Fear Revisited [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

009

It was a miraculously lucky thing that Jonathan made it to Jane's apartment without cracking the steering wheel, as tightly as he gripped it during the drive.

It should have taken him somewhere between forty-five minutes to an hour, but his artful weaving through what traffic there was and mild disregard for speed limits turned the drive into just under a half hour.

I am going to kill someone today, he thought, feeling rage and adrenaline combining in his veins.

Or we'll just make him wish he weren't born.

That seemed too light of a punishment for whoever had inspired the kind of terror he heard in Jane's voice. It was the same sort of fear that part of him longed to see written on her face, something he'd thus far staunchly refused to bring about.

If he couldn't see it, if he couldn't be the reason for it, no one could.

He wasn't absolutely certain that the man she had spoken of was Stephen, but deductive reasoning led him to believe that was the case.

After all, she had said he was going to kill her. She hadn't called to speak with him about some man in a ski mask breaking into her apartment, a scenario in which she would have almost certainly called the police.

He arrived in the parking garage of her apartment building and did a quick check of his briefcase - mask, vaporizer attachment, and syringes were all intact, exactly where they were supposed to be. He pulled out the mask and stuffed it inside his overcoat then quickly fastened the attachment to the inside of his wrist.

He entered the building as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself, attempting to look calm and collected while his heart hammered wildly in his ears. Fortunately, the look of absolute serenity under fire was one he had long ago perfected.

When at last the elevator arrived on the twelfth floor, he made his way down the hall to the door she had indicated, Scarecrow stretching and yawning to life in his head.

He opened the door without knocking, surveying the scene quickly - an empty living room, the floor covered with rose petals and glass, random objects strewn about. He could hear banging and muffled shouting coming from deeper in the apartment over the sound of some soft music he could not identify.

He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out his mask. The fabric comfortingly rough beneath his fingertips as he slid it over his face, allowing Him to take the reigns.

He carefully navigated around stepping on anything that might make a soun

He didn't need the element of surprise, honestly - this bastard was his, whether he heard him coming or not - but dramatic flair was part of Scarecrow's delivery.

As he approached the bedroom, the scene pulled into view. The door had been flung from its hinges and a man of average height stood, pressed against a second door that presumably led to a bathroom.

"Jane, c'mon, open the door," he pleaded, violently jiggling the doorknob, "I just want to talk to you."

Scarecrow stood, head tilted slightly, as he watched and waited for the perfect moment.

"Baby, please," the man - both Jonathan and Scarecrow conceded that it was likely Stephen at that point - said as he slammed his open palm against the door, throwing his weight into it. "I'm sorry I hit you, I just got so mad. I just want to talk to you!"

This earned a low, rumbling growl from Jonathan's chest. Even his less savory side agreed it was in poor taste to hit a woman, let alone a woman who belonged to him, as far as he was concerned.