Midnight Dawn (Ch. 15) Sequel to SOTM

[fosforito]

awwww noooo...

poor Jonathan...being there all alone..

aww, how much I´d like to be there, taking care of him...

and now he ´s longing for the two most important persons of his life: his mom and Emily..

awwww...

now I really have Charlotte Church´s lyrics in my head..

awww.. how sad..

please post soon girl, I wanna know what happens next

[azina]

fosforito said:

awwww noooo...

poor Jonathan...being there all alone..

aww, how much I´d like to be there, taking care of him...

aww me too girl. you know we'd both take care of him.

and now he ´s longing for the two most important persons of his life: his mom and Emily..

awwww...

yeah, well you know there's a reason. where his physical needs are being met - well barely - his emotionally needs aren't being met ... he's not getting any love. nobody loves him there, nobody really cares for him as we know his mom or Emily might, that's why he's longing for them ... he feels that ache

please post soon girl, I wanna know what happens next

your wish is my command

[azina]

Now you see why this took a little bit longer ... I wanted to make sure this came out right. It's a very important scene. Get ready for the belated flashback scene ...

Dr. Jonathan Crane was finishing his morning rounds at Arkham Asylum as he always had done, although things were different now. He recently had stepped into the shoes of head psychiatrist, replacing Dr. Henry Gooding after his mysterious, yet tragic psychotic breakdown in Mrs. Crane’s room during her early morning therapy session. Dr. Crane proved more than adept at shouldering the burden of Gooding’s as well as Crane’s usual duties and didn’t expect this morning to be any different.

As he passed by the nurses’ station, clipboard in hand, ready to see his first patient for the morning, Nurse Myers stopped him and mentioned he had a visitor waiting for him.

“I have no visitors on my schedule. If they would like to see me, they must make an appointment like anyone else.” Crane stopped a moment. “Is it –?”

“No, it isn’t him. A new visitor.”

“Then I regretful must decline. Please schedule his appointment with me at some other time, Miss Myers.”

Crane was on his way down the hall in his long stride, purposeful steps when Nurse Myers called back to him.

“He’s willing to make a very generous donation to the asylum. But I will reschedule as you’ve requested, Dr. Crane.”

He stopped in his tracks and heavily sighed.

“Just how generous is this donation,” he asked.

“Please forgive me, Dr. Crane, he didn’t cite any figures. I will reschedule.”

“No, I will meet with him. If his donation is trivial, our discussion will be a very short one indeed.”


Dr. Crane opened the door to the guest suite, a stark contrast to the rest of white washed Arkham with its muted colors. The suite had a fine polished brass handle, plush leather seats and a richly lacquered walnut table. Sitting behind the table wasn’t Falcone, as Crane regrettably had grown accustomed to in the last few months in his dealings with the despicable crime boss of Gotham, but a man who was a stark contrast to fat cat Falcone.

The man was heavy boned and muscular, wearing a fine black suit and a charcoal gray shirt underneath that brought out his storm-colored eyes. Unlike Jonathan, he seemed like a very physical man who had more than a few scuffles in his day as evidenced from his nose, which appeared to have been broken at some time in his life, but oddly did not detract from his rugged charm.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane, one of the foremost psychiatrist in Gotham City, it’s a great honor,” the man said.

Crane noted he had a hint of an Irish accent and his mind began to work at what secret benefactor from Ireland might take an interest in Arkham and perhaps if there was a hidden agenda here.

“The honor is all mine, sir,” Crane said. “And what brings you to my humble establishment?”

“Oh, it is far from humble. A man like me is always looking for the extraordinary in all things – breakthroughs in science, medicine – psychiatry. Arkham Asylum once was a beacon hope for many suffering from the scourge of mental illness. Sadly, over the years it has fallen into decay. But word has reached me of a brilliant young psychiatrist who has become the head of this asylum, one with new ideas – daring methods. One who is willing to explore the origins of Fear.”

Crane examined the man a moment, trying to gauge whether he was sincere or trying to pry something hidden from him, something that should not be revealed to anyone.

“I am sincerely flattered, ah –”

“Call me Henri.”

“Do you have a last name, Henri?”

“Ducard.”

“Well then, Mr. Ducard. You are correct in some of your assumptions. I do explore the origins of Fear, but only for the benefit of my patients – to help them. And I was told of a donation on your part by Nurse Myers.”

“Ah, a man of business! Something also to be admired.”

Ducard slipped from his black coat a check book and something else, which he held tightly in his left fist. Crane gazed warily at the fist, reminded of his high school beatings and realizing what a physically powerful man Ducard was in comparison to his slight build. But then Crane remembered the toxin he had hidden beneath his coat sleeve and felt more at ease.

Ducard tore a check out and turned it around and displayed it to him. Crane gazed at the check a moment, waiting for him to write out an amount, but when he didn’t and just continued to sit there with a bemused grin upon his lips, Crane said:

“I am a very busy man and have no time for games, Mr. Ducard.”

“Oh, this is no game, as you soon will see, Dr. Crane. You are a business man and I will make you very lucrative offer if indeed you are up to the challenge.”

“And what ‘challenge’ are you implying, Mr. Ducard?”

He opened his closed fist and from it tumbled a small blue flower. Crane for a moment thought Ducard would be an apt candidate to be admitted to his asylum or if he wasn’t insane, he might be an interesting study if Crane made him a patient. Vaguely Crane’s fingers twitched at his briefcase, the Scarecrow mask lying hidden in its dark recesses.

“Now you would give me a boutonniere,” Crane spat. “I know blue is my color but I have no taste for flowers.”

Slowly Ducard picked up the delicate, slightly withered flower between his thumb and forefinger and gazed at it almost in awe.

“This little flower is the Key to Fear, more powerful than you can imagine. If you can unlock its secret, you may find greater rewards than you ever dreamed of.”

“And does that include the donation you promised?”

The excitement and joy suddenly left Ducard’s eyes at Crane’s words.

“Yes – yes, of course it does.”

Ducard turned the empty check around and scribbled out an amount before crumpling it into Crane’s awaiting hand.

“Discover what’s in that flower. Although others may not know it yet, you are the genius we’ve been waiting for who can do it – the Psychiatrist of Fear.”

As the door slammed shut and Crane was left alone he looked at the amount written on the check – $40,000. He twirled the unassuming blue flower in between his fingers, studying it a moment, wondering what this rich lunatic might want from what looked like a cross between a poppy and a weed.

Well, I’ll distill it and discover its chemical properties, but am not expecting much. I can do that while I’m refining some of my toxin inhalants and at least there might be some money involved.

He tucked the blue flower into his suit pocket and forgot about it for the rest of the day.

[fosforito]

wow, what a cool chapter!!!

*Cillian bar for that*

I had to re-read the last chapter of SOTM as I was remembering Falcone there at the end but it means here that Jon has his convo with Ducard after meeting Falcone, right?

Wow, you described Ducard/Liam very well...especially the facial part (Liam was an amateur boxer before, right?)

I like Jon´s light sarcastic comments in that convo.. seems that regarding this, they both are on the same wave length somehow.

It´s interesting to see how Jon doesn´t give so much interest to the blue flower first ... he still doesn´t know how much this flower will change his work and also his future as a psychiatrist.

Very well written, girl.

I can´t wait to read more!!

[azina]

fosforito said:

wow, what a cool chapter!!!

*Cillian bar for that*

Aww, thanks so much girl.

I had to re-read the last chapter of SOTM as I was remembering Falcone there at the end but it means here that Jon has his convo with Ducard after meeting Falcone, right?

Yep, this is after ... in the chapter Jonathan asked the nurse in some way if Falcone is the one visiting him and she says no.

Wow, you described Ducard/Liam very well...especially the facial part (Liam was an amateur boxer before, right?)

Thank you. Thanks for telling me his eye color ... it came in handy.

[azina]

Dignitaries and the elite of society mingled easily at their circular tables draped with a fine linen cloth, nursing their vintage wines over their poached salmon with a sherry scallop sauce. A large banner spanned the stage, written in bold letters: The Society for the Improvement and Advancement of Humanity. Below this banner sat the honored guests and the committee for the society at long table. Soon the awards would be given out and recognition to several nonprofits and organizations in the upcoming year.

In the dim candlelight at the table, Jonathan picked at his salmon with his fork, but he had little appetite. He had no taste tonight for the rich food and his mind was on Arkham and all the work he was missing by attending this function, but he couldn’t afford to miss it if indeed Arkham was one of the beneficiaries this year; the grant could be substantial. So he suffered with the simpering socialites, the dull conversation, the tedious hours and the boring speeches, awaiting the moment when indeed the grants would be announced.

There was a hum of expectation in the audience as the lights dramatically dimmed and a woman in her early fifties with a stylish yet conservative black gown began with her long and well rehearsed speech about the founding and the mission statement of the society. Jonathan tried to stifle a sigh; he had heard this speech before and he felt his impatience grow much as it does toward the ramblings of an insane patient.

“And now, with your generosity and in keeping with the spirit of our founder, we will bestow the awards and grants on the following organizations,” said woman in the black dress.

Slowly, dramatically she opened the list and began to read.

“To Anne Harkness House, we bestow $250,000 for the shelter for battered women.”

Jonathan’s eyes wandered around the table, gazing at the wealthy patrons whose eyes were riveted to the speaker, their polite smiles glued to their faces. He gazed at their fine clothes and the jewels about many of the matrons’ necks, many of which would pay handsomely for his research at Arkham. How he hated having to scrape and beg for funds at these charity functions!

“To Anthony the Martyr Hospital, $2.5 million for construction of its new patient wing. To Astoria Retirement Home, $150,000 for its community-based assisted living facilities.”

Jonathan suddenly froze, his fork pressed firmly between his thumb and forefinger. He stared at the woman, wondering if there had been some mistake. Perhaps she had skipped over one by accident?

“To Bethany Hospice, $15,000 for its in home care of the dying.”

No! It can’t be. They couldn’t have overlooked me! Not the crucial groundbreaking work I’m doing! A hospital, a shelter – a nursing home?! What do they know of the inner workings and complexities of the mind? What do they know of the meaning of Fear!

The fork clattered to the china plate loudly and startled some of the wealthy patrons at the table, who gazed at Jonathan in disapproval.

“If you mind,” gasped a wealthy woman, a string of pearls studded with diamonds and emeralds glittering from her throat.

Jonathan gazed at the necklace – that alone would pay for his research for several years he was sure.

But wealth is wasted on frivolous, empty-headed people like you – like all of you who have the money to give out to stupid causes like – like –

“To the Dalmation Rescue and Rehabilitation Society, $5,000.”

I can’t stay here! I can’t listen to this idiocy any longer. I’m wasting my time when I can be back at Arkham doing something meaningful!

Jonathan slid his coat off his chair and stooped, trying to make his departure from the table as unnoticeable as possible.

“What? You’re leaving Dr. Crane,” asked one of the gentlemen. “In the middle of the grants ceremony?”

“Please forgive me, but I have a very pressing matter at Arkham Asylum that demands my attention. It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

They still gazed in stunned shock as he folded his coat over his arm and carefully wound his way around the chairs in the darkened auditorium and made his way out the door. Her voice still echoed through the open door and she continued down her list.

“To the Dandelion Children’s Daycare –”

Jonathan slammed the door shut so he wouldn’t hear her voice anymore.


Darkness shrouded the docks and wetness gleamed upon the concrete as the workmen were busy loading crates on to barges and huge steamer ships, looming huge and ominous in the moonlight. A man in a long black coat gazed with little interest at the work going on into the late hours of the night. He checked his watch, then turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Henri Ducard grinned with some amusement.

“Punctual as always Dr. Crane. Although I must confess, after our last appointment I had the impression you might not meet me again.”

Jonathan’s face tensed, his lips pursing as he gazed around at the workmen busy, but safely out of earshot. They were quite alone and assured of their privacy.

“You said you were willing to make me a lucrative offer if I met you here. So here I am,” said Jonathan.

“Here you are indeed,” said Henri with great satisfaction. “Come, let’s start walking. I must say I was most impressed with how easily you were able to analyze and extract the chemical compounds from the blue flower I gave you. You have great potential, more than I believe many realize.”

“And what do you see in me, Mr. Ducard?”

“A wonderful future, but one you don’t yet see perhaps. You’re frustrated, alone in your endeavors. No one sees your genius, appreciates your hard work. When someone has a vision, one so unique from the rest of the world, it’s not always accepted, even when it is to the world’s benefit and only you can see it.”

Jonathan stopped walking and studied the older man’s eyes, filled with pain but also fire at whatever vision only Ducard could see.

“What have others told you about me,” Jonathan asked.

Ducard hesitated a moment, his grin gone, all seriousness in his face and gray eyes.

“That you’ve worked for all you’ve achieved, Jonathan. That you’ve made great sacrifices for all you’ve accomplished and you should be very proud of that. Your research – namely in Fear – the origins of Fear is what fascinated me. It is what brought me here to you – and to this city.”

“Gotham City? I fail to see how this has anything to do with the business proposition you spoke of.”

“Oh, but it does, Jonathan. It is your home, but it also is seething with corruption and crime. The only way to remedy this is to weaken the power structure of this corruption. That little blue flower you synthesized is just the beginning, but from such beginnings how the mighty do fall!”

Jonathan gazed at the shining lights of Gotham City, but also knew all the deep shadows, the filthy alleys, the simmering corruption, the crime taking place even at this moment at the hands of Falcone.

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you were one of my patients back at Arkham, suffering from delusions.”

“No, I don’t think you do, because from such madness is born genius,” said Ducard. “Money is power, but hold the city to ransom and then who does hold the power?”

“Are you saying we will be the ones terrorizing the city,” asked Jonathan, his eyes growing cold. “Demanding ransom in exchange for innocent lives?”

“Ah, you are far too dramatic. Nothing so dire. No innocent life will be hurt – only the corrupt and the criminal will suffer. But we need something – Fear – as leverage to make our ransom work, to destabilize their power structure. We will use the drug, derived from the blue flower, and bring it into Gotham – and I will need your help.”

Jonathan kept his face an unreadable mask and his eyes cool and distant while inside he was in turmoil and doubt. As Ducard kept talking, the warmth vanished from his eyes and fire replaced them until Jonathan realized that the man he originally met at Arkham was someone very different now, perhaps someone sinister and deadly.

Jonathan gazed at Ducard a moment and paused, the air thick with silence. Ducard was anxious for his answer, almost demanding it with his tense body language as though every muscle was ready to spring into action.

“I am sorry, Mr. Ducard. But I fear you have made the wrong choice. I am not the man for the job. You see, I am no criminal and have no desire to be one.”

Jonathan turned around and began to walk away down the gleaming docks, keeping his line of sight toward the ships and the wading barges, no longer gazing at Ducard who was just a few feet behind him.

“Tell me, Jonathan, is it by mistake then you work for Carmine Falcone?”

Jonathan suddenly stopped and closed his eyes. He could hear Ducard slowly approaching him, his footsteps nearly muffled upon the damp concrete.

“Jonathan, it’s okay. There’s no need to worry. I am not with Falcone. I only ask you this: Do you want to work for Falcone forever?”

He lightly sighed and opened his eyes.

“No, not forever.”

“But you must – for the money, for your research. Then I must tell you after this, never will you need Falcone, never will you have to bow or grovel to any of those rich empty-headed buffoons you have to curry favors from just to keep your asylum running.”

The thought was attractive even though there was a warning deep within Jonathan’s heart. There was always a price to pay no matter how good an offer seemed. Every quick and easy answer Jonathan had tried in the past seemed to crumble in his hands or twist into an outcome he hadn’t expected.

“Don’t be a slave to Falcone.”

“Instead I would be your slave, Henri?”

Ducard paused – it was the first time Jonathan had used Ducard’s first name and he seemed genuinely touched.

“No, Jonathan – never. You will help bring in the shipments and place them in the water supply. You yourself said the drug is harmless ingested. But this will be enough to shock the corrupt and give us the leverage we need.”

“It’s too risky and I have a reputation to keep.”

“Of course, you will keep complete anonymity. The ransom will take place through a separate party – a league of sorts.”

“And the toxin will not be released on anyone?”

“Not unless you give the word on it,” said Ducard.

“Very well. And what happens after the ransom?”

“Twenty percent of the ransom will be delivered to you – say $10 million. Then the rest is up to you if you want to have further dealings with me. You and Gotham City may never see me again if you wish.”

Jonathan nodded, wondering if this was all a lie, a carefully planned plot to seduce him into a scheme. Perhaps Ducard was working for Falcone and this was just to ensnare him and then kill him for his betrayal. But never to be beholden to the snobs of society and to have that kind of money for research would be of great use to him. That was more money than he could ever hope for from Falcone, especially when of late he was more interested in exchanging favors than cash.

“Do we have a deal,” asked Ducard.

Jonathan’s hands were cold and his heart suddenly raced within his chest. He studied the gentle smile upon Ducard’s lips, the warmth in his eyes again.

This could be my death – or a new life.

He raised his hand and quickly and firmly Ducard grasped it and shook it within his.

“A wise decision, Jonathan. I thank you and mankind will thank you. Whether you realize it or not, tonight you are a hero.”

Then why do I not feel like a hero, Jonathan thought as a sinking feeling settled into his heart.

[fosforito]

Oh wow - what a chapter Azina!

First I like your description of the charity event and I can see Jonathan sitting at this table, how uncomfortable he feels - and also how angry, sad and also betrayed he must feel after realizing that he and his work wasn´t honoured at all.

And although we got to know Jonathan as a man having some luxury in his life, how much he was longing to get more power and financial support to go on with his work.. so the jewelries were a very good metaphor

Very good!

In a way, Ducard and Jon seem to be on a same wave length but it just seems like this - as in my story, Henri Ducard is a man not really caring for other people, indeed he´s using them and manipulating them for his own good.

And in this chapter, we get a light idea that Jonathan knows that strictly speaking he´s getting manipulated somehow but he also thinks on his work and on the need to keep arkham running, so he´s doing this deal with Ducard - although he knows that Ducard will betray him in a way.

As we know from the movie Henri didn´t tell Jon the whole truth, his real motivs and you´re following this path what I find very good.

So, I have to say it again: very very good work girl and don´t even dare to change anything on that chapter as you told me - keep it as it is!!!

And.. as always: I can´t wait to read more!

[azina]

He suddenly gasped and opened his eyes. The blanket no longer was damp and pale sunlight filtered through the small, heavily grated window that was high to the ceiling, reminding Jonathan of a room in a basement – or a cell.

His eyes wandered about the room and slowly he recalled what had happened to him since that fateful night, that night that had changed everything for him. There had been no money after all; no promise of a bright future, no secure funds for Arkham Asylum, which now lay in ruin thanks to Ducard’s scheme. It was betrayal and deceit on a massive scale and Jonathan, as much as he was awash in bitterness and hatred toward Ducard, was filled with self-reproach at not rejecting his proposal outright.

You know how these always end, Jonathan Crane and now you’ve lost what you most love.

He swallowed, his throat dry and hot, and reached for the glass of water near the table. Jonathan began to drink thirstily, even the room temperature water seeming refreshing and when he was ready to set it back on the table, he heard:

“Glad to see you’re finally awake.”

Jonathan nearly dropped the glass in shock. He hadn’t seen anyone in the room. Was it Ducard? No it couldn’t be, not in this early hour and not in his room! He gazed in shock and panic at the four walls and saw no one.

“You knew you would not be rid of me so easily, Jonathan.”

Within his mind he felt Scarecrow crawling up from the depths of his subconscious, but this time he was not creeping like a thief, hoping Jonathan would approve of his presence. This time he emerged with more bravado, triumphant and proud, his presence like a scythe ripping through the clouds of thought.

“Ah, Jonathan at last, we shall make something of ourselves, you and I. What great things we shall do together!”

Jonathan fumbled within his pants pocket, searching for his medication bottle, realizing it must have been over 14 hours since his last dose – which might be enough to give Scarecrow a solid foothold into his psyche.

“Jonathan, don’t fight me. It’s destiny you and I are together. Gotham City will be ours and Emily, ah sweet Emily – is there something wrong, Jonathan? You’re trembling.”

He was frantically searching his pants pockets, turning them inside out and even grabbed the suit coat that had been thrown over the chair next to the bed and dug through its pockets too.

The pharmaceutical bottle containing his schizophrenia medication was gone.

[fosforito]

Oh nooooo

poor Jonathan!

Now he realized for the first time, what price he really had to pay for his deal with Ducard - and how much he got betrayed..

Now I have this quote in my mind again, Joaquin Phoenix said in that movie (was the title "8mm"? Don´t remember):

"It´s not you changing the devil, the devil is changing you" (hope that the´s correct translation as I´ve seen this movie only in German).

And I´m getting the impression that Ducard is fully aware of the fact, that Jon is mentally ill
- and now by taking away the meds from him, he knows what that means for Jon

Damn you Ducard, and damn you Scarecrow - leave Jonathan alone!!!

though - great piece of work Azina, can´t wait to find out what happens next.

[azina]

Thanks for the feedback girl. Yeah, poor Jonathan is in quite a bind now without his meds and Scarecrow emerging again. Did you notice something in this? Scarecrow is not talking in his head like he normally does. I'm using quotes. That means he's making Jonathan talk, like at the end of The Rift. Maybe I should point this out in my revision.

[fosforito]

Oh yes girl, you´re right, I haven´t realized that ;D

Yeah, it seems that Jonathan´s desease is now taking a more serious turn when he now starts to speak to himself - and he´s also Ducard´s guinea pig now by taking hismeds away what I find even humiliating in a way

How can he do this to Jon?

Damn, he already got what he wanted from him, does he have to even destroy the rest of Jonathan´s mind?!

Damn you Ducard, you´re an ass!!

[azina]

fosforito said:

Oh nooooo

poor Jonathan!

Now he realized for the first time, what price he really had to pay for his deal with Ducard - and how much he got betrayed..

Now I have this quote in my mind again, Joaquin Phoenix said in that movie (was the title "8mm"? Don´t remember):

"It´s not you changing the devil, the devil is changing you" (hope that the´s correct translation as I´ve seen this movie only in German).

How very true it is and now Jonathan realizes how badly he's had to pay for this mistake. Poor Jonathan.

And I´m getting the impression that Ducard is fully aware of the fact, that Jon is mentally ill
- and now by taking away the meds from him, he knows what that means for Jon

Well I'm leaving this open to interpretation. Did he lose his meds or did Ducard find them and take them away? But let's say you have some reason to suspect given Ducard's history. The effect is the same though ... Scarecrow is getting the upperhand.

[azina]

Well I'm still posting this story thanks to Alex's (fosforito) insistence, but seriously people, if you're reading this, please give me feedback because I'm starting to feel that formatting it here is becoming a wasted effort. I was seriously considering stopping posting it here and just posting it on ff.net where at least I get some feedback on it. So please, if you are interested ... respond.

That morning he didn’t wear the suit that was customary and in fashion in Gotham City. Henri Ducard wore what he felt most comfortable in, his sleek black martial arts outfit that was both simple and elegant. He had worn such dress in the Himalayas for so long that wearing Western clothing, as he had to do during his visits to Gotham City, felt odd and even uncomfortable. It was a welcome relief to abandon the suit jacket and stiff, confining trousers to the beautiful, yet practical Asian styles again.

Ducard watched almost in paternal pride as he watched his ninja going through their warm ups before engaging in deadly combat to keep their skills fresh and their minds keen. The “courtyard” the ninja practiced wasn’t the beautiful oriental setting Ducard had enjoyed in the Himalayas – the home Bruce had so arrogantly destroyed. The ninja now practiced in an expansive concrete court flanked by equally thick stone walls. He was thankful that he had found this compound, an old military base located forty miles outside Gotham City that no longer was in use. It eagerly was sold at a trifling sum to pay for the military’s ongoing and never ending wars.

Such fools. So busy fighting on foreign soil they wouldn’t know a threat if it was right beneath their noses, Ducard thought in amusement.

Ducard heard a slight rustle in fabric and the faint footsteps of a black clad ninja approaching along with the easily heard, long-strided footsteps of another man. Ducard turned away from the view of the enclosed courtyard toward the claustrophobic hallway with few windows and even less decoration – stark in all its features.

Well, that should make Jonathan feel at home then, very much like Arkham.

The ninja gave a quick, reverent bow to Ducard.

“As you requested, Dr. Crane is here to see you at 0800 hours.”

“Very good. Thank you, Tiao.”

Tiao bowed and just as quickly and silently was gone, vanishing down the narrow, poorly lit hallway. Ducard gazed at Jonathan, who looked very different from when he first saw him. Jonathan looked markedly pale this morning and tired, weariness showing in his eyes and something else Ducard noted, desperation perhaps – or fear. Perhaps he was imagining things, but despite his circumstances, Ducard noted that Dr. Crane did clean up nicely. Ducard was more than happy to give him a new, clean suit that he believed was close enough to the young man’s lanky frame and it seemed to fit him well enough.

“Jonathan, so good to see you. I trust you are feeling better?”

“Better than yesterday, thanks to you. You have quite an establishment here – one I was not aware of. I believed you were located solely within Asia and would visit here only briefly.”

“So it was, Jonathan, but circumstances, as you imagine, have changed. Truth be told, I always had a few of my colleagues throughout the world, but only of late have I needed this base.”

Jonathan gazed at Ducard a moment, studying him with those cool blue eyes, but no warmth or friendship dwelt within in them.

“And how long have you been here at this base – before that night when my toxin was released on Gotham?”

“Is that what is troubling you, the toxin? Ah, Jonathan, that was beyond my control and that was not my doing.”

“If it wasn’t who was it? Only you knew the extent the toxin ran through the water supply.”

Ducard heavily sighed as Jonathan’s icy stare pierced into him.

“Let’s walk. Clearly you have some misinformation, spread by my enemies. Many things happened on that terrible night, Jonathan.”

“Call me, Dr. Crane.”

“Very well. The ransom began as planned, initiated by the anonymous league as I told you, but something went wrong, there was a leak. We think it might have been Falcone’s men, dressed as policemen, who raided your asylum and caused the destruction.”

Jonathan was silent a moment, his face unreadable as they passed through the narrow hallways with no windows and door after locked door concealing secrets but revealing none.

“You seriously don’t expect me to believe that,” Jonathan said.

“I do, because it is the truth. Should I tell you lies to make you feel better,” Ducard asked.

“No, I do not wish that, but your explanation leaves much to be desired. I trust there is no money – none of the money you were so eager to promise me?”

“I fear you are correct in your assumption. The ransom fell through and with it the millions not only you anticipated but I and my colleagues so desperately had hoped for.”

“Of course,” Jonathan murmured almost to himself in disgust. “Then tell me, why need me now, Ducard? If indeed your plan is shattered and everything is ruin, why not leave before the police find you?”

“You think too small, which probably is why you still are in Gotham,” Ducard said. “No, all is not lost as I told you, but to salvage what is left, I need help and that includes your help, but I still am not assured of your cooperation. That is why I brought you here, so you can see what I am doing and what I will do.”

Jonathan suddenly stopped walking and Ducard, who was maintaining a swift, purposeful stride, his mind flooded with his future vision, at first nearly left Jonathan behind. Ducard turned, gazing at Jonathan who stared coldly at the older man.

“What is it? Something wrong,” Ducard asked. “Perhaps what I have told you hasn’t convinced you of yet or is there something you are in need of?”

“There are many things I am in need of, Ducard. Many things I have not been provided with from our first ‘deal’ to be convinced to enter into a new devil’s bargain. But answer me this – when you found me, I had with me a certain possession, which I did not find on me this morning.”

Ducard frowned, but a glimmer of curiosity or amusement dwelt within his eyes as he slowly approached Jonathan.

“What is it you are missing? Perhaps I may be of service if I know specifically what it is you have lost.”

Jonathan’s lips pursed and his eyes clouded with inner turmoil. If he told Ducard of the medication he was taking, he’d reveal to him his weakness, the schizophrenia and possibly Scarecrow, and this in turn might be used against him. But if he didn’t take his medication soon, Scarecrow was sure to emerge unbidden and beyond Jonathan’s control, and even worse, taking over his life and mind. It was a terrible choice one way or the other and already he could feel Scarecrow, like a growing cancer crowding out his healthy thoughts and pressing against his own identity.

“It’s of no matter – a trivial thing – it can easily be replaced when I return to Gotham to retrieve some of my work, which I’m sure can benefit you here,” said Jonathan. “I am no prisoner here, correct?”

“Of course not, you never were. Although there will be some precautions taken, you are quite valuable to us as you know. A few ninja will escort you.”

“No, just provide the transportation and I will go alone,” Jonathan said. “I am able to take care of myself.”

“Even against Batman?”

“The Bat-man … what do you know of him?”

“Only that he is a very dangerous adversary, one I would not want you to face alone,” Ducard said. “I realize that you are more than capable, but I have faced Batman before and almost did not escape with my life.”

“Was this the night of the ransom?”

Ducard slightly smiled.

“Oh, yes – yes it was.”


Batman loomed over him and Ducard realized the bitterness of defeat as he lay upon the dirty, shivering metal floor of the monorail train. He gazed at Batman and saw beyond the rippling cape and menacing black mask to see who was hidden beyond it, the young man he once rescued from the filthy damp Asian jail so long ago. He had hopes for Bruce then, a bright future in the League of Shadows. He had dreamed this night Bruce would be at his side, his right hand man as Gotham fell into ruin, not that they would be adversaries.

Yes, all Ducard had taught Bruce, about turning fear on one’s enemy, on stealth, speed, cunning and of course theatricality had been turned against him until now the student was ready to be deal his teacher the death stroke.

But I don’t fear death, Bruce. No, that is not what I fear. I am ready for death. I have been ready since my dear wife died and I am ready to join her.

Ducard gazed at the sharp weapon gripped in Batman’s hand, then into his former protégée’s eyes.

“Have you finally learned to do what is necessary,” Ducard asked.

“I won’t kill you,” Batman said with finality. “But I don’t have to save you.”

In the same awful second Ducard expected the merciful, killing blow, Batman hurled the weapon and he felt a burst of heat from the explosion and the shattering of glass as a whole wall of the train broke apart. Just as quickly, Batman opened his wings and was gone, swept up on a hot updraft of wind and Ducard suddenly was alone, alone with Death as the train hurtled out of control with seconds until it met its fiery doom.

For a fraction of a second Ducard closed his eyes, welcoming his fate, the image of his lovely wife flashing before him, but then his heart stopped and time froze. His hand reached toward his belt and the wind whistled shrill and harsh at his face. When he opened his gray eyes again they were steely with firm determination and unshakable will. Nothing would stop Henri Ducard, the powerful Ra’s al Ghul! Before him he saw the twisted rail reaching an abrupt and lethal end. Ducard, without thinking or feeling, ran to the train’s brink, where the wind was howling and Death waited before him with its black shrouded wings.

As his feet left the edge of the floor, he leapt powerfully into the air just seconds before the train plummeted to its fiery death. While the train bloomed below him like a lethal crimson fire flower, Ducard shot a metal grapple through window. For a few terrifying seconds the grapple did not grasp anything as he began to plummet as quickly downward toward the inferno that awaited him, but then the grapple held fast to the concrete at the window’s edge and he slammed hard and painfully into the brick as his boots scraped against the wall. He heard the fires burn and crackle hungrily below him as he climbed upon the wire, reaching at last the shattered window and the empty and darkened room inside – a place of refuge and safety.

Batman had left him for dead a second time, but Ra’s al Ghul, like the phoenix, had emerged alive from his own funeral pyre.


“I warn you Batman is more dangerous an adversary than you realize,” Ducard said to Jonathan. “It nearly cost me my life in my confrontation with him. It would be advisable you have the ninja to protect you.”

“You may have fought with the Bat-man, but I don’t want your ninja spying on me in Gotham,” Jonathan said emphatically.

Ducard gazed at Dr. Crane, whom he needed to enlist for his new plan. He turned to the younger man, the man with the cold blue eyes, strong will and enigmatic personality.

“It is for your own protection. They will keep their distance and you may carry on in your own affairs unhindered by them – agreed?”

Jonathan heavily sighed and pursed his lips.

“Very well, then.”

A ninja stealthily passed them through the narrow hall in his sleek black tunic and pants. Barely a whisper of sound or breath passed between them.

A man in black. He took her.

“Were they there – at Arkham that night,” Jonathan asked.

“Ninja? And why would they be? I told you Falcone’s men were there.”

“I just noticed the ninja was wearing black.”

“All ninja do, Jonathan. It helps conceal them, conceal their identity.”

Jonathan’s eyes turned to ice as he gazed at the retreating ninja, then at Ducard and it almost made Ducard fear Jonathan – almost.

“Come. This line of thought is clearly upsetting you,” Ducard said. “Let’s continue walking. We have far more pressing matters to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the burning question you must be wondering about – why exactly you are here. Well that will be answered soon enough.”

Ducard turned the corner and a pair of ninja guarded a set of doors. At their master’s presence, the ninja bowed their heads and stepped aside, allowing Ducard and Jonathan to enter the room. For all the secrecy, the guarded room seemed a huge disappointment in Jonathan’s eyes. The small room held little more than a few padded chairs and a large walnut table. From what Jonathan could see the file cabinets seemed empty and the great display case on the wall was quite bare. As far as Jonathan was concerned there seemed nothing to guard and nothing to hide within the confines of this room, but he also knew looks could be deceiving.

Ducard invited him to sit down and then made himself comfortable in a chair opposite him in almost a bizarre reenactment of their familiar ritual back at Arkham where their secret negotiations would take place.

“I know you have suffered much,” Ducard said. “And have lost much because of what has happened and I partly am to blame for this. I am not surprised you hate me, but I ask that you not let personal feelings and judgments influence what I am about to tell you … Jonathan, I know you love Gotham City, but I also know that much cruelty and injustice has been visited upon you.”

Jonathan suddenly froze to his chair while Ducard gazed at him in all seriousness. Although Jonathan revealed nothing in his eyes and face, suddenly terror struck within his heart. Just what did Ducard know about him?

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jonathan said flatly.

“Your mother, Mrs. Crane – what happened to her was the epitome of injustice, but sadly it is but one case in many in this city. It is rotting on the inside out, like a house infested by termites, and eventually it will crumble and fall from its own corruption.”

“Then what do you suggest? Overhaul the court system? Rehire a new police force? Run for politics? This is all very amusing, but quite pointless, Ducard. I fear this is all a waste of my time.”

“Again thinking on too small a scale and too mundane a solution. No, I ask you what must be done to a house so badly infested by termites it no longer is fit to live in?”

“It is condemned,” Jonathan said.

“Exactly, but what else happens to the condemned house?”

“The house, most likely, is destroyed.”

“So it is,” Ducard said.

Jonathan frowned as he watched Ducard leave his seat and move to the empty display case and unlock the plate of glass. Ducard popped out the back panel and retrieved a steel box, which he brought with him to the table.

“And I also ask you, who shall destroy the house, Jonathan? Who will protect the rest of humanity from such a treacherous place so they are not hurt when it finally collapses from its own decadence?”

Ducard withdrew a key and snapped open the box, then gazed at Jonathan with his steely gray eyes.

“Remember what I am about to show you and that you are not to repeat what I am to tell you.”

“If you think this is impressing me,” Jonathan said. “You are mistaken!”

“Ah, finally some fire in the ice. That can be more useful still.”

“Whatever games you are playing, Ducard –”

Jonathan felt his teeth grating and anger rising within him. In his mind he felt Scarecrow growing and pressing against the boundaries of his mind, scratching at his skull, longing to be free. Jonathan gazed down and saw his hand slightly shaking – early signs of withdrawal from his medication – and the effects would worsen and Scarecrow’s power would strengthen the longer he went without it.

Ducard withdrew a map and carefully unfolded it upon the table. For a moment Jonathan was disinterested in whatever Ducard wanted to show him, but as he turned his gaze to the map, he realized it was one of the oddest maps he had seen. There were no street names, no landmarks, no buildings, no parks and no lakes upon it, just a complex network of pipe work that seemed like a labyrinth. Ducard pressed his finger upon the fine paper of the expansive and detailed map that seemed like some plumber’s guide to the largest water complex in history.

“This you should be familiar with, although you dealt with it indirectly,” Ducard said. “It is the Gotham City sewer system – the water main where your toxin ran. Now it is the location of something more specific and more deadly.”

Jonathan gazed at Ducard as though he surely was ready to be admitted to Arkham.

“The time for subtlety is over. You must understand this,” said Ducard. “The ransom has failed. The corrupt and evil men of society have refused this. Now we must take further action – action that will destroy this seat of corruption!”

Ducard pressed his finger to the map and pointed at a small red circle at one point of the pipeline’s junctures.

“Do you see that, Jonathan?”

“Yes.”

“That is an explosive.”

Jonathan’s blood suddenly froze and he felt as if suddenly he breathed his own Fear Toxin.

Oh no, please God no.

“As you see, Jonathan, the ransom is over. The toxin proved a poor measure of persuasion, so we must eliminate them – all of them. We must destroy Gotham City.”

Jonathan frantically was gazing at the map, at every red circle littered in the pipe lines and there were many, more than he realized now. How could he have been so blind to them before? And there was a huge red circle with a marking like an “S” at the center of the labyrinthine pipe network. Jonathan swallowed hard, trying to ease his breathing, but his heart was pounding and he could feel his hand trembling again. Scarecrow screamed in rage within his skull.

With great effort, Jonathan steadied his hand and pointed to the large circle.

“And that certainly is no ordinary explosive,” Jonathan said.

“No, it isn’t,” Ducard said. “That one is the master explosive, so powerful it will trigger all the others. The very foundation of Gotham City will collapse and burn beneath their very feet. Even Batman will be unable to stop it or prevent me in this.”

Jonathan gazed upon the map in shock and sorrow, looking at the Map of Death laid out before him, feeling powerless and hopeless.

“Why are you doing this, Ducard? Gotham City is corrupt, yes, but so many innocent people will die.”

“Innocent? Who is innocent, Jonathan? Women, children, your dear mother who has been languishing at your asylum for how many years? No, no one is innocent. There are only those who fight for what is just – and those who stand in the way. Are you with me or against me?”

“No! I can’t – I can’t –”

“Then your choice is indeed simple,” Ducard said. “I one time made a mistake with a student of mine. I gave him my trust – and yes my love – and he turned against me when I least expected it. But I will not make that mistake again.”

Ducard reached into the opened steel box and withdrew from it an 8mm pistol. Its harsh, cold steel gleamed in the sickly room light. Jonathan’s heart seemed to stop as he stared point blank down the muzzle while Ducard casually pointed the weapon at him.

“I said you have a choice and the choice is quite simple,” Ducard said. “It is this: Either choose your death – or the death of Gotham City.”

[fosforito]

Hey girl!

Well, we already have chatted about your chapter but though, I want to give you a comment here on the board.

I like this chapter very much

First, how you discribed the environement and also the ninja - somehoe I got reminded of my time when I was still doing matrial arts, dunno why LOL.

Ducard is again playng his own game with Jon and it´s still very difficult to say, if Ducard is telling Jon the truth or if he is lying to him.

The sentance: “You think too small, which probably is why you still are in Gotham,”
got stuck in my head somehow.

I think, Jon must have been kinda hurt somehow when Ducard told him that as he was thinking of doing sth good, sth. noble, sth great and now he had to realize that everything he wanted to do completely failed. This sentance is kinda humilating for Jon I might assume.
It´s like Ducard is saying to him: "Jonathan, you´re a loser. You´re not able to do sth alone".

And maybe the same thing with mentioning his mom - like even Jon is not capable to protect his mom: (

Damn, Ducard is very manipulative, I have to say...

I also liked this kinda flashback Ducard had on his last encounter with Batman in the monorail.

Also very interesting how did you ended that scene.

I´m wondering if Ducard already knows what is going on with Jon, if he knows about the medication...hmmmm *scratches head*

When you wrote about Ducard´s next plan the bombs everywhere I was somehow expecting sth else - not nuking the city but maybe using biological or chemical weapons (I somehow can´t imagine Ducard using simple TNT, you know what I mean?).

But on the other hand, the fear toxin was kinda chemical weapon, so maybe I just thinking too complicated..

..oh no, and now Jonathan is facing into the barrel of a gun again

I´m curious how will the story go on..


and

SILENT REEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADERRRRRRRRRRRSS!!!

Wake up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[azina]

Ducard is again playng his own game with Jon and it´s still very difficult to say, if Ducard is telling Jon the truth or if he is lying to him.

I thought this was such a good point I thought I would bring this up again in the next chapter. The problem with liars is you never know when they're lying.

I think, Jon must have been kinda hurt somehow when Ducard told him that as he was thinking of doing sth good, sth. noble, sth great and now he had to realize that everything he wanted to do completely failed. This sentance is kinda humilating for Jon I might assume.
It´s like Ducard is saying to him: "Jonathan, you´re a loser. You´re not able to do sth alone

You're right, somehow the way he turns the tables really is cruel for Jonathan. Ducard goes from flattering Jonathan, telling him how wonderful and important he and his work is to how small he really is. I imagine this must be the worst, belittling insult he must get, even worse than any petty, stupid thing he must have heard from Rachel Dawes.

And maybe the same thing with mentioning his mom - like even Jon is not capable to protect his mom: (

Yeah, talk about taking the knife and twisting it into poor Jonathan's heart.

I´m wondering if Ducard already knows what is going on with Jon, if he knows about the medication...hmmmm *scratches head*

I really love ambiguity and leaving questions in the readers' minds. Does he know? Does he not know? This is what makes it interesting in a way.

When you wrote about Ducard´s next plan the bombs everywhere I was somehow expecting sth else - not nuking the city but maybe using biological or chemical weapons (I somehow can´t imagine Ducard using simple TNT, you know what I mean?).

But on the other hand, the fear toxin was kinda chemical weapon, so maybe I just thinking too complicated..

to quote the great Bruce Wayne, "Sorry to disappoint."