literature

Chase Me Ch 5

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A swarm of noise like an angry bee hive washed over Crane's ears as the police outside shouted frantic orders and car doors slammed, accompanied by the patter of boots running around on the pavement. They were forming a perimeter in the parking lot.

Thoughts thirsty for vengeance fought amongst themselves inside the Doctors mind. Some screamed wildly for Catwoman's blood. Others cursed him out furiously for having trusted her at all, especially for confiding in her about his past. Why had he done it? He barely had known her! Hadn't his life experiences in Gotham taught him anything about trusting randomly?

The voice that had been hiding previously, slithered back to the front of his thoughts, muddying everything. With it, it brought terrible doses of disgust and rage to Crane's boiling mind.

She sold you out doctor, the voice rasped with icy cold amusement. How can that possibly surprise you?

Now you come back?, Crane asked it angrily. You're a great help sometimes.

It was bound to happen again, the voice hissed, ignoring Crane. Betrayal, that is. It was rather funny watching you bare your heart to her like that.

She...she kissed me though. How could I-

The voice uttered a dark laugh that made Crane shiver more then the icy draft was causing.

And pathetic. We shall discuss this later.

A shot of pain went through his head at the laughter, forcing his free hand to shoot up to his painful forehead. The claw wounds there had grown sticky while he slept being caked in a later drying blood. Through sheer and almost superhuman willpower, he held back a scream of rage and bitterness that was threatening to escape his lungs. The police would be breaking in here in no time and he'd be going right back to Arkham when they did. He didn't know what to do anymore.

Yes you do doctor, the other contradicted him. Think about it for a moment, won't you? Is a simple handcuff going to stop you after everything you've done in your life? Really?

Crane could sense the undeniable logic in the voice.

There were sounds through the window of Gotham citizens yelling and objecting as they were forced to stand behind the hastily assembled police perimeter and vehicles in the parking lot by a group of serious faced officers.
A bullhorn blasted off from outside right to Cranes apartment over the sirens. The apartment was filled with the sound of an irritatingly familiar man's voice, though it was oddly muffled.

I suppose you raise a good point.

"DOCTOR CRANE!", Commissioner Jim Gordon's voice shouted. "THIS IS COMMISSIONER GORDON OF THE GOTHAM CITY POLICE! WE HAVE THE ENTIRE APARTMENT COMPLEX SURROUNDED AND WE KNOW THAT YOU'RE IN THERE! COME OUT NOW TO THE MAIN LOBBY, SLOWLY, WITH YOUR HANDS HIGH ABOVE YOUR HEAD IMMEDIATELY!"

Crane's eyebrows crossed, his rage and anger combined with the voice's words in his mind strengthened him. A shot of adrenaline erupted throughout his system and momentarily blocked out his body's soreness and aching the numerous bruises brought on. The cruel voice gave him purpose to find his way out, guidance.

That's not going to happen, Gordon.

Breathing hard, the fear that had been tightening it's grip on his body slowly came under control. He stared down at the cuff's. Crane forced his mind clear of the distracting, rage filled thoughts involving Catwoman and tried to think of a way out of the predicament.
He was a doctor, he had long known how to put emotion aside to get work done. Seconds ticked by, feeling like hours and his head started to sweat all over again. He ran the free hand through his sweat streaked hair.

There's no way I could move this desk across the room in my condition, and there's no way I can get it out the door, he thought frantically. Dammit... I don't have a key for the drawer either... what can I-

Suddenly the realization hit him square across the face. There might be one hope left to get out of this. Crane reached quickly with his left hand into his pant pocket, pulling out the smooth metal lock pick he had used at Arkham and to break into the very same apartment in which he now stood. How could he possibly have forgotten about it?

Yes.

From the corner of his busily working, anxiety filled mind, Crane heard the others in the distance, undoubtedly racing to the scene. The sound of police and news choppers were filling the air, joining in the chaos. Their rotor blades swished hard in the dark rainy sky as they drew closer to the building. Another flash of lightning cut through the rainclouds, followed closely by the growling rumble of thunder.

There was another blast from Gordon's echoing bullhorn, cutting through the night.

"CRANE! DON"T BE A FOOL! IF YOU DO NOT COME OUT RIGHT NOW, WE WILL BE FORCED TO COME IN THERE AND GET YOU!"

Crane ignored the idiotic warning and continued on. He hadn't expected they would be patient about it.

Thankfully, the pick was small enough. Crane placed the head of the lock-pick into the handcuff's lock. He started to jiggle it back and forth, searching for the tumblers keeping the lock in place. Droplets of sweat dripped steadily from his lined forehead as he searched.

A little time passed before Crane had found the first tumbler in the cuff, breathing a sigh of relief as he started to move it up. He'd have to thank Harley the next time he saw her. She'd helped teach the doctor about lock-picking in the Asylum, as Crane never had time to pick up the skill.

Crane could feel three tumblers in the lock, and in another few moments he had picked the first one slowly open.

The bullhorn sounded off again from outside and there was a swarm of boots racing towards the main floor of the apartment. There were shouts and screams of the buildings occupants evacuating the building and racing out to join the crowd in the rain.

"THIS IS IT CRANE! WE'RE COMING IN TO ARREST YOU! SURRENDER! THERE HAVE BEEN ENOUGH DEATHS ALREADY, GIVE IT UP ALREADY!"

There haven't been enough yet Commissioner, Crane thought nastily. I can think of many more who need death, yourself included on that long list.

The doctor moved on to the second tumbler, his eyes focused feverishly and unblinking. He felt the tumbler jiggle slightly and pressed the pick's head upwards. There was a slight click as it pressed home. The second tumbler was open.

Several high beam spotlights flashed on suddenly, aimed at his apartment windows from somewhere above the building. Squinting towards the window, Crane thought he could make out the amusingly familiar shapes of at least three huge police blimps floating in the black skies above the parking lot. In spite of his anxiety and the horror of the situation, he felt himself let out a dull chuckle.

I'll never understand why those parasites use blimps.

Crane turned his head around to the door for a moment and breathed deeply. The SWAT team would be up there soon. He nearly jumped when the voice brought him back to reality from his analysis again.

Focus!

He obeyed the order without a moment's hesitation, turning back down to his lock-pick and continued for the third time.

At the same time he was working on the Tumbler, Crane could hear the distant footsteps growing ever louder as they made their way to the second floor. The police would be up to Crane's apartment within a matter of minutes.

The lock-pick pressed against the third tumbler in the handcuff's lock, and crane started jiggling it once again. He could feel the tumbler starting to give. It was vital he not press too hard or the lock-pick's head could break off inside the lock. He gently tilted it in a clockwise motion. After a few seconds, there was the satisfying click as the third tumbler snapped upwards in place. Crane sighed in relief. He was free, for the moment.

Doctor Crane quickly opened the cuff and slipped his bony, long fingered hand out of it, then adjusted the noose dangling from his neck. The cuff swung off and clattered into the table drawer. Freedom. He rubbed his sore wrist slowly and placed the trusty lock-pick back into his right pant pocket.

And here we go.

He turned, moved over to the window Catwoman had left from and peered outside, squinting his eyes to make out the shapes easier. Swarms of citizens had gathered in the parking lot and were pointing and buzzing excitedly to each other. Gordon had indeed been right unfortunately: the entire apartment appeared surrounded by blue uniformed police officers, police cars and SWAT vans. Worse still, most of whom were wearing what appeared to be gas masks over their faces. Another thought unpleasantly forced it's self into his mind:

They'll be here in moments. You need to get your costume and weapons together...do not fail again Doctor...or else

If the police know where I am... then a certain someone else must know too, The doctor replied uneasily. I'll need to make this quick.

So stop wasting time and obey, the other hissed angrily. Get moving!

Crane's head snapped back to the direction of the apartments door, as the sound of boots on the stairs moved closer and closer up the building. It occurred to Crane that he was going to have to try fighting his way out, much easier said say then to do, especially after all the wounds Catwoman had been so kind to have given him. He had handicaps.

He breathed deeply and readied himself. He'd have to use the fear liquid in his needles instead of the spray bottle, as the police's gas masks were useless against a direct injection. Getting close, however, would prove challenging. He had to come up with a plan somehow... the doorway was already rigged with a trap, which would take out one of them, hopefully distracting the others. Fear would be his main weapon, along with stealth, as it had been for some time.

Crane turned away from the window and looked back over the table, noticing his large, cracked glasses. He chose to wear them despite this damage, so it would be easier seeing at close range. After putting them on, a bit of the fuzziness disappeared, but the cracks didn't make it much better. He spotted his mask on the exact spot Catwoman had dropped it the previous night next to the table. Several long claw marks had slightly torn the forehead. He scooped it up off the floor and jammed it back on his head, adjusting the numerous seals, clamps and the pair of filters. Air escaped with a wheeze the twin nozzles as they functioned again.

The mask was the most comforting thing of all to have back. It felt good to have his face back on, taking away the burning of fear in his gut. In spite of the grim situation, he was whole, once more.

The villainous doctor turned over to the large book case and hurried towards the fallen books now littering all over the floor from the fight. He moved frantically, tossing volumes aside, and finally found his heavily patched, wide brimmed black hat. He quickly placed it back on top of his masked head and uttered a satisfied laugh.

Crane turned back again to the table and raced over to it, dropping down to his sore knees. He reached for the metal case laying under the table and pulled it out in front of himself. He dug a hand into his left pockets, searching for the key, finally finding it and frantically placing it inside the case's lock. With a simple turn, the case popped open, revealing his arsenal: the five large needles full to the brim of glowing yellow liquid and the spray can holding gaseous fear toxin.

A sinister smile crossed over his features under the already maliciously grinning mask as he carefully placed each needle into the crude, rusty metal holders on each finger of his right glove. Crane adjusted them all, securing each needle to the fingers, along with the straps that helped keep the whole device together. He flexed his thinly gloved hand to test them out. All needles were latched in perfectly, the long glowing tubes now running up his gangly arm. He placed the spray can in his pocket next to the lock-pick. It would only come in handy if he was able to remove their gas masks.

His eyes glanced around the apartment again, searching for his final weapon. Where had the cat suit wearing liar thrown it? As he got up and began to look for it, the banging of footsteps was coming from the end of the hall. The police had made it to the top floor.

Sweat glistened on his face and he sighed in relief as he spotted the long scythe fallen beside the long couch near the television. He ran over to it and took it up in both hands. Breathing hard, he stood up holding it tightly. Before moving into position, he scurried around the apartment, turning off the remaining lights. The only light coming from outside the windows were the search lights, which thankfully didn't illuminate the whole apartment at their angle.

Crane chose his spot from which to strike, a corner of the wall in the living room. It was hidden from view of the door, yet he could peak his head around and watch it. It made sense to strike first, use some of his toxin to spread the confusion and terror. With their morale affected, the rest would fall easier like a row of dominoes.

The heavy footsteps stopped outside the locked apartment door, and a stern unfamiliar man's voice called through it after a few moments. Crane could hear the rest of them from inside, breathing hard. Despite their training, they feared him already.. that was a good start, and Crane hadn't even gotten started yet.

"CRANE! This is Lieutenant Johnson, open the door now! You're going back to Arkham!", The man 's muffled voice shouted from the hallway. "Throw aside any and all weapons and walk slowly out the door with your hands high!"

The raggedy man grinned violently and steeled himself for the fight that lay ahead.

"Perhaps you better come in here and find me!", Scarecrow rasped loudly, poking his head around the corner towards the door. "I'm think I'm a little lost!".

From inside, Scarecrow heard the Lieutenant mutter to his subordinates.

"He's resisting arrest, on my mark we go in and subdue him", The low muffled voice echoed into the apartment. Scarecrow took his head away from the corner and gripped his scythe, waiting. "Don't underestimate this sick bastard. He looks weak but he's damn smart and tricky".

There was more shuffling of boots scraping on the floorboards, and Scarecrow peaked around the corner again. His eyes stopped on the cord trap running in front of the door. Then moved up to the Scythe waiting impatiently above the door. He smiled.

Knowing their standard formations, there will be eight to ten officers out there. I'll have to fight my way through and make a run down to the second floor. I'll probably have to jump into the alley, they might not have officers posted there.. most of them look to be out front. I can worry about escaping then, if I even get that far, Scarecrow thought, looking down at his wounds again briefly.

"3!", the Lieutenant's voice shouted, making sure the villain could hear from inside .

Crane closed his bruised eyes beneath the mask and smiled tiredly. His heart beat steadily like a living drum inside his chest. Opening them again, he peered down at the glowing needle glove.

He never should have came here. He knew he should have found a place in crime alley, but it hadn't seemed worth all the noise that went on there. This place hadn't been much of an improvement, but at least it had a less obvious place for him to be.

"2!"

For some, anyways. How had she tracked him down in the first place? Had she been back at Crime Alley without his even knowing? Was she working with who he feared she was working with? Was it really-

"1!"

Enough thinking, Doctor. You have worse problems and misery laying on the other side of that door, and you know it. Pay attention and you'll make it.

"Now!"
Chapter five! lol, much shorter then the others, but necessary. Thanks for reading, any comments appreciated.

Again I recommend reading it here at my other post: [link]


Previous Chapter: [link]
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ScarVengeance6661's avatar
Oh my! more please!! XD this is amazing