Within Arkham's Walls V. II: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow and Joker x OC Fanfiction

X. Debt

Time had been inching along so incredibly, painstakingly slow as two AM neared.

I sat at my desk pretending to write notes on my client care charts, the ticking of the analog clock in the dim room plummeting me deeper into madness with every passing second.

My guilt and anxiety rushed and pooled like the stormy bay outside, my soul feeling as if it had been thrown upon and strewn across icy rocks like the sea foam that formed at the surface of the torrential waters.

I had to focus, find stillness. I had to be brave.

For Jonathan.

I checked the clock again. One forty-two AM.

My heart pounded in my ears and my veins filled with icy fear as I made my way to the hidden corridor where Jonathan's lab was.

Where I watched him murder Eric.

Weeks back, while trying to find a secret entrance into Arkham, I had thought back to that fateful day when Jonathan had brought those gangsters in while I hid in the locker. I remembered wondering how he had managed to get them in there, thinking that there must've been some alternative entrance he used to gain access to the private hallway.

I was right.

And that's exactly how I was going to get Rhys and his associates into the asylum.

The corridor was cold and drafty upon my entrance, further chilling my already half-frozen figure. I stopped to look into Jonathan's lab, the murder scene displaying itself before my eyes. I saw myself passing out in the locker. To this day, I still wonder how Jonathan found me, or if he knew I was in there...perhaps I would ask him once this mess was all said and done.

A loud, rhythmic series of knocks filled the bitter air of the dim, echoey hallway.

Rhys.

I opened the door promptly.

"Merry Christmas," the dark man gleamed. My stomach dropped.

"Hurry up. I want to get this over with," I replied, unable to match his disturbingly cheerful demeanor.

One by one, Rhys and his goons attired themselves like Arkham's patients. And, considering how ruffed up most of them were—apart from Rhys, nothing appeared out of place.

After one person left the corridor, another would follow suit a few moments later. Just Rhys, another man, and I were left behind.

"Off to the control room we go," Rhys grinned. The other man huffed a hoarse chuckle. There was something sinister in Rhys' ecstatic tone, in that man's laugh...Something I couldn't quite pinpoint, but definitely didn't like.

Snaking through the dark, tiled hallways with Rhys and the other man at my back felt like an eternity. I felt their dark eyes burning the back of my head, and thought for almost a second that I smelt the stench of singed hair.

My heart rate quickened as the the control room doors came into view. I stopped.

"Here," I said as I turned to Rhys, offering him my badge so he could open the doors. He let out a dark laugh.

"Oh no, Miss Thatcher, we're gonna need your help."

My eyes widened. "T-this was not part of the agreement. I agreed to get you in here. That's it. I have no intention of harming these people...at least by my own hands."

"Awe, Ianthe..." Rhys cooed, mocking a gentle, sympathetic tone.

I slammed the badge into his chest. "You go in there and do what the hell you're supposed to do and stop playing fucking games with me."

Taking the badge into his own hands, Rhys looked to the man and then back to me, unskillfully trying to mask his shock with a smile.

"Yes, ma'am."

He pushed past me and stalked towards the control room doors. The other man followed close behind. Rhys turned around briefly, shooting me a devilish wink before scanning my badge and barging into the room.

And I ran, yelling and clattering sounding at my back.

I had to get to the High Secure Ward. Fast.

Suddenly, the lights in the asylum flickered on and off once. The signal.

Sounds of hollering and commotion rang through the halls of Arkham as Rhys' men subdued the officers on duty.

This was really happening. This...

I quicken my pace, thinking that perhaps I outrun my thoughts.

Turning the corner to enter the dilapidated hall that led to the High Security Ward, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Joker stood in the middle of the hallway, holding Jonathan—still cuffed, at knifepoint. At his back, a dozen other inmates waited. I noticed in the small crowd some of Rhys' men.

"What's going on? What have you done?" I screamed, trying to keep my body from violently shaking.

I was afraid. I was confused.

"You've been such a great help, lovely," Joker crooned.

I remained silent, my eyes steadfast on the knife held against Jonathan's sweat-soaked throat.

"But, you see, there is a debt to be paid."