Young Writers Society

(Note: Yes, I did steal from myself. Someone told me that my character reminded them of a Batman character named Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. Scarecrow. They requested I make a spin-off of my own novel and Straw Bullets was created.)

“Hell is empty and all the Devils are here.”

-William Shakespeare

A map skittered on the ground, one foot, then two, before the wind caught it and carried it up into the air. The paper it was printed on was in a sorry state. It was tattered and torn, battered like the city it depicted – like the man it was intercepted by. Jonathan Crane was running once again. If it wasn’t from the cops, it was from Batman. If it wasn’t from Batman it was from the horrors trapped in his mind. If Jonathan Crane wasn’t running, he was screaming. He wasn’t always heard, but in this city called Gotham, you could scream into a megaphone in the middle of a movie theater and no one would do anything except tell you to shut up.

The wind kicked up, pushing harder against the sodden piece of papert. It whistled and roared, tearing through the thin material of the man’s Arkham Asylum uniform. Finally it wrenched the map away and forced it along.

If fate were kind that would have been the last obstacle hindering his escape. As it was, fate was not kind. A fact that became overly obvious when his next turn caused him to stumble and indirectly tackle a young man to the saturated ground.

Twin groans of pain fell from the lips of both men as they lay on the pavement, slightly dazed from their collision. Jonathan wished he could stay in his position, but both the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the looming threat of being captured forced him to his feet. To his surprise, the other man had already managed to get back up and had extended his hand to him. Crane took it to steady himself and began to mumble an apology when the other man’s eyes fell on his Asylum jumpsuit.

Confusion played over the young man’s face as if he was trying to place the name of the Asylum and then his eyes snapped to Jonathan’s face. Crap.

“Jonathan Crane,” the brown haired man began, his face not betraying even a trace of fear as it clicked in his mind who the escapee was.

Crane turned, preparing to take off again when his name was repeated. This time, however, a frightening growl replaced the soft, surprised voice of the stranger. Double crap. Before the doctor could even begin to take off, he found himself being shoved against the wall of the nearest building with his arms pinned painfully behind his back.

The next minute or so was one of the more confusing times of Jonathan’s twenty-nine years of life. One second he was pinned to the wall by Batman, one of the only things that could cause him any amount of fear, the next Batman had released him and the man he had run into was holding his wallet out towards the Bat’s face. What could the kid possibly be thinking? A wallet wasn’t going to – oh.

Jonathan saw the flash of what looked like FBI credentials as Batman withdrew and nodded in acknowledgement of the new information. He lingered to see the younger man put Jonathan, who was to surprised to react, into handcuffs and then disappeared with the sound of a grappling gun pulling him up through the empty space of the alley next to them.

“Dr. Crane, you are being placed under arrest for evading imprisonment. You will be returned to Arkham Asylum to carry out the remainder of your sentence.” Surprisingly strong arms guided the man to a black SUV parked outside of the nearest shop, a coffee shop, where he was then directed into the back seat and secured into place. How the Hell had that happened?

How had he gone from outrunning Batman to being handcuffed in the back of an FBI issue vehicle? Ignoring the obvious answer that he had been apprehended by the Bat and then taken into custody by some kid, that worked for the FBI, he began trying to figure out a way to get out of his current predicament.

“Dr. Crane, would you mind if I asked you a few questions?” The agent looked up and met his gaze in the rearview mirror as the SUV slowed to a stop at a red light, and for once the gaze that fell upon Jonathan Crane wasn’t filled with contempt, only curiosity.

Against his better judgment Crane nodded and twisted his hands behind his back, trying to pull his hands out of the cuffs that hung slightly to large on his wrists. He was slightly interested in what the person in front of him had to say, but he was much more interested in escaping. He kept his eyes trained on the man in the front seat, lurching back slightly as they started moving a little to quickly. He raised a brow ever so slightly as the agent mumbled under his breath, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

“Sorry, I’m not the best at driving in crowded cities, or at all really.” Light brown eyes, almost the color of caramel, glanced up at him in the rearview mirror briefly before flickering back to the road.

“Obviously,” Crane spat out, annoyance winning out over curiosity. Of all the ways there were to die or be injured, being in a car accident because of an incompetent FBI agent’s driving skills wasn’t on the list of the most appealing. The agent seemed to want to curl into himself at the harshness of Crane’s words, but refrained as it would only lead to more driving mishaps.

After collecting himself the agent cleared his throat and addressed Jonathan once more, “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, by the way, SSA Dr. Spencer Reid.” As if he could feel Jonathan’s look of disbelief he flexed his fingers nervously and glanced up at the rearview mirror again. “No, I’m not lying. That really is my title, I work for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I have a few questions for you.”

Reid hit the brakes a little to hard as a taxi cut out in front of them, mumbling under his breath and forcing himself to focus on the road. He regained his composer licked his lips thoughtfully. Jonathan only just managed to avoid rolling his eyes at the younger doctor, even he could drive more safely than this and he didn’t even own a car.

“How did you create your fear toxin?” Reid questioned curiously. Crane may have tried to poison the inhabitants of the Narrows of Gotham, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an incredible accomplishment or any less fascinating.

To say that the question took Jonathan off guard would be an understatement. In the months since Batman had first apprehended him and he had been thrown into Arkham to rot, he had been asked hundreds of questions. In all of those endless hours of interrogation and therapy sessions no one had ever asked about how he had done it though, no one had been interested in the development of such a powerful substance. No, the only things that people cared about were finding out if there was more toxin, why he had done it, or was he satisfied now that he’d become a victim of his own weapon – the only victim who hadn’t been given the antidote.

“It took years,” he said softly. “I started working on it when I was still in college. Not to mention the cost was hardly covered by the salary of a College professor. It was better when I was fired from that job… Shoot a gun as an example one time,” here he trailed off, lost in the memory of the looks of pure terror on the faces of his students when he had shot the gun to prove a statement about fear. “I wasn’t able to truly begin developing the toxin to its full potential until I became the administrator of Arkham Asylum. I finally had the money to pay for the various components that made up the toxin compound. There was a list of willing test subjects and an even longer list of unwilling ones.

“They trusted me, I made them trust me enough to have them allow me test the toxin on them. Some trusted me so much that they even allowed a second testing even after they’d suffered through the first test.” By this point a smile that was like that of a child seeing heaps of presents under a Christmas tree had spread over Crane’s face and he had forgotten about pulling his slender hands through the handcuffs. A shudder went down Reid’s spine as he saw that look.

“You were, no, you are a fairly successful psychiatrist aren’t you Dr. Crane? To be able to manipulate someone’s thoughts like that… it takes an extreme amount of skill. I would love to see how you could perform on the opposite side of the interrogation. I bet you could be one of the best interrogators in all of Gotham if you wa-.” Seeing the death glare that he was receiving from the other man, Reid shut his mouth almost instantly. “Sorry, I just meant that your accomplishments, even the toxin, have all been highly impressive.”

Reid turned off of the bridge that lead to the narrows and onto a mostly empty road that lead to the center of the island and Arkham Asylum. He fell silent as he drove, hoping he hadn’t insulted Crane when he had gone off on an impressed rant.

“Dr. Reid,” Crane began to cover up the sound of the handcuffs as he began working his hand through the gap, forcing his face to remain passive as the skin tore slightly. “I can’t help but notice that you seem reluctant to return me to Arkham. Would you perhaps like to take a detour and chat for a while? I am more than certain you could contain me easily enough. I’m not to, uh, strong, after all.” His hand finally pulled free of the cuff, the skin tearing enough to begin dripping blood.

Reid chewed his lip thoughtfully, it was true, and he did want to talk with the other doctor. The man was a genius and his fear toxin was nothing short of incredible, but he couldn’t give into his own wishes. The man belonged in Arkham and he couldn’t let his own desires stand in the way of the law.

He opened his mouth to decline Crane’s offer, only to be interrupted by the back door flying open. Why the hell hadn’t he locked the doors? Moments later Crane smirked and gave a short wave and leaped from the car and onto the dirt stretch that ran along side the road.

Panic rose in Reid’s chest as he slammed on the breaks, thank God that there was no one behind him, and turned to see where the man had landed. His light brown eyes opened in shock as he saw the escapee already back on his feet, running down the steep rock incline that bordered the stretch of road.