Scarecrow Cillian Murphy Novels & Stories

Callie left the infirmary, too distracted to notice the rain. As she walked, the rain grew heavier, forcing her back to the infirmary for shelter. She huddled up in a corner behind a pillar and hugged her knees, planning to leave when the rain let up. Then, she heard a man’s voice. ‘They’ve given us orders to take action tonight, and eliminate the target.’ ‘But Preston will be surrounded by guards,’ another voice said. ‘It’s too soon.’ ‘Don’t worry. Scarecrow will take action as well. We’ll be covering him by distracting that monster who’s supposed to protect Dwight. Scarecrow, well-known for his sniping skills, will get the president in one shot.’

Cillian. He wasn't sleeping. He stood at the edge of the stone railing, stripped to the waist despite the freezing temperature. Steam rose from his skin in thin, ethereal plumes. From this vantage point, Maya could see the scars that crisscrossed his back—deep, jagged marks that no CEO’s tailored suit could ever truly hide. They weren't just wounds; they were a map of a life spent in a cage of his own making.

Lulu patted Star's little back and started returning inside, but she picked up a strange scent before she reached the door. She started to hurry, realizing that the smell was from inside the mansion! Before she got in, Vivian had stepped out, her hair suddenly an afro and her face ashen, coughing and sneezing violently. Lulu tightened her arms around Star by instinct and kept her distance. "What did you do, Ms. Crowe?" Lulu could see smoke even from the living room—did Vivian blow up the kitchen?! "I just wanted to fry an egg, but I think I messed up…"

I sipped on it, closing my eyes to savour the taste and the sting. “Scar,” I called calmly, placing the glass back on the table. A bald-headed man stepped out from the shadows and the look on Kilan's face further contorted to intense fear and shock. Scar bowed his head slightly toward the camera. “Two limbs,” I said bringing the glass of wine to my lips again, sipping on the contents. Scar's face lit up at my words. A maniacal grin spread across his lips as he made his way to a table placed behind Kilan's head. The table was covered in tools meant for the purpose of inflicting pain. He picked up a sickle, felt the tip with his finger, and nodded approvingly.

Always grounding me now. The night blurs softly after that. Laughter. Music. Champagne. For the first time in what feels like forever, I actually relax. Not fully. I don’t think people like us ever fully relax. But enough to laugh genuinely when Ronan gets drunk enough to start arguing with an older Irish man about football while Declan films it for blackmail. Enough to smile when Liam silently hands me water instead of champagne without mentioning the pregnancy aloud. Enough to feel warm watching Cillian exist in his world. Because here’s the dangerous thing: He’s terrifying. Everyone in this room fears him.

Four guards hoisted a massive golden broadsword into view. It landed with a resounding thud on the stage, splitting the wooden floor. A gift from the Grim Reaper. "How's that for a showstopper? A grim reaper in solid gold?" My smile was serene, but my gaze was lethal. Dante clutched at his chest, his body slumping into the chair as he shook and pointed a trembling finger at me. "Damn you!" Marco, his face a mask of humiliation, snatched up the cake knife and lunged for me.

Cillian cut straight to the chase with a smile. Javier laughed and shook his head. “No way, sir. I wouldn’t dare squander legendary actors like that. Besides, if the box office was what I’m coveting, then I shouldn’t have thought of you for the job, right? You’re not exactly bait for a tremendous amount of money.” Cillian chortled heartily, though his mirth was quickly cut short by a coughing fit. His son, looking really concerned, stepped forward, but Cillian waved and stopped him. “I’m fine! I’m fine…”