Something In Common Part Five
Author: jsherlock
Rating: PG(13)
Title: Something In Common
Part: 5/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Beta: Slarti (Thank you SO much!)
Summary: How Jonathan became the Scarecrow.
Ok - NEW plan. I write, I post. But not every day. Deal?
Jonathan sat primly in the chair, even though he was now strapped to it, restrained in a full-body straightjacket.
Mrs. Evans glared at him, and put her glasses back on. “Such displays of violence will not be tolerated, and you will be sedated, do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good.” She waved at the two orderlies to leave the room. “Now, then, shall we start from the beginning?” She cleared her throat and reached for her pen. Her hand brushed thin air. She sighed. “Where is it, Jonathan?”
“Scarecrow.” Jonathan corrected her, settling back, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
Mrs. Evans let herself swear out loud, and motioned at the camera that the orderlies should come back. She watched as they sedated him, and searched his person. The pen was neatly stuffed down his sock. Jack held it up.
“Well, put him back in his room, this session is over.” She rubbed her temples and watched as Jack lifted Jonathan as he would have a sack of limp potatoes and carry him out.
Two days later, Dr. Crane was so inclined to have another session.
“I’m sorry about the other day. I was not ready to discuss that particular subject.” He said, upon entering and being strapped in.
“Yes, well, just in case of a repeat performance , I’m going to restrain you.”
“As you should.” He replied, nodding a little, as if approving of the idea.
She let it slide. After all, she reminded herself, he WAS the head of this place before Dr. Borges took over, and then myself, of course. “So, then, where do you want to begin today?”
“Prom was as big an event for me as for any teen. I was looking forward to it, even though my first lady of choice, Sherry, had turned me down for going with my worst antagonizer, Griggs; Pamela had agreed to go with me, even though she had graduated the previous year. The play The Wizard of Oz, had been a spectacular hit. And we, the drama club, had turned prom into a celebratory party for ourselves.”
- - - - - - - - -
Pamela looked spectacular in her green-tea ice cream coloured dress - it was slinky in all the right places, and flowed in rippling folds where it should, and she filled it out better than the other two girls who were wearing the same dress. She slipped her arm through Jonathan’s - who looked elegant in a formal, but old-fashioned tuxedo.
“Isn’t this fun?” She said in an undertone.
“I think it’s great.” He replied, smiling. The banner announcing “Romp in the Jungle” for the theme had been replaced with “Over the Rainbow”, even though all the decorations were still jungle-esque.
“Well, I suppose you deserve it; you and the others did do a damn good job. You even got yourselves on the front page of the local paper.”
“Yeah, we did!”
“Johnny!” A small, brunette, in a long black gown came running up and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you could make it, I honestly thought you wouldn’t come. Isn’t it AWESOME?” Danielle gestured at the banner.
“It certainly is, Danielle. Where’s your date?”
“Oh - You know Felix and Peter will take any chance to try to out-quote each other. I’m looking for Samantha - have you seen her?”
Jonathan scanned the crowd, and spied her - a tall girl, with her hair piled messily on her head. “She’s over there, probably with Jenny.”
“Thanks! Meet us later in the theater? We’ll have a private party for us. Later!”
“Looks like someone spiked the punch already.”
“Yeah - and I bet it was her.”
“Oh?” Pamela quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have pegged her.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“You’re so good at finding out about people’s secrets, Jonathan.”
Oh yes. All the nasty, dirty, little secrets. Like how sweet, outgoing Danielle thinks no-one knows she fucks Griggs in the green room on a regular basis.
“Well, I do want to be a psychologist. But, tell me how your classes at college are going.”
“Well, it’s been very exciting, but my favorite is horticulture. We were given a greenhouse to ourselves, and at the end of the semester, we’ll be graded on what we grew there, and how well it flourished. We have to keep records - of course, but I can lie on them, so I can grow those plants of yours.”
“Wonderful. I think I’m going to need a drink of Danielle’s punch before I’m brave enough to ask you to dance.”
“Hah! More like I need three or four before I say yes.” Pamela laughed, pulling him towards the refreshment tables. “Which one?”
“All of them, most likely. She was on the decoration crew, and probably fixed them before the teachers even got here.”
“Sneaky.”
“You have no idea.”
“You really worm into other people’s minds - I hope you haven’t turned that dazzling intellect to me, Jonathan Crane.” She stopped, an turned, her dress swirling out. She pinned him with a glare.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t invade my friends’ private lives.” He said smoothly and maneuvered her next to a table.
She blinked, and looked at Christy who was now talking animatedly with Samantha and Jenny. The two young men with them, she supposed were Felix and Peter. “You’re really cold, you know that? You’ve been with the drama club for three years, and you still don’t consider them your friends?”
No -
Jonathan poured her a glass, and they made a circuit, avoiding the mosh-pit of frenzied teenagers.
“Oh, look - another girl wearing my dress.” Pamela said, nodding at the main gymnasium doors. Jonathan turned. The dress did not fit very well with Sherry’s athletic physique, any more than the slacks and tuxedo t-shirt looked good on Griggs.
“Fuck.” Jonathan pronounced. “Let’s walk this way.” He yanked Pamela deeper into the crowds.
“I thought you were taking martial arts, Jonathan, and could defend yourself.”
“I don’t want to deal with him tonight, Pamela.” He said, walking around a large cardboard construct that his them from the crowds.
“Well, he’s headed towards the punch…” she said.
“I’m sure Christy let him know it was spiked. She -” he stopped himself forcibly, biting his lip hard.
“Oh, I see.” Pamela said, knowingly.
“Shut up.”
“Testy, testy.” She laughed, poking him. He shoved her against the wall, her cup dropping to the ground as she let go.
“Ten years of him beating the shit out of me, and you think I’m ‘testy’?” He hissed in her face. He realized that he was choking her, and released her.
“He’s their little ring leader, I’ll have you know.” He said, turning a hand over in the air. “The worst of the lot - the clean-cut, all American high school hero - it’s a façade. He’s a rotten, base Neanderthal who revels in physical prowess against those weaker than him - a coward with the strength of his friends he bullies into being just like him.”
“My God, Jonathan. Haven’t you told anybody?” Pamela asked, rubbing her throat.
“What part of ‘hero’ don’t you understand?” He asked, his good mood spoiled completely.
Pamela didn’t say anything for a long moment, but watched the stiff set of his shoulders relax slowly.
“So…shall we go to the theater, then?”
“Fine.” He blew the hair that had fallen over his forehead impatiently. He marched out towards the theater, cutting a swathe in the crowd, not caring if Pamela followed or not.
- - - - - - -
“We have discussed the years of abuse you suffered, are you still having issues you can’t handle on your own?”
“Do you want to hear this or not, you silly woman?”
“Now listen here, Dr. Crane, I have tried to treat you with the utmost respect and civility. I expect that in return.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned forward against the straps, letting his hair fall forward.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“I’ve never been backstage before.” Pamela grinned as he led her through the wings, and onto the stage, which was still set as the Gale residence. The loud music from the gym was much softer here, and with the curtain down, it felt as if they were alone, isolated from the world.
“Yeah? Well, welcome to The Wizard of Oz.”
“So, you guys made all these sets?” She asked, walking around, dragging her fingers over the table and pictures hung on the wall. She noticed they were pictures of the characters in costume - and in Danielle’s case when she was a little girl dressed as Dorothy for Halloween. She suspected Jonathan’s attention to detail had provided that.
“Every single one of them. But we had a stunt guy come in and rig the harness for when the wicked witch comes flying in on her broom.”
“Tell me something, Jonathan. How did you get into acting, anyway?” She asked, turned in place to face him. Her perfume hung in the air - floral and spicy. Jonathan wondered what else she had put into it.
“Huh? Oh - well, it was by accident, really. I had an acquaintance, Peter, who tolerated me somewhat. One day, mother had to go bring a neighbor home from the hospital, and asked his mom to take me home - but he had a drama club meeting, so I went along.” Jonathan smiled.
“The group, already a clique, was wary of letting in an unpopular outsider, until Peter told them I could mimic other people’s mannerisms perfectly. They fairly ordered me to demonstrate. So, I copied some people from my mother’s parties. My mother, from the time I could toddle, had trained me to act like those people, so I was very good at it.” He shrugged slightly, staring at one of the pictures blindly.
“I continued to go to drama club, even after Peter left, because of what I learned. I learned to hone the art of hiding myself behind a mask. I learned how to change the way I walked, talked, and thought. I learned to become someone else entirely.”
“That’s nice.” She flopped onto Dorothy’s bed, and looked up at him through her lashes. “So, want to kill some time before the rest of the Brady Bunch arrives?” She patted the mattress beside her.
“Pamela -” Jonathan said, watching her warily.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The curtain lifted up to reveal Bo and his cronies. They reminded Jonathan of a pack of wolves.
“Hello, Bo.” Jonathan said lightly, his heart beating harder.
“Awww.” Bo drawled, as he stepped further onto the stage. “Looky here. The big star thought he could finally impress a lady and get lucky - oh, my mistake, you’re no lady.”
Pamela had stood up when the curtain had gone up. “Well, you would have missed the show.”
“Really? Well, I’ve always wanted to act.”
Icy fingers trailed down Jonathan’s spine at his words. Apparently, Pamela’s mind had just gone to the same place, and he saw her suppress a shudder, and discretely toe off her strappy high heels.
“So…what’re we gonna do boys?” Bo asked, circling around Pamela. They laughed in a broken chorus.
Pamela caught Jonathan’s eye with a look that said, I’ll go for help. Jonathan looked away. He knew that she ran six miles every morning. So when two of the bullies grabbed each of his arms, she yanked her dress up and took off. He had the satisfaction of seeing her leap off the stage, and haul ass out of the theater before Bo’s purple face, suffused with anger was shoved in his.
It was obvious that he’d been hitting his parent’s liquor cabinet long before arriving.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“It was the worse beating to date. I can’t really remember much after they shoved me to the ground and kicked me in the head. I can honestly say I am eternally grateful that they didn’t take out not having Pamela on me.”
“But you just said - “
He lifted his eyes, eyes glinting oddly in the harsh lighting under his long bangs. “They didn’t rape me.”
“Oh - right.”
“I blacked out at some point - another kick to the head, I think.” He hunched his shoulders. “And then…then I woke up.”
- - - - - - - - - -
I can’t breathe. Jonathan floundered for a few minutes, trying to breathe past the gagging mask. His mask. Scarecrow’s mask from the play. Memories of them yanking it over his face and dragging him outside filtered to his consciousness. He realized that wasn’t all that was keeping his breathing labored.
Ropes dug into his wrists, keeping him strapped to the pole. He kicked his legs uselessly, 4 feet from the ground. I’ve been crucified. I’m going to collapse onto my own lungs. I’m going to die. Slowly and painfully. All alone.
No, you’re not. Relax. Take stock of your situation. Take small, shallow breaths so you don’t settle yourself further down and really suffocate.
He stilled, and looked around. A step-ladder was tossed carelessly on its side a few feet away. No way to reach it.
Test the ropes.
He did, twisting his feet around the lower pole and pulling his arms with all his might. The coarse rope bit into his skin, making blood seep through the scrapes, but he used that to further wriggle one hand through. He grabbed the pole and worked his other hand loose, and dropped to the ground.
He stayed in a heap, gulping in as much air as he could, going in and out of consciousness.
Get up. You’re not done.
Jonthan rolled over, and got to his feet. He was near the green house. He went in and stopped at a medium plant that the teacher had put in a large yellow and blue pot. He ripped the plant up, clods of damp, loamy soil flying from it’s roots. He dug deeper into the hole and pulled out the plastic baggie that held his father’s gun. He’d taken it out of the house after he’d seen his mother loading it. Neither of them had said anything about it yet.
The Wildey pistol was already loaded. He cocked it and got up. Griggs drove a flashy red convertible. It wouldn’t be that hard to find. Jonathan walked across the farm, and up the hill. He looked around, but the parking lot was devoid of people.
Strobing lights and a hard beat, muted by distance throbbed from the gymnasium. Nobody would hear him if he did fire the gun.
He likes to park up front and center - or as close as he can. Look in the first lot.
Jonathan walked casually into the parking lot, hiding the gun up his sleeve in case anyone saw him. He slipped from shadow to shadow, ducking behind a car whenever a couple or small group came near, laughing, unawares of his presence.
Until one of the happy couples happened to be Griggs and Sherry. He hid next to the car, and switched off the safety.
“Where’d you go, Bo? Please tell me you didn’t go bother Jonathan again.”
Bother? Was that what she called him beating him day in and day out? Why did I even ask her to go with me?
“’Jonathan’? You have feelings for him, Sherry?” He stopped and glared at her, weaving slightly on his feet.
“No - it’s just - you could give him a break for once.”
“Nah - couldn’t find the fucker - was he even there?” The lie came easily, and Griggs draped an arm over her shoulders. Next to him, she seemed delicate, but he put his full weight on her, stumbling every now and then.
“Yeah - with Pamela Isley. Remember her? She graduated last year. And she was wearing MY dress!”
“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car.” He fell into the driver’s seat heavily.
“Are you sure you’re ok to drive?” Sherry asked, walking around to the other side.
“I’m fine.”
Jonathan stood up. “The gun is loaded, and cocked. All I have to do is squeeze the trigger. Get in the car, Sherry, and don’t make a sound.” He opened the car door for her. She complied, eyes round, her mouth open.
Griggs stared at him stupidly, his seatbelt halfway on. Then, he blinked, and he grimaced. “Is that you, Crane, under that mask? You pathetic little fuck! I’ll fix you good this time!”
Jonathan fired a shot a foot from his face. Sherry screamed. “Stay in the car, Bo. I’ve been practicing, and that was a warning shot.”
“Now, I want you to drive over that hill there.” Jonathan pointed. The upper campus was at the top of a rather steep hill that over-looked Gotham’s middle-class housing.
“You’ve got to be kidding, you little runt!”
“No, I’m not. I want you to drive, or I’ll shoot you.”
“Jonathan! I’ve been nice to you, let me go, please! I- I won’t tell anyone. Please let us go.”
“You won’t tell?” Jonathan laughed. “Tell whom what? That I have a gun or your boyfriend beats me up for sport?”
“Please!”
“Drive. Or I’ll shoot off a finger.” He grabbed Sherry’s hand, forcing a finger out. “Are you going to spare her the pain? I hear that hill’s really good - it’ll be a moment of abject terror, then you’ll die. Both of you.”
“You’re insane.” Griggs said.
“I’m the one with the gun.” Jonathan aimed at Griggs’ crotch. “How about I ensure that you won’t bring any little bastards into the world instead?”
Griggs started the car. Sherry started crying, and put on her seatbelt.
“Good boy, Bo. Now drive.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“The stupid ass hit the gas. Sherry screamed: it was a drawn-out wail. But he swerved, and came around. He was obviously going to run me over. It was a tragic accident what happened next. He was so drunk that he ran into a light pole. The car wrapped around the pole, closer to Sherry’s side than his.”
Jonathan stopped, and in quite a different voice, continued, “I remember most that the windscreen shattered and flowed around my ankles, like a wave of water.”
“What did you feel?” Mrs. Evans said, congratulating herself on keep her voice steady and detached.
“Liberated. I was free of the fear that had haunted my every move for so long. It was a physical release, that made my heart pound, and my knees give out. I laughed until I cried.”
You’re free.
“What did you do next?”
“I replaced the gun exactly where I had hidden it, and went back to the theater, took the costume off, and was sitting on the stage when Pamela came running in with a flock of teachers behind her. She had felt the need to muster an army. I let them think I’d been out of it the whole time.”
“I never killed Sherry. That was Bo, driving drunk.” His smile twisted unevenly. “Bo is still alive, unfortunately, in a wheelchair, probably slobbering drunk somewhere crying about his lost football career.”
Rating: PG(13)
Title: Something In Common
Part: 5/?
Warnings: None for now.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Beta: Slarti (Thank you SO much!)
Summary: How Jonathan became the Scarecrow.
Ok - NEW plan. I write, I post. But not every day. Deal?
Jonathan sat primly in the chair, even though he was now strapped to it, restrained in a full-body straightjacket.
Mrs. Evans glared at him, and put her glasses back on. “Such displays of violence will not be tolerated, and you will be sedated, do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good.” She waved at the two orderlies to leave the room. “Now, then, shall we start from the beginning?” She cleared her throat and reached for her pen. Her hand brushed thin air. She sighed. “Where is it, Jonathan?”
“Scarecrow.” Jonathan corrected her, settling back, a satisfied smirk spreading across his face.
Mrs. Evans let herself swear out loud, and motioned at the camera that the orderlies should come back. She watched as they sedated him, and searched his person. The pen was neatly stuffed down his sock. Jack held it up.
“Well, put him back in his room, this session is over.” She rubbed her temples and watched as Jack lifted Jonathan as he would have a sack of limp potatoes and carry him out.
Two days later, Dr. Crane was so inclined to have another session.
“I’m sorry about the other day. I was not ready to discuss that particular subject.” He said, upon entering and being strapped in.
“Yes, well, just in case of a repeat performance , I’m going to restrain you.”
“As you should.” He replied, nodding a little, as if approving of the idea.
She let it slide. After all, she reminded herself, he WAS the head of this place before Dr. Borges took over, and then myself, of course. “So, then, where do you want to begin today?”
“Prom was as big an event for me as for any teen. I was looking forward to it, even though my first lady of choice, Sherry, had turned me down for going with my worst antagonizer, Griggs; Pamela had agreed to go with me, even though she had graduated the previous year. The play The Wizard of Oz, had been a spectacular hit. And we, the drama club, had turned prom into a celebratory party for ourselves.”
- - - - - - - - -
Pamela looked spectacular in her green-tea ice cream coloured dress - it was slinky in all the right places, and flowed in rippling folds where it should, and she filled it out better than the other two girls who were wearing the same dress. She slipped her arm through Jonathan’s - who looked elegant in a formal, but old-fashioned tuxedo.
“Isn’t this fun?” She said in an undertone.
“I think it’s great.” He replied, smiling. The banner announcing “Romp in the Jungle” for the theme had been replaced with “Over the Rainbow”, even though all the decorations were still jungle-esque.
“Well, I suppose you deserve it; you and the others did do a damn good job. You even got yourselves on the front page of the local paper.”
“Yeah, we did!”
“Johnny!” A small, brunette, in a long black gown came running up and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad you could make it, I honestly thought you wouldn’t come. Isn’t it AWESOME?” Danielle gestured at the banner.
“It certainly is, Danielle. Where’s your date?”
“Oh - You know Felix and Peter will take any chance to try to out-quote each other. I’m looking for Samantha - have you seen her?”
Jonathan scanned the crowd, and spied her - a tall girl, with her hair piled messily on her head. “She’s over there, probably with Jenny.”
“Thanks! Meet us later in the theater? We’ll have a private party for us. Later!”
“Looks like someone spiked the punch already.”
“Yeah - and I bet it was her.”
“Oh?” Pamela quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t have pegged her.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“You’re so good at finding out about people’s secrets, Jonathan.”
Oh yes. All the nasty, dirty, little secrets. Like how sweet, outgoing Danielle thinks no-one knows she fucks Griggs in the green room on a regular basis.
“Well, I do want to be a psychologist. But, tell me how your classes at college are going.”
“Well, it’s been very exciting, but my favorite is horticulture. We were given a greenhouse to ourselves, and at the end of the semester, we’ll be graded on what we grew there, and how well it flourished. We have to keep records - of course, but I can lie on them, so I can grow those plants of yours.”
“Wonderful. I think I’m going to need a drink of Danielle’s punch before I’m brave enough to ask you to dance.”
“Hah! More like I need three or four before I say yes.” Pamela laughed, pulling him towards the refreshment tables. “Which one?”
“All of them, most likely. She was on the decoration crew, and probably fixed them before the teachers even got here.”
“Sneaky.”
“You have no idea.”
“You really worm into other people’s minds - I hope you haven’t turned that dazzling intellect to me, Jonathan Crane.” She stopped, an turned, her dress swirling out. She pinned him with a glare.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t invade my friends’ private lives.” He said smoothly and maneuvered her next to a table.
She blinked, and looked at Christy who was now talking animatedly with Samantha and Jenny. The two young men with them, she supposed were Felix and Peter. “You’re really cold, you know that? You’ve been with the drama club for three years, and you still don’t consider them your friends?”
No -
Jonathan poured her a glass, and they made a circuit, avoiding the mosh-pit of frenzied teenagers.
“Oh, look - another girl wearing my dress.” Pamela said, nodding at the main gymnasium doors. Jonathan turned. The dress did not fit very well with Sherry’s athletic physique, any more than the slacks and tuxedo t-shirt looked good on Griggs.
“Fuck.” Jonathan pronounced. “Let’s walk this way.” He yanked Pamela deeper into the crowds.
“I thought you were taking martial arts, Jonathan, and could defend yourself.”
“I don’t want to deal with him tonight, Pamela.” He said, walking around a large cardboard construct that his them from the crowds.
“Well, he’s headed towards the punch…” she said.
“I’m sure Christy let him know it was spiked. She -” he stopped himself forcibly, biting his lip hard.
“Oh, I see.” Pamela said, knowingly.
“Shut up.”
“Testy, testy.” She laughed, poking him. He shoved her against the wall, her cup dropping to the ground as she let go.
“Ten years of him beating the shit out of me, and you think I’m ‘testy’?” He hissed in her face. He realized that he was choking her, and released her.
“He’s their little ring leader, I’ll have you know.” He said, turning a hand over in the air. “The worst of the lot - the clean-cut, all American high school hero - it’s a façade. He’s a rotten, base Neanderthal who revels in physical prowess against those weaker than him - a coward with the strength of his friends he bullies into being just like him.”
“My God, Jonathan. Haven’t you told anybody?” Pamela asked, rubbing her throat.
“What part of ‘hero’ don’t you understand?” He asked, his good mood spoiled completely.
Pamela didn’t say anything for a long moment, but watched the stiff set of his shoulders relax slowly.
“So…shall we go to the theater, then?”
“Fine.” He blew the hair that had fallen over his forehead impatiently. He marched out towards the theater, cutting a swathe in the crowd, not caring if Pamela followed or not.
- - - - - - -
“We have discussed the years of abuse you suffered, are you still having issues you can’t handle on your own?”
“Do you want to hear this or not, you silly woman?”
“Now listen here, Dr. Crane, I have tried to treat you with the utmost respect and civility. I expect that in return.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He leaned forward against the straps, letting his hair fall forward.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“I’ve never been backstage before.” Pamela grinned as he led her through the wings, and onto the stage, which was still set as the Gale residence. The loud music from the gym was much softer here, and with the curtain down, it felt as if they were alone, isolated from the world.
“Yeah? Well, welcome to The Wizard of Oz.”
“So, you guys made all these sets?” She asked, walking around, dragging her fingers over the table and pictures hung on the wall. She noticed they were pictures of the characters in costume - and in Danielle’s case when she was a little girl dressed as Dorothy for Halloween. She suspected Jonathan’s attention to detail had provided that.
“Every single one of them. But we had a stunt guy come in and rig the harness for when the wicked witch comes flying in on her broom.”
“Tell me something, Jonathan. How did you get into acting, anyway?” She asked, turned in place to face him. Her perfume hung in the air - floral and spicy. Jonathan wondered what else she had put into it.
“Huh? Oh - well, it was by accident, really. I had an acquaintance, Peter, who tolerated me somewhat. One day, mother had to go bring a neighbor home from the hospital, and asked his mom to take me home - but he had a drama club meeting, so I went along.” Jonathan smiled.
“The group, already a clique, was wary of letting in an unpopular outsider, until Peter told them I could mimic other people’s mannerisms perfectly. They fairly ordered me to demonstrate. So, I copied some people from my mother’s parties. My mother, from the time I could toddle, had trained me to act like those people, so I was very good at it.” He shrugged slightly, staring at one of the pictures blindly.
“I continued to go to drama club, even after Peter left, because of what I learned. I learned to hone the art of hiding myself behind a mask. I learned how to change the way I walked, talked, and thought. I learned to become someone else entirely.”
“That’s nice.” She flopped onto Dorothy’s bed, and looked up at him through her lashes. “So, want to kill some time before the rest of the Brady Bunch arrives?” She patted the mattress beside her.
“Pamela -” Jonathan said, watching her warily.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The curtain lifted up to reveal Bo and his cronies. They reminded Jonathan of a pack of wolves.
“Hello, Bo.” Jonathan said lightly, his heart beating harder.
“Awww.” Bo drawled, as he stepped further onto the stage. “Looky here. The big star thought he could finally impress a lady and get lucky - oh, my mistake, you’re no lady.”
Pamela had stood up when the curtain had gone up. “Well, you would have missed the show.”
“Really? Well, I’ve always wanted to act.”
Icy fingers trailed down Jonathan’s spine at his words. Apparently, Pamela’s mind had just gone to the same place, and he saw her suppress a shudder, and discretely toe off her strappy high heels.
“So…what’re we gonna do boys?” Bo asked, circling around Pamela. They laughed in a broken chorus.
Pamela caught Jonathan’s eye with a look that said, I’ll go for help. Jonathan looked away. He knew that she ran six miles every morning. So when two of the bullies grabbed each of his arms, she yanked her dress up and took off. He had the satisfaction of seeing her leap off the stage, and haul ass out of the theater before Bo’s purple face, suffused with anger was shoved in his.
It was obvious that he’d been hitting his parent’s liquor cabinet long before arriving.
- - - - - - - - - - -
“It was the worse beating to date. I can’t really remember much after they shoved me to the ground and kicked me in the head. I can honestly say I am eternally grateful that they didn’t take out not having Pamela on me.”
“But you just said - “
He lifted his eyes, eyes glinting oddly in the harsh lighting under his long bangs. “They didn’t rape me.”
“Oh - right.”
“I blacked out at some point - another kick to the head, I think.” He hunched his shoulders. “And then…then I woke up.”
- - - - - - - - - -
I can’t breathe. Jonathan floundered for a few minutes, trying to breathe past the gagging mask. His mask. Scarecrow’s mask from the play. Memories of them yanking it over his face and dragging him outside filtered to his consciousness. He realized that wasn’t all that was keeping his breathing labored.
Ropes dug into his wrists, keeping him strapped to the pole. He kicked his legs uselessly, 4 feet from the ground. I’ve been crucified. I’m going to collapse onto my own lungs. I’m going to die. Slowly and painfully. All alone.
No, you’re not. Relax. Take stock of your situation. Take small, shallow breaths so you don’t settle yourself further down and really suffocate.
He stilled, and looked around. A step-ladder was tossed carelessly on its side a few feet away. No way to reach it.
Test the ropes.
He did, twisting his feet around the lower pole and pulling his arms with all his might. The coarse rope bit into his skin, making blood seep through the scrapes, but he used that to further wriggle one hand through. He grabbed the pole and worked his other hand loose, and dropped to the ground.
He stayed in a heap, gulping in as much air as he could, going in and out of consciousness.
Get up. You’re not done.
Jonthan rolled over, and got to his feet. He was near the green house. He went in and stopped at a medium plant that the teacher had put in a large yellow and blue pot. He ripped the plant up, clods of damp, loamy soil flying from it’s roots. He dug deeper into the hole and pulled out the plastic baggie that held his father’s gun. He’d taken it out of the house after he’d seen his mother loading it. Neither of them had said anything about it yet.
The Wildey pistol was already loaded. He cocked it and got up. Griggs drove a flashy red convertible. It wouldn’t be that hard to find. Jonathan walked across the farm, and up the hill. He looked around, but the parking lot was devoid of people.
Strobing lights and a hard beat, muted by distance throbbed from the gymnasium. Nobody would hear him if he did fire the gun.
He likes to park up front and center - or as close as he can. Look in the first lot.
Jonathan walked casually into the parking lot, hiding the gun up his sleeve in case anyone saw him. He slipped from shadow to shadow, ducking behind a car whenever a couple or small group came near, laughing, unawares of his presence.
Until one of the happy couples happened to be Griggs and Sherry. He hid next to the car, and switched off the safety.
“Where’d you go, Bo? Please tell me you didn’t go bother Jonathan again.”
Bother? Was that what she called him beating him day in and day out? Why did I even ask her to go with me?
“’Jonathan’? You have feelings for him, Sherry?” He stopped and glared at her, weaving slightly on his feet.
“No - it’s just - you could give him a break for once.”
“Nah - couldn’t find the fucker - was he even there?” The lie came easily, and Griggs draped an arm over her shoulders. Next to him, she seemed delicate, but he put his full weight on her, stumbling every now and then.
“Yeah - with Pamela Isley. Remember her? She graduated last year. And she was wearing MY dress!”
“Yeah, yeah. Get in the car.” He fell into the driver’s seat heavily.
“Are you sure you’re ok to drive?” Sherry asked, walking around to the other side.
“I’m fine.”
Jonathan stood up. “The gun is loaded, and cocked. All I have to do is squeeze the trigger. Get in the car, Sherry, and don’t make a sound.” He opened the car door for her. She complied, eyes round, her mouth open.
Griggs stared at him stupidly, his seatbelt halfway on. Then, he blinked, and he grimaced. “Is that you, Crane, under that mask? You pathetic little fuck! I’ll fix you good this time!”
Jonathan fired a shot a foot from his face. Sherry screamed. “Stay in the car, Bo. I’ve been practicing, and that was a warning shot.”
“Now, I want you to drive over that hill there.” Jonathan pointed. The upper campus was at the top of a rather steep hill that over-looked Gotham’s middle-class housing.
“You’ve got to be kidding, you little runt!”
“No, I’m not. I want you to drive, or I’ll shoot you.”
“Jonathan! I’ve been nice to you, let me go, please! I- I won’t tell anyone. Please let us go.”
“You won’t tell?” Jonathan laughed. “Tell whom what? That I have a gun or your boyfriend beats me up for sport?”
“Please!”
“Drive. Or I’ll shoot off a finger.” He grabbed Sherry’s hand, forcing a finger out. “Are you going to spare her the pain? I hear that hill’s really good - it’ll be a moment of abject terror, then you’ll die. Both of you.”
“You’re insane.” Griggs said.
“I’m the one with the gun.” Jonathan aimed at Griggs’ crotch. “How about I ensure that you won’t bring any little bastards into the world instead?”
Griggs started the car. Sherry started crying, and put on her seatbelt.
“Good boy, Bo. Now drive.”
- - - - - - - - - -
“The stupid ass hit the gas. Sherry screamed: it was a drawn-out wail. But he swerved, and came around. He was obviously going to run me over. It was a tragic accident what happened next. He was so drunk that he ran into a light pole. The car wrapped around the pole, closer to Sherry’s side than his.”
Jonathan stopped, and in quite a different voice, continued, “I remember most that the windscreen shattered and flowed around my ankles, like a wave of water.”
“What did you feel?” Mrs. Evans said, congratulating herself on keep her voice steady and detached.
“Liberated. I was free of the fear that had haunted my every move for so long. It was a physical release, that made my heart pound, and my knees give out. I laughed until I cried.”
You’re free.
“What did you do next?”
“I replaced the gun exactly where I had hidden it, and went back to the theater, took the costume off, and was sitting on the stage when Pamela came running in with a flock of teachers behind her. She had felt the need to muster an army. I let them think I’d been out of it the whole time.”
“I never killed Sherry. That was Bo, driving drunk.” His smile twisted unevenly. “Bo is still alive, unfortunately, in a wheelchair, probably slobbering drunk somewhere crying about his lost football career.”