Fear Revisited [Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow]

014

Adult language warning.

Jane's body began to tremble as she made sense of the words that Jonathan spoke, aided in her realization by what she saw as he pulled open the door.

Inside the cell - which more closely resembled a tomb - was dark, save for a hanging light in the center, empty aside from one table with a briefcase ontop of it.

In the center of the cell was a figure she barely recognized, a man strapped upright to a chair. Even in the glow of the harsh overhead light, shining down like a spotlight on his dirty, bruised face, it was difficult to place the man as Stephen.

"Help, somebody!" he immediately screamed, his voice raw from what Jane assumed were many other attempts at calling for rescue.

"Now, now," Jonathan tsk'ed, strolling at a leisurely pace to where he flipped the locks on the briefcase and began arranging items on the table. "Behave yourself, Stephen. We've got company."

A cold sweat broke out over Jane's skin; she had agreed to see, but this? It was far too much.

"Do shut the door, Jane," he spoke over his shoulder without so much as throwing a glance her way, "you're letting in a draft."

She shook her head, unable and unwilling to step into the room where Stephen and Jonathan were. She expected to see notes, perhaps some unknown patient who had been helped by Jonathan's treatments.

She had never expected to come face to face with Steve, of all people.

His eyes snapped up to where she stood, his head lolling forward slightly as he strained as hard as he was able against his restraints.

"Jane?" he asked in disbelief, struggling that much harder when he recognized her. "Jane, y-you have to help me. This sick fuck -"

"Shut the door, Jane," Jonathan silenced the other man's pleas , voice serious and commanding. "Now."

Her chest was tight, her eyes filling with tears, but she had little choice but to comply with Jonathan's instructions.

After all, where was she going to find help? She couldn't even access the elevator without a key. And the tone in his voice had not allowed for much argument.

Biting her lip to chase back the tears that threatened to fall, she slowly stepped into the damp, cold room and shut the door behind her.

"What are you doing?" Stephen cried, his own face tearstained and ruddy. "You can't let him do this. Jane, can you hear me? You have to help!"

She did not make eye contact with either man, her eyes firmly fixed on the floor beneath her shoes. She had never asked for this, certainly never agreed to it, and it had begun to feel like some sort of test of loyalty from Jonathan.

"This isn't a doctor, Jane, this man is a freak!" Stephen pleaded with her, still fighting like a trapped animal against the straps which held him firmly to the chair.

Jonathan ignored the screaming, calmly extracting liquid from a vial with one syringe and then repeatinf the process with another, humming lightly to himself as he did. He managed to catch her gaze when she stole a glance just briefly, flashing her a smile.

"Oh my God," Stephen sobbed, picking up on the silent exchange, "you're in on this, too! You stupid bitch, you're-"

"Do not speak to her that way, ever again," Jonathan growled, whipping around to grab Stephen's face, dragging his gaze upward forcefully.

"Or I will kill you. Do you understand me?" he asked, tightening his grip on the man's chin and forcing his head to nod.

"Now, apologize," he ordered.