Fear (A Scarecrow Fanfic)

Chapter Sixteen

"Food," the man said as he opened the door, carrying a tray in his hands.

I sat up, watching him come near. As usual, he sat the tray just within my reach, keeping him safely out of my range. This time, he sat in the chair and watched me.

Surprised and wary, I didn't move to take the tray, watching the man in return. Over the past week- if I was receiving three meals a day- he had never lingered in the room. I couldn't help but wonder if there was fear toxin in the water again, even though Jonathan wasn't here to witness my reaction.

"What's your name?" I asked, trying to start a conversation.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he answered anyways, "Garret."

I recalled the henchmen saying that was the name of the man Jonathan put me under the care of. 'So why would Jonathan put him in charge if he was going to be nice?' I recalled my earlier thoughts when Garret's behavior changed, "I don't think Jonathan would be too pleased with you if he knew what you were doing."

"Yeah?" He chuckled, "The guy's a douche bag. No one else is coming down here for a while, so until then, why do I have to treat you like crap?"

I felt confused, "Why are you working for him?"

"I need money." He stated, crossing his arms as he leaned back in the chair.

I stayed silent, analyzing him. Most of the people who were pulled into this line of work were associated with drugs. From his appearance and behavior, I couldn't see him being an addict, which meant there was something important enough to make him risk his life. My guess was a family member, like Mr. Freeze and his wife.

Garret noticed I had been studying him, muttering, "My daughter is sick. I need to pay for her meds."

"I'm sorry," I said, hesitating before asking further, "If you don't mind me asking, what's her name?"

He seemed surprised by the question, looking at me as he hesitated before pulling out his wallet and opening it, "Her name's Ashley. She's twelve; her birthday is next month."

He proceeded to pull out a picture, holding it out to show it to me. I crawled forward to look at it. The picture was of a girl who shared the same eyes and nose as him, drawing a picture with crayons. She appeared to be younger than twelve in the photo.

"This is before she got sick," he muttered, looking at it before sticking it back in his wallet.

"I'm sorry," I found myself repeating, adding, "I hope she gets better."

He laughed bitterly as he shook his head, "The doctor said she wouldn't get better, at least not without an operation. But I can barely afford to keep a roof over her head, and her medication is busting my ass." He sighed, looking up at the ceiling, "I wish her mother were still here. Maybe then things would be easier."

I bit the inside of my cheek, staring at the floor. Even as a hostage, I couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards a father trying desperately to provide for his sick daughter. Maybe if things had worked out better for this man, he would of been a doctor, a lawyer, or something else that would've kept him from resorting to taking money from criminals.

He stood from the chair, turning away and walking off, stopping at the door for a moment. I watched his back as he stood there.

"I'll be back later to pick up the tray," he didn't turn around again, leaving without another word.