Post by latikono on Nov 1, 2005 19:46:38 GMT -5
(Chapter Twenty-Four: In Which It's Over)
The first immediately noticeable thing Dahlia experienced was a sudden freezing cold feeling all over her body. The smell of sulfur and a coppery taste engulfed her senses, and the sounds of Gotham's busy nightlife outside the alienation of Robinson Park quickly faded into a droning, faint howl echoing in her ears. The wind wisped around her, chilly and whip-like, almost slicing at her like razor-sharp daggers - The pain caused her to curl her arms into her chest and grip her sides, trying to stay warm and keep away from the blades. However much she tried to resist, too, her wide eyes could not tear away from the sight of monsters before her. The Scarecrow was looming above her, all colors of his appearance darkened and dismal, and his eyes as only bright orbs of deep red. The men around him were similar in appearance, appearing both ripped and torn in the swirling, dusty storm that stirred underneath them.
A demonic voice, deep and rumbling ominously, spoke out. "Fascinating, isn't it gentlemen?" The live Scarecrow smiled in front of her, long and sharp teeth protruding from its unevenly stitched grin. Fire sprouted up around him, engulfing him, burning him, as countless roaches, beetles, locusts, and other such foul insects rose from the dirt and began to crawl towards her in swarms. Dahlia shrieked (or rather tried to behind the duct tape), trying to back up, but stopped short and was pressed up against something hard - She didn't turn to see what it is, knowing very well that it would only help in giving her a heart attack. Over and over again she tried to tell herself that it was only the toxin playing tricks on all of her senses . . . but it was too real. Nothing this horrible could be a mere illusion, could it? In the back of her mind, she applauded Crane for truly establishing himself as the master of fear.
The insects reached her first, crawling all over her legs and working their way up to her stomach, neck, and face, their itchy legs sending shivers down her spine as she screamed over and over again in her head, unable to produce any sound but a muffled series of cries. However, just as quickly as they had invaded her body, they left, high-pitched shrieks emanating from the tiny bodies. Looking back up to where Crane was, the fire had diminished and each of the human-like figures were fleeing or aiming their enormous weapons at some image she could not see. Non-distinctive shouts roared about them, and the ear-shattering piercing of bullets fired off towards the black sky, churning with grey clouds. The Scarecrow, dancing in his ragged burlap clothing, stretched an arm out towards the target, but a shapeless mass of black fell upon him, upon them all. Dahlia by now had managed to get her arms free, and with both hands had pried the tape from her sore lips and was involuntarily screaming.
This mass of blackness rose before her slowly, tall and mighty, slit red eyes peering out at her. It leapt forward, to which she responded by reeling back, but she felt it clutch her arm and dig sharp claws into her skin. She only screamed louder, looking into the monstrous eyes of an enormous bat snarling at her. Suddenly a sharp sting like that of a bee spread in a swirl into her upper arm, followed by warmth rushing through her blood all throughout her body. After blinking several times, Dahlia's perception began to change, and in a matter of seconds, she found herself right back where she was. Back in the park, under a normal night's sky, weather calm and obedient, and surrounded by the fallen thugs, a masked Crane with them sprawled on the pavement.
The Batman, who else? He loomed above her, holding some strange, futuristic looking device in his thickly gloved hand, and his dry, rusted voice boomed, "You were poisoned by Crane's toxin. I just gave you the antidote. You should be fine now." Unlike the other encounters however, this one wasn't hostile. Dahlia, instead of looking to the bat with disgust and loathing, looked upon his darkly clad figure with a sort of mystification and wonder. No matter how many times she would see him, he amazed her.
Trembling with both humiliation and frustration with herself, guilty towards her savior, Dahlia began, "I-I'm . . . I apologize, for . . ."
But she was interrupted as the Scarecrow's voice screamed out, "Don't interfere!" Just past the Batman's shoulder, Dahlia found the slender figure rising up to his feet and raising a gun to the back of the Dark Knight's head. Even with his back exposed, the psychic Batman was one step ahead of her - He turned swiftly and threw an object Dahlia could not clearly see at the weakened man, the projectile burying itself into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, dropping the gun, just as the Batman rushed forward and planted a strong punch to his gut. The Scarecrow nearly flew out of his shoes, landing on his back on the ground, out cold.
Calmly, the Batman started a new subject, ignoring Dahlia's unfinished words. "The police should be here soon, and they'll make sure you get home safe and sound. Crane's reign of terror has ended, and he'll stay in Arkham for the rest of his days." From somewhere under his cape, he took and held out the broken fragments of her porcelain mask. "They don't know about the Banshee."
Dahlia stifled her surprised gasp, forcing her mouth remain shut as she bit down on her lower lip. Slowly looking to the broken mask, then up to the Batman's face, she said timidly, her cheeks red with shame,
"I never got to apologize, or to thank you."
He shook his head, bold eyes gazing upon her. "And you'll never have to."
As police sirens approached, the Batman sprinted into the darkness of the trees, Dahlia watching him make his escape as far as her eyes could see. Once again, he was gone, and she'd probably never see him again. With a silent sigh, she looked back to the Scarecrow's unconscious figure. His chest slowly heaved and dipped with his calm breathing, and even with the ghoulish mask on, he looked quite peaceful. Dahlia stepped forward and sat on the ground beside him, folding her hands in her lap as she just observed him. Ever so hesitantly, she finally reached towards him and gently grasped his hand, squeezing affectionately, knowing it was the last time she could ever do so. There would always be that good memory of her time with Crane, regardless of the night's battle.
"I apologize to you, too, Jonathan."
~**~**~**~**~**~
"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting! Just had to touch up on a little bit of makeup." Dahlia addressed James Gordon politely, giving a sheepish smile with glossed lips as she finished lacing up one of her knee-high leather boots. The apartment seemed so much larger now that Linda and all of her few possessions were gone, and it was noticeably more peaceful. Somehow, it seemed cleaner as well - Nothing was quite as messy or unorganized, and the couch cushions were in place for a change, without Linda lazing about. The television was on, Gotham City news playing. Nothing of interest, other than the police suspected some sort of conspiracy would soon take place to free Arkham's more "prestigious" members. Then again, when was Gotham every truly safe? Her father stood nearby the door, his arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Sweet Pea? I won't stop you, but . . ."
"Very." Dahlia replied assuredly, tapping her heel on the floor as she stood up straight and nodded to Gordon. "I'm very sure, Pops. Don't worry about me."
He sighed. "Be back before dinner."
" 'Kay. Bye." Dahlia opened the front door, and lead the way down to Gordon's car.
Arkham Asylum was a place Dahlia had never visited before, but had only seen from outside the stone walls and at a distance. The building itself was beautiful, like a neo-gothic castle minus the gargoyles and malign figures of evil, but still had that gloomy, somewhat terrifying feeling about it. She had heard stories, but never expected the famous Arkham to really be like this. Inside it wasn't much better, but appeared more like a somewhat dingy hospital than an insane asylum. Doctors with name tags walking here and there, all adults milling about like at a business office. Dahlia followed closely behind Gordon and one of the employees down a narrow corridor lined with thick steel doors with tiny windows. "Here he is." The woman said as she gestured a hand towards the door at the far end. "If you need to be let inside, Gordon, just ask somewhat nearby."
Gordon nodded and replied, "Thank you." Then as he glanced back towards the door, he addresses Dahlia. "So, Crane was your professor at the university, huh?"
Dahlia was almost frozen as she peered into the rectangular window, seeing a man inside, seated upright in a long leather chair. He was bound tightly in a white straight jacket, unmoving and with his head curled downwards, brown hair fallen with gravity to veil his face. As if he sensed her there, the man weakly lifted up his head to glance nonchalantly towads Dahlia, completely devoid of expression on his face, all but his icy blue eyes which were hypnotic and almost longing. They locked eye contact for nearly fifteen seconds. Finally she replied, voice almost cracking as her eyes shone over, "Yes." She swallowed.
Gordon could sense some sort of emotional connection. Softly, he asked, "Do you want to go in?"
But Dahlia replied, regaining her firmness as she turned away from the door, "No." Without him, she began to walk back down the hallway.
"What? Then what'd you come here for?"
"Because no one else visits, so I should. Anyway, I'm done. Thank you for taking me here."
After leaving, Dahlia made her way down the street, hands buried in a set of the many pockets in her thick, flowing skirt. One of the electronic shops she walked by was playing the news on all of the television screens in the window display, and Dahlia had to stop and listen as she heard a new headline by one of the newscasters. "Regarding crime, Gotham has finally put the Scarecrow behind bars. That's right, this master of fear won't be terrorizing citizens anymore! More recently, policemen discovered an entire laboratory in Jonathan Crane's home, hidden away in the basement . . ." She went on and on, all of this information Dahlia already knew. What was somewhat interesting however was that the female newscaster informed the audience of Richard Dodge's demise, something Dahlia had not been able to learn of. Then came another interesting topic: "As for the Banshee, said to be the Scarecrow's partner in crime, no news has been made. It's been four long weeks since we've found any signs of this ghoul's whereabouts. Gotham police have given up the search for the Banshee, having no leads, and considering this mistress of fear to no longer be a threat. So, sleep safely tonight, Gotham!"
Dahlia turned away from the window and sighed. Just across the street at the corner, she spotted the coffee shop. Remembering that she had several dollars left in her pockets from her last bit of allowance from her father, she agreed with her stomach and headed over to grab some lunch. The place was empty for a change, which was actually quite nice. First scanning the cleaner tables at the far wall by the counter, Dahlia opted rather to sit in a more comfortable, familiar spot. She approached the lonely table placed back in the corner by the window, sat down in one of the chairs, and looked out onto Gotham's citizens strolling the sidewalk without a care in the world.
FIN
The first immediately noticeable thing Dahlia experienced was a sudden freezing cold feeling all over her body. The smell of sulfur and a coppery taste engulfed her senses, and the sounds of Gotham's busy nightlife outside the alienation of Robinson Park quickly faded into a droning, faint howl echoing in her ears. The wind wisped around her, chilly and whip-like, almost slicing at her like razor-sharp daggers - The pain caused her to curl her arms into her chest and grip her sides, trying to stay warm and keep away from the blades. However much she tried to resist, too, her wide eyes could not tear away from the sight of monsters before her. The Scarecrow was looming above her, all colors of his appearance darkened and dismal, and his eyes as only bright orbs of deep red. The men around him were similar in appearance, appearing both ripped and torn in the swirling, dusty storm that stirred underneath them.
A demonic voice, deep and rumbling ominously, spoke out. "Fascinating, isn't it gentlemen?" The live Scarecrow smiled in front of her, long and sharp teeth protruding from its unevenly stitched grin. Fire sprouted up around him, engulfing him, burning him, as countless roaches, beetles, locusts, and other such foul insects rose from the dirt and began to crawl towards her in swarms. Dahlia shrieked (or rather tried to behind the duct tape), trying to back up, but stopped short and was pressed up against something hard - She didn't turn to see what it is, knowing very well that it would only help in giving her a heart attack. Over and over again she tried to tell herself that it was only the toxin playing tricks on all of her senses . . . but it was too real. Nothing this horrible could be a mere illusion, could it? In the back of her mind, she applauded Crane for truly establishing himself as the master of fear.
The insects reached her first, crawling all over her legs and working their way up to her stomach, neck, and face, their itchy legs sending shivers down her spine as she screamed over and over again in her head, unable to produce any sound but a muffled series of cries. However, just as quickly as they had invaded her body, they left, high-pitched shrieks emanating from the tiny bodies. Looking back up to where Crane was, the fire had diminished and each of the human-like figures were fleeing or aiming their enormous weapons at some image she could not see. Non-distinctive shouts roared about them, and the ear-shattering piercing of bullets fired off towards the black sky, churning with grey clouds. The Scarecrow, dancing in his ragged burlap clothing, stretched an arm out towards the target, but a shapeless mass of black fell upon him, upon them all. Dahlia by now had managed to get her arms free, and with both hands had pried the tape from her sore lips and was involuntarily screaming.
This mass of blackness rose before her slowly, tall and mighty, slit red eyes peering out at her. It leapt forward, to which she responded by reeling back, but she felt it clutch her arm and dig sharp claws into her skin. She only screamed louder, looking into the monstrous eyes of an enormous bat snarling at her. Suddenly a sharp sting like that of a bee spread in a swirl into her upper arm, followed by warmth rushing through her blood all throughout her body. After blinking several times, Dahlia's perception began to change, and in a matter of seconds, she found herself right back where she was. Back in the park, under a normal night's sky, weather calm and obedient, and surrounded by the fallen thugs, a masked Crane with them sprawled on the pavement.
The Batman, who else? He loomed above her, holding some strange, futuristic looking device in his thickly gloved hand, and his dry, rusted voice boomed, "You were poisoned by Crane's toxin. I just gave you the antidote. You should be fine now." Unlike the other encounters however, this one wasn't hostile. Dahlia, instead of looking to the bat with disgust and loathing, looked upon his darkly clad figure with a sort of mystification and wonder. No matter how many times she would see him, he amazed her.
Trembling with both humiliation and frustration with herself, guilty towards her savior, Dahlia began, "I-I'm . . . I apologize, for . . ."
But she was interrupted as the Scarecrow's voice screamed out, "Don't interfere!" Just past the Batman's shoulder, Dahlia found the slender figure rising up to his feet and raising a gun to the back of the Dark Knight's head. Even with his back exposed, the psychic Batman was one step ahead of her - He turned swiftly and threw an object Dahlia could not clearly see at the weakened man, the projectile burying itself into the flesh of his hand. He shouted in pain, dropping the gun, just as the Batman rushed forward and planted a strong punch to his gut. The Scarecrow nearly flew out of his shoes, landing on his back on the ground, out cold.
Calmly, the Batman started a new subject, ignoring Dahlia's unfinished words. "The police should be here soon, and they'll make sure you get home safe and sound. Crane's reign of terror has ended, and he'll stay in Arkham for the rest of his days." From somewhere under his cape, he took and held out the broken fragments of her porcelain mask. "They don't know about the Banshee."
Dahlia stifled her surprised gasp, forcing her mouth remain shut as she bit down on her lower lip. Slowly looking to the broken mask, then up to the Batman's face, she said timidly, her cheeks red with shame,
"I never got to apologize, or to thank you."
He shook his head, bold eyes gazing upon her. "And you'll never have to."
As police sirens approached, the Batman sprinted into the darkness of the trees, Dahlia watching him make his escape as far as her eyes could see. Once again, he was gone, and she'd probably never see him again. With a silent sigh, she looked back to the Scarecrow's unconscious figure. His chest slowly heaved and dipped with his calm breathing, and even with the ghoulish mask on, he looked quite peaceful. Dahlia stepped forward and sat on the ground beside him, folding her hands in her lap as she just observed him. Ever so hesitantly, she finally reached towards him and gently grasped his hand, squeezing affectionately, knowing it was the last time she could ever do so. There would always be that good memory of her time with Crane, regardless of the night's battle.
"I apologize to you, too, Jonathan."
~**~**~**~**~**~
"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting! Just had to touch up on a little bit of makeup." Dahlia addressed James Gordon politely, giving a sheepish smile with glossed lips as she finished lacing up one of her knee-high leather boots. The apartment seemed so much larger now that Linda and all of her few possessions were gone, and it was noticeably more peaceful. Somehow, it seemed cleaner as well - Nothing was quite as messy or unorganized, and the couch cushions were in place for a change, without Linda lazing about. The television was on, Gotham City news playing. Nothing of interest, other than the police suspected some sort of conspiracy would soon take place to free Arkham's more "prestigious" members. Then again, when was Gotham every truly safe? Her father stood nearby the door, his arms crossed and her eyebrows furrowed.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Sweet Pea? I won't stop you, but . . ."
"Very." Dahlia replied assuredly, tapping her heel on the floor as she stood up straight and nodded to Gordon. "I'm very sure, Pops. Don't worry about me."
He sighed. "Be back before dinner."
" 'Kay. Bye." Dahlia opened the front door, and lead the way down to Gordon's car.
Arkham Asylum was a place Dahlia had never visited before, but had only seen from outside the stone walls and at a distance. The building itself was beautiful, like a neo-gothic castle minus the gargoyles and malign figures of evil, but still had that gloomy, somewhat terrifying feeling about it. She had heard stories, but never expected the famous Arkham to really be like this. Inside it wasn't much better, but appeared more like a somewhat dingy hospital than an insane asylum. Doctors with name tags walking here and there, all adults milling about like at a business office. Dahlia followed closely behind Gordon and one of the employees down a narrow corridor lined with thick steel doors with tiny windows. "Here he is." The woman said as she gestured a hand towards the door at the far end. "If you need to be let inside, Gordon, just ask somewhat nearby."
Gordon nodded and replied, "Thank you." Then as he glanced back towards the door, he addresses Dahlia. "So, Crane was your professor at the university, huh?"
Dahlia was almost frozen as she peered into the rectangular window, seeing a man inside, seated upright in a long leather chair. He was bound tightly in a white straight jacket, unmoving and with his head curled downwards, brown hair fallen with gravity to veil his face. As if he sensed her there, the man weakly lifted up his head to glance nonchalantly towads Dahlia, completely devoid of expression on his face, all but his icy blue eyes which were hypnotic and almost longing. They locked eye contact for nearly fifteen seconds. Finally she replied, voice almost cracking as her eyes shone over, "Yes." She swallowed.
Gordon could sense some sort of emotional connection. Softly, he asked, "Do you want to go in?"
But Dahlia replied, regaining her firmness as she turned away from the door, "No." Without him, she began to walk back down the hallway.
"What? Then what'd you come here for?"
"Because no one else visits, so I should. Anyway, I'm done. Thank you for taking me here."
After leaving, Dahlia made her way down the street, hands buried in a set of the many pockets in her thick, flowing skirt. One of the electronic shops she walked by was playing the news on all of the television screens in the window display, and Dahlia had to stop and listen as she heard a new headline by one of the newscasters. "Regarding crime, Gotham has finally put the Scarecrow behind bars. That's right, this master of fear won't be terrorizing citizens anymore! More recently, policemen discovered an entire laboratory in Jonathan Crane's home, hidden away in the basement . . ." She went on and on, all of this information Dahlia already knew. What was somewhat interesting however was that the female newscaster informed the audience of Richard Dodge's demise, something Dahlia had not been able to learn of. Then came another interesting topic: "As for the Banshee, said to be the Scarecrow's partner in crime, no news has been made. It's been four long weeks since we've found any signs of this ghoul's whereabouts. Gotham police have given up the search for the Banshee, having no leads, and considering this mistress of fear to no longer be a threat. So, sleep safely tonight, Gotham!"
Dahlia turned away from the window and sighed. Just across the street at the corner, she spotted the coffee shop. Remembering that she had several dollars left in her pockets from her last bit of allowance from her father, she agreed with her stomach and headed over to grab some lunch. The place was empty for a change, which was actually quite nice. First scanning the cleaner tables at the far wall by the counter, Dahlia opted rather to sit in a more comfortable, familiar spot. She approached the lonely table placed back in the corner by the window, sat down in one of the chairs, and looked out onto Gotham's citizens strolling the sidewalk without a care in the world.
FIN
(I like to leave a mystery here and there.) Should I make a sequel, I can fill in some gaps and such.
?
