Crane turned to the numerous vials on the table. Abby looked between the two of us, stopping once to look at me, her eyes wide with shock, her lips trembling with fear. I'd never seen her so scared. She started to step towards me, hesitated, thought better of it.

"Daddy..." she said quietly.

I tried to say something to her. No words came out.

"Unlike your little friends, Abby," Crane said as he set aside some larger vials, "Daddy got away with being a bully. He will have to be punished."

There was a small cloth on the table that held some tools, and from these, he selected a small syringe. I watched as he pressed the metal needle into the bottle, pulled back the depressor to fill it. He then turned to face me.

"Wh-what are you going to do?" Abby squeaked.

Crane ignored her, took a step in my direction. I couldn't move much, but I leaned away from him as much as I was able. I had a good idea of what it was, and I didn't want that needle anywhere near me.

"It's not what I am going to do," he said quietly. "It is about what you are going to do."

He handed the syringe to Abby. I saw her hands shake as she held the glass tool in her small fingers. Crane gently turned her to face me. He carefully placed his hands on her shoulders, knelt down to her level, almost whispered into her ear.

"This concoction will show him precisely what he's done," he gently told her. "Show him, Abby. Show him what it's like to be someone like us. Show him what it's like to feel helpless, to be mocked and tormented and all alone."

It took all of my resolve to keep calm.

"Abby..."

She faced me.

"Don't listen to him," Crane said. "He lied to you, Abby. He doesn't know what you went through. I do. Show him, Abby. Help him understand."

"But I do understand!" I shot back. I turned to face my daughter. "I understood those girls were hurting her - the same way I once did to someone else."

Abby fumbled with the needle, finally managing to get a hold of herself. She looked up at me. I needed her to trust me.

"He's lied to you before, Abby," Crane breathed. "He's telling you exactly what you want to hear."

I glared, but forced myself to keep my voice level.

"It's the truth, Abby."

"You told me you saw him hit your mother when he didn't get his way. It got out of hand, didn't it? He yelled and screamed and almost threw - the lamp, wasn't it?"

I felt simultaneously enraged and sick at how he learned of some of my more private matters. Lucy had been just as bad in that particular fight; even almost broke a vase over my head! I knew I got out of line and hit her once before, but I never did it again. She forgave me for it, and we forgave each other for getting that far out of line. It only infuriated me more that he threw it back in my face.

"Hitting and screaming and throwing things," Crane said coolly. "He hasn't really changed, has he? Your poor mother. It's no wonder she's briefly separated herself from him."

Abby was trembling now. Like the serpent who tempted Eve, Crane spoke with a fluid smoothness, picking the right words to lure her into temptation. She grasped the needle tightly in her hands and turned to me. Her face - I almost couldn't bear to look at her. There was an angered hurt in her features, tears that were threatening to come.

"Do it for your mother, Abby," he said. "Do it for her...and do it for yourself."

Crane let her go. I watched as Abby walked toward me, raised the syringe. She was going to do it, I realized. God in heaven - she was really going to do it!

"Abby..."

I wanted to move. I couldn't. Abby stopped right in front of me. I faced her, braced myself. She came closer, the syringe drawn in front of her like a sword. Behind her, I saw Crane's triumphant smile.

"Abby," I said again. "Don't let him force you into anything."

I saw her lips quiver, her whole body shake. She lifted the syringe, moved to bring it down...and lost the courage.

"I...I don't want to," she said, finally. She turned to Crane. "I don't want to hurt him."

I watched him, expecting the smile to waver, that calm demeanor to melt away into fury that his manipulation didn't work. I would have preferred it if he did; the way that smile never faltered made me feel even more unease.

"Then you don't have to, Abby."

He came up behind her, gently took the syringe away, and ushered Abby away from me. He stepped toward me, bearing the syringe like Arthur did Excaliber. I saw him position the it carefully, hold it up to my neck.

"Please - please stop!" I heard Abby cry out.

Crane ignored her. The cold metal made me shudder as it touched my skin, but before he could plunge it into my flesh, I felt his hand yanked away. He turned to see Abby had grabbed him, and with unexpected ease, he pushed her away.

I cried out as Abby fell back, but she wasn't hurt, just startled. She got back up and grabbed his arm again.

"Leave him alone!" she cried, desperately trying to pull Crane away from me. "Leave my daddy alone!"

Again, he pulled himself from her grasp, but this time, she didn't stumble away. She had his attention now, and was backing away from whatever wrath that was incurring inside that demented mind.

"Leave her alone, Crane!" I yelled, trying to direct his focus away from her. "Deal with me!"

He grabbed her and pulled her into him, used his arm to pin her neck and shoulders to his body. Abby reached up and grabbed his arm, trying to pull it away. He held the syringe at her throat, then turned to face me. I pulled against my restraints, trying once more to free myself. How badly I wanted to wipe that smirk from his face!

"I am dealing with you, Jordan."

The needle went a little further into her skin, but the depressor remained unchanged. Abby let out a quick whimper of pain as her lips began to tremble. She stopped struggling against Crane.

"Stop it!" I screamed.

"Make me stop."

My anger deflated and was quickly replaced with fear - not a chemical concoction, but real, genuine fear. I racked my brain. He was seriously going to hurt her if I didn't talk, and fast.

"...Please," I begged.

I didn't know what else to do. Crane was a lunatic; there was no negotiating with him. Yet I knew for her sake, I had to try.

"Let her go, Crane. I'm the one who hurt you, not her. Have mercy!"

I caught the wild look in his eyes, and his smile began to fade away.

"Mercy," he sneered. "Merely a word to you. And where was your mercy when I cried for it? Where was it when I begged and pleaded and groveled at your feet for my torment to stop?"

Abby screamed as he jammed the needle through her skin. I watched his thumb hover over the depressor, fearing the worst if I couldn't make him back down.

"It has no meaning to you, Jordan," he continued. "Not until you're the one who needs it."

"Crane - "

"Go ahead, Jordan. Lie again. Tell her everything is going to be all right. Give her that false, desperate hope."

She was crying now, and trying so hard to be brave and keep it back. My heart shattered at seeing my daughter in that much distress, and my hatred for Crane spread through every fiber of my being.

"A-Abby..."

Should I obey him and lie? Should I tell the truth? Or was he going to do it no matter what I did? My heart felt sick with fear, but I didn't know what to do. It was all I could do to keep from breaking down myself.

"Please...Crane..."

I adjusted myself, trying to make my bounds even slightly more comfortable. My throat started to dry again; I swallowed hard before I spoke.

"...I'm a liar and a fool. I'm a bully, and I'm willing to take whatever punishment you see fit - just let her go."

For a long while, none of us moved. Abby's quieting sobs were the only sounds any of us made.

"Please," I said, finally, trying to keep my voice level and calm. "She's innocent, just like you were. Let her go, Crane. This is just between us."

I saw him hesitate. I had hoped to strike a chord with him, and as he pulled the syringe away, I breathed a small sigh of relief as my gamble paid off. Crane let Abby go and shoved her away from him. She hurriedly ran away from him, moved out of my sight behind a crate pile. I still heard her quiet sobs as Crane came for me. I closed my eyes and braced myself.

I felt the cold steel prick the back of my neck, the liquid in the syringe disperse its contents into my veins. It all happened in about a second, but as I tried to pull away, time seemed to stand still. My mind was ablaze with thoughts. Hadn't he already unlocked my worst fears? Was he going to do it again just for kicks? Was it a different kind of serum? Or was this something else?

I tried not to panic. That was what he wanted, I knew. I had to stay calm. Whatever the injection was, I had to fight it.

I had never felt so frail, so weak. The injection relaxed my muscles, almost to the point of uselessness. I felt the ropes loosen as Crane undid the knots. My whole body felt jellylike and queasy as blood and fear serum rushed through my veins. I practically fell off the chair as I tried to stand.

And that's when the nightmare began.

I heard voices around me - taunts, jeers, mockeries. All around me, friends, family - people I once knew and trusted - they were laughing at me, taunting me.

I begged and pleaded for them to leave me alone.

They all surrounded me, growing bigger and more terrible with every word they uttered. I tried to run, tried to scream. I felt them grab at my limbs and yank as though ripping them off. I felt them kick and punch and tear at my hair. And in my helplessness, I let them.

Fight it, Jordan! my mind screamed. It's not real! FIGHT IT!

But I couldn't. It was as if all of my emotional strength had been drained.

An ugly scarecrow loomed over them, towering over us all. It broke away from the cross that bore it, its twisted fingers reaching down in the midst of my loved ones, its sharp claws coming for me. Tendrils of straw shot from under its sleeve and wrapped around my body. I cried out in pain as it crushed me in its grip, yanked me away from the family that pulled back on my limbs in a horrible tug-of-war.

And then, before I knew it, I was all alone. The fingers and straw that once held me shot over me and welded together like the bars of a prison cell. The palm that held me in its grasp become a hard floor. I looked to see what else was there.

Nothing. Only darkness.

I grabbed the bars of the cage and tried to yank them apart, but they refused to budge. I cried for help, for someone - anyone - to help me. Now and again, a shadow appeared. I called for them. And as I called, they took form.

Lucy. Abby. Billy. Ricky. Dean. Owen. Lenny. Sam. Tom. My parents. People I knew, people I loved.

None of them looked at me. None of them gave a second glance, only went on with whatever was going on in their own lives. It was as if...as if...

...As if I never existed.

I yelled and screamed and cursed to no avail. None of them heard me. Even Crane appeared once or twice; he paid me no heed either.

I was all alone and helpless. I no longer had a friend in the world.

I tightly clung to the bars of my cage. I tried once more to get anyone's attention. And all the shadows faded away into nothingness.

Was this it, then? Was I going to die here, trapped and alone, with no one to reach out, to give a damn about my existence?

Several moments passed as that thought sank in. In another moment, I gave in to the hopelessness and despair, collapsed to the floor. I actually broke down and cried.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

I loosened my grip on the bars of my cage, resting my head against the concrete floor. I knew I was beaten; there was no point in trying anymore. All I could think about were my failures.

You're going to die, Jordan.

The voice was small, a little whisper of reason struggling to be heard among my other tortured thoughts. I didn't want to die, not now, and not like this.

Then why are you letting yourself die?

There was no point in living anymore.

Is there?

No. I failed to protect my daughter. I failed to protect myself. And even if I lived through this, Lucy would never forgive me for that. She's going to leave me, and take Abby with her. My life is ruined. There's nothing left I can do.

Nothing?

Nothing.

So you're just going to give up. You're going to let him win.

He already has.

Has he?

I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.

My vision flashed, and for a brief second, I saw my hands clinging not to prison bars, but the metal legs of the welded chair, before it reformed back into prison bars.

This wasn't real. None of it was. Yet still, I felt afraid, rooted to where I was in my terror, clinging to those prison bars with my very life as the darkness opened around me like a demon waiting to ensnare me in its jaws.

I don't know where I found the strength. I just knew I couldn't let Crane win - I couldn't let him hurt me or Abby anymore than he had already.

I could feel the fear and despair rising inside of me. A lot of it was artificially induced with Crane's toxin, and some of the visions I had earlier came back. But some of that fear was very, very real, unlocked and set free not only by the drug cocktail that now slithered through my veins, but through the knowledge that my worst fears really were happening - had happened - right before my eyes.

Crane tried to take Abby away from me. She almost took his offer, she almost chose my enemy over her own father. I almost lost her, and that was something I had hoped I would never have to face.

But you didn't.

I felt my eyes well up with tears as I tried to push myself up, feeling my muscles give in. Abby was vulnerable, and I was unable to protect her.

He'll hurt her if you do nothing.

But what could I do? I was at his mercy, beaten down like the dog I was. He had the ace up his sleeve; I didn't even have a hand to play.

You aren't beaten yet, Jordan. Abby is counting on you. You have to fight this and save her.

How could I? I was weak and alone - I couldn't even help myself, let alone her. I curled into myself, trying to force the nightmarish images back in the dark reaches of my mind where they belonged. The despair and terror tightened around me. Never in my life had I wished so badly for death.

If you give up, he wins. Then it's really over.

And as I had that thought, I was somewhat able to force myself up. My arms trembled under my own weight, my whole body shook as I struggled to pull myself to my knees. Then, slowly, a strength I never knew slowly started eat away at the weakness that kept me down.

Crane was going to take her from me, ruin my life in the worst way possible. He was going to make me go home and face my wife, force me to tell Lucy that I couldn't protect our daughter. He was going to put me through a torture that no parent should ever have to go through, wonder if Abby would ever be safe, think about the damage he could be doing to her mind, lead her into a life of crime that could only ruin our hopes - and hers - for her future.

I was on all fours now, forcing myself to face Crane. My mind was hazy and I couldn't think. Illusions clouded my vision, though through some breaks, I could see Crane's form watching me, heard his voice taunting me, saw his foot come to kick me down further. I couldn't avoid it, and I fell.

Get up, Jordan.

The voice was stronger now, that last bit of sanity I was able to hold onto. I could feel the hot tears leaking down my face, taste the filth of the snot that ran down my nose and over my lips. I was a broken shell of a man, and the more I fought, the more the nightmares flashed before me.

I couldn't do this. I was a failure, and Lucy would never forgive me for this. I knew I should just give in; the torment would lessen if I would just succumb. Yet something inside me refused. Pride, maybe? Anger? I reached out my hand, pulled myself a bit closer. Crane's foot came at me again, and again, I fell.

You're going to be beaten by this punk, Jordan. A scrawny little scarecrow brought you to your knees...and you're just letting him do it.

And that's when it started. The strength that started to come blossomed even more. The terrifying thoughts and the horror that came with them were still there, but...different, somehow.

He hurt you, Jordan. He hurt you and your daughter. And if you give in, you let him get away with it.

I grabbed the chair, used it to steady myself and pull myself up. Crane was approaching me. He was going to hurt me again, I knew. God in heaven, he was going to do something terrible. My mind conjured up several images: broken fingers, a snapped neck, flesh being ripped from my bones - oh, God, Crane, please don't hurt me. Just leave me alone. Leave me alone!

He reached for me.

And I lashed out.

My fist felt his ribs, and he fell back, just as startled as I was. I grabbed the back of the chair to steady myself. My feet found their grounding, and I was finally able to stand. Crane got up, faced me. And slowly, his features melted from shock, to amusement, to a calm, quiet smile.

The bastard was actually smiling. He was enjoying this, I realized. It didn't matter what I did to him anymore; I couldn't hurt him like I used to do, and he knew it. He was mocking me, challenging me.

I was only too ready to deliver.

The man before me was no longer a tortured little boy who had done nothing wrong. He was a lunatic who hurt me and my daughter, violated my most personal thoughts, and would stop at nothing until both my mind and my daughter's were shattered beyond repair. Gone were any thoughts of sympathy and regret. He deserved none of the pity I'd once foolishly given him.

Because in doing that, I had been the one to let him hurt me and Abby both.

Finding the courage to let go of the chair, I dove at him, knocked him to the ground, blindly threw my fists anywhere I could hit. I felt something hard crack and cut me - his glasses, I realized quickly enough. He hit me back, kicked me, tried to throw me off. Old reflexes kicked in as I grabbed his hair and snapped his head back, making his face an easier target. He grabbed my fist before it could make contact, squeezed, barely kept me from pounding his face in.

Claws grew from his fingers and painfully sank into my flesh. I screamed as I tried to pull my hand back, but his grip tightened as the claws burrowed into my arm. His eyes burned with fire, and his mouth filled with sharp teeth, jaws snapping to bite me.

It's the fear serum, Jordan. It isn't really happening.

But it was. Everything looked - and felt - so real!

My hesitation cost me as his knee shot up into my stomach, forcing me to release my hold. He threw me off and got up. I grabbed his leg as he tried to flee and yanked, and he fell face-first into one of the crates as he came down. I saw the dark red smear on the wood, the remains of the glasses fall to the floor in pieces, and when he turned to face me and try to kick me away, I saw the long trail of blood flowing over his lips and staining the top of his costume.

Crane's eyes locked onto mine with the fury of an unleashed demon as he pushed himself up. His free foot hit my hands and forced me to let go, and in another second, he was back on his feet and running toward a darkened corner of the lab. I scrambled to my own feet and chased him. He grabbed something from the corner, and a long flash of light shot up as he raised the object high. A scythe, I quickly realized. One that was about to come down on my head.

I grabbed at the handle before he could bring it down, tried to ignore that his hands had become bone. I heard Abby's distorted screams behind me, but I couldn't focus on her right now. I had to take Crane down, and I had to do it quickly.

Crane and I each wrestled for control of the scythe. His form shifted as the fear serum continued to meld with my mind, and he shifted from his normal form to a horrendous version of the Grim Reaper, then back again. The other visions were no longer as strong as they were before. Was it wearing off? Or had I found a way to counter it?

I shoved him back into the wall, jammed my knee into his stomach to knock the wind out him. He loosened his grip, and I yanked the weapon away, releasing my knee and using blunt end to knock him to the floor.

Crane started to get up, tried to grab for me. I slammed the handle of the scythe into his hand to pin it to the floor. He cried out and tried to kick my legs from under me. I pulled the scythe away, took a few steps back to avoid being hit.

"Stay back," I said, holding up the scythe.

My heart was still pounding from the rush of adrenaline. My whole body felt hot, and I gripping the scythe so hard, my knuckles were turning white. He turned away from me, cradling his injured hand into his body. My mind flashed again, and for a brief second, I saw him as a boy again. The hand I had injured had been the same one we had burned those years ago.

I tried to push the thought away, to bury that brief bit of guilt that resurfaced. My grip loosened a little as I lowered the scythe. The rush I felt was gone, weariness began to seep through my mind, and my body started to register the pain I received in our fight.

He kept his injured hand close to his body, turned away from me. I watched him as he trembled, curled into himself. Had I beaten him?

A small sound escaped his lips. A pained moan...that slowly formed into quiet laughter. Using the wall for support, he got back to his feet.

"Still a bully," he said quietly.

He wiped some of the blood from his face on the back of his glove. There were a few small cuts in his face from when I broke his glasses.

"Such a good example, Jordan," Crane sneered. "I wonder what your daughter thinks of that, hmm?"

"She saw you hurt me," I said, doing all in my power to bite back my anger. I couldn't afford to let him get to me like that again. "Congratulations, Crane. You've become a bully yourself."

"I had an excellent teacher."

I saw his good hand quickly pull something from his coat. Without thinking, I swung the scythe to knock it away. The back of the handle hit his hand, and he let go of a canister. I dropped the scythe and tackled him before he could go for it. The little canister rolled away. I struggled to keep his back pinned to the ground, reached to grab the canister. In my struggle to both grab it and keep Crane down, I knocked it away.

"No!"

Crane reached up to grab my neck. His thin fingers squeezed, forcing me to release my hold. He threw me off of him and scrambled to get back on his feet. I grabbed his ankle just as he started a sprint. He stumbled forward, but this time, he managed to keep his balance as he tried to kick me away. I pulled again, and he fell, bracing himself as his body made contact with the floor. I stood up and grabbed his collar. I didn't hold back as I slammed him into the wall, punched his stomach, moved up to his ribs and face.

I enjoyed the new rush of adrenaline that surged through me as I threw him to the floor, savagely beat him down. The old thrills I once felt came back as I delivered another punch and refused to let him get a move in. If I broke something, I didn't care. He tried to crawl away from me. I delivered kick after kick. It was still as easy as kicking a scarecrow.

I grabbed his collar again and forced him to his feet. And I grinned as I saw flecks of long-forgotten terror rise in his wide blue eyes.

Without a second thought, I threw him into the lab table.

Vials and equipment slid off and some of them shattered as Crane crashed into them. The candles went out as noxious chemical fumes filled the air. I heard a despaired cry in the dark, and waited for my eyes to adjust from the faint and only light coming from the two small windows. The clouds had moved in time, and a faint glow from the moonlight lit that part of the room just enough to see.

I found the canister that Crane had dropped before. I saw his trembling form on the table, watched as he shoved some shards of broken glass away from him. Many of his notes had scattered. I grabbed a handful of them from the floor, tore them to shreds right in front of him, and another weak, despaired cry escaped his throat. I knew I had taken the last of the fight from him as I finished destroying the only things here that he deemed precious.

Crane pushed himself up, slid off the table, tried to steady himself. Judging by how his body shook, I had beaten him badly. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor. He lifted his head as I approached him, and he scooted away from me until I had him backed into a corner. I watched as he curled away from me, held his arms up in defense.

I had started this whole mess years ago. I was going to end it now.

"I should hurt you, Crane," I said, taking another step. Never before had I felt such rage, such hate. "I should crush your little skull and kick you around like the pathetic little scarecrow you are."

He was weak now, disarmed of his fear toxins and unable to defend himself. As I towered over him, observed his bloodied face and pained movements, my mind flashed to several memories back in high school, with me approaching him, knowing he was at my mercy...and with him just the way he was now, cowering at my feet and hoping I wouldn't hurt him any more than I already had. The only difference was he was innocent back then. And as I took another step, everything that had happened in the past two days - the reunion, the kidnapping, Abby - they were all the justification I needed to slip back into old habits, to assert myself and show him who was boss.

I held the fear canister and aimed it at him. I fingered the trigger, ready to spray it and make the bastard suffer a taste of his own medicine. My body trembled as I fought back to urge to kick him around some more, to grab his hair, pull him up and punch his face like I used to do. My finger began to sink onto the depressor, only a millimeter from releasing the menacing contents.

"But this has to stop, Crane. One way or another, this can't go on."

I swallowed hard, allowing the silence to linger. It would be another minute before I found my voice again.

"...Jonathan..."

I kept my voice level, controlled. He stayed in that fetal position for another moment, then uncurled just enough to look up at me. His eyes went to the canister, then back to me. And almost as if on cue, I threw the vial away, where neither of us could get to it.

"...I never should have done what I did to you," I said, my voice trembling.

I had played this conversation in my head several times. And each time I played it, the words flowed right out of my mouth, articulated into a perfect apology. But now that I had my chance to do it, I struggled to think of the right words to say. I swallowed again. I had already taken the first step. It was time to follow through.

"...I never meant to expose you like that. And you may not believe it - you don't even have to forgive me - but I've had plenty of time to reflect on what I've done. And if I could, I would take it back. All of it."

I carefully extended my hand towards him. He hesitated and visibly flinched away from me. I caught the wary gaze, that look of mistrust. Crane - Jonathan - studied me, as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trick. For what felt like eternity, neither of us spoke or moved.

At last, I watched as he pushed himself up, lifted his own hand...and slid it into mine. His fingers were thin and slender, and gave off a chill that I felt even through his glove. Though he trembled as his fingers curled around my hand, his grip was stronger than I expected.

I don't know if he forgave me. I may never find out, and personally, I don't really care. But in that moment, all of the years of hate and bitterness and loathing, all of the rivalries, pranks, and torment - it was all set aside for that one brief second of understanding. I helped him up to his feet, and as soon as he had steadied himself, he pulled away from me.

We both looked at each other, our expressions mirroring the man each deemed his rival, both of us in disbelief at the brief truce. Jonathan broke his gaze from mine first. He grabbed his Scarecrow mask and hat from the floor where they had fallen, slipped them back over his head. Under the mask, his eyes narrowed, and he turned away from me.

I watched as he disappeared into the shadows, his movements quick, but still pained and stiff. I waited, feeling my heart beat harder as I listened for him, prepared myself for a retaliation that never came. His hastened footsteps faded away. I heard a door open and slam, and I knew he was gone. There was silence for several moments, and I realized I was holding my breath. As I let it go, I turned to go find Abby.

She was in the room where Jonathan had kept her before, still shaken and scared as I knelt down to her.

Abby looked up at me. In the dim light, I could see the wet streaks down her face. She shuddered away from me at first, then reached for me. I forced myself to smile, more to reassure myself than her. It didn't last, but it didn't need to.

"We're going to be okay," I promised.

I cradled her in my arms and lifted her up, holding her close to me. As her slender arms slipped around my neck, I broke down into sobs. We were alive and safe, and we were free.

"It's over," I promised, holding her close to me. We're going home."

Ever since that night, my life had changed. The weight I had carried for so long had lifted, but new challenges quickly replaced the old.

First, there was an explanation to Lucy about how Abby ended up coming home with me when she was supposed to be staying with a friend. The police were called, investigations were done, tests were run on me and Abby to make sure none of the Scarecrow's toxins would have any lasting effects, Abby and I both made weekly visits with a therapist. The media circus that came with it was almost too much to handle. Things finally settled down after a few months, and slowly, my life returned to normal.

I later looked up my friends and learned of what became of them: Mark Thompson learned that Lenny was involved in his accident and successfully sued him. Dean's affair entirely ruined his marriage, and he was found dead at his desk the next day, his finger still on the trigger. The fraud Owen committed earned him a few years in jail and the loss of his job.

But not all of them had a tragic ending: The truth about Sam's legal dispute with his father-in-law forced them to work things out. Ricky cleaned up his act and now helps out troubled teenagers. Even Tom and Billy turned the experience around to their benefit.

I never pressed charges or testified against the Scarecrow. In a way, I thanked him for what he did. He forced me to deal with my guilt, and in doing that, he freed me from it. And in forcing us to face the darkest, most disgusting parts of ourselves, I think he made most of us into better men.

Now and again, I heard news of the Scarecrow - Jonathan Crane - and his unending battle with the Batman. He would create a fear scheme, Batman would find out and stop him, he would be sent to Arkham Asylum. At some point, he would escape, and the cycle would start all over again. I no longer fretted about any news of the Scarecrow being at large anymore. I was safe in my little home in Florida; Jonathan was causing his mayhem up in Gotham City. We had an understanding of sorts; he never came after me again.

It would be several years later when the news of the Scarecrow finally started to die down. Had he given up crime? Had he died in the latest caper? Had he simply gotten too old to continue these games with the Dark Knight? I didn't know, and I didn't care. Once I made peace with my past, I stopped following the stories entirely. What little I knew about them, I stumbled upon by chance.

I am getting up in my last years now, with my sweet Lucy at my side. After that terrible ordeal, I had a new-found appreciation for her, a desire to do whatever it took to save our marriage and do right by her. It took time, but she came back to me. Abby is grown now has her own family - she married a good man and has two kids of her own. I hadn't thought of any of this in years, really, until this morning.

I received a small package in the mail. There was no return address, but there was something small and slightly heavy in the envelope. Wondering what it could be, I tore it open and shook the envelope in my hand.

An old varsity pin fell out, pinning a piece of straw to a small note. I glanced at it, my eyes tracing over the small, clean penmanship.

"This belongs to you."

There was something else written on the back. I flipped it over.

"Never fear."

There was no signature.

I don't know if this means Jonathan has finally forgiven me, or if there's another meaning that only his warped and twisted mind can decipher. I can only hope that he, too, has finally found peace with himself, and that this gift is the final step in securing it.

A/N: I would like to thank those of you who took the time to review this for me. Each one means so much to me, and I am pleased to know that you have enjoyed this story so far. I truly hope the ending was to your liking.

A special thanks especially to Neuschwanstein Princess/Arlingtonn on Gaia for being my beta.