I woke up this time strapped to a table, with little memory of what happened. Then everything started flooding back; waking up at Joker’s, almost getting shot, being rescued and injected with some type of sleep-aid.
“That wasn’t exactly a sleep-aid,” I heard a creepy yet familiar voice scratchily say. Must’ve been talking out loud, I guess.
“So what was it?” I asked, even though I was 90% sure I knew what it was. The shadows moved to reveal my companion and the other half of the conversation: The Prince of Nightmares himself. “Ah, fear toxin, then,” I muttered. He nodded, coming closer to me with that creepy-ass needle glove of his. “So, to what to I owe the pleasure of meeting royalty?” I said not shutting the fuck up like I should.
“What do you fear?” he half asked half thought to himself. He was ignoring what I said, which was good. I’d rather be ignored than anywhere near the business end of those needles.
He looked straight at me, then at his glove and smiled. He brought the needles closer to my arm, and I started to freak out.
“If I tell you, will you back up a bit please?” I asked. He stopped moving and watched me. He backed up. “First, I have a fear of needles,” I said, trying to point at his glove. “Sterile or not, you never know where they’ve been.” He looked at his glove, smiled, and motioned for me to continue. I relaxed a bit, but kept my guard up. I just shrugged. “Being forgotten, or left behind. Your basic abandonment issues,” I told him.
He looked at me funny, studying me the same way Joker did only (I hope) a few days ago. “You aren’t scared of me?” he asked with a softer voice. Not Scarecrow anymore, but the good Dr. Crane. “Or of Joker, who almost had you killed? Are you afraid of dying?”
I shook my head. “Death is a natural part of life, unless you’re Ra’s Al Ghul. Ask Victor Zsasz, he knows about death.” I said.
Scarecrow just looked at me for a while, then took off his glove and loosened my bindings enough so I could get out.
I stood up rubbing my wrists as he stood over his desk, which was strewn with papers covered in formulas and bottles of various colors and volume. He turned around and I saw the syringe filled with the near-glowing toxin in his hand. I stuck my arm out, much to his dismay, and turned away as I felt the prick on my inner elbow. I winced as the needle left my arm.
Opening my eyes, I saw Scarecrow watching me. And that’s it, that’s all that happened for, like, an hour. I never felt the effects of whatever chemicals he injected. Seeing this, Scarecrow grabbed my arm and strapped me back onto the table, then grabbed something off his desk.
“I’ll be back,” he nearly whispered, then left.
The straps holding me down hadn’t been retightened completely, so I wiggled out of them and stood up. I went over to the desk, seeing different colored toxins in vials of varying shapes and sizes.
Being my curious yet stupid self (I swear, one of these days, my curiosity is gonna kill me), I grabbed a vial full to overflowing of some blue…whatever, and drank about half of it.
I heard the door open after I finished swallowing, then someone knocked the vial out of my hand. It landed with a crash on the floor, what was left of the liquid spilling onto the floor, beginning to sizzle and corrode through the floor.
“What the hell were you thinking?! Were you trying to kill yourself?” said the man who thinks he saved me. I was in a state of shock, staring at none other than-
“Edward, what are you doing in-” Dr. Crane stopped his train of thought seeing me up and about. He came in the room, not wearing his mask anymore and carrying a clipboard. ‘He’s kinda cute,’ I thought.
He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I’m not, and why is there another hole in my floor?” he said. I blushed a bit. I tend to think out loud, like a lot.
“Because,” Riddler said,” your new ‘experiment’ decided to drink something strange and blue. She’s either idiotic or has a major death wish. I say both.” Dr. Crane looked over at me at this statement while I stood there, cool as a cucumber, but slightly pissed at Riddler for calling me stupid.
“Sorry I wasted your chemicals, Dr. Crane, but curiosity killed the cat,” I said looking at the ground.
“And satisfaction brought it back,” muttered Riddler. I smiled a little and blushed even more.
“I’m surprised you’re still standing,” Dr. Crane said, coming towards me. He looked at my eyes and backed up quickly. I got confused and looked to Riddler, or more accurately, where he was, as he had vanished.
“Will you please, sit down? I need to run some tests,” Dr. Crane said with a tone that worried me. I sat down and he strapped down my left arm so I wouldn’t flinch and mess up his tests. For the next two hours, I sat in that chair, close to passing out and/or ripping the IV out of my arm, while he took blood samples.
Just as I was about to punch him, I (barely) felt the needle leave my arm and a cotton ball being taped over the small wound.
Dr. Crane got up, saying something about “needing food,” so I tried to stand up, and the next thing I know, I’m face first on the floor. “Oww,” I whined. I felt arms pick me up bridal style, and I see Dr. Crane’s (cute) face. He carried me downstairs to the kitchen, then set me down in a chair at the table while he went to the fridge.
“What kind of sandwich do you want?” he asked grabbing the milk.
“I like turkey,” I mumbled. He heard me and pulled out Miracle Whip and turkey. “Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked. He sighed.
“Because, 1, you are the only being to survive with two completely different toxins in their body at anytime. 2, if I treat you as an experiment, as Edward so bluntly called you, there is a higher chance of you trying to escape and I don’t…I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to leave yet. We have no clue what those toxins could do to you.” he said, rushing the last sentence and a half.
He handed me a wonderful looking sandwich and a glass of milk, which I devoured in seconds, not really caring if they were poisoned or not. Dr. Crane watched me all the time, intrigued by my actions. I pulled my phone of my pocket and Dr. Crane grabbed my wrist. I set it face up on the table and opened the notepad app, at which time he released my wrist.
‘Why would I want to go back?’ I typed. He read this with wide eyes.
“Do you not have any friends or family you care about? And why aren’t you talking?” he asked.
‘1, no, I’m the punching bag at school and home. 2, I hate the sound of my voice, so I’m pretty quiet,’ I typed out.
When he read this, he held his hand out and I saw sympathy in his eyes. “Johnathan Crane, even though you already seem to know that,” he said chuckling slightly as we shook hands.
‘Morrigan Nocturn, and of course I know you. You’re one of my favorite villains,’ I typed.
“‘One of?’ Who are the others?” he queried smirking at me.
I stuck my tongue out at him. ‘FYI, Harley is my favorite villainess with Ivy as a close second, and Riddler is my other favorite villain. And, for the record, I fucking HATE Joker, and not cause he was gonna kill me,’ I typed. He read it and laughed a bit.
“If you don’t hate him for trying to kill you, then why do you hate him?” he asked.
“Because he treats Harley like shit! He uses her and everyone around him, not caring about them! Harley has stood by him since they met, and he never treats her any fucking different! Just because of how she gets treated, I want to spoon feed him his own eyes while he bleeds out through a gut wound, then throw him off a roof onto a campfire, and roast marshmallows over his burnt flesh!” I ranted. I tried to catch myself before I got too disturbed, but…it didn’t work. Johnathan had a big smile on his face, and I got the feeling it wasn’t Crane anymore. “Hi, Scarecrow,” I said waving. He waved back. Score one; Morrigan!
‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ I typed in.
“You just talked, why are you going back to typing?” he asked.
‘I don’t like my voice, but he pisses me off enough to talk,’ I answered. He nodded in agreement.
“I heard what you said about the clown,” he said. “I liked it.”
I grinned in such a way, I must’ve looked like a madwoman, and he started to chuckle.
“He’s right, you are fun,” he mumbled. I heard it, but tried to shrug it off.
My phone started to buzz in my hand. When I checked it, I saw my mom’s number pop up. Before I could do anything, Scarecrow had my phone across the room and me pinned against the wall with one hand.
“Who did you tell?” he whispered menacingly.
“No one…wasn’t…gonna…answer,” I choked out. He dropped me to the floor, went over to the counter, and grabbed a dishtowel out of a cabinet. He came back over and tied it around my mouth and head, then grabbed my wrists and pulled me upstairs. I was nearly running just to keep up with him!
When we got to his dark brown door, he opened it and threw me inside. “Say nothing. Don’t try leaving, the windows are barred.” Slam goes the door, and I’m left locked in a pitch black room full of toxic items.
So I did what I do best;