What I first wrote before I went back and started over.
Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.
—“Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost—
CHAPTER ONE—
Three-hundred eighty days had passed since the Batman died.
Rain ricocheted off the sidewalks, the awnings above the bars and stores; Becky kept close to the storefronts to avoid the city traffic. Every car, truck, and bus stirred up and launched waves of water. Despite the color swears she could hear and the countless horns, people in Gotham City still didn’t know what a speed limit was unless they were crammed together. Becky pushed back an unruly curl of her fiery hair behind her ear and clutched the handle of her umbrella tighter. She glad the rain had deterred major traffic. Maybe she’d actually arrive at the University library when she wanted to this time! First, though, she had to made sure not to trip.
November was looking to be an icy month this year and the cold rain that had been falling for hours now seemed to have no plans of stopping as the skies darkened to usher in Gotham night. The ground for all its imperfections was slippery and water obscured things like holes. Becky wasn’t knob-kneed by any means, she was more what was called “stuck in her head”. Always thinking, always turning over thoughts and theories in her head, she wasn’t always the best at taking in her surroundings. The rain wasn’t helping, acting more like a metronome than a deterrent. White noise was perfect for falling into thoughts and with the streets soulless of people unless they were under the shelter of an awning or bus booth, she didn’t have to worry about bumping into anyone. Still there was that concern about tripping. That and the fact that this was Gotham after all. Batman or no, night was dangerous in Gotham. Always was and always would be, she figured. And now, who was there to frighten the criminals?
Her feet sloshed over the sidewalk. At least she remembered her galoshes and umbrella, but ever thinking even she knew the chance she took every time she was out on these streets at night. It was known that unless necessary or with a group, few walked the streets of Gotham alone at night, especially young women, but Becky felt she had little choice. Evenings and weekends were her only time off whilst she juggled her graduate studies with her job at the newly renovated Arkham Asylum as a patient care assistant. So she’d learned to cope with the threats of the city like everyone else who had to be at night did. She faced them. There was no choice, but to tempt them. She knew how to use a gun, though she didn’t carry one, but she’d grown up in a feisty, Irish family, jokes about her red-hair aside. She was the only child and her father had taught her young how to handle a gun. She remembered days at the gun range and the smell of metal and burnt paper. Even now she could recall the weight of a gun in her hand. She had one at home, but here on the streets she carried pepper spray. It was trustworthy; she’d seen its use at the expense of a mugger who tried to rob her a few months ago. She always ready for danger, but her mind wasn’t on her arsenal or even on the hazard of night.
At that very moment in time Becky was relishing in the blissful weight of her bag. She had to because before the night was out, that glow would be extinguished. She was off for the next three days and she’d locked everything to do with work away in her locker. The only things in her tote bag were her notebook, an array of pens and highlighters, her wallet, and a pair of sneakers—she was not stomping through the library in a pair of sodden rain boots. It hardly weighed anything, but she had an essay to start researching for.
Her Psychology of Violence professor, Josiah Pigeon, handed out the outline without a word and immediately once class had started the previous Monday. When the final paper was distributed, he’d launched into a speech about the requirements and what exactly he was looking for. Dr. Pigeon never failed to sound disappointed, angered, and yet passionate all at once. He wasn’t Becky’s favorite professor, but she respected him because if she didn’t there would have been no way to pass the class. He was like many people who had Ph.D’s: excited to hear their own voices, vehement on their own theories, and rather disgusted at anyone who disagreed and couldn’t come up with a practical argument with sources. All-in-all he was a terror in professor’s clothing and she was in no hurry to incite his wrath. Still she had time to gnaw at the essay and lie out a battle plan. Those thoughts allowed her a sigh of relief as she watched her breath curl. Yet no sooner had she done so, something else called her to start.
The bus whose stop she’d been making her ways towards had just passed her with a hiss of its greenhouse gas engine. She yelped and took off at a sprint, ignore as the brisk air cut over her cheeks and bit at her already numb fingers. She arrived just in time for it to open its doors. Her chest heaved this time before she gave a shaky smile, waved her bus pass, and quickly took a seat.
She leaned her now closed, but no less wet umbrella against the seat and away from her legs and peered around. There were only a few individuals besides her on the bus. She closed her arms tightly around her bright, blue bag. Buildings and streets crawled by as she watched the window from outside her window. She only realized now how cold her feet and legs were despite the dark leggings and socks she wore. A huff of breath clouded the window as she debated listening to music on her phone. Her stop, however, wasn’t far and plugging her hearing with earbuds made her arms feel cold. She remembered how alone she was and with that always came the idea that she was some person’s next crime target. She hated feeling watched and more than that she hated feeling so alone, but that was the way of this world and her own. She was the one who’d chosen to move her for her Master’s. It was close enough to home, but still far away and with her studies she wondered when she would even have the time to find “a nice young man” as her mother put it.
She rested her cheek against the glass and for a moment she let her world go dark. The next stop would be hers. She filled the seconds and minutes mulling over topics she could focus on for her essay. And didn’t she have some project due for her Thesis class coming up too? She almost whined, but the noise was swallowed when her body lurched in her seat and her eyes flew open as she braced herself against the rear of another.
“Be careful out there, m’am,” the driver said.
She peered up from where she’d bent to gather her things. She smiled at him and nodded. Then she walked down the stairs of the bus and its door closed on her.
The first thing she noticed after the bus lumbered away was that it was no longer raining. She closed her black umbrella and let it dangle around her wrist. The second thing she noticed was how it was louder here. Traffic whizzed by her in heavier volume and unlike the part of town she’d left, people filled the sidewalks. She was closer to the university now and the life of the street was evidence of that. She pulled herself out of her head for a few moments to stare into the window displays of the boutiques and other small stores that thrived because of Gotham University. The splotches of light they cast onto the sidewalk and the burble of voices made her feel warmer. Here she was surrounded by crowds. She felt safer. She’d feel even more so when she finally allowed herself to go home. There she could lock away Gotham and curl on her couch with Kane, her hound-mix.
Maybe home wasn’t a bad idea. She did have three days off after all and she lived close to Gotham U for a reason. She’d worked a long shift as well. She deserved some rest and she could view all the information in the numerous psychology texts with fresh eyes and a cup of steaming, caramel mocha. She moaned at just the thought of that delicious coffee. It was such a dreary night anyway.
Becky had made up her mind; she was going home. Later she’d wondered if it was an inkling of animal instinct trying to press her escape the fate she’d find. An inkling that gave her time if she didn’t dawdle, an inkling that she would prove to wave away as she turned a corner and came face-to-face with an old, abandoned corner store.
The red “For Lease” sign was tacked up in the window right beside a news article from the Gotham Times. It was dated over three years prior.
THREE INMATES STILL MISSING AFTER JOKER’S TAKEOVER.
She gulped at the memory that like ice encased her. Joker’s hostile seizure of Arkham Asylum had occurred all those years ago and now she was working on that very same plot of land. The article served as a reminder of what had been and what could very well be again. Because in the wake of Arkham Asylum had come Arkham City and from that.
“Stop,” she whispered to herself. She shook her head and pulled her eyes away from the paper clipping. The Joker was dead now and as for the rest of them, things had been silent. Three faces had been plastered on those papers. Bane, Killer Croc, and Scarecrow. Bane and Killer Croc hadn’t been spotted for over a year and as for the last one on the list. He was the reason Batman had died. He was also missing.
It had been one year to the day that Scarecrow had escaped Gotham Police custody. He wasn’t presumed dead, but he’d not been spotted, and what did that matter? The last time he’d disappeared for that long, Becky had ended up on a bus heading out of Gotham. Jonathan Crane hadn’t been spotted—of course there were murmurs and sightings that proved to be too scarce or false—and Gotham City had to move on. It wasn’t that Becky didn’t trust the police department; wait back up. Becky didn’t trust the police department. The new Commissioner was alright, but he wasn’t Jim Gordon and the police was still home to too many corrupt officials to count, but it was getting better. It was always getting better.
Her situation, though? Not so much.
Becky scoffed. She stopped walking and took an evaluative glance around her. She’d done it again. She’d gotten lost in thought, wandered aimlessly, and now she had no idea where she was. She’d lived in Gotham close to a decade and she still didn’t know the entire city by sight. The next road crossing would let her know and if she didn’t know where she was, she could just use her phone. Bless whoever invented GPS. Still she needed to get a move on.
Who knew who could be lurking here, just waiting for some bumbling passerby to walk through here. This was Gotham, and if anything was prey, a woman in her twenties with her head in clouds was perfect. She could almost feel eyes on her, sizing up her potential as a victim. She wanted to run, but as soon as that thought passed through her mind she had to laugh. If she did that kind of overreacting that would label her definite prey or get her some strange looks, if there was any to cast those. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, no matter how uncomfortable she was. She’d left the populated shopping district blocks ago—at least she thought so—and now she was utterly alone. That was a bad scenario, especially when you felt how alone you were. So she had to calm down. In Gotham weakness was an invitation. Luckily the street sign was just ahead of her.
She smiled when she read it and then turned down an alley. She knew where she was at long last and knew how to make it back on track to get to her apartment—this place just looked so different at night, but she supposed it would considering it was a condemned part of the block. Her heart rate considerably lowered.
“You’re silly Becky,” she laughed at herself, “I mean be rational here and think about actual facts. What are the chances you’re going to actually run into trouble? Hm?” She really was being foolish. She had too overactive of an imagination and her parents and grade school teachers had never failed to remind her of that with a warm tone. They loved it, but at the same time it was as if they were asking themselves when Rebecca Albright was going to grow up. If she had her way, right now because this was just getting st—
Her heart jumped into her throat as a bang echoed against the walls. She’d jumped and now she stood still, trying to determine where the abrupt noise had come from. Obviously not from the alley. ‘Logic number one, it was probably a stray cat. Or some other animal. Gotham is full of them.’ She really wasn’t worried, just on edge. It was easy to dispel and she took another step and another and for a few moments nothing further happened.
Then those silent moments ended. She heard a rustling; that’s all it was at first and she continued to walk and put more and more distance away from it. It was still faint, but it was getting louder and louder until she realized with another start that it couldn’t be an animal. It was too heavy footed for that. That’s when the unmistakable noise revealed itself to be someone running.
Then they screamed.
“GET AWAY! GET AWAY!”
She could hear a man screaming and another set of footsteps, lighter than the first. Now she was running too, her heart was gaining momentum and she knew that she didn’t want to be here. She didn’t care if it was kids or something else, she wanted out now!
The alley was too long and if the footsteps were coming closer and closer to her, she didn’t want to be seen. She cast her gaze around so fast she thought for sure she’d get dizzy. She had a death grip on her bag as she ran for the only sanctuary she could find—a dumpster just a few more seconds away. The screeching was getting louder and then she almost screamed as gun shots went off. Definitely not safe then!
The running turned into alley just as she leaped into the huge trash container. The metal scraped along her legs and the stench met her nose instantly, but adrenaline turned off pain receptors and the gag reaction she’d have had otherwise. She scrambled over the grime that stained her purple dress. All that went through her mind was to get out of sight of the opened lid she’d bolted into.
The other side was covered by a lid and she pressed herself against the opposite interior of the dumpster and too afraid to close her eyes, stared up at the dim walls she could see.
The running suddenly stopped. In the silence Becky strained to hear over the hammer of blood in her ears.
“D-don’t come another s-s-step! Back up’s on its w-way, Jonathan Crane!”
A police officer. Becky could tell from the authority in his voice, but what she couldn’t mistake was the hoarseness and waver in it either. Exhausted, frightened, but he wasn’t backing down.
“Jonathan Crane,” another voice purred, “do we know each other? You speak to me so casually. Hm, I don’t think we do, officer Fritzgerald, but I could amend that.”
Her breath hitched and she had to reign herself in so she didn’t squirm and possibly make some noise. She couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if she’d not been spotted by either of them. She certainly didn’t want Scarecrow knowing someone else was there. She couldn’t bring attention to herself. She took a deep breath, though and tried to will herself to calm down and not panic. Such a state would not help her.
“I said don’t take another step, Scarecrow!”
She shut her eyes as the silken voice of Scarecrow once more broke the pregnant silence. Her body trembled because she recognized it from that day over a year ago. “Why because you’re going to shoot me? That will take considerable effort on your part, don’t you think? Your hand is shaking. It’s been shaking hasn’t it? That’s why you couldn’t hit me earlier. But if you trust your aim then by all means, try. Let me see you how you truly are and try.”
She heard the gun click. Empty. It rattled in her bones and her soul grew cold. Finally she was able to close her eyes. She tried to cover her ears too, but the confrontation was so close.
There was no blocking out the sounds that came next. The officer choked and Becky could imagine the thin fingers of Scarecrow wrapping around his neck, his rancid breath falling over the other’s face. “Commendable. Truly commendable, but your fear has set your fate. You ran out of bullets before you even stepped foot in this alley. And as for your ‘back-up’…did you think I was going to fall for such a ruse?”
The click of metal followed and Becky felt the needles against her neck. She heard the release and tried to steel herself for what came next. The officer began to whimper and he backed up. Closer and closer he came and then he fell. He stumbled into the dumpster.
Her chest rattled and she bit her lip. Her jaw was closed tight against the scream she almost let out. The man shrieked, though, and her whimper was lost in its volume. He began to claw and pound at the dumpster. Becky curled her body into itself, wrapped her fingers in fists, and repeated over and over to herself that she couldn’t panic. She had to do something, though. Didn’t she?
“Officer, you don’t look well. You look like you’ve seen some ghastly apparition. Tell me, what sort of fears skitter through that mind of yours so strongly that you thought to try and stop me?”
The crooning voice of Jonathan Crane wavered closer with wet footsteps against the concrete. For several moments she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She had to do something. She had to remember everything she could and she had to do something.
‘Call the police.’
Her hand crept into her bag and it seemed to take so long to push things aside quickly to find her phone. Meanwhile the blubbering of the man outside continued. He was crying and trying so hard to keep his grip, but he was under the fear toxin. Scarecrow, however, laughed a soft, gentle chuckle that sent ice through Becky’s blood and settled into her bones.
“Ah, so terrible it robs you of speech? I expect it’s overwhelming, but you’ll never heal if you don’t tell me what it is. What fear so clearly lies behind your eyes? Something common? Or maybe something unique?”
“GET AWAY! SCARECROW!”
“Ah…but no, I’m not what you fear, not so deeply like this. I want to release you from these delusions. What do you see? Tell me, officer, what keeps you up at night, fighting the good fight?”
Though she couldn’t see what was going on, she heard it. The bangs against the end of the dumpster, the thrash of limbs hitting it. His voice was mumbling in fright. Begging. She continued to fumble through her bag with renewed urgency. Her chest was burning; it felt like a drum and her breathing was erratic. She was hyperventilating, but she pressed down and steeled herself. She couldn’t be found out, but she couldn’t just sit by and be helpless. She couldn’t let the Scarecrow win!
“I’m sorry…so sorry…sorry, please,” Officer Fritzgerald whimpered and then his shrieks pierced her ears as if he was being torn apart. “GO AWAY! No! NO! Get ‘em off! GET ‘EM OFF!!!”
She thrust her hand deeper into her bag, no longer afraid of the noise because he was making enough to give her leeway. ‘Please! Please!’ She herself screamed in her head as the officer outside screeched about claws and beady little eyes. Then her world stopped as her fingers touched something solid and cool—her phone! She yanked it out of the bag with her convulsing hand. It slipped over and over as she tried to turn it on and when she did, the light was nearly blinding in the darkness of the dumpster. She froze, though. Had she been noticed?
“Oh, how common,” Jonathan sighed over the officer’s continued horror, “musophobia, fear of mice. What they doing, officer? Are they sniffing you, are their claws ripping into your skin much like your fingers are doing? Are they,” his voice filled with cold glee, “devouring you alive?”
Scarecrow’s victim began to trash again, his sentence running into one another as she screeched. No more time to waste then. Becky tried, had to backspace, and tried once more. Finally she was able to punch in the emergency number. The yells grew in volume, she clenched her eyes, and pressed what she hoped was the “Call” button and brought the phone to her ear. She pressed it hard against it. She realized two things at once. The man was being frightened to death and he was going to die. She could almost see it. His back would arch, he would open his mouth a final time, and with a last blood-curling and inhuman cry that echoed in her eardrums he would—
“Gotham Emergency,” the voice cut the sudden silence.
The officer was dead. For a moment that’s all Becky could focus on. He was dead. Scarecrow had called him. It was possible to be scared to death. He was—
“Hello, is anyone there? Is there an emergency?”
Becky wanted to throw up. Oh god. The phone! It was on speaker. She gripped it so tightly her knuckles turned white. She’d accidently put it on speaker!
“Excuse me, hello?”
Wet footsteps and Becky opened her mouth. To scream to say something, but her throat closing in fear. She’d never say a legible word as the points of Jonathan’s gloves closed over the rim of the dumpster and Becky met the shaded eyes of Jonathan Crane from within his mask.
“What a naughty, but smart little mouse,” he leaned over and there was no mistaking that he saw her. “You weren’t fast enough to get away, though. Pity, pity. But…Why don’t you come out, hm?”
She screamed then. Scarecrow’s eyes lit up. He moved so quick as he yanked the lid covering her in darkness up.
"M'am, m'am?! Are you okay?! You are still there?!"
He snatched the phone as the operator yelled from the other line. He brought it up to his ear and laughed. “The Alley on Ninth. She won't be here when you come, but you'll find another present.” He ended the call and threw the phone over his shoulder to crack against the concrete. “Now, dear...come on out.” Her vision was spotting. She couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs. This wasn’t happening! It couldn’t be happening! She was going to wake soon! Just another silly nightmare because of her hyperactive imagination. “I see,” he sighed. “I guess I’m coming in instead.”
Needles glistened in the dim streetlights. Sharp, piercing needles, filled with what she knew as Fear Toxin. Becky shrieked as the needles screeched against the metal of the dumpster.
This was happening.
She pulled all limbs into herself and scrambled until she was sitting upright against the other side of the dumpster. Scarecrow climbed inside. He reached out his bare hand towards her—it was conscious choice. It gave her the confidence she needed to lash out. She kicked at him, trying to both get away and battle off that grasping hand that came closer and closer.
She hit her target when she landed a blow to his shin. He hissed in pain and yanked back his hand to grab the tender spot. If she was the sort of be cocky she’d have grinned, but she wasn’t. She used the distraction to try and climb from the dumpster and put desperate distance between her and the deranged Arkham inmate. She didn’t count on his swift recovery, though.
Jonathan dove for her, grabbed her ankle and as she scrambled to keep a hold of the dumpster, kicking once more, it jostled the large bin. Both lids slammed down and caught her fingers. She pulled them back and the lids snapped shut above them.
Scarecrow’s delighted chortled echoed around her in the darkness. She made to clamber away. She had to try again! She had to escape! A hand wrapped around her foot and she was yanked backwards. She turned around, but it was too late as she dragged beneath Jonathan in the garbage.
His needles glowed an eerie orange making shadows and gleaming in his eyes as he leaned down into her face. “Gotcah, little mouse,” he whispered in glee.
His bare hand latched around her throat and even as she tried to scratch him, she found no purchase. He was lean, but strong and he pressed his body against hers until she couldn’t move.
The needles came towards her face and she shut her eyes. Her body shivered as she felt the tips graze her skin, sliding down her cheek. Tears began to gather in her eyes, chest was heaving.
Scarecrow chuckled. “Go on, hide that sweet fear from me…you won’t be able to much longer.”
The tips caught on her eyelids and she sobbed softly.
“Shhh, shhh. It’ll only sting for a second and then,” he whispered into ear as the needles settled beneath her jaw, “a prick will be the least of your worries…”
