Given the forgone conclusion that I used, and that Neuschwanstein Princess is likely going to read this, a warning is warranted. Because I love her or something. Expect a violent ending.
I was really on a roll to finish this yesterday, but had no time to transcribe by the time I finished. After this, I am going to finish "Family Ties," then conclude my fanfics for a while, since I am finally getting back in the groove and desire to write original work again.
Also, N cannot write anything short to save her life.
Fandom: Batman
Rating: PG-13
Summary: After eighteen years of hell, Jonathan Crane finally gets the chance to turn the tables.
~~~
Sept. 5, 1976
Sleeping very little now...hear strange noises at night. I know it's the boy, prowling the mansion.
He's grown so. Tall, strong. I've come to fear him. Fear some terrible retribution that cunning mind is conjuring for me. Should have left the baby for dead as his grandmother wanted...should never have tried to raise Jonathan alone...
~~~
The old grandfather clock quietly ticked, the only hint of life in the dismal, decaying old mansion. The lights in the parlor were out, encasing the room in shadow. Jonathan Crane sat back in a musty old armchair, his hands firmly grasping the armrests, his focus on the old, dusty fireplace in front of him, his mind overcrowding with thoughts.
He would be starting school again soon---tomorrow, in fact. The summer had been the best he had ever had. For the first time in eighteen years, he had been able to assert himself to fight back. The nights he prowled the mansion, the strange noises he made as he gathered what he needed...they instilled fear into her. And it was this fear that gave him his first real taste of delight, of freedom. It had become his ally, his best friend, his macabre guardian. He was taller now, stronger. The control his tormentor once had was slipping away, and she knew it as well as he did.
It was only a matter of time before it slipped away completely.
He barely kept himself still as a sudden sound echoed behind him. Old, rusting hinges groaned as the front door opened. The footsteps that followed were light, calculated, controlled. They stopped in the entrance hallway, as if listening, then disappeared in the other direction towards the kitchen. Mary was home.
Jonathan waited. While he would be unable to hear her prattle around the pantry as she nervously put away the groceries, knocked down two pots and put them back, and put on a stoic mask as she set herself straight, he knew that his great-grandmother would be back this way. The parlor bordered the entrance hall and the stairwell, and her own room was up in the dark alcoves.
In the blackened silence, his mind jumped from thought to thought, contemplating his memories, his preparations...the object in his pocket felt tight against his leg, the contents inside it as still as he was.
Over the summer, the tension had grown, defenses gone up. They had avoided each other for the most part, and as the summer ended, he gradually stopped prowling, started to leave her alone, allowed her to think he was no longer up to anything. She had finally lowered her guard earlier. Tonight was the perfect night to strike.
Mary came back. He heard the faint rustle of her long black skirt as she tried to slip by the parlor, picked up the gentle clack of her shoes as she attempted to sneak by undetected.
"Not so much as a 'hello', Granny?"
The sudden startled movement, hard clack of a shoe, and quiet gasp sent a trickle of pleasure down his spine.
"...Jonathan," she said at last. The usual sternness was in her voice, the cold monotone that he himself had picked up...but it was forced. Like she was trying to mask something. "I didn't see you sitting there in the dark."
"Yet you knew I was here."
He allowed the following silence to linger, taking in her discomfort as her mind formulated an excuse. When nothing came after several moments, Jonathan spoke again.
"You have been avoiding me, Granny."
He imagined her face behind him, how her eyes narrowed, how her mouth turned into that pious frown.
"Absurd."
He listened as Mary took a few steps toward him.
"Oh, but I believe you have," he said coolly.
Jonathan loosened his grip on the armrest, though he kept his hands in place.
"It used to be that hardly a day went by that you didn't find fault with me. And almost as often, you looked for a reason to torture me."
"You're growing up, Jonathan," came the curt reply. "You're more than old enough to apply your lessons."
Again, there was that cold front, and again, what once came naturally now struggled to keep up the masquerade. He could practically sense her agitation, and tensed at that last word.
"Lessons..." he said quietly.
Jonathan felt numerous parts of his body burn, mostly at his back and hands. He sunk his fingernails into the armrests, and he ignored the gradual pain that came with the increasing pressure. For only a second, his gaze shifted to the back of his left hand.
"Lessons," he said again.
He could not see them, but he felt them---the circular scars and long scratches, some of them visible, others so faint that they barely left a trace of their existence. Short flashes of black claws and feathers came to mind. The burning sensations were strongest there.
"Yes," came the reply.
A swoop of cloth, a step away as she turned to leave.
"Doves," Jonathan said suddenly.
Mary stopped.
"What about them?"
"Egrets," Jonathan continued. "Herons."
"Yes," she replied again.
"The aviary had them all," he said quietly. "Great, small, in-between---all white." He loosened his grip on the armrests. "But no cranes."
Jonathan pushed himself from the chair, slowly stood to his full height, then turned to face her. The hallway light showed barely more than her silhouette, though other details came forth as his eyes adjusted: the old-fashioned black dress, the tight, graying bun, even a faint glimmer from the little bird brooch that she always wore.
Mary stepped back, the long skirt swishing around her feet, her face trying to stay stern, her eyes forcibly aligned with his. He stepped closer.
"Not until I came along."
She continued to step back. Every two steps she took, he made up in one casual stride.
"Why no cranes, Granny?" he asked. "Were they perhaps too tall? Did they lack the grace of some of the others? Or perhaps their angelic wings were tainted. Unworthy."
"Get away from me!" she cried.
She moved to run; he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Mary pulled away, tried to hit him. He caught her wrist. Jonathan tightened his grip, stared down into her dark, terrified eyes, squeezed until the spindly old woman cried out with pain. He narrowed his own eyes as he pushed her back into the hallway wall.
"But that is how you've always seen me, Granny." His voice was quiet, cold. "From the moment of my birth, my fate was sealed. My blood was tainted, and my mother's sin cast a mark of scorn over my head."
Mary glared right back, but she was unable to hide the horror as she came to realize what monster she had created and unleashed.
"Ingrate," she snarled. "I should have left you for dead!"
"As I am more than aware, but it is a bit too late for that, Granny."
Jonathan yanked her back toward the kitchen, heading for the little hallway beside it. His great-grandmother tried to pull away, yelling and screaming at him as she tried to free her wrists and escape. He reached the back door and let go of one wrist only to open it.
Mary reached for the umbrella stand beside it and swiped her large black umbrella. She managed to hit him once, twice, before he grabbed it and yanked it out of her grasp. They were outside by the time Mary had time to recover.
"Devil's child!" she screamed. "Hellspawn! Unhand me! Jonathan Crane, release me this moment!"
She was no match for him. Her bones were frail, her strength fading. Jonathan had grown, and his thin frame held deceptive strength. He was no longer the little boy who was unable to match her.
"Go ahead and scream," he retorted, still forcibly pulling her along the grass. "It never worked for me."
He knew well enough, once upon a time, when he was still small and weak, that their positions had been reversed. She had once dragged him along to the crumbling building on the outskirts of the manor just as he was doing now. His screams and cries and pleas went unanswered---the lack of nearby neighbors was the price paid for the privacy and spacious land of the old plantation.
The old church towered over them as they got closer. Its wooden door stood like a worn guardian, the large stained glass window cracked, and the roof...the roof was formed with thin metal bars, like a cage. Vines snaked over the outside, and in some places, graying stones were beginning to crumble.
It had been there since before the Great Depression, and was once a glorious building, held in high esteem. Over the years, however, it fell to ruin, and its purpose changed. What was once a beautiful sanctuary now faded away into a prison, holding dark secrets within its walls and locking several demons inside.
Jonathan shuddered a little as he pulled the door open, then shoved the old woman inside. Mary stumbled, tripped over her skirt, fell into the dirt floor. Her great-grandson stepped in himself, and the door shut, clicking into place and trapping them both inside.
From above, the moon shone, and the small gusts of cold September wind passed through the bars in the roof. There was a large hole in the top of the roof, and on the ground, it was in this pool of light unmarred from the bars' shadows that Mary sat.
Jonathan matched his gaze with hers, took a step toward her.
"Lessons," he said, reaching into his pocket.
His hand trembled a little as he found what he was looking for. Jonathan knew well enough that if he followed through with what he was about to do, that he would cross a point of no return. Even worse, he would conjure his greatest fear...and he would have to be ready to face it one more time.
His great-grandmother scooted away from him, though there was nowhere else for her to go. Jonathan watched her as he tightened his grip on the object. This woman had tormented and terrorized him almost literally since birth...his hatred for her held no bounds. And focusing on that hatred helped to shatter any remaining qualms he would have had with what he was about to do, ate away any remnants of fear that still lingered in the back of his mind. Nothing was going to stop him.
"I have always been an abomination," he continued. "Hardly more than a wretched little crane, abhorred by those who see it. Why else would you send a legion of crows? A flock of demons to tear away my blackened feathers, to purify me as those herons and egrets you once prized so dearly?"
Jonathan showed her the object he retrieved---a plastic bottle about the size of a small flask---and unscrewed the lid as he took another step.
"But I have not been cleansed, Granny. I have become one of them."
He threw the cap down, continued to approach. An unpleasant odor of bitter herbs and chemicals came from the bottle, unlocking several thoughts and memories that came because of the concoction he now held. He felt his heart rate pick up as his grip tightened, swallowed down the fear that was starting to come forth.
"Don't you dare come any closer!" Mary exclaimed.
She had barely gotten to her feet, and as she tried to scramble away, she tripped again and fell into the dirt.
"And how are you going to stop me, Granny?"
Jonathan reached down, moved to grab her wrist again. She batted him away, though his fingers grasped her sleeve. Jonathan pulled her closer, threw the contents of the vial over her chest and face, then threw her away from him and tossed the bottle aside.
He watched as Mary took in the smell of the liquid, how her anger quickly turned to fear as she registered what it was.
"You...you were in the forbidden room---!"
"I am not a little boy anymore, Granny. As you said yourself, I am more than old enough to apply my lessons. And as you will see, I have learned them well."
He kicked her away from him, watched as she tried to stand up, kicked her down once more. Very faintly, he heard the flapping of wings.
"You see, Granny...demons are treacherous creatures. The will obey the one with the most power. And there is nothing more powerful than fear...or the means to control it."
She got up on all fours, glared at him. Mary tried once more to get up, to attack him. And a third time, she went down.
A crow came in, then another. Jonathan stepped back with a startled cry, watched as the first dived straight for her neck, the other one grabbing a freshly-doused sleeved. He thought he had been prepared to face it; he had been wrong. A third crow came, a fourth, a fifth, before they began coming in larger numbers.
His great-grandmother screamed as they circled her, their beaks biting, their talons clawing, their wings beating in a mad flurry as they ripped and tore at the helpless old woman.
Jonathan backed away, pressing his back into the door. His body shook as the scars burned once more. The flock was getting bigger by the second. The crows---they had always terrified him before, and they terrified him now---but even as they frightened him, they were now a tool in his hands. Regardless, he stayed as far from them as he could. He shuddered again, knowing well enough what it was like to be in her place. He swallowed hard; forced himself to find the courage to speak again.
"The crows never cleansed me," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the increasing caws. "They allowed it to spread. They transformed me into one of their own...and now they have given me their allegiance."
She was unable to answer him, save for screams and curses as she desperately tried to bat away the crows. The black beasts honed in on the smell of the liquid, and while it was getting harder to see, Jonathan knew her face and chest were being rendered to shreds. Yet he continued to watch. There was an immense satisfaction that came with giving her a dose of the concoction she had poisoned him with since he was a child, a wicked delight that could not be quenched even in the most dire grips of terror.
"By the way," he said quietly, more to himself than anything. "Your formula was weak. I have made the proper modifications."
He forced himself to watch the horrific scene, to face the crows. The flock grew more vicious as they fought for space and food, and they began to spread as their numbers grew.
A few crows swooped near him. Jonathan screamed, and as he batted them away, he reached to open the door. He no longer wished to linger. He heard Mary whimpering amongst the cries and caws of the crows, a final plea for mercy. Even if he were not afraid, he would have ignored her. He did not look back as he left her to her fate. The door slammed shut, its hollow echo heard even above all the noise caused by the black demons inside. The key slid into place, turned, slid out of the lock.
Jonathan stood in front of the aviary, the stoic expression he had kept up fading away as he listened to the caws and crying coming from within. He continued to shudder as the burning sensations continued. He leaned against the door, took in a breath, slowly let it out.
He had done it.
He had gotten his retribution.
And he would never set foot in that wretched church ever again. The aviary would eventually submit to the ravages of time, and when it did, it would take its dark secrets---the pain, the suffering, the fear, the crows---they would all go with it.
Jonathan took another deep breath as the cawing died down. If the old woman was dead, he would never know...but if she was still alive, she had no way out. And he was satisfied enough to leave her in there with her traitorous pets.
The walk back to the manor was quiet, save for the fading sounds of caws and wings in the distance, and the quiet whisper of the wind as it softly played around the trees. Jonathan shivered a little. His thin pants and button-down shirt did little to protect him from the cool evening, but he would be inside soon.
Several trees lined this part of the path. The key was warm in his hands...the only thing warm... Jonathan looked up, gave a quick glance to the decaying building behind him. He was never going back there again; there was no more use for it. With trembling hands, he tossed it into the trees, where among the grass and rocks, it was doubtful it would ever be recovered.
He reached the back door, but before he could step inside, Jonathan turned and looked at the old aviary one last time, some shivers still running down his back both from fear and from what he had just done.
The crows were starting to disperse now, a few at first, then more as they grew tired or realized there was nothing left for them. He felt...strange. It was neither remorse nor guilt...not even horror at what he had done. He had relished in her pain, took in her fear...
It took a moment to pinpoint what it was.
Relief.
Sweet, precious relief.
It was over. She would never hurt him again, and more importantly, she would never control him. It had finally slipped away from her.
He did not remember the last time he smiled...but a little one began to form as he took in moment of triumph.
Jonathan slipped back inside, allowing that thought to sink in as he headed upstairs to his room. School would be starting again tomorrow. And already, he knew the year was off to a good start.
~~~
[/fin]
I have debated on whether or not to put the diary entry in (it was pulled straight from the comic), and am wondering if you think it enhances the work, or is too repetitive.
Also, it was so much fun to write in Jonathan's perspective, since the last two had someone else as the viewpoint character. <3
And randomly, I did my homework. September 5, 1976 was a Sunday. It just never made it to the final version. XP
*wonders if this was coincidence, or if Bruce Jones intentionally hinted that she died on the Sabbath as a form of irony/blasphemy, given her character*
Also, I am iffy about the title. Suggestions would be nice.
