Samhainophobia

General disclaimer: All distinctive characters and related elements featured in this publication are trademarks of DC Comics. I claim no rights or profits.
The text of the publication is intellectual property of myself, Lana Dragičević. Not to be used, altered or distributed without my expressed, written consent.

Notes: Euphobia is a fear of hearing good news.

One more chapter to go. I really have mixed feelings about this one, it's a bit sentimental. It took me ages to post it, but since I don't know what else to edit on it...

To Trumpeteer34: Thank you so much for your comment on the last chapter. I'm really glad you enjoyed it! The quote about Batman always fearing the worst, because it save time and dissapointment, was something that randomly came into my thoughts once. He is quite the pessimist, isn't he? :)

To Rocku: I'm very grateful that you still read this story and I hope this chapter won't be too sweet, either. Do tell if it needs to be changed.

To Carycomic: A strange denouement? :D It may even get stanger... ;)

To Scarecrow 65118: Thank you for what I feel to be the greatest compliment of all. This was a story I thoroughly enjoyed writing, it's good to hear that it is original.

Chapter Six: Euphobia (Part Two)

It had started to rain some time ago. Crane listened with his eyes closed to the dull repetitive patter of droplets on the windshield. He fidgeted with his handcuffs, quietly humming a tune under his breath, waiting in the car for the moment when he would be taken away to the City.
The Dark Knight seemed to be talking to the Mayor now. People had crowded around the square, but had kept their distance from the black car and its even darker occupant.

His arm had been bandaged; the saddlebags with his few belongings placed in front of him. Crane managed to take out the little box he had received from his pocket. He held it in his hands pensively for a few minutes, not yet bringing himself to open it. He felt surreal, detached from the events currently surrounding him.

Someone tapped on the window. Crane looked sideways and to his surprise saw young Andrew standing sheepishly next to the car.
The boy was drenched to the skin. He had a plastic bag in one hand and was eating something he held in the other.
Crane smiled.
Here was someone who felt solid, a down-to-earth reality rather than the vague concept his world currently felt like. He raised his eyebrows questioningly at his companion, yelling against the glass:

'What is it? What are they talking about over there?'

'I don't know! Professor Tattiebo... Crane, I took the pictures you asked for. D'you want the film now? Only I don't know how to open the door...'

'The film? You took photos of all this? I forgot that entirely, with all the mess.'

'Yeah, everything. Damn, that was intense. The bit where you nearly... I thought you were going to...' Andrew fell silent.

'I think everyone thought I was going to.' Including me at one point, thought Crane. That's why I could never have stayed here. It would too big a risk for everyone else. Best to have quit while I still had control. To have gone down with dignity.
Too bad no one will know, except a few townsfolk, myself and him.

Crane snapped his fingers. There was the solution, right in front of him.

'Professor Crane? What d'you want me to do with the photos?'

'Andrew? Listen carefully, I want you to obey my instructions correctly.'

The young man nodded, rain trickling down his worried round face.

'You will take these photos to the Gotham Gazette as soon as possible. Take Hugh Bentle with you, someone with a position. Go there and ask to paid as much as their top photographers. Tell them you have exclusive material. I'm sure they'll be interested enough when they find out what happened here.'

'I... Yes, Professor. There won't be trouble, will there?'

'Not if you do as I say', growled Crane. The boy gulped and nearly choked on a mouthful of food.

'Are you still listening to me? What are you eating, you idiot?'

'Hushpuppies', stammered Andrew. 'I got hungry. They're leftover from Halloween', he added apologetically.

'Oh, good grief.'

'Would you like one? I could get someone to open the car and −'

'No!I mean - no, thank you. I would like, however, one last little favour from you.'

'Of course, whatever you need.'

'Take Daisy back to Ms Beth's house. Say you have to feed her or something. Then climb up to my room; beneath the floorboards of the bed you'll find a stack of documents. They'll be written in gibberish, don't even try to understand them. Keep them safe. Not a word to anyone. They're very important for me, all my formulae are there. Understood?'

Andrew nodded firmly, looking unhappy.

'Take the papers to Gotham with you and leave them at a small place on the address of 23 Roudrake Street. Leave the man fifty dollars for the safe; tell him I will pay for the safekeeping next time I am out. He will accept this. Don't disappoint me, boy. If it wasn't for me, you'd never get your chance at your newspaper job. Got all that?'

'Fine', said Andrew fearfully. '23 Roudrake Street. Documents. I'll do it.'

'Good. Best of luck!'

'You, too. See you around, I guess?' The man took hold of the mare's reins and hurried away. Nightmare aka Daisy whinnied her farewell in a friendly fashion towards Crane, before setting off at a trot. Crane watched them go, biting his lower lip.

The car opened and the Dark Knight, his expression serious as always, prepared to begin the long drive back to Gotham. He deliberately didn't spare Crane a single glance.

The professor twisted his back to look back one last time at the locals watching them around the square. To his inordinate pleasure people actually waved at him and cheered.
It had been a good show and he was their Scarecrow, after all.
The long dark vehicle roared into action. Several nearby crows cawed in alarm and took flight. In a few minutes, the Dark Knight and his passenger were gone from sight.

The crows resumed their seats on the Charleston scarecrows, complaining loudly and ruffling their feathers in the drizzle.

***

'I could very well have killed you. Are you aware of that?' Crane told the silent vigilante smugly.

'I recall. Then why didn't you?' retorted Batman smoothly.

'I... I didn't want... It didn't feel right. Um. And it wouldn't have served a purpose. The moral victory was already mine. Anyway, you'll have to live with the fact that I defeated you for the rest of your life now! Doesn't that scare you?'

'It terrifies me, Crane', said Batman dully.

'I'm serious here. You owe me, Bat. You were at my mercy. Just you remember that', muttered Crane sullenly. The silence set in again.

'Do you want to hear an interesting mystery, Crane?' asked Batman as they drove across the narrow local road, massaging his sore throat absentmindedly.

'If you must', replied Crane miserably.

'Recently a large amount of money went missing in Gotham. Approximately ten thousand dollars were stolen. Unfortunately, the amount can not be searched for as the owner is unwilling to report his loss. I am sure he has his own reasons.'

'Oh, damn', said Crane. He didn't like where this tale was leading.

'Yes. It's a shame that the money will never be recovered.'

Crane looked at him in surprise. The vigilante continued in a peculiar tone of voice, as if he was stifling a laugh:

'However, there is as much charity as there is greed. The Mayor tells me some kind-hearted soul anonymously donated approximately ten thousand dollars for the repairs of the local school. What a stroke of luck for the town. It is certainly an example that gives hope for this world.'

The Dark Knight grinned at Crane, who was blushing furiously in mortified embarrassment.

'That was...' Batman hesitated. It was very easy to inadvertently insult the Scarecrow. 'That was a very noble gesture.'

'It was an empty gesture', said Crane stiffly. 'It will hardly be enough. That town is going down in any case. It will need much bigger investments, and much bigger publicity, if it wants to survive.'

'It appears it will be getting a fair amount of publicity when tomorrow's papers are printed. I saw that young photographer rushing off suddenly. As for investments, I am certain that someone with the right ideas will come up soon enough. It requires a little will, a little persuasion and a lot of money; that's all. All easily acquired if you ask the right person.'

Crane glanced around at the extremely expensive-looking interior of the vigilante's car. He wondered if the Dark Knight had many financial supporters to his cause. He toyed briefly with the amusing image of colourful sponsorship advertisements plastered all over the Batman's car, before telling himself firmly that he was raving.

'I think I know someone who, by all accounts, must have friends in very high places', he said pointedly to the dark-clad driver.

'Yes. I think I do, too. What can be arranged, will be done.'

'Ah. Good', said Crane in satisfaction. 'And, erm, thank you.'

Batman gave Crane a brief penetrating stare as he drove slowly through the fields. He frowned at the thin lunatic and said quietly:

'But you had intended to destroy them at first, I gather? They say they had let you use their laboratory. We both know why. What did you do with the toxin in the end, Crane?'

'I told you. I had a change of mind. No need to rub it in. The toxin is hidden where no one will find it.'

'Where?'

'Let's not go digging up the past, alright?'

'Agreed', said Batman. They reached the more pleasant silence of people who had reached a brief truce.

***

'So how is Ozzie?' asked Crane in a jovial voice. He was getting agitated and bored of this drive; he had forgotten how long it took to get to the main district road.

'Ozzie?' exclaimed the Dark Knight under his breath. He would really have to start calling the Penguin by that name. The self-satisfied little man would no doubt be irritated beyond his wits. The vigilante smiled thinly and told his reluctant passenger:

'Ozzie is as always. He tries to have each foot on a different boat. He now seems to have his hands in almost every major and minor dealing in the city, but has so far steered clear of anything explicitly illegal.'

'You sound so disappointed, Bat.'

'I doubt it will last long. He's still being cautious now. His most recent investment is re-opening the destroyed nightclub on Thoroughfare Avenue. He says he plans to make it the place to be on a Saturday night. He's calling it the Iceberg Lounge, apparently. Very fitting for the Penguin.'

'He's even cashing in on his hated nickname? You've got to admire the man. It'll certainly cause a stir.'

'Yes. And so attract an interested and eager clientele.'

'Hah. Well, he always knew his stuff.'

'Mm', agreed Batman. He spared Crane a quick sideways glance. The scrawny creature was sitting in moody silence, twisting his cuffed hands and spinning a small box.

'What do you have in there?'

'It's just a gift from an old lady. I don't know what's inside, I haven't opened it yet. '

'You are free to do so, if you wish.'

Crane pursed his lips and nodded slowly. He opened the sliding brass latches and reached inside the box, taking out a small item wrapped in one of Ms Beth's silk handkerchiefs.
It was a pipe made of dark wood.

A spasm briefly twisted Crane's face and he quickly pressed his fists to his eyes. He emitted a small sighing noise that sounded like a dry sob. Blinking and swallowing loudly a few times, he regained his shaken composure.

'What is it?' asked Batman coolly, pretending not to notice the man's behaviour.

'Ah, I... Oh, dear', Crane started, clasping the simple item tightly in his hand. 'It's a rite of passage, I think. A sign of acceptance.'

'From the residents?'

'One of them at least. It's an inside matter, you wouldn't understand', said Crane morosely.

She had given him her pipe!

'One thing I don't understand is what compelled you to take pity on the residents in the first place?'

'They were... benevolent to me. I wasn't pretending to be any much better than I am, but the locals all took me in rather kindly.'

'So you decided to gas them, logically.'

'No, I didn't see it at first. I only wanted to make them pay for what my hometown did to me. So I plotted and lied and sneered down at them, and all the time they showed tolerance. It was as if they honestly wanted me to feel good there. And after a while, I did.'

Crane bowed his head low, making his messy hair cover his face. He felt uncomfortably exposed now. A mere weakling in desperate need of acceptance and belonging.
They reached the main district road and he craned his neck, staring back at the cornfields. The vigilante interrupted his train of thoughts by inquiring:

'Do you plan to go back?'

'Yes. One day.'

'Oh, yes? When what happens?'

'When I deserve to.'

The vigilante remained silent for several moments, then exclaimed doubtfully:

'And you truly changed your mind? You didn't leave them a nasty surprise in their water supply or something?'

'Yes, I changed my mind! I was ashamed at the time. Why are you questioning me? Haven't my actions spoken enough for me?'

'I am sceptical about your sudden show of remorse. People don't change in such a short period of time. I am still awaiting the moment the Penguin slips, and he has been clean for nearly a year. Naturally that I should expect the worst when you pull of a show like that. First you nearly scythe me and then you say you've reformed and what have you. After barely a month at that.'

'A month? It seems ages ago', said Crane emphatically. 'Time ostensibly passes much more slowly outside the city.'

He turned toward the Dark Knight, leaning with one lanky arm on the seat and shaking a bony finger at him.

'It keeps eating and eating away at you, the fear, doesn't it? How do you even live like that?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, but if this is one of your psychoanalytic gibberish I –'

'Euphobia. It means –'

'A fear of hearing good news.'

'Two points for the boy in the front row', snapped the professor. 'You just can't accept that everything turned out alright. You refuse to hear me out, you don't believe the Penguin isn't going to turn to crime again; you expect all the worst before it even happens. Why can't you enjoy the moment? '

'It's easy to say. I have seen things that have taught me to never loosen my guard! One mistake alone can cost the entire city dearly, the city I have a purpose to protect. I can't allow myself to relax when I know there's a chance that the current peace could be washed away at any moment.'

'Look, maybe it will all go down the drain in a few days. Maybe you'll loose that little bit of peace soon enough. But you'll never have any peace at all if you worry away at yourself from the very beginning. I spent my whole life losing; I could eat myself alive out of jealousy when I see how you keep succeeding all the time. I'd give anything for a winning streak like yours. Are you even glad when you win?'

'I am glad. I don't see the purpose of feeling very good about myself just for that, when the next night brings an equal chance of losing all I achieved the night before.'

'Contentment doesn't have to have a purpose. Maybe you deserve to relax, after nightly treading a decaying city to clean it from its own mire; how about that?'

'Be quiet, Crane. We're nearly there.'

'You know I'm right.'

'Perhaps. There's nothing to be done about it.'

'Fine. Just you ignore the facts. See where it gets you', muttered Crane, glowering at the Batman. He glanced at the city skyline as they gradually approached the mental institute. He exclaimed quietly:
'Funny, how unusual it all looks now. Like seeing it again for the first time. The little town was more real, don't you think?'

'Here we are. Take your things, I'll lead you in. This doesn't have to be difficult.'

They got out of the car, which the vigilante had parked several metres before the looming metal gate of Arkham Asylum. Crane's hands were uncuffed and he gingerly picked up his belongings.

'You're right, this doesn't have to be difficult. I turned myself in, in the first place. I decided. I want to go in now by myself. Please?'

Batman gazed suspiciously at the gangly professor, wondering why he should believe the man. He sighed. He had had perfectly lucid conversations with two dangerous villains in a very short space of time. Would he have believed that a few days ago?

'Fine.'

Batman stood in front of Crane and suddenly took off one black glove.

'I admit, you are frightening me a little now, Jonathan. When I say this, I mean it. I am very glad to have lost this night against you. Congratulations, for everything you've done. But remember, I'll still be watching.'

He reached out his hand solemnly. Crane gave a surprised intake of breath and reddened.

'Th... Thank you. You want to know something strange? Tonight was the first time I felt content to be just myself.'

He paused for a moment, unsure whether to continue, then blurted out boldly:
'Me - I wear the mask because I have something to hide from the world. You - you wear it, perhaps, because you have something to show the world.'

'Perhaps', smiled the Dark Knight. 'I certainly hope so. Now go be just yourself in there, and don't disappoint me.'

They shook hands almost amiably, Crane feeling slightly in awe. He was just about to turn to the gate when an idea struck him. He pulled out something from his bag and presented it, bowing in exaggeration.

'A souvenir for you, courtesy of the Scarecrow. Don't drink it all up in one night, promise me.'

'I can't accept −'

'Trust me, you'll enjoy it. Just relax. You can do that, right?'

'Right. Thanks.' The Dark Knight walked back to his car. Before shutting the door, he yelled to Crane:

'No offence to you, Professor, but I hope we won't be seeing each other again very soon. At least not in the usual circumstances. Goodbye and good luck!'

'Hah', said Crane. He slowly made his way to the gates, pausing right in front of them to glance one last time at the dark sky as a free man.

'I can't see the stars here. There used to be so many back home in Charleston, every night; here there's only one or two. There should be an important philosophical statement to make out of this fact, but I'm out of ideas for one night. How about you?'

The car was gone. Crane shook his head. Quick little thoughts came unbidden into his tired mind. He could run now, make his way elsewhere and never be found. He could hide and discreetly collect materials to set up a new lab. He could...

He could fail miserably again and be dragged in like a dog, like he always was - except this one single time. The only plan which had worked perfectly, the unexpected day when people had cheered for him. He was still perhaps little more than a lunatic obeying his self-destructive instincts, but this one night he could walk in with his head held straight.
Like a man.
Finally.

Jonathan Crane closed his eyes and pressed the intercom firmly.

A few minutes after he had gone inside, a large black car drove out behind the bend in the road, where it had been positioned out of sight to watch the thin man's decision. Gotham's vigilante took off down the road, nodding slightly to himself and wearing a genuine smile of contentment.