Fear Itself (Part 11)
Ledger!joker x reader/mc, original storyline and characters, strong female protagonist <3
Part 11 -
"Who is responsible for the gas attacks?" I asked, driving straight to the point.
"You know, I saw Alexe Ibanescu here four months ago. They were transferring me temporarily so that they could reinforce the security measures in my cell - I bit one of the orderlies, you see," he paused and frowned, as if wondering whether to continue down that particular avenue, before shaking it off, "-anyhow, he was shaking and screaming, in the grips of terror. The staff say that's all he ever does now. Screams until his voice gives out." a look of perverse enjoyment lit up his face as he watched for my reaction.
I didn't know exactly how much the GCPD knew, or at least suspected, about my involvement in that particular crime. But I had to hope it wouldn't come back to bite me.
"Fascinating," I said, sarcastically, "now let's get back to the point of my question."
He smiled, ignoring my request.
"They have to keep him sedated and strapped up in a straight jacket or he'll claw his own face until it bleeds..."
I paused for a moment, almost feeling sorry for anyone in that state of mind. Then I remembered prescisely why I had condemned him to that fate and wished I could have seen his suffering in person.
A knowing look came across the face of the man opposite me. A kind of recognition of my innermost thoughts. He knew what I was thinking and it disturbed me.
"They say someone deliberately gave him enough fear toxin to permanently fry his brain, and that's why he's stuck in a living nightmare..." he added, slyly.
Unwanted memories of my own brush with the drug's same effects forced their way into my mind. The horrible visions and hours writhing in pain, cold with sweat, teeth clamping together so hard I thought they would break...
He was getting to me and he knew it. It felt harder to breathe. I stood up and turned to leave. Desperate to get some air. Cursing my loss of control. I tried to feign calmness, but he knew. He knew he'd hit a weak point. As I reached for the door, he called after me.
"Jonathan Crane was fascinated by what happened to him... before he escaped."
I froze in place, cogs whirrring away in my frightened brain.
"Dr Crane saw that?"
"Former doctor. Oh yes, and he was not happy," J said with a dramatic sigh and a shrug.
I turned to face him.
"Why?"
"That's definitely more than one question, doll."
"Well, what did he say specifcally J. I need you to -"
I was so rattled i'd even referred to him by the familiar name i'd sworn not to use again.
"You need me?" He cut in with a sly smile.
"I need you to tell me what he said!" I urged
"You know, not long after he escaped the head nurse here took her own life. There's whisperings of some kind of scanadlous affair, murmurings that she was the reason he successfully escaped..."
I watched his movements as he spoke, seemingly excited by the melodrama.
"Tell me what he said," I urged.
"I am," he said coldly.
What did he mean?
My head was spinning.
So, Crane was responsible for the gas attacks, that wasn't surprising news. Though no one had proof, it was the widely accepted theory that the so-called Scarecrow was the cause - But the fact he knew what I had done to Alexe, and it angered him, certainly was news worthy of note. I was trapped, standing on thin ice, hearing audible cracks. I could barely even discuss it without admitting I was responsible for the attack on the Ibanescu crime family. There were half a dozen top GCPD officers listening to my every word, recording it.
"So he was angry, that the vigilante used his toxin?"
"Oh yes, he wouldn't shut up about it, see, after I bit that orderly, I had the cell next to his for a time. He was furious! And fascinated. He wanted to know why. You know how these quacks are, even the former ones," he rolled his eyes.
"Quacks? As in doctors?" I asked, not following his rambling train of thought.
"You know, you're really not following the rules..." he tutted.
I said nothing. Irritatingly, he wasn't wrong.
"I'll cut you some slack, for now. Yes, quacks as in doctors."
Thinking it was better to shut up and listen for a while I said nothing, only nodded in acknowledgement. He seemed pleased with this development.
"They just won't let it go. The questions never stop..."
He looked around us and leaned forwards for a moment.
"They ask and they don't listen. Once they are driving at you, trying to 'work' on you, they just won't stop."
"And Crane was one of them... before he ended up here," I muttered, finally starting to appreciate the point being made as the joker was getting more and more worked up.
"Always with the questions...
Why did you do that?
And how does that make you feel?
Why did you kill those people?
Are there voices telling you to do it?
Do you see demons?
And how does that make you feel?
Do you like pain?
Do you feel sad?
Did your mommy and daddy treat you well?
And how does that make you feel?
Have you always felt that way?
Did your schoolteacher molest you?
What makes you crack?
Why do you see the world that way?
And how does that make you feel?
What's your real name?"
He slammed a hand down against the metal table with a loud bang, making me jump as he erupted into waves of laughter.
I watched frozen in place still. There was something thrilling about it, the air felt charged with a kind of dangerous static electricity.
Finally he snapped his head back up to look at me.
"They won't let it go, ever" he reiterated, boring holes into me once again, that low serious tone back so suddenly.
Before I could respond, the door behind me flew open and Gordon pulled me out. I felt like I was drowning and he'd just dragged me up to the surface for air.
I watched silently as the guards re-entered the room and closed the door. I leaned against the wall, feeling the rough bricks against my sweaty palms. He'd quickly ushered me into a stairwell away from the rest of his cops.
"Are you alright?"
I nodded, trying to bring myself back to my body faster.
"I can handle it... he's just so intense. I guess being locked up here certainly didn't do anything to improve his mind... I think anyone staying here would go crazy, if they weren't already when they came in," I shook my head.
The comissioner smiled wryly.
"It certainly doesn't help that the Arkham board seem to keep cutting back spending and turning a record profit."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, the latest owner doesn't want anything to do with the facility, but that means that the board seem to have free rein to do whatever they want... including not paying for the upkeep of the hospital.
"...and if they'd done that maybe Crane wouldn't have managed to escape?"
"Exactly," he nodded, "listen, you should get some rest. The clown will keep until morning and I doubt we'll get anything more out of him tonight," he sighed, patting my shoulder.
I wanted so badly to trust him, but he was the head of a corrupt police force. I wondered how he'd risen to the top, what dark deals he'd had to make to get there. And reminded myself not to get overly familiar.
"No," I said finally, "I can handle it. Let me go back in. We have to get to the bottom of this."
"But he's talking nonesense..."
I shook my head slowly, piecing it together.
"No, he's being sly. But there was something in there. If it is Crane, how did he escape? The head nurse? Did that get looked into further?"
"The cops on that assignment said they'd found her in her bathtub not long after. It makes sense that she would have motive to take her own life after he escaped with her help and left her to face the repercusssions..."
"No more career, and probably criminal charges..." I muttered, thinking, "and I assume the coroner's report matched up?"
"Consistent with suicide, yes."
"Right, certainly convenient for Crane. She can't spill any of his secrets now she's dead..." I muttered.
"Very," he seconded.
"He was talking about the Ibanescu crime boss, and the attacks on them. Alexe is an inmate here now, or what's left of him anyhow... Crane was furious at someone using his toxin for a high profile crime like that. He was happy enough to sell it in the Narrows while he was out, but while he was locked up in here he felt someone was stealing his thunder..."
"Yes. What was it they called her? The Queen of Spades?" I mused, trying my best to believe my own lie that I knew nothing about her.
He nodded slowly.
"If only we could track her down, maybe she'd be able to shed some light on the situation..." he said, and I couldn't tell from his pointed look whether he could see through my bullshit or if I was in the clear.
"Maybe, but if you focus on what you do have... there's more he knows. I'm so sure of it. Let me back in. I want to dig into it."
He relented and walked me back to the door to the interview room.
I straightened up and smoothed my clothes, not wanting to appear shaken up on my return, despite my exit confirming it.
I reclaimed my seat in silence, holding the bemused gaze of the man opposite me.
"You came back," he smirked.
"So that was what? Two questions?" I said, ignoring his comment.
He frowned.
"I would've saidyou owe far more than that, but i'm in a charitable mood. You look like you could use a little helping hand."
"Two then. So go ahead, ask away," I said impatiently.
He was silent for a moment, watching me before he spoke in a considered way.
"Where did you go?"
"A tiny rural town - Well, that's where I settled. At first I just went wherever I could get to on the tiny bit of money I had."
"Yes but where?"
"Out in the middle of nowhere, that was the point. The great plains. I never saw so much sky, not here."
He snorted a little.
"Not downtown, at least. Out on the bay maybe... No, Gotham's an island, sure, but it may as well be an open air prison. A closed system... it's own little anomaly."
"Well there we don't disagree," I muttered.
He caught my gaze again and held it for a while.
I decided to try a less direct attempt to obtain the information I needed with my next question.
"When was the last time you saw the sky? I can't imagine you get yard time..."
He chewed his lip for a moment, thinking.
"Hm, not since I was carried in here. Not since we parted ways. Early morning sky, grey clouds. Then nothing but the ceiling," he said, indifferently, turning the spotlight back to me.
"My turn. How did that happen?" He said, gesturing to my bandaged wrist.
I coughed, uncomfortable at the emotional sting of recalling it.
"I don't want to talk about that."
"And that's why I asked. You agreed to the rules..." he said with a 'tsk tsk' of condescention.
I ground my teeth for a moment considering how to answer.
"Someone killed my cat. I turned him down and I guess he didn't like that. I was going to go and... confront... him, but my friends stopped me. I wasn't thinking straight," I admitted.
He began to laugh.
I felt anger rising in my chest watching him.
"What's funny about that?" I snapped, unable to keep it in.
His laughter faded and he looked back at me for a moment.
"I wouldn't have stopped you," was all the answer he gave.
It left me consfused, did he find it funny that someone had killed my cat? That I was devastated by that? Or simply that my friends had stopped me getting revenge? I couldn't tell...
I moved to ask something else but he cut me off -
"That was your question, doll. It's my turn now."
I wanted to protest but knew that he was technically right so I let it slide.
"How'd you get the money to live out your little, uh, house on the Prarie fantasy?"
I frowned.
"I'm a waitress in a diner now. I emptied my bank account when I left Gotham. I didn't have much but it was enough for a month or two. Worked odd jobs and made it out to a little town where someone was willing to give me a long term job and someone else was willing to let me pay cheap rent... if that satisfies your question."
He grinned.
"You have a little twang in your accent now. Trying to assimilate with the natives... and a waitress? In a diner? Hardly paradise..."
"It was good enough for me. Far better than where I came from, better than a moldy apartment in a miserable city. No rats in the hall, no landlord trying to solicit me for sex to pay my rent... no crazies taking me hostage" I contested, fed up of his condescending tone.
"But a guy will still kill your cat when you refuse to go on a date with him," he said plainly.
He'd rendered me speechless now.
My death glare was so hot with contempt it could have raized the Asylum to the ground.
"Don't bite, I'm just making an observation," he protested.
"I think that's enough for today," I said coldly.
"Come on now, don't be like that, dollface. We were just getting somewhere..."
I said nothing, sizing him up and moving as though I was going to leave.
"Don't you want to ask me more about what Dr Crane is up to out there?"
I slowly sank back into my seat. I guess I did have to hear him out now.
"Fine... that was a question, by the way."
He realised his mistake, and grinned.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint!"
"What's Crane's plan for the city?"
"Hm... you know, some of the inmates and even some of the staff say that Arkham's haunted..."
"Wh-" I stopped myself posing a question and thought more carefully about my wording, "I don't see how that has any bearing on the current situation..."
"Aren't you even a tiny bit curious? I really thought you would be, given how you acted over at Parkview..."
I sighed. I could tell he was pushing me towards asking further questions.
"You didn't answer that one yet," I protested, but gestured with my hands as if to say, 'continue'.
"Well, they say they see the figure of a man covered in blood, wandering the halls."
"Hardly surprising that some of the inmates see things..." I muttered.
"No, no - this is different. Like I said, the staff have seen him too."
I rolled my eyes.
"Anyone stuck in here, staff or patient is bound to catch something out of the corner of their eye. The building gives me the creeps but I don't think it's because of something supernatural."
"Hm," he shrugged.
I knew he didn't believe in it either. So why was he insistent on bringing it up?
"You've still not an answered my question..."
"Oh, his plan for the city is to send people crazy, crazy with fear."
"No. We know that what I meant is -"
"The past can really come back to haunt us (y/n), do you regret killing those two men?" He interrupted too eager to get to his own question.
My throat closed up in panic. I knew it would have come up sooner or later, but it still caught me off-guard. The fact that the cops were listening, recording probably, stopped me in my tracks. I was desperately trying to work out how to answer without it coming back to bite me.
"Well, that's not entirely true, is it?" I countered.
"No?" He asked, bemused.
"You put me in a fight for my life. That's what led to it. That's what led to me stabbing you..."
He laughed.
"That's very funny. That's not how I remember it at all... I remember you stabbing them to death and then, after I turned that girl loose and agreed not to kill you, you gave me a judas kiss and stabbed me."
I thought about the little kid on the hospital gurney and pushed aside the riot of emotions threatening to throw me off course. There was no way of skirting around it. I would just have to hope that the GCPD decided not to come after me. What choice did I have left now?
"I killed them because they were going to kill her and me too. You're right"
He sat back and gestured as if to say 'well, there you go.'
I wasn't done though...
"But you set that whole thing up. You turned her loose, sure, but I wasn't free to go. I tricked you and took my chance while I had it. I had to get away. From you..."
"Answer the question," He pressed coldly.
"Yes. Yes it haunts me. I have nightmares about it. About the blood... sometimes I wake up and scrub my hands raw."
"Like Lady Macbeth," he mused.
I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.
"You know, you really shouldn't feel bad. If i'd asked them to, they would have killed you without giving it a second thought. To them it's just business. These, uh, these mob men, they don't care. They just follow orders... sure, maybe some of them feel bad in the beginning, but it gets easier each time. They all just blame the guy at the top."
He turned then, looking around the room and shifting his attention away from me.
"Just like you, comissioner. Whatever happens to this city, if your boys in blue can't save it, they'll blame you. Anything bad they do, comes back to you."
He began to laugh again, rocking back and forth in his seat.
I thought about what he'd said. Part of the danger he posed was that, however twisted his methods, no matter how extreme his worldview, at least some of it did make sense...
"Once it's all over and the dust has settled, they'll toss you aside. Heroes are needed during a war, but they have no purpose during peacetime. You'll see..."
His gaze snapped back to me.
"They need you right now, but when they don't..."
I paid him no mind, growing increasingly tired of his meandering approach to giving up information.
"Where is Jonathan Crane?"
"Now that, I don't know. Though he spoke a lot about tunnels, if that helps..."
"That doesn't narrow it down much in this city."
He shrugged.
"If you wait long enough, I'm sure he'll come to you..."
"Very funny, but we need to stop him before he sends half the city into a state of psychosis, not after."
Before either of us could say anything further, the door opened with a loud clang and James Gordon approached me.
"That's enough for today. We have some leads to chase up now."
"You're welcome commissioner!" The joker replied in a false sweet tone.
Gordon ignored him, instead wordlessly gesturing for the guards to take him back to his cell.
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