Al:

I know it will all be over soon. Still, the sound of breaking glass surprises me.

Joe Hench leaves me—just takes off and runs. I follow him out into the hall and feel a cold breeze on my face. Batman has broken a window getting in.

I am alone.

I go to Robin and free him without speaking. He doesn't thank me. It doesn't matter. All I care about is finding Emily and getting out.

Robin will be heading to where the screams came from earlier this evening. I don't want to be stuck with him, so I run the other way, toward the broken window.

Rounding the corner, I trip over the body of Joe Hench.

Batman has been this way.

I hear the sound of a blow landing. A cry of pain.

I round another corner and see them illuminated by a street light outside.

Batman holds Jonathan Crane by the throat with his right hand, pinning him to the wall. Batman's left hand pins Dr. Crane's right, keeping the fear toxin out of commission. The scarecrow mask has been pulled halfway off, probably to prevent him from drowning in the blood that gushes from his nose. The eyeholes are somewhere up in his hair. His feet dangle several inches from the floor. His left hand tries futilely to pry Batman's fingers away from his throat.

"Where are they?" Batman demands. Dr. Crane struggles feebly.

"…can't…"

Batman slams Dr. Crane's head against the wall.

"Where are they?"

Voiceless, he mouths another word. It might be "breathe." It might be "please."

Batman slams the doctor's head back again.

"Where?"

Dr. Crane's arm falls to his side. Batman doesn't let him go.

"Batman!" I scream. "Help me!" Batman turns to look at me, still holding Dr. Crane against the wall as if he has forgotten he is there. "The prisoners! The gas! My God, they'll all be killed!" I sob convincingly. "And Robin! He'll never get free in time!"

Evidently, I look like a prisoner, not a villain. Batman throws Dr. Crane to the floor.

"Stay here," he tells me, and runs off in the direction I came from.

I go immediately to the Scarecrow, who lies, coughing and retching, on the floor. He cringes away from my hand on his shoulder.

"Don't be afraid, Jonathan. It's me." The use of his first name is spontaneous, a surprise to both of us. I have never been so familiar with him even in my own head, except once, of course, when I was trying to scare him. "I'm going to take off your mask." He is dazed; his eyes will not quite focus. The blood still pours out of his nose, which may be broken. I can already see the bruises darkening around his neck. I clench my fingers around his bloody mask. "Can you walk?" He shakes his head, no. The best he can do is raise himself slightly off the ground with trembling arms. He throws up.

I catch him before he can fall into the puddle of his own vomit, and help him sit up, letting him lean against me. Confused, he tries, to pull away. Compassion from me is the last thing he would have expected.

"Let me wear your mask, Jonathan." It feels more natural the second time. "I can create a distraction, let them come after me while you hide."

"Why?" he asks in a strangled whisper.

"Because I said I'd help you when Batman came. Besides, I'm a sucker for a wounded puppy."

His blue eyes open wide, as if he cannot believe what he's hearing. I pull the mask down over my own face.

He must be thinking that it's just like looking in a mirror.

It smells strongly of his blood.

In the act of helping him to stand, I bring his right hand close to his face and depress a button, spraying a cloud of gas into the air.

The mask filters it for me.

I let him fall to the floor, shuddering in total fear of me.

"Where's Emily?" I growl. The mask distorts my voice beautifully. He is terrified.

"No…"

"Just tell me where she is and I'll leave you alone."

"Put an end…to her own…suffering."

"You mean she's dead?" He tries to back away from me, but Batman has really messed him up, and the toxin has done the rest. He can barely move. I kneel down and start to get him out of his coat. He tries to push me away, but he is so disoriented, it takes three tries for him to even find my hand. He is as weak as a newborn. I shake him off.

"Not again," he moans. "No…" He is weeping.

"Oh, shut up, you whiner." I put on his coat and force him to stand. I suppose a more considerate person would have let him keep the coat. I don't consider it. I want my Scarecrow disguise to be as real as possible, and the Scarecrow does not have visible breasts.

He would have been in no shape for this even if I hadn't gassed him. Now, not only can he not support his own weight, he is too afraid to lean on me for help.

I have draped his arm over my shoulders and put mine around his waist. You would think that would force him to stay close to me, but he does his best to make me drop him with every step.

"How do we get out of here?" I ask him.

"Fire…"

"A fire escape?" He points at the broken window. I see the ladder. It must be how Batman got up.

There's no way Dr. Crane will make it down.

So I shove him out the window and climb carefully down the ladder by myself.

I see that he has fallen hard, breaking an arm and a couple of ribs.

I pick him up again and throw him in the back seat of the first car I see. I hot-wire it, and we are gone in seconds.

As we drive toward my stronghold, I listen to him having a panic attack behind me. When I grow tired of listening to his confused flailing and frantically labored breathing, I begin telling him what I'm going to do to him.

There will be humiliation, and there will be terror, and I doubt he will survive this time.