children, too.” From atop the balcony railing, Ivy picked up a small potted plant that looked as if it hadn’t been watered in the week the home owners had been away. It was limp and pale. She tenderly gave it a playful kiss and it reacted, growing from a sagging stub, circling her arm and briefly grazing her lips, returning her kiss.
“Ivy…” She nodded, and they headed back into the cell room, then out to the hall.
“All right,” Ivy said. “You’re a tough man, but you’ve never been a mean one.” She stopped and looked up at him. “You want to know about Scarecrow? Well, it started with a meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Don’t be so impatient. Stories, like plants, need to grow and can’t be rushed. Take it easy and smell the roses. You’d be surprised how much you can learn from them.”
“Ivy, time is running out. If Scarecrow wins, Gotham City will die, your plants will die, and I won’t be able to save them.”
He could see her face contort, as if she was trying to understand his words. Finally, she gave him another smile.
“Yes, of course. Now, he
is
a mean man, and I believe he’d slaughter all life if given the chance—plant, animal, and human. Anyway, the meeting. Everyone was there. Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler. Even poor Harley. That dear dimwit actually believed she had a chance at a life with her… Puddin’, but then of course,
whoosh
. He gets himself toasted, roasted, and finally mulched. She was bereft of her usual élan.”
“Ivy. The meeting.”
“Right. Of course. The meeting. Scarecrow said he had a plan. That together we could take you out, and Gotham City would be ours.”
“Over my dead body.”
“I believe that was the idea.” Her smile turned sly. “The old notions are still the best, you know.”
The small potted plant was still growing. Thorns emerged from its stems. The once-tiny flower was no longer cute. It looked as if one wrong word would send it on the attack.
“Anyway, I told him I wasn’t interested in his pathetic human games. I mean, how could destroying a city—even one as life-stifling as Gotham City—help my plants?”
“And his response?”
“Well, if he had one, I never heard it. All I remember after that moment is blackness, then waking up in that room, in that cell. He came and babbled some insanity at me, then heard something—probably you—and fled. I sat there trying to formulate a plan when you interrupted.” Her look was coy. “You know the timing between the two of us has never been good.”
“That’s everything?” he demanded brusquely.
Ivy looked like she was trying to give him an answer as she walked from the room, still carrying the potted plant. She made her way to the elevator, humming again along the way, pausing before each dying plant in the apartment, taking a moment to revive it.
“Ivy,” he said, “I asked if that was everything.”
The elevator door beeped, and a moment later its door slid open.
“Pretty much. I told him it was a shame for him that his vile toxin had no effect on me. I seem to remember that he didn’t laugh very much at all. Hmmm. Do you think that’s why he did what he did to me?”
She paused, pinched a small piece from the plant, then set the pot on the floor. She stepped inside the elevator and pressed a button. He moved to follow as the elevator door began to slide shut again. Ivy smiled and blew him a kiss.
The potted plant’s stem grew longer, erupting upward and circling Batman, squeezing his chest, pressing in harder and harder until he could no longer breathe.
“Nature always wins.”
He was gasping for air as the plant yanked him back, out of the elevator.
And then the doors closed.
* * *
“Will he ever learn?” Ivy looked at the cutting in her hand. She stroked it, and it quivered with life. Muzak played as the small car descended to the lobby. Plants loved this music, and so did she. Its quiet rhythms seemed to put her at ease, and with the myriad
“Ivy…” She nodded, and they headed back into the cell room, then out to the hall.
“All right,” Ivy said. “You’re a tough man, but you’ve never been a mean one.” She stopped and looked up at him. “You want to know about Scarecrow? Well, it started with a meeting.”
“What meeting?”
“Don’t be so impatient. Stories, like plants, need to grow and can’t be rushed. Take it easy and smell the roses. You’d be surprised how much you can learn from them.”
“Ivy, time is running out. If Scarecrow wins, Gotham City will die, your plants will die, and I won’t be able to save them.”
He could see her face contort, as if she was trying to understand his words. Finally, she gave him another smile.
“Yes, of course. Now, he
is
a mean man, and I believe he’d slaughter all life if given the chance—plant, animal, and human. Anyway, the meeting. Everyone was there. Penguin, Two-Face, Riddler. Even poor Harley. That dear dimwit actually believed she had a chance at a life with her… Puddin’, but then of course,
whoosh
. He gets himself toasted, roasted, and finally mulched. She was bereft of her usual élan.”
“Ivy. The meeting.”
“Right. Of course. The meeting. Scarecrow said he had a plan. That together we could take you out, and Gotham City would be ours.”
“Over my dead body.”
“I believe that was the idea.” Her smile turned sly. “The old notions are still the best, you know.”
The small potted plant was still growing. Thorns emerged from its stems. The once-tiny flower was no longer cute. It looked as if one wrong word would send it on the attack.
“Anyway, I told him I wasn’t interested in his pathetic human games. I mean, how could destroying a city—even one as life-stifling as Gotham City—help my plants?”
“And his response?”
“Well, if he had one, I never heard it. All I remember after that moment is blackness, then waking up in that room, in that cell. He came and babbled some insanity at me, then heard something—probably you—and fled. I sat there trying to formulate a plan when you interrupted.” Her look was coy. “You know the timing between the two of us has never been good.”
“That’s everything?” he demanded brusquely.
Ivy looked like she was trying to give him an answer as she walked from the room, still carrying the potted plant. She made her way to the elevator, humming again along the way, pausing before each dying plant in the apartment, taking a moment to revive it.
“Ivy,” he said, “I asked if that was everything.”
The elevator door beeped, and a moment later its door slid open.
“Pretty much. I told him it was a shame for him that his vile toxin had no effect on me. I seem to remember that he didn’t laugh very much at all. Hmmm. Do you think that’s why he did what he did to me?”
She paused, pinched a small piece from the plant, then set the pot on the floor. She stepped inside the elevator and pressed a button. He moved to follow as the elevator door began to slide shut again. Ivy smiled and blew him a kiss.
The potted plant’s stem grew longer, erupting upward and circling Batman, squeezing his chest, pressing in harder and harder until he could no longer breathe.
“Nature always wins.”
He was gasping for air as the plant yanked him back, out of the elevator.
And then the doors closed.
* * *
“Will he ever learn?” Ivy looked at the cutting in her hand. She stroked it, and it quivered with life. Muzak played as the small car descended to the lobby. Plants loved this music, and so did she. Its quiet rhythms seemed to put her at ease, and with the myriad
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