AN: thank you so much for all the reviews and favorites! I love seeing them in my inbox, and i'm so glad you like the story. here you go with chapter 11.
"When I was a child, I talked like a child,
I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.
When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me."
~1 Corinthians 13:11
When he arrived in the secure wing at Arkham, Rachel Dawes was already there, staring into Falcone's cell where he was strapped to a chair, muttering, "Scarecrow… Scarecrow… Scarecrow," as he stared at the ceiling.
Crane pursed his lips and said, "Miss Dawes, this is most irregular. I have nothing to add to the report I filed with the judge."
"I have questions about your report," she snapped, turning to face him.
"Such as?" he asked as politely as he could manage, given the circumstances.
"Isn't it convenient for a fifty-two year-old man who has no history of mental illness...to have a psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be incarcerated?" She asked, her eyes narrowed, probing.
She had a lawyer's mind, and a clean cop's instincts. She suspected something. Idealist. "As you can see for yourself," he told her stiffly, "there is nothing convenient …about his symptoms."
"Scarecrow…" Falcone muttered again from his cell.
"What's "scarecrow"?" she said, latching onto the word.
What would you say if I told you it was my other personality who comes out to torment those whom he sprays with fear toxin, Miss Dawes? You would believe I was insane. He waited for a sarcastic remark from Scarecrow on his mental state, but nothing was forthcoming. "Patients suffering delusional episodes often focus their paranoia...on an external tormentor... usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes," he explained, using psychobabble that she probably did not understand. "In this case, a scarecrow." A certain tendril of unease filled his mind. Scarecrow had been silent for almost two days. Jon didn't believe he was gone at all; it was more probable that he was biding his time, for what, he didn't know.
A scary thought.
"He's drugged?" she asked.
"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate," he said, thinking, considering what I've made and what I've done, I've had to be. "Outside, he was a giant," he continued. "In here, only the mind can grant you power."
She watched him with narrowed eyes, looking down an inch or two on him since she was taller than he in heels. "You enjoy the reversal," she said, understanding, disgust plainly written on her face.
"I respect the mind's power over the body," he said. Most of the time. Except when someone is taking over my body. Then it's a battle to be won. "It's why I do what I do." It would be a good idea to find out how a psyche can take control of motor functions from another psyche. In case he tries again.
"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy," she said, turning on her heel and walking toward the elevator. He fell into step with her. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone –including blood work. Find out what exactly you put him on," she muttered.
"First thing tomorrow, then," Jonathan said, feeing a strange sort of pressure build up in his chest.
"Tonight," she corrected. "I've already paged Dr. Lehmann at County General."
He felt a huge wave of rage build up in him, and his mind was swamped by it. The waters of anger crashed down over him, pulling his control away from his body, ripping his conscious mind away and tossing it back into the shadows of his skull. Scarecrow rode the wave, gaining control even as Jon floundered in the waters.
I told you that you couldn't stop me, Jonny, Scarecrow growled. Here I am, back again. I'm taking over. And I'm going to take care of this girl here and now. She isn't going to interfere any more.
Jon was so well buried he could hardly even reply, but all he could think of to say was, No, no….no…
Oh, yes, Scarecrow howled gleefully. The only outward sign of their struggle was a cough.
"As you wish," Crane said, pulling a key from his pocket and turning it in the lock of the elevator panel. He pushed the basement button, and the elevator traveled down, down, down.
Its doors swung open and he stepped out, saying, "This way, please. There's something I think you should see." He walked down the bare hallway to the basement levels and pushed open the doors, as Jon tried to do something, anything, and failed.
So think of a pro wrestler, the one that looks like his muscles are going to rip through his skin. Duplicate him a couple of times. Pour them into a huge vat of sticky, thick, black tar. Now pour it all on Jon's psyche and slam them all into a freezer. That's what he was up against. Scarecrow laughed inwardly, just thinking about it.
They came into view of the testing site, where selected inmates poured vats of his lovely fear toxin into the hole in the water mains. She stopped stock still, watching the scene unfold in front of her that clearly screamed 'illegal!' Her brain connected the dots.
"This is where we make the medicine," Scarecrow said softly. "Perhaps you should have some." He saw her disappear from the corner of his vision. "Clear your head." He took a deep breath, knowing the elevator wasn't going anywhere fast. He undid the latches of the briefcase, pulled out the canister and his face. This was who he really was. Scarecrow. The Master of Fear, answerable to no one. With the respirator in place and the burlap covering his head, he walked to the elevator and pressed the button.
The doors swung open to show a terrified woman, who became even more terrified when he sprayed his toxin directly in her face. She coughed and hacked, pupils dilating and face contorting in horror as she collapsed on the floor.
This day just gets better and better, he purred to himself.
Some of the flunkies carried her down the flight of stairs to the basement, where they set her on a ledge. Scarecrow walked slowly over to her and stared down at her. "Who knows you're here?" he demanded in a growl. "Who knows?"
She screamed from the terror of something only she saw.
And then the lights went out with a bang.
At the sudden noise, he yanked his mask off his face and looked around. His blue eyes eerily bright, he ran a hand through his hair. "He's here," he said with bated breath.
"Who?" one of the flunkies asked him.
"The Batman," Scarecrow replied, his eyes scanning the shadows of the ceiling.
Their eyes widened. "What do we do?" another asked.
"What anyone does when a prowler comes around," he said in an obvious tone. "Call the police," he said with a smile, glancing at the first flunky.
"You want the cops here?" he asked with a totally confused expression.
One must make sacrifices, Scarecrow thought, ignoring Jon, whose hope had just spiked.
"At this point, they can't stop us," Scarecrow explained for the benefit of his men. "But the Bat-man…has a talent for disruption. Force him outside; the police will take him down. Go."
"What about her?" Flunky number two asked.
Scarecrow glanced at Rachel Dawes, whose head was rolling back and forth, eyes focused on nothing. "Ah, she hasn't got long. I gave her a concentrated dose. The mind can only take so much. Now, go." He didn't take kindly to being questioned.
"The things they say about him. Can he really fly?" asked flunky number three.
"I heard he can disappear," flunky number one asserted.
"Well," Scarecrow said with a sadistic smile, "we'll find out. Won't we?"
Something smashed overhead, and all the men's eyes stared into the shadows. And then the Batman appeared and disappeared, taking out the thugs one by one. Scarecrow watched from underneath the stairs, his mask back in place.
When the caped figure came close, Scarecrow tried to grab the Batman's arm, but he had forgotten about the man's reflexes, if he really was a man. The Bat twisted his arm behind him and snatched his mask off of his face.
"Taste of your own medicine, doctor?" Batman asked in a venomous voice. He pressed the nozzle of the aerosol canister and Scarecrow got a face full of gas. He gasped and choked, watching as Batman's face turned into the face of a monster.
"What have you been doing here? Crane, who are you working for?" he growled demonically. Tar seeped out of his ghoulish mouth.
Scarecrow could not think rationally; his psyche was shutting down, drastically damaged. Jon noticed all this from his viewpoint behind Scarecrow's psyche. He could see and feel his body, but he wasn't in control yet. But he would be. The walls were thinning.
"Ra's... Ra's al Ghul," Scarecrow wheezed.
"Ra's al Ghul is dead," Batman growled. "Who are you working for? Crane!" Tar began to drip down his chin. Jon took note of this impassively. At least I know my toxin works… I wish I could take notes.
Scarecrow smiled a little sickeningly and whispered, "Dr. Crane isn't here right now…" You've certainly got that right, Jon thought. "…But if you'd like to make an appointment..." he trailed off, staring at nothing. Batman growled and smashed his head against the wall. Stars sparked, and then everything went black.
He woke up in a squad car. Scarecrow was still in control, if you could call it control. It was more like he was lodged in the forefront of their mind.
Serves you right, Jon thought, trying to get past the mental wall.
Scarecrow's mind was now just dead weight as he mumbled, ThE WaLruS aNd thE caRpEndeR wENt to seE WhaT they could SeE…
Lord, I shall be eternally grateful if you'd shut him up, Jon thought, and tried to find the brain synapses that controlled his motor functions.
Pat-A-CakE, pAt-A-caKE, bAkeR's mAN…
Pam peeled off some bills for the cabbie and said, "Are you going to wait for me, or go?"
"I'll wait, miss," the cabbie said, leaning back. "Catch some 'z's."
"Thank you," she said, carefully exiting the cab and shutting the door. As she walked up the impressive and immense steps of Wayne Manor, she made sure that she had her invitation and her purse in her hands. Lots of people were already there, and more were arriving all the time. Bruce Wayne must have invited half of Gotham, Pamela though to herself, self-consciously touching her hair. She handed her invitation to the man at the door, and stepped inside. Another man took her coat and she blushed, smoothing the dress over her hips.
It was truly beautiful in Wayne manor. Her green eyes took in the delicate glass chandelier overhead, the tasteful decorations, and the expensive refreshments.
Pamela turned; surprised, and then her face broke into a smile. "Mr. Fox! A pleasure to see you again." Lucius Fox, an older man with chocolate skin and white hair smiled at her kindly. He had been one of her bosses in her limited stint at Wayne Enterprises, and she had always liked him. "I'm flattered you remember me, sir."
"I always remember good interns, doctor," he said. "And I couldn't exactly miss you, since you're one of the prettiest ladies in the room."
She blushed a dark red. "Thank you, sir."
"Did you just get here?" he inquired.
"Oh, yes," she said, glancing around the room. "Wayne Manor is a very interesting place."
"Mr. Wayne is a man of interesting tastes," Fox said with a secret smile. "Would you like some champagne?"
"That would be lovely," Pamela said, finally relaxing. Finding someone she knew was a relief. She beamed at the room in general. Tonight was going to be perfect.