So. After almost three months, an update!
I actually had this done a few days ago. Hooray for laziness?
That, and Microsoft Word takes literally fifteen minutes to load on this computer...Again, a few concerns at the end.
~~~
Angie braced herself once more. But he never came over to her. She dared to open one eye, and when he did not move, she dared herself to open the other. Jonathan casually loosened his grip on her hair, twirling the syringe in the other hand. He was leaning with his waist against the table, his legs stretched out to accommodate due to his height.
“...Why?”
Her voice croaked as she spoke.
“To make a point.”
Jonathan set the syringe down.
“I could send you into the clutches of fear
right now, Angela,” he said, “but I have a much better idea.”
Jonathan pushed away from the table, then left to leave the barn. Angie watched him, waited a few minutes. Where was he going? And how soon would he be back?
When a few moments passed, she tried again to loosen the ropes, moved her hands to feel where he had knotted the ends together. It was up near her shoulders, and she could barely touch the ends. Angie grabbed one end, tried to tug it down. Her fingers barely grazed the knot. If she had something she could jam into it, then maybe...
The syringe was in the table beside her. She might be able to get it with her teeth, but she decided against it. For one, she did not want the syringe's contents anywhere in or on her body. For another, how would she get it to her hands, even if she managed to safely get it? Still, she leaned towards the table. Maybe she could knock it to the floor...
If she had not just seen Jonathan set it aside with hardly a glance at its position, she could almost swear he put it
just out of reach simply to torment her.
New plan, then.
Maybe there was something in her jacket pocket. Angie checked to make sure the coast was still clear. Where was he? It didn't matter. This might be her only chance.
She grabbed the bottom of her jacket, pulling the soft fabric in her hands as the pocket came closer. She held the pocket with one hand, had to do some clever adjusting to search it with the other. Fortune favored her as she found a mechanical pencil. She had broken it two days ago, had meant to throw it away, and forgotten about it. Perhaps after this, she would never clean out her pockets.
Angie perked up again, listening for Jonathan's return. She had no idea what he was up to, what he could be getting...what he could be planning. And he could be back at any second now.
She let go of her jacket, allowing it to fall back into place. She clutched the pencil, tried to move her hands to grab the loose end of the knot again. The handcuffs gave her a little bit of room to move, and she poked at the knot with the pencil until she found a place she could wedge it. After a few tries, her heart sank when she realized the knot was too tight to try to push the pencil into without breaking it further.
Angie looked over her shoulder, trying to better her chances at finding a looser section of the knot. If she could just find a place, loosen it a little...
“I was unaware that you were a fan of MacGuyver.”
Angie gasped, jolting to face him, her trembling hands dropping the mechanical pencil. She had not seen or heard him come back. She looked over at him, trying not to tremble anymore than she was already, but her body refused to obey as more shudders made their way down her spine. Jonathan approached her, noting the pencil on the floor. He shook his head.
“Perhaps a paper clip would have worked better.”
It was hard to tell if he was making a joke or being sarcastic. Jonathan came over to her, slipping behind her. Angie froze, but in another moment, she realized that he was untying her. He was close enough that she caught the faint scents of straw and chemical residue from his costume.
“Y-you're letting me go?”
Her voice felt small and weak. It was too good to be true; he
had to be up to something.
“For the time being.”
The ropes loosened, and she felt his hands brush against hers as he unlocked the cuffs. Angie rubbed her wrists once she was free, but stayed in her seat. Her arms and shoulders ached from straining against her bonds, and she moved them a little to get a bit of blood circulating.
“...Why?” she asked.
“You'll understand.”
Jonathan urged her up. Angie stayed in her seat another moment as she waited for the jellylike feeling in her legs to go away, but another prod, and she warily got to her feet.
“Come, little sister.”
She took a step toward him, another, then stopped. She felt her stomach turn, and her legs were shaking so badly that she almost fell back into the chair.
“...Jonathan?”
He seemed a little irritated, though she couldn't tell if it was by her using his actual name, or because she was holding them both up.
“What is it?”
She was hesitant to ask, but the feeling refused to go away.
“...Where's your bathroom?”
He gave a small sigh and motioned to a door that was almost hidden by one of the large stacks of hay. Not wanting to make him wait too long, Angie muttered a thanks and a hasty promise to be quick, then ran inside.
She shut the door, her whole body shaking now. She fumbled with the lock, taking three tries to get it closed. Once she was certain she had her privacy, she took a step back, her hands grasping the sink. Angie used it to gain her balance, tried to wait out the shaky feeling in her legs. She took a deep breath, let herself cry, doing her best to keep as quiet as she could.
The bathroom was small---the sink, toilet, and shower were pretty much crammed together, with the absolute minimum amount of room needed to maneuver. Like the rest of his hideout, it was immaculate, and whether he intended it or not, she couldn't help but feel even a little claustrophobic being in locked alone here.
Her stomach still felt strange. He was letting her live, maybe letting her go. It brought her no comfort.
Why?
Why was he doing this? What game was he playing?
Angie forced herself to collect her thoughts. He became interested in her when she mentioned they were related. That had to be it---something to do with their family. And until she figured out what, she would just have to play along.
Her legs had steadied enough to push away from the sink. It did not take much longer to finish her business, and as she washed her hands, Angie let the water run just little longer to give herself more time to think. She took a deep breath, gathered a little water to wipe her face with. This was the safest she had felt since the wild car ride, locked away from Jonathan. But she could not afford to stay here much longer. He was waiting.
She shut off the tap, dried her hands and face, took one more breath before she opened the door. Angie still felt a little sick, but she had a feeling that it would not go away until all of this was over.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I always wash twice.”
In the time she regained composure, he had located the mask and hat and put them back on. He ignored her, simply pushed her forward. Angie didn't say anything, just let him lead her back to the car.
“Get in.”
Angie dared herself to look at him.
“Wh-what are you going to do?”
She coughed a bit as the words came out.
“I am taking you back. Now get in.”
Angie obeyed, slid into the passenger seat. He was going to let her go? She hardly had that thought when Jonathan joined her. Two seatbelt clicks, the turn of a key, the low hum of the engine. She spotted her purse on the floor where she had left it. So far as she could tell, it had been left untouched, but Jonathan had been gone a while...
She moved to grab her purse.
Jonathan smacked her hand. She gave a small squeak of surprise and pulled her hand back.
“Not yet, Angela.”
So he
had done something with it. Angie looked over at him as he backed the Cadillac out of the barn and back onto the old dirt road.
“Why are you letting me go?” she asked.
“Partially for my own amusement,” he answered, picking up a bit of speed. Dirt kicked up in small clouds as they started their trip. “But mostly because you have been misinformed.”
“Misinformed?”
He ignored her for the moment, concentrating on getting away from the dead cornfields on either side, and back to the main road.
“Mother has been far from honest with you, Angela. And I know well enough that you doubt my claims.”
There was a long silence as the car left the cornfields and got back onto the main road. An hour or two passed. Angie looked out the window, watching the plains on either side, her spirits lifting only a little as the buildings gradually appeared. They were leaving the outskirts, heading into main Gotham. It did not take nearly as long as it did before---then again, Jonathan was not trying to shake police cruisers this time.
In the silence, Angie had plenty of time to think, try to guess his plan.
“You want me to ask her?” she said, finally.
Jonathan ignored her for a moment.
“Yes.”
“About Gerald?”
“And about her motives for the both of us.”
“How do you know she'll---”
“Tell you the truth?” he interrupted. “She will.”
Something about the way he said it made her uneasy. He hadn't known about her or Karen's residence in Gotham until tonight. But he had tracked their mother down before. Did he only need her name? Angie shuddered thinking about it.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not register when the car stopped.
“We're here.”
Angie was startled out of her thoughts. She glanced over at him, then out of the windshield.
They were near the newsstand, some ways away from the bank, but parked in the shadows of an alley. She could easily get home from here. Angie moved to open her door, only to remember the inside handle was missing. She turned to look back at Jonathan.
“A few rules first, sister dear.”
That unsettling feeling in her stomach came back. She
knew there was a catch!
“The first rule: you do not speak of what occurred tonight. Not to the police, not to the Batman, not to your little friends, not even to Mother.”
“But how can I explain---”
“Find a way. The second rule: you have until the end of the week to ask Mother. And you
will ask, Angela. I'll know if you haven't.”
Angie glanced at her purse again, and again remembered when he had gone. Did he bug something in it? Her phone, perhaps? Did he have the
time to do that? It was possible that the time she spent trying to escape felt shorter than it really was.
“These are the only two rules of the game. Follow them, and there won't be any
unfortunate consequences. Are we clear?”
There was a long silence. Angie gulped, feeling shaken and sick. What did he intend to accomplish with this? He was so keen that he was telling the truth---
“I believe you,” she said.
“You believe what?”
“What you said about Mom.”
He looked down at her, matching his gaze with her, and making her spine feel frozen with that glare.
“This isn't the time to get cute, Angela,” he said. He moved his hand, hovering over his coat as if deciding it he wanted to pull something from it. “Not when I've
spared you.”
So far, Angie thought, trying not to tremble.
She didn't want to risk being fear serum'd, after she had gotten this far without being dosed.
“I-I'll ask,” she said. “And I won't tell. Pr-promise!”
“Good girl.”
Jonathan watched the streets for a moment. It was late---the engine was off, as was the dashboard clock, but if Angie had to make a guess, she would have gone with around two in the morning. He waited for a lonely car to pass by, then slipped out of the driver's seat. Angie realized she was still wearing her seatbelt and unbuckled, waiting patiently for him to open the car door.
She was going to be free of him in a moment---for now. She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car, moved to push past him. Jonathan grabbed her arm; Angie turned to face him.
“One more thing, little sister,” he said.
She saw the wild glint in his eyes, heard the smirk in his voice.
“I'll be in touch.”
He let go of her, slightly shoving her away. Angie put a hand to her arm, massaging away the pain. She did not hesitate another second, simply turned and ran. She looked back to the alley she just left. There was no sound of an engine. Was he waiting for her to go?
Angie walked down the street, passed the newsstand, kept walking, turned the corner. There was a small alcove here, well lit by a street light. She still didn't hear anything. Maybe he was waiting until she would logically be far away?
She was tired, fatigued, shaken, and scared. The most important thing now was to call a cab and get home. Angie fished out her phone, pressed a button to bring up the menu.
She had several text messages waiting---most of them, as she guessed, from Sharon asking where she was. Angie skimmed through them quickly just to make the icon go away. The last one was Sharon giving up. She went to the movies without her.
Not that it mattered now. Angie quickly checked her voicemail. One from Sharon, three from her mother. Her heart sank. Karen was worried, and she couldn't tell her the truth. Not that she was sure she wanted to, even if she could. After what happened all those years ago...Angie felt her heart sink. Dredging up those memories for Karen...it was bad enough that she was stuck in this city with the results of her “little folly” so many years ago, let alone reminding her that she nearly lost one of her children to another.
And she could not do that to her. It was bad enough with what Jonathan was forcing her to do.
Angie deleted the messages as she got through them, then brought up her call list to get the cab number. The first thing she saw was a number she did not recognize. A missed call? No, according to the little icon beside it...
It had been called from
her phone. And it had been made at 9:44pm, tonight.
There was only one opportunity for that call to be made. Once more, she remembered when Jonathan left. He used her phone to call a number. And her hands trembled as her brain came to the only logical reason.
The number in her phone---her mind went back to what he said before he let her go. That he would keep in touch. This was
his number! And now he had hers!
Had he looked through her contacts in that time? Gotten more phone numbers?
Angie felt the blood drain from her face. This was his security, she realized. She had to comply. And if she refused, anyone on her phone---her mother, her friends, her boss, her coworkers, even an unfortunate taxi driver who called to let her know they were on the way---they were all potential targets for the Scarecrow.
She had to call the police, give them the number. But he would know...and she had no doubts he knew what he was doing. Angie held her phone, her thumb hovering over the call button.
She had to try, to see if he would pick up.
One voice in her said she shouldn't. It was not as if he was making her do anything illegal, and besides, it might anger him. But another voice had to know, needed to confirm her suspicions.
Her hands trembled. Angie looked up, checking to make sure she was still alone. She looked back at the phone in her hand, made a choice.
She pressed the button. Held the phone up to her ear. Felt her heartbeat pick up as she listened to the rings.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Angie felt a mixture of relief and sickness as a woman's voice told her the number she had called could not be reached at that time. She ended the call, tried again. Again, a bunch of rings, and a cheerful voice asking if she would like to leave a message.
Why isn't he answering?She stood, there, shaken. Surely Jonathan had the phone so she could call him and tell him what Karen told her?
Angie walked back to the corner, turned, looked down the street at the newsstand. The alley Jonathan parked in was beyond it---he
had to be gone by now. Maybe she could go back to Bergduffs. More people would be in that area, even at this time of night. She walked down, her legs still shaken. She passed the newsstand, with the same papers she saw earlier. Angie forced herself to ignore the article, the little mugshot of Jonathan Crane in the bottom right corner.
The alley was just beyond that. She pressed herself against the wall, dared herself to turn the corner.
The Cadillac was still there.
Angie felt her heart freeze, but as her eyes adjusted to the little light coming from the street lights...she saw the driver's seat was empty.
Curiosity mixed with fear as she edged closer. A breath she didn't realize she was holding came out when it became clear that the car was empty, abandoned. There was something in the driver's seat---small, squarish. Angie hoped it wasn't what she thought it was. For the third time, she called Jonathan's number. And watched as the object lit up.
He had abandoned not only the car, but the cell phone too.
Which meant he had to have those numbers written elsewhere.
Angie looked back at her phone, staring at it like it was a hideous creature. Jonathan had her number. And he knew she lived here in this city---even if she changed the number tomorrow, he could still find her. Changing a phone number would be easy; moving---she and Karen together barely made enough to get by. Moving was out of the question. And how could she convince everyone on her contacts to change their numbers without breaking the first rule? And even if she could tell, who would believe her?
Angie felt her legs give away, felt her body tremble, let the moisture that formed in her eyes escape.
Trapped.
Jonathan had her right where he wanted her.
And there was nothing she could do.
She let herself lose it, screamed out twice, then broke down into sobs. She was still a sobbing wreck when she opened her phone again, her trembling hands going through her recent calls for the cab company. Angie forced herself to calm down as she waited her turn on hold. She barely held it together when she spoke with the dispatcher.
The taxi could not come soon enough. Angie did not face the driver as she got in, barely muttered her address loud enough for the driver to hear. She took deep breaths as she waited for him to take her home, feeling numb with all that had happened.
Bright neon signs for late night businesses flashed, and soon they were on the way to nearby residential areas. The taxi stopped outside a rundown apartment. It was not like the slums---it was one of the nicer, but cheaper apartment buildings in the city, but it was still not the greatest place in Gotham to live.
Angie was zombie-like as she opened her purse, got out her wallet, handed over her debit card to pay for the ride. When the driver gave her the card and her receipt, she slid out, stood in front of the building as she tried to keep herself composed.
She moved to put the debit card back. And as she did, she did a double take at her wallet.
The cash she got from the ATM was still there, as was her library card, various discount cards, her social security card, and some receipts and coupons. Everything was the way it should be, except for one empty space.
The little plastic window where her ID should have been.
It was all Angie could do to not burst into tears again.
Jonathan just saved himself some work to get her address.
She wasn't safe, and neither was her mother.
~~~
Karen Jarvis had fallen asleep on the old couch in the living room. Though the years had not been as kind to her since moving to Gotham, for a woman in her sixties, she was quite healthy. Her once black hair now had more gray streaks in it than black, her once pretty face gave in to wrinkles, and while she was still more or less a thin woman, she no longer had the nice curves of her youth.
Angie was supposed to have been home hours ago, and she intended to wait for her to come home, in order to scold her for staying out, and for not answering her calls.
Gotham was far from safe. She was wary about letting her go to the movies, as Angie would get in at eleven at the soonest. But Angie had insisted that she would be safe, and that Sharon would drop her off after.
The phone rang, jolting her from a pleasant dream. Karen fumbled to grab it from the cradle.
“H'lo?” she asked, still quite sleepy.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Angie?” Karen asked, still not quite registering. She looked to check the clock. It was almost two in the morning.
“Come now, Mother. Surely you remember your firstborn? Your eldest son? Your
baby boy?”
Karen's mind was hazy only for a few more seconds, her memory matching where she had heard the voice, the phrase.
“It's your baby boy,
Mother. Jonathan? But you wouldn't know that...Great-Granny Keeny named me. After the son she never got to torture.”She sat up as she realized who she was talking to. And slowly realized that he managed to find her again.
“Scarecrow---!”
“Really, now, Mother,” he interrupted. “It's
Jonathan, remember?”
Karen went silent. She looked at the clock, then at the front door. Angie still hadn't come home from what she could tell. God in heaven, surely she wasn't---
“Where's Angie?”
“Safe, Mother. And if it eases your frail old mind, she isn't with me. In fact, she should be home and back in your arms soon enough.”
Karen put a hand to her chest, unsure whether to be relieved or worried. Could her heart really beat that fast?
“What do you w-want?” she asked, her voice shaking. “What-what did you do?”
“Tell her the truth.”
“What truth?”
“You'll know, Mother.”
Karen looked back at the door. She felt her body trembling, tried to keep calm as she listened to her oldest child, took in his calm, condescending tone. She forced herself to keep her voice from wavering any further.
“Have you done anything to Angie?”
He ignored her.
“If you truly know what's best, you
will tell her the truth.”
“What truth? Tell me!”
“You'll know. Now, let's keep this between us, shall we?”
“Between us?”
“Yes. A secret, if you will.” A pause. ”...You
know what I can do, Mother.”
Karen fell silent. The memory was only too clear in her mind.
Charlie was going to kill her. He fell to the floor, dropping the gun, a long dagger sticking up from his back. Jonathan took the gun, noticed Angie's crib...
Karen began to tremble. She didn't know what she would do if she lost Angie. And she didn't know if the Batman would be able to help her this time. She had always ascribed it to chance that he got to there in time to knock the gun away. If he was even a second later...
“Please,” she begged. “What truth?”
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“Jonathan---!”
But the line was already dead. Karen sat there, listening to the dial tone, then the irritating beeping that followed. She blinked a few times, trying to comprehend.
This had to be a dream. And terrible nightmare. She was safe; Jonathan had left her alone for so many years. Clearly it had been punishment enough to him that she worried about him, what he could do, that he might someday come back into her life...
Slowly, she set the phone down in its cradle.
A bad dream. That was all it was, a bad dream.
She was just so worried that Angie was out so late that her mind was going to the worst possible situation. Karen uneasily lied back down.
A nightmare, she told herself. A wicked fantasy. Her overactive imagination. That did not just happen. She was just so worried about Angie that...that...
It felt so real.
And as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she still felt the sensation of the phone in her hand, the hard plastic at her ear, heard the cold voice on the other end, the loud dial tone...
Karen looked back at the phone, shying away from it as if it were a gremlin waiting to pounce and bite.
It had to be a bad dream. It just
had to be. She didn't want it to be anything else.
Because if it wasn't a dream...
A shudder erupted through her body, making her tremble uncontrollably. Karen curled into herself, trying to make herself still. Even without fear serum, her son had a way of terrifying her.
~~~
Concerns time.
First, I was hoping Angie's reactions and emotions were not getting a little too repetitive. This could be because I am a compulsive editor and have been staring at it too long, and thus may be seeing things that are not there.
Second, with the section with Karen, the italicized quote/memory was pulled straight from the comic. I am on the fence as to whether it adds to the intensity of the situation, or detracts from it.
Third, Karen herself. The characterization we have from the comic:
-She was sexually active as a teenager (and the reason Jonathan exists)
-She has
horrible taste in men (Gerald left her, and her ex-husband was an abusive jerk whose only real use was to fix the air conditioner. He even outright says it when Karen calls him out on it)
-Unlike her mother and grandmother, she is not outright malicious, though she is clearly selfish (moreso as a teenager, as can be assumed, and less so as an adult).
-When we actively see her, she comes off as a little naive, but well-meaning. She does appear to love her baby daughter..
-She was still seeing Gerald by the time Batman got to her (it was how he found her to begin with...), so she clearly is/was not loyal to her husband.
-She seemed okay at the end of the comic, but that was because Crane supposedly died. I.e., supposedly, it was all over.
With that in mind, how do you think I did?
