The Spider Web (All 24 Chapters Up!!)

[§ilvercell]

WOW!

[dior4ever]

Awesome!!

[latikono]

(The next part of chapter twenty-one. This one is a bit long, definitly long when combined with the other part, and as a warning (not to spoil you or anything), there are a few mild sexual situations. Hope you enjoy. I really enjoyed writing and imagining this cinematically in my head. ^^)


It was a pity, really, that so many of the few millionaire aristocrats of Gotham were such scum. This seemed like the eighteenth mansion that they had visited, and by this one, they all looked the same. Enormous, lavish, and deserted, other than the awaiting owner and his hired thugs inside. Something about this particular trip yet still bugged Dahlia however. Call it a hunch, but this Richard Dodge seemed a lot more dangerous than the average man - And ironically enough, he was the most charismatic, handsome, and seemingly sane of the others they dealt with.

Three were the amount of vans they took this time. They screeched to a halt right outside the many steps of the high and wide stoop, and thugs emerged like clowns from a clown car. One helped Dahlia step out carefully, cradling a rather large looking firearm in the hook of his arm as he walked her towards the others. "Okay," She began after taking a deep inhale for preparation, "let's go."

The erupting piercing sounds were so loud and sudden it gave Dahlia's heart a good run, panic stricken in her eyes as she witnessed bursts of white crack at the cement in front of her, tiny fragments of debris flung upwards in a chalky mist. All around her she saw her men drop to their knees and duck their heads, pointing their guns upwards or towards the door as they barked out commands to one another. The nearest grabbed her arm and pulled her down with him, then used his own body as a shield as he hovered closely over her. His armed hand jerked in the direction of his upward glaring eyes, "Watch out!" And the gun fired off speedy, rapid bullets, the gunfire fanned across the open window high above and unluckily missed their attacker who had ducked back inside.

"Damn it!" Dahlia couldn't help but scream aloud. "I knew something was wrong!" While busy contemplating if she'd die this night or not, the human bodyguard grabbed her again and carried her with him back to the vans for cover, each of the thugs spreading out around the perimeter and proceeding to smash windows to get inside. Constant gunfire shot off, barely missing each man, and they too shot back whenever the origins of the shots were found. Glass shattered, men shouted, and there wasn't a moment of silence. No more than twenty seconds after they had arrived, they were in a domestic war.
"Stay here!" He clamored as he ran out from behind cover. Dahlia didn't see where he went, too terror-stricken to budge from the van - Her back and neck were practically glued to the side of the safe vehicle, each muscle in her body taut and strained. From the corners of her eyes, she witnessed their bodies shift and jerk about, avoiding the gun fire as best they could, and firing back up at the high window. With concentration, she heard rhythmic thumps and the smashing of wood on the other side of the van. They were trying to break down the front doors, she assumed.

Remarkable however, that through this war, her very first time being in such a dangerous situation, Dahlia suddenly acquired the role of a scout, or a spy. She took several deep breaths, steadying her heart as best she could and trying to relax her muscles. Slowly her hands stopped shaking, and finally she was able to peel herself off of the cool metal passenger's door. The gunfire never stopped, but still she leaned out to one side and shouted to the nearest thug, "Go around to the other side! Distract them!" He nodded, then punched another in the arm and gestured towards the opposite corner of the mansion. As they sprinted away, the bullets followed them, and Banshee had her chance to make her move.

With upper body bent forward and staying as low to the ground as possible, she too sprinted, but for the side from which her thugs had just evacuated on command. Like a deer, she sprung around the bushes and shrubbery as best she could, keeping an eye out for any sort of opening or entrance. So far, the glass windows on the first floor were all closed and most likely locked, and breaking one open would certainly direct attention to her. But off near the back of the mansion and at its side was one that was propped open, the barrel of what, to her, looked like a sniper rifle was peering out, slowly watching the scenery for any movement. Banshee pressed her back up to the rough outer wall, and stealthily sidled towards it, carefully maneuvering her thin heels around the pebbles and rocks. Boy, Dodge was really prepared for this, wasn't he? He planned it from day one, she figured. Crane was completely correct in not trusting him. Now, it was her duty to take him out and let him know just who he was messing with.

Banshee now lay crouching under the window with the sniper, and above her, she heard Dodge's thugs chatting amongst themselves.
". . . no you doofus! You do that and we'll all get killed, stupid."
"Hey, you didn't see Crane, did you? No. Just-"
"-the Banshee, who's just as dangerous. Don't let her young age trick you. That chick's got skills, and if you disrespect her, she'll put one of them heels up your . . . Ah!!"
Banshee took advantage of their lowered guard, and with a firm grip on the outer edge of the frame of the window, violently flung herself inside and drove both feet into the side of the sniper's temple, knocking him over with ease. What came next seemed only a blur in her eyes, hearing shots fired off but no pain from burning wounds, the wind whirling about her as she worked as quickly and efficiently as possible. Several seconds later, she was pressed up against the wall and staring wide eyed at the three fallen men around her, disarmed and out cold on the plush and opulent rug. It may have alerted others, so she didn't take the time to think about what just happened, and only ran down the corridor, through several rooms, finding the unguarded stairwell.

Heavy plodding footsteps echoed in the upper hall, and Banshee quickly leapt and rolled into the nearest open room, shifting about to hide herself behind the door and careful not to disturb anything to give away her whereabouts. The guards headed down the stairs, and once she heard them out of the area, she poked a head out to take a good look at where she could go next. The open door at the far end of the hall showed part of what appeared to be a study - All she could make out were books and a few Renaissance paintings hanging on the walls. All the other doors were shut. The gunfire gave away the stationed men, so she knew they were kept busy, most likely in those rooms, so didn't have to worry. Dodge on the other hand, his location wasn't so easy to pinpoint.

She leaned back into her hiding spot and examined the room she herself was in. This one appeared to be an office. A large mahogany desk sat at the far corner, a computer and monitor plus a stack of papers and a few envelopes and folders. The large painting behind the desk seemed like just the perfect (not to mention unoriginal) place to put a safe, which she was quite sure there must have been one embedded in the wall. Another plush rug, and file cabinets along the back wall. Something about the corner opposite the desk bothered her, and gave her a feeling of dread. Her unmasked eye squinted as she carefully took several steps forward, observing it to be nothing more than a mere wall, yet still her instinct told her that something was definitely of important interest. Aha! That's what it was! But her realization came too late, as the hidden doorway suddenly slid open, and out strolled Richard Dodge.

Without having to even see his face before realizing it was him, Banshee threw a leg behind her as she bent forward, kicking the door shut and then dashing forward. Dodge's eyes widened with shock, too stunned to avoid her knee impacting with his gut. He toppled forward, and she finished it with a hard elbow strike into his spine. But somehow, she wasn't surprised that her hits weren't as effective against the head honcho, as she felt his forearm swipe just over the floor, literally knocking her feet out from under her. Just as soon as she landed on her back, exclaiming as the wind was knocked out of her, she felt his powerful hands grab at her leg just below the knee and pull her towards him with frightening ease. Containing her impulsive shrieks, he clawed his way up her body, at her hip, stomach, chest, then shoulders, now lying directly over her as she tried to thrash her way free. He pulled her mask up to rest atop her head, seeing her pale face stare back up at him.

"You know . . ." Dodge's lips stretched into a mad grin, eyes burning with fire and lust as they trailed down her body. His neatly slicked back hair was falling apart, several strands at the front curled forward over his forehead. ". . . I always did admire your feistiness. And I gave you the perfect opportunity to quit Crane's dummy work and come join me, but you refused. Why would you do that? Now see what I have to do." Finally she did shriek - Keeping herself hidden wasn't quite as disgustingly chilling as the thought of getting raped. Both of his hands grabbed at her blouse and began to tear it open, streaks of her moist skin showing through. She shrieked again, silenced with Dodge's aggressive hand laid over her mouth and chin. Yet still her tore at her clothing, managing to tear off just enough to see her heaving chest and part of her bra, but he wasn't satisfied with just eye candy. "I told you, I told you. Now look what I have to do. Look what I have to do to you."

He was completely out of his mind. Dahlia had to do something, because if she cried out again, the only thing she would get would be more of Dodge's thugs wanting a piece of the action, she figured. The only person who could save her at this point was herself . . . but he was so strong. A beast clawing at prey, savoring every moment and desiring nothing but its flesh. She couldn't reach the toxin tucked away in her boots and stockings, which didn't manner anyway, because Dodge was now tearing at them too.

If there was such a great being as God, then he had just shone light on Dahlia Rhodes. She was deeply weeping by the time Dodge had managed to rip off one of her stockings, but her sobs ceased once she saw a bottle of the toxin roll across the rug. The fool Dodge was probably in too big a hurry to realize what he had just done. Without a moments notice, she stretched out and snatched it up, then drove it as hard as she could into the side of his face. Just as she had wanted, it burst open, dispelling the poisonous fumes into the air around him. "GAAHH!!" Dodge moaned as Dahlia wiggled her way out from under him, and with anger drove both of her heels into his chest, causing another yell to escape him.

Gun. Must find a gun, or a weapon, or something. That's the next thought that occurred to Dahlia, while Dodge was distracted. Still in such fright and shock to even be able to rise up to her feet, she crawled on the floor to the desk, opening each of its drawers in hopes of finding something, anything. The bottom drawer did indeed harbor a puny looking firearm, which she immediately snatched up, then pivoted on her rear to face her attacker and point it straight at his forehead. Realizing that her face was exposed, she quickly pulled her mask back down, shaking as she adjusted it to be more secure. Dodge's coughing fit finally halted, and as he looked up at her with watering eyes, his breathing just increased once again as nightmarish images, unknown to the Banshee, surged through all of his senses.
"Rot in hell, you sick-"

The door bursted open, the doorknob and lock flung off as the wood splintered and was destroyed. Banshee unfortunately thought it to be one of her men coming up to finally rescue her, but it was one of Dodge's men. She dropped the gun in panic as she tried to get behind the desk for cover, but was stopped halfway as the close gunfire shot out, the stinging pain she had anticipated reaching into her lower left arm. And because she had been trying to scramble away on all fours, one less limb caused her to fall forward, screaming in paint. Her wrist especially burned, the cool liquid seeping out doing nothing to help. It was the worst pain she had ever experienced.

As Banshee's ears caught following shots, she was almost sure she was dead this time. No one was this lucky, were they? But yes, she was, for finally one of her own thugs had taken out this foe, then entered the room and ruthlessly taken out Dodge with a showering of bullets into his chest. This all happened within no more than four seconds, and already he had grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up as he said, "We gotta get out of here, Boss! Dodge's taken care of, but now his guys are talkin' 'bout getting you. We'll stay behind to grab whatever cash he has lying around, but two of the guys downstairs’ll get you back to the base." Finally Banshee had a few moments to let the man make the decisions for her. As she lay slung over his thick shoulder, ignoring the bullets flying by and the floor running out in front of her, she only stared at her shining crimson colored hand, counting three black holes in her wrist and at the area of flesh just under her elbow. It hurt so bad, and though she tried, she was unable to bend her fingers without her nerves as far up to her shoulder began to sting and shake with tension. Finally the moonlight came into view, the cleaner air reaching her nostrils - They were outside.

All the injured Banshee could remember after that was opening her eyes in the back of the van, feeling the steel bench bump and rock under her as when they had terrorized Killinger's. Where they were going now didn't matter to her anymore. Blinking her day dreaming away, she looked up to see one thug wrapping a scrap of his shirt around her arm, and one more at the wheel of the vehicle, driving like a madman through Gotham's streets. The earlier words "back to the base" rung in her ears over and over again, which at first didn't bother her until . . .

". . . Wait . . . Stop! Go back to the Narrows, to my apartment!" She so hated it when her gut feelings interrupted the more logical course of action. Just as natural as gravity, something pulled her towards her home, even if she had fled it and swore to never return.
"What? We gotta get you to a medic!" The driver shouted back, slowing the van as to not rouse so much attention from the other cars on the road. He didn't sound like he was prepared to obey her command, but Dahlia could clearly see through the tiny peephole and through the windshield that he was making a turn to head for the Narrows.
"It's just my arm and only for a few minutes. I'm fine! Now go!"

After giving him the directions and address, they came to a stop outside the apartment building about twenty minutes later. "I'll be right back," Dahlia muttered as she refused the thug's aid in helping her out of the van. Quickly, she raced up the stairs, clutching her wrist in her other hand, panting as sweat rolled down her forehead and neck, making her way up to the third floor. The hallway to her front door was empty, lucky her, so no nosey neighbors would inquire as to why blood was dripping off her wrists and hands and there was a huge stain on her torn blouse.

Seeing her front door wide open at first gave her the impression that her father of Linda were either entering or exiting at that time, which strangely enough didn't bother her. But once she reached it, once she stepped inside, her feet froze to the floor as her eye caught sight of Linda sprawled out in the kitchen, unconscious. Drunk, maybe, but she wouldn't have passed out on that hard surface. Besides, it was out of her way to the living room or bedroom, which is where she preferred to pass out. Speaking of the living room, once Dahlia took several more steps inside, she almost screamed upon seeing Lou, too, out cold, half clinging to the couch and half lying on the floor beside the coffee table. A robber perhaps, or Dodge's thugs? But other than her family's silence and stillness, nothing else was disturbed. Everything was just as she remembered it was, all unbroken and in its usual organized messiness.

Dahlia's bedroom door was open too. Shakily inhaling through her nostrils, she made no effort to keep her footsteps quite as she entered with flair, expecting to see that room alone in shambles. After all, Lou and Linda didn't do anything to disturb Gotham's underground mobs, as far as she knew. It was all her doing if anything of this was related. But no, it too was just as she had left it, clothes on the floor, sheets undone and everything. That hunch though, it had never left her, and at that moment had seized her stomach and was wringing it and pulling it in ties, causing her to nearly fall over in shock.

Facing her wall of photographs, head arched back and inspecting each diverse individual that had been captured on film, was Crane.

[Murchadh]

OMG OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is so awesome, and a cliffhanger to! Did Crane gas them or just knock them out......whats he going to say to Dahlia.....this it total tortue it is! Please add more as soon as you can girl, you've made my night with this though cause I love it so much ^_^

[latikono]

(Chapter Twenty-Two - In Which Vengeance May Be)

~**~**~**~**~**~
Side Talk II
It's been a while, hasn't it? A little more than two weeks. For that, I deeply apologize. Yes, I did have some personal events taking place (they still are!) - Nothing bad mind you, but quite the charming distraction. <3 Bad timing, especially as "The Spider Web" is drawing to a close, and you've all been nagging me to hurry and continue on! Aiya! Bad Lati, bad! *smacks self*

Back to business. I won't spoil you by revealing how many specific chapters are left in this fan fic, but I will let you know that the climax draws near, mua ha ha. And I hope it's just as enjoyable as the previous chapters - A crappy ending would be simply horrid! Foul! Unimaginable and degrading! Why build and build up to nothing? What an unpleasant thought! Ahem . . . So, here, finally, is the latest chapter. Enjoy, my darlings. I'll try desperately to finish the rest on time.
~**~**~**~**~**~


As he looked over the many photographs pinned up on Dahlia's bedroom wall, Crane honestly wondered to himself why she would capture such malign people on film. When he looked at the old man walking his dog, or the child playing in puddles in the street, he saw people with the potential to be inhumane to those around them. He saw them cackling at him, tormenting him and calling him names. He saw them pushing him around, pushing each other around, simply because it was all fun and games to them. Whenever one was below them, it just raised their own self worth and made them better, or so they selfishly thought. He was better than them. He was higher and simply better. What Dahlia saw in those pictures must have been something of more admiration to have them covering nearly her entire wall and without any such marks or blemishes of rage. Nor did she ever mention this hobby to him in negative detail. Why would she enjoy looking at the very humans who tormented her, too?

Back to the situation. Crane had quite easily heard her enter, and felt her eyes watching him from behind. He just kept looking at those photographs, mind now wandering into early self praise. Lou and Linda had been taught not to interfere with the Scarecrow, and now Lou's daughter was all his, all his to mold and sculpt like clay. Finally he turned, hands still clasped behind his back, and he smiled. "Dahlia, my darling." Facing her directly, he continued, "I didn't expect you would be . . ." She looked pretty roughed up. Her blouse was torn, her chest and part of her bra completely exposed, and her skirt was in ragged strips, stockings also torn up and full of holes. The usual fairness of her skin was hidden by sweat and filth, and her neck and shoulders looked bruised. More noticeably, her lower arm was wrapped in a crude bandage that seeped blood. Either she was going for a new age pirate look, or something really bad had happened.

". . . Dahlia, what happened?" With sincere concern for his pet, he stepped forward, eyebrows furrowing, and looked her over once again as he reached out and gently took her arms. "Are you alright?"
". . . Dodge . . . ready for . . . The . . . H-He tried to . . ." Her words came out in staggered, short, breathy wisps - She looked really out of it. Her eyes didn't even properly focus on his, but were rather staring out in shock at the wall beyond Crane's shoulder. This was, quite literally, a thought that had never seriously crossed his mind - The raid was a complete disaster it seemed, and in sending her out while he was busy, he had jeopardized her life and virginity. It managed to put a decent sized hole of guilt in his stomach. He was responsible for his lab rat's rough night.
"Don't speak." Replied Crane, as he quickly went to remove his jacket one sleeve at a time. "It's alright now, Dahlia. Don't worry. I'll see to Dodge as soon as I am able." He draped his jacket over her shoulders and pulled it shut, covering her, before proceeding to run his hands over her hair and smooth it down.
"N-No." Blinking several times, she finally looked up at him with that same look of panic. "I saw him die. He was shot. In the chest."
"Unless you saw his brains splatter over the carpet, I doubt that he's dead. Dodge is a sly dog, you must remember."

Crane took both her shoulders firmly as he lead her back out of the apartment and back down to the street, meanwhile pulling his Scarecrow mask back on as well as masking Dahlia with hers. And from there, he instructed the driver take them back to Crane's house while the boss himself called up one of their hired medics to meet them there. As he had a thug walk with Dahlia towards the back door, Crane called out from the passenger seat of the van, "Make sure she's taken care of and keep an eye on her."

"Jonathan?" Dahlia called back as she was gently forced up the back steps. "Where will you be?"
"Don't concern yourself with that. I'll return as soon as I am able."

~**~**~**~**~**~

Lo and behold, such a breath-taking sight! Crane knew that Dodge's thugs must have been prepared for them, but an entire army? Dodge certainly had been prepared for him! But he was just a step behind Crane, thinking that numbers were greater than the finest equipment, making him the ignorant loser. By the time Crane had arrived, most of the bodies had been piled up into the backs of the other vans. The battlegrounds were filled with bloodstains, debris, and bullet cartridges, which brought an odd sense of satisfaction from him. Every single one of Dodge's thugs had been eliminated, and Crane was happy to hear that only four of his own men suffered either death or minor injury. Luck or skill? he wondered. He'd have to distribute that survey later.

From the front doors, two men dragged out what looked to be another corpse by the arms. His head was limp and bobbing from side to side, and his lower body dragged across the ground lifelessly. Once at the bottom of the steps however, one thug kicked the body over to reveal a beat up Richard Dodge, his slicked back hair now a mess, his tanned face now stained with blood streaming from several cuts and from his nostrils, and his once black suit now grey with dust and dirt - Most closely it reminded Crane of a survivor of a city bombing. He lied panting on the ground, looking about with tired but wary eyes.

"Ah, there you are, Mr. Dodge . . ." Crane clasped his hands behind his back as he approached him. "I always had known you to be a coward, a mad dog, and a con . . . but a rapist?" One snap of his fingers and four thugs immediately jogged forward to begin kicking him in the gut and head and shouting vulgar comments. Several even used the butts of their firearms to attempt to crack open his head like a pinata. During this momentary beating, Dodge only managed to grunt and scream out and beg them to stop. Another snap sent them off like well trained dogs. "How piggishly loathsome," Crane continued, "and for my mistress, of all women. You should have known better." He shook his head as he snapped his fingers once again, this time exposing his palm. A thug jogged up and held out a pistol by its barrel. Amazing how without even under the affects of fear toxin, Dodge was shaking and already staring wide-eyes at him, at the tiny bits of blue eyes that showed through his mask. As Crane took the handle, resting his finger on the side of the trigger, he continued wickedly, "Here is my final message to you, Mr. Dodge . . . and listen well, because I won't repeat it . . ."

Without so much as a smile or hesitant dramatic pause, Crane lowered the gun and squeezed the trigger, firing off a single shot into his temple. Dodge nerves immediately jerked him back in a final thrust, driving the back of his head against the concrete and hearing his skull sickeningly crack under his flesh. The blood began to pool quickly from under his unmoving head, and so he lied dead.

". . . Fear me."

Crane handed the pistol back and ordered loud enough for all to hear, "Clean up this mess and grab whatever money you can. Feel free to take whatever else you may want from the mansion." And like excited children on Christmas day, they all scattered to collect their personal rewards.

~**~**~**~**~**~

As he lifted the receiver to his ear under the mask, Crane spoke into the phone with a most sarcastically professional but polite tone, "Will all administrators please report to the front office, please? All administrators on campus, please report to the front office. Thank you." He hung up after finishing his announcement, then adjusted the burlap sack over his face as he readied his newest update in medicine. Looking around him, he made sure to it that the late night workers were still out cold, sprawled on the floor behind their desks. The few others still lingering on the University campus would arrive shortly.

Lucky him, there were only two remaining. As one entered, a middle-aged woman, the Scarecrow popped out behind a row of file cabinets like something out of a haunted house. She screamed, he gassed her and knocked her out, then dragged her behind a desk and awaited the next. The next one, an old man who appeared as though his grossly thin frame would snap in half at any second to the weight of his head, was even easier to pounce upon. He hid them both inside the long cabinets under the front counter, then took a flashlight and picked up his silver briefcase and headed out.

Where to? The science classrooms of course, the chemistry class being his specific target. Almost overconfident that the campus was empty (and disregarding the security cameras outside the rooms, since he was disguised), the Scarecrow strolled down the hallway in no hurry, aiming his flashlight at the various bulletin boards on the way to the classroom as if he were sightseeing as a first time visitor. He twirled the skeleton key by its ring on his finger. After finding the proper door and taking a cursory glance back down the corridor, he unlocked it and entered, leaving the door open behind him. All the while taking as many useful chemicals as he could fit into his briefcase, the Scarecrow took a few seconds break to toss around several of the more 'entertaining' glasses, throwing and shattering them against the walls, desks, chairs, and anything else that he could help destroy and vandalize. It was all part of his revenge.

A silence-breaking squeak on the floor outside froze the Scarecrow in place, staring up from his fun in surprise. It was unmistakably the sound of the heel of a shoe, but who that shoe belonged to was a mystery to him. Perhaps he made the mistake of leaving the front office too early, and there were more on campus. No matter - They didn't have any useful weapons, and he not only had his fear toxin, but other dangerous chemicals to toss around. He could handle them with ease.

The Scarecrow continued his work and prepared to leave, ignoring the light his flashlight cast into the darkness of the building. Once securely fastened shut, he picked up the briefcase and the flashlight, and headed for the door. He paused at the telephone mounted on the wall, and ripped it off and noisily tossed it across the room before continuing back out into the hallway. A surreptitious glance around proved that whoever his intruder was had either taken the time to flee or had hidden themselves. He closed the door behind him, leaving it unlocked, then walked back down the hall, but ducked around the unoccupied corner and turned the flashlight off, darkness engulfing him.

For several minutes, the Scarecrow waited there, just listening and watching, anticipating this intruder would near the chemistry classroom in curiosity, or possibly even enter. If so, he would corner them and finish them off. Finally he heard their footsteps, though not quite sure of which direction they were going. Very slow and hesitant at first - He could easily tell that this person must have been frightened - Then they stopped. One, two, three, four long seconds . . . There! They took off running, and in his direction, for the front office! The Scarecrow dropped the briefcase and flashlight, and rushed out to greet them. The unidentifiable human mass slammed against him, a female's cry let out as he easily wrestled this small person up against the wall in attempts to get them to stop fighting. As he took hold of her fragile neck, he felt two hands, one's pressure far weaker than the other, push against his bosom in an attempt to move him away, but he was stronger.

No more than two seconds after the run in, the Scarecrow suddenly ceased his attack, and was then staring down with utter shock into the one scared human eye of the Banshee.

[Nataly]

I'v read the rest of the updated stores and I loved it!!!!!!!!!! very cool!!!!!
*Natalie

[§ilvercell]

Cool!

[dessiechic1905]

AHHH MORE MORE MORE!!!!!...please hehe

[beyond_beautiful]

ok. I just read this whole story.

WOW!

This is brilliant! Keep up the great work

[Murchadh]

OMG you always do leave it at a great clifhanger don't you . I can't wait to read the next bit, you are doing and awesome job girl keep it up *hugs*

[Gobby]

oof thats sad poor dahlia...that is SUCH a good cliffhanger
omg
u HAV to continue...

[latikono]

(Chapter Twenty-Three: In Which She is Doomed . . . ?

Note: This is NOT the last chapter! There's one, final chapter after this, which I plan to get finished with as soon as humanly possible. Enjoy!)


Dahlia never thought she could be so scared in her life. She never thought it would come to this, again. Why was he doing this to her? What was this obsessive, immoral need for vengeance he possessed? But she couldn't let him continue. She couldn't let him get away with this crime - This time, he had just gone too far. It wasn't for the greater good, for justice anymore, but for selfishness and inability to cope with his own problems. And all the while she pushed herself to fight back and do what she thought was right, she was hurting inside to know that no matter what happened now, she lost Jonathan Crane forever.

His hands, she could tell, were thirsting to squeeze the life out of her slowly, having seized her neck with an almost gentle firmness - He didn't want to do so quite yet. Possibly he was enjoying watching her writhe, gasp, and fight for breath? It was a cold, dreadful feeling, to know that if he had wanted to, he could have killed her by now. With that hideous mask still on, he finally spoke to her, and she was surprised to hear that he was surprised. "Dahlia . . . I can safely assume you're not here to aid in my revenge, can't I?" Even with one hand he still held her back, using the other hand to pull the scarecrow mask off. He even took the time to take his glasses from his pocket and slide them onto his face - Her efforts to push him away were useless. The crude bandage around her injured wrist and forearm was already seeping blood, and the added pressure against it only caused more pain and left the limb useless.
"J-J-Jonathan, s-stop . . ." Dahlia pleaded. "I . . . I can't . . . Please . . ." His grip tightened menacingly.
"I can't let you go now, if that's what you were thinking." Crane cut off. "Dahlia, you must learn, sometimes in order to aid others on this miserable planet, one must aid solely oneself. Every human being is capable of helping themselves, or else the law of social Darwinism will swallow them up in order to balance nature. Balance, Dahlia. Relying on others to help both the rest of humanity and themselves is selfish in itself. I better this city by bettering myself, and in order to better myself, some sacrifices are needed and greater evils done away with. And should others follow my example, then justice will truly be attained."
"T-This is . . . This is no way to cope with your problems! This is . . . t-totally irrational, and insane!" Dahlia managed to bark back. Finally the pain was too much, and she drew her injured arm back from his chest, cradling it near her body. Almost subconsciously, she began to physically scan her wardrobe for something she could use to fight back with. But there was nothing she could find. Richard Dodge made sure of that.

"My actions are perfectly sane and rational for my traumatic experiences!" She didn't think it was possible, but yet again, Crane's grip on her throat tightened. Heat built up in her cheeks and eyes, and the pulsing of blood through her bulging veins in her neck thumped loudly in her ears. Blackness, like that of water being flooded with splotches of oil, crawled in through the perimeter of her vision, slowly blocking out the hallway in her peripheral vision and leaving her focused on only the terrible figure of Jonathan Crane. Now she couldn't breath at all - This was the end. She was sure of it. Any second now, she would pass out and die. Dahlia's injured hand suddenly sprung up to life as it flew up to grab the side of her white mask, tugging at the ribbons with all her might to loosen it. Just as she was sure she was dead however, one last burst of energy pulled the ghoulish banshee from her face and thrust it forward with the strength of two men. Though her eyes were now closed, she could feel the porcelain smash against Crane's face, the sharp edges of the fragments cutting into her palm - It crumbled like ancient stone within that instantaneous moment, feeling his glasses smash in, and an involuntary cry had broken out of him. Immediately she was released, and fell sideways onto the hard floor.

As Dahlia violently coughed, gasping for breaths, she began to drag herself away quickly, her stamina flowing back and rejuvenating her. She heard his cry continue behind her, and when she was finally able to open her eyes, the blackness had gone. Still trying to regain her composure, she threw herself up and ran as best she could, swaying from side to side and eventually having to use the wall as a support. Turning several maze-like corridors, she made her way towards any exit. But as she approached the double doors and tried to push them open, she discovered that they were locked - Of course they were. What else could she do then? As she turned to find whichever door Crane had used to enter, which most likely would have been left unlocked, she heard his distant grunting and trudging footsteps, and the chills ran up her spine.

What luck! The janitor's closet right nearby! She remembered hearing an administrator complain about having to get the lock fixed - Hopefully it was still broken. And as Dahlia reached out and found that it was, she almost shouted out in relief. As quietly as her shaking hands could allow, she closed the door and tightly held it shut, in case Crane were to discover her. While sitting quietly, shaking violently and breathing heavily, Dahlia realized here that she had not this night lost Jonathan Crane, but had never had him to begin with. For who knew how long, his personality as already warped and dementia took over his human soul and replaced it with the cunning, conniving Scarecrow, striking terror into others and using fear to manipulate those around him to whichever shape he desired. She only wept harder to think that she had been so attached and obsessed to this madman, her former teacher and assumed ally, when he had been using her. For what specifically, she didn't know.

Dahlia must have been sitting there for ten minutes before she finally began to put her recently discovered bravery to work. If she could sneak inside the fort that was Richard Dodge's mansion, she could certainly evade one single man in the darkness of the empty university. First, however, the torn goth picked up what looked like to be the broken end of a broom handle - If a weapon was needed, this would suffice. Slowly she opened the door, careful of any squeaking hinges or cruel noises that would give away her position. The far hallway was empty, she could see, but for these nearer intersections of corridors, she had to be careful. Crane was either hiding or he had left - Whichever it was, she treated the situation as if she herself were searching for him.

Stealth wasn't the only thing she needed either - Dahlia had to be smart, and she couldn't let herself get too caught up in "what if" questions or out smarting herself. The front office was instinctive, but it was likely that Crane had already disabled the phones. Perhaps the exit doors were open, but there was a chance that they wouldn't be as well. The chemistry class was open, and she knew it had a window, and somehow she figured that Crane wouldn't be hanging around there at the time - Either he was looking for her or already left, she assumed. The classroom was closer, so she headed there first, crouched low to the ground and moving quickly. She even took off her loud heels and was left in soft black socks.

Success! The door was still unlocked, and Crane wasn't in sight! After closing the door behind her, she jogged to the window with anticipated relief, but was more than just disappointed to find it locked and unable to be opened without a key. It would have to be broken. Now or never. Dahlia picked up the nearest chair, took a deep breath, and hurled it as hard as she could through the frame. The glass shattered loudly, almost paining her ears that were by now so used to silence. Adrenalin picking up once again, she leapt swiftly over the broken fragments like a track star and sprinted as fast as she could towards the police station, which was beyond Robinson Park.

The smell of the crisp midnight air and the low breeze reminded her of the beach. Amazing how many memories the simple smell of the air within the park aroused - Packing sand over her father's sleeping body to make a crude sand castle, tripping into the salty water and running to her mother weeping, her father playing volleyball with her, her mother leaving for somewhere she didn't know and unable to take her daughter with her . . . The better days. Compared to that very night, the best days of her life.

A meaty arm threw itself out behind one of the trees and tried to grab Dahlia around the waist, but failed as she shrieked and veered off to the side to avoid. But then another arm, belonging to yet another thug, had leapt out from what seemed like a predetermined hiding spot and he, too, tried to grab her, but her reactions were quick and decisive. Bounding off one of the benches lining the narrow pathway, she changed direction to sprint right through the trees. But then that third arm, the one that had thrust out just as she had reached a different pathway, managed to snag one of her legs and trip her, falling forward onto the pavement on her chest and letting out a sharp exhale. From all around, firm hands grabbed her even as she fought to escape, but it was no use - The thugs' ambush was a success. Two of them had her back to a robust tree, the others strewn about and staring at her like that bug that needed squashing, or like the fly fidgeting and squirming about trying to escape the spider's sticky web. It was an empty, cold feeling, to know that one's mind would soon perish.

"You know your sane mind will soon be devoured, don't you?" Crane's unmistakably silky voice emerged from beyond several trees before her. The kind of chill her spine received was different from all the rest, and she could very well feel the hair all over her body rise. At first all she could make out in the darkness was his slender, suited figure come forward, head held arrogantly high atop his neck. As he stepped down onto the sidewalk and into the moonlight, Dahlia gave a hushed gasp once she saw his face - He was without his glasses, no mistake that Dahlia had destroyed them, and appeared no different than normal, except that the skin around his inflamed right eye was damaged. The cuts weren't too deep, but there was a lot of blood dripping down the side of his face, which once flowing down the well-shaped contours of his cheekbones and reaching the curve of his jaw would be wiped away by a soiled handkerchief. He'd be with those hideous scars for life. "Isn't that what you were thinking?"
Silent, Dahlia didn't reply. Crane continued as he idiosyncratically sauntered nearer. "And you were also feeling, correct me if I am wrong, that this mishap, this particular downward campaign you've landed yourself in, is somehow so much more . . . terrifying than the ones before this. Correct?"
Again she didn't reply.
"Do you know why?"

Though she tried to be strong, Dahlia's stone face slowly cracked as her lips began to tremble and she softly wept, never once taking her eyes off of Crane. "Because the one thing, the one tangible possession you had in this world was taken from you, and turned against you. Where you once felt safe is now your living oblivion, Dahlia. And you know what is to come, don't you?" Quite unexpectedly, Crane crouched in front of Dahlia, lowering his head with a hushed scoff as he noticed her jerk her knees up to her bosom in defensive surprise. "I admit to you, Dahlia - You're a unique individual, and you're more useful than you think . . ." Her skin crawled with goose bumps as she felt Crane rest his hand gently over her cheek, then slip down to lift her chin to directly view him. ". . . but you're dangerously tamed by society's expectations."

Oh yes, Crane, Dahlia knew what was to come, which is precisely the reason she felt her last resort was to scream as loudly as she could to attract someone, anyone for help. A thug had rushed forward and clamped his muscular hand over her lower face, stifling her, as Crane quickly snatched a roll of duct tape from another. The two worked together to make sure her mouth stayed shut, and following the ordeal, the boss most uncharacteristically slapped her across the cheek. Dahlia moaned in her throat as she shut her eyes, feeling the sting on her skin. And again she was slapped. This situation was one she remembered weeks before - It was similar to that night that Natalie and her friends had pounced on her in the parking lot and had roughed her up. But of course, this was so much more terrifying. Unnerving and somehow ironic to think that a madman could be so correct in his understanding of the human mind.

"Say hello to both Natalie and Caitlin for me, would you please?" Those were the last words Dahlia heard in her sane, unclouded mind.

NOT THE END . . .

[§ilvercell]

NOOOOOOOO!

[Gobby]

omg....whoa...........
that is.........
seriously no comment...
poor dahlia!
ach......keep on going!

[beyond_beautiful]

WOW.


*is speechless*