be his..." she said, and began to change, tossing the bloodied clothes into a small pile in the corner of the room. The act was difficult, since gravity kept trying to mercilessly knock Beth to the floor. She fought it though, and kept her balance, no matter how dizzy she was. She rolled the pant legs up six times, and even then they were still pretty big on her. As for the shirt, she just pulled the sleeves up above her wrists and let them bunch up at the elbow. She wished she had a mirror to see how much of a bum she looked like. Finding none, she shrugged and went to the door, brushing her hair as best she could with her fingers.
When her hand reached the doorknob, she stopped. What was she doing. God knew what was waiting for her downstairs. Police. Men in white coats. More men like the ones from last night.
And who was this guy? Why was he helping her if he knew what she did...
"And why the heck is he living in a dump like this?" she asked aloud. Nothing answered, and she was sadly getting used to that. Taking one deep breath, she opened the door and exited the bedroom. The hall was just as rundown, and Beth even saw some carpet missing from the floor. "This guy needs to move, big time..." she muttered, trying to add the smallest bit of humor to her dismal situation. When she reached the bottom of the hardwood stairs, which was a terrifying thing to do in her condition, Beth walked around, searching for anyone from the police department. When she reached the kitchen, all she found was the man, sitting and reading the day's paper. On the front it read in bold that Bruce Wayne had donated a large sum of money to a charity organization.
"I finally found a damned paper where your story isn't that important." The man said from behind it, then lowered it to see her. A cigarette hung from his mouth, freshly lit. He looked at the clothes she wore, and cracked a smile. "I apologize for the lack of proper clothing, but I wasn't exactly expecting company, especially from a child." he said, and folded the paper then placed it on the table. Beth walked in and over to an empty chair. She sat down quietly, and stared at him. He took a drag from his cigarette and flicked the ashes into a small tray in front of him. He was acting completely normal, and she didn't like it.
"Who are you..." she asked. He cocked his head to the side, then rested his cheek on his hand.
"How long have you lived in Gotham?" he replied. Beth huffed.
"Whole life, mister-"
"Doctor." he said.
"What?"
"It's Doctor, not mister." he said. Beth felt her cheeks become warm.
"Well, if you would have answered my question, then I wouldn't have made that mistake." she said.
"So, we are both at fault here."
"No, just you."
"Interesting."
"More like weird..." she mumbled, and he sighed in agreement.
"Yes, there is much more out of the ordinary than usual today." he said. Beth waited a moment before speaking again.
"So, who are you?" she asked. "And when are the police going to arrive?" the man took another drag from his cigarette and huffed a small laugh.
"Well, hopefully the police aren't on their way, which would mean my stay in this comfortable little spot would be rudely cut short. As for my name, it's Dr. Jonathan Crane. You may call me Dr. Crane, Doctor, or Jonathan. Just never refer to me as mister, since it is horribly demeaning to someone in my position. Understood?" he said.
Beth gawked.
Jonathan Crane.
Scarecrow.
Crazy that runs around in a costume and gets chased by a masked vigilante for a living.
Beth stood as she felt her head go numb. She may have been sheltered from the world, but even she was aware of the dangerous beings that inhabited her city.
"I think I should leave. Thank you for your hospitality." she said, and walked towards the exit. She stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Where was the exit...
"The door is in the living room, which is to your left." Jonathan said. He had returned to reading his paper. "Leave if you wish, just know that people are looking for you, and they'll figure out sometime today that it was you that killed your family. I offer a type of sanctuary, but if you would like to leave, by all means..." he said. Beth looked back at him.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked. "You're crazy. You dress like a scarecrow, and you like to mess with people's heads." she said.
"True, mostly. But I like to experiment on people's fears. If I only wanted to 'mess with people's heads', then I would have become a psychiatrist at Arkham. Oh-wait..." He paused, as if remembering something mildly important. "I did become a psychiatrist at Arkham... haha..." he asked. Beth shook her head. She was in a house with a nutcase, and she wanted to leave...
But could she? She didn't want to be picked up by the police, much less be locked away for life. She considered her options.
Either go to jail, or chat with the crazy doctor.
Neither were that great, but one kept her from sitting behind iron bars, so she sadly shuffled back to the chair in the kitchen and sat down. Jonathan chuckled when she set her head down on the table.
"It's not so bad, once you get used to it." he said. Beth ignored him and began once again to think of her deceased family. Why had she done that? She couldn't remember, her memory was fuzzy. After a moment of intense thought, she froze, then touched her lap. Tears clouded her vision again, and she sat up, shaking her head. She blinked the tears back, some of them escaping down her cheek, and took a deep breath.
"Would you like to speak with me about whatever is ailing you?" Jonathan said as he regarded her sudden depressed state. Beth gave him a dirty look.
"This isn't a stupid game of doctor..." she said.
"I never said that, miss Niles. I just have nothing else to do, for the time being, and I'm nearly finished with this paper. If you would like to talk, just inform me." he said. Jonathan turned the page to the obituaries and began to read.
"Big brother always picked on me..." Beth suddenly said. Jonathan smirked and set the paper pushed his glasses upright and gave her his undivided attention.
"A big brother picking on his little sister. Now that hardly seems a good reason to kill people the way you did. Would you care to elaborate?" he asked. Beth kept her eyes on the table as she answered.
"He would throw rocks at me." she said.
"How large were these rocks?"
"Pretty big. Left welts on my arms and legs."
"Anything else your brother did?"
"He cut me on my leg with a big knife. He was playing with it, and chasing me around. I fell, and he made stabbing motions at me. He tripped, and cut my leg on the thigh. He never said sorry. Instead, he laughed." she said. "He also took my pet cat and buried him in the back yard from the neck down..." she said, then faltered.
"Did you get the cat out?" Jonathan asked. Beth shook her head.
"I tried to, but he got to her first.." she said. Jonathan nodded at this, sensing something awful.
"What did he do, your brother?"
"Ran Whisker's head over with a lawnmower." she replied simply, bitterness in her voice. Jonathan coughed, and took off his glasses. He pinched the brim of his nose.
"I must say I wasn't expecting that." he said. Beth nodded.
"That's not even bad, considering what he did as he got older."
"Would you like to tell me about it?" Jonathan asked. She shook her head 'no'. "Alright then, I certainly see why you've lost any positive emotional attachment to your brother. What about your mother?"
"She didn't do anything..."
"So why is it you killed her?"
"Because she didn't do anything..." she said, and looked up at Jonathan, who leaned back in his seat.
"Didn't do anything when what happened, exactly?" he asked.
"And now we reach my step-father..." Beth said, and crossed her arms. "He beat me a lot."
"For what? Were you being irrational?" he asked, earning a glare from the little girl before him.
"I never did anything bad, if that's what you're asking. I could just be sitting there, and he'd come up and hit me right in the face. Mom didn't care, so long as he gave her what she wanted every night-"
"Isn't that a bit much?"
"Isn't that a silly question to ask, Doctor, considering my particular situation?"
"Understood. Why didn't you call child services?"
"What's that?"
"Now I know why. Never mind. Did you try telling neighbors?"
"Wasn't ever really allowed out of the house. They kept me home." Beth leaned forward on the table and rest her head on her arms. She stroked at small crack in the wood. "I didn't know any of the neighbors, and I couldn't get out of the house."
"What about your school teachers?"
"Home-schooled, and I didn't learn much at all."
"How little did you learn?"
"I can't read."
"Oh, my..."
"Well, I can read simple words. But not much of the big stuff..."
"Alright, so you've gone through your entire life without any social connection to the outside world, and you were constantly bullied and beaten and uncared for. Am I correct?"
Beth nodded. "Yeah..."
"I'm sorry, my dear, but someone so young as you still shouldn't have gone through the mental stress that is required for someone to go over the edge like you did. I went through similar ordeals, and was a senior in highschool before I killed anyone, and even then it wasn't so gruesome as your own peculiar methods...Is there something you are failing to inform me about?" he asked, and placed his glasses back on his face. Beth looked to her lap, not wanting to say anything at all.
"I..." she stopped herself. How dare her mouth betray her like that? "I..."
"I assure you, your words won't be repeated by me to anyone. Also, I've seen enough gore in my life to not be affected much by anything that is considered horrible to other-"
"My step-father raped me.." she suddenly said. Jonathan shut up quickly. His brown eyes were wide for the smallest moment before he returned to his business-like manner.
"I see. When did this happen?" he asked. His voice was calm, quiet.
"Last night." she said.
"Was that the metaphorical trigger that set off your darker image?" he asked. Beth nodded. She was rubbing her arms now, feeling insecure, agitated that someone else knew that she was now, as her step-father so eloquently put it, 'damaged goods.'
"How soon after...that...happened, did you go through with the murders?"
"A few hours."
"Did they attempt to defend themselves?"
"They were all asleep, sir..."
"Asleep..."
"Yes, shows how much they cared, really."
"Meaning not at all."
"Not. At. All..."
"Now I'm seeing your reason's for murder, miss Niles-"
"Please don't call me that."
"Alright then. What is it you want me to refer to you as?"
"Bethany or Beth, if you could. Niles is my step-father's last name."
"What happened to your real father, may I ask."
"Died from gunfire. He was in the G.C.P.D."
"I apologize for that."
"Don't. I didn't even know him, so I don't really care, anyway. Why should you pretend to?"
"You are an odd individual, Bethany."
"I guess..."
"Are you...in pain?" he asked after a moment. Beth looked at him in question. She didn't fully understand him. She blushed when it finally clicked.
"No. I was...but it's gone, now, like everything else." she said.
"This won't make you feel any better about this, but just know that from what you described to me, your family deserved to die harshly. My two cents."
"I thought that then, a lot. But now I don't know. They never tried to kill me..."
"They did worse and made you live through hell. You set yourself completely free from them. Be proud of yourself." Jonathan said. Bethany lay her head back down on the table and thought about what he said.
"You're a weird doctor, Dr. Crane." she said.
"One of the reason's why I'm not heading Arkham anymore."
"What was the other reasons?" she asked.
"The pay was terrible and the nurses were ugly." he said. Beth held back her smile.
"You aren't serious at all, are you?"
"Normally, I am. But normally, I have something to do other than entertain a child with a severe case of depression."
"So you're trying to make me happy?"
"I'm going against my usual norm, I know."
"Thank you." Jonathan didn't expect that. Not a bit. A child, thanking the Master of Fear for his services. It was ridiculous.
"For what, may I ask?"
"For trying. Nobody ever 'tried' with me...that's all." She said. She looked a little embarrassed about her comment, and gave a small smile. Jonathan couldn't believe himself. He actually though that expression was 'cute'. He thought this whelp was cute.
'I need a drink...' he thought to himself, and cleared his throat. "Yes, well, why don't you go on back to the bedroom. You lost a lot of blood, and you need rest anyway." he said. Beth nodded and stood up from the chair. Now that she thought of how tired she was, she felt the world practically lean on her shoulders.
She was exhausted.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes as she walked to the stairs, her feet never really leaving the floor as she moved. "See you later, Dr. Crane." she said softly, and kept walking. Jonathan was left at the table. He watched his cigarette burn to the end, and he crushed the dog-end in the tray.
"What have you saddled yourself with, Crane?" he said to himself. Even so, he felt amused. This child was interesting, of course. "I didn't even ask her about her worst fear yet." he said. He would. All in good time."She just needs to wake up from her slight delusion, first." He liked his subjects alert, and she was far from even being fully conscious. He would wait until she was recovered before his experiment.
And it would be interesting, indeed.
"Dear little Bethany...what boogeymen lurk beneath your bed?"