"Hurry up mom and dad, we'll be late for the play!" shouted Bruce, ecstatic.
Bruce loved these nights, nights where his parents weren't bogged down with their work and they could take him anywhere he wanted. Tonight the Mask of Zorro was playing at the Monarch and ever since he heard about it Thomas and Martha Wayne never heard the end of it. Once the night was finally upon them, Bruce was having a hard time controlling himself.
"Calm down Bruce, your mother is almost ready, you know she can take a while," said Thomas, a warm smile spreading across his face.
"I heard that dear, and I believe the reason I'm taking so long is because someone was having trouble with their tie," Martha's voice echoed out from the bedroom.
Bruce was quietly snickering to himself while his parents playfully bickered, forgetting for a small moment about the play. Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler, waited patiently at the door, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Bruce was bouncing silently on the steps when Martha emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later. Thomas turned to look at his wife, the sight of her never ceasing to amaze him. Of course, it didn't take long to revert back to his slightly childish ways.
Looking down at his watch, Thomas said, "What were you doing dear? You took so long my watch broke."
Rolling her eyes Martha replied, "Your watch has always been broken dear, don't blame me for your memory relapses."
"Aww, do you have to start a fight on our night out dear," leaning in towards her, "especially with children present?"
Mimicking her husbands actions, she too leaned forward and said, "Don't start what you can't finish dear, being a doctor shouldn't you know that?"
"Oh, she got you dad!" Bruce said in-between spurts of laughter.
"She may have got me, but I got you Bruce," Thomas said. Then, in one fluid motion, he swooped down low and picked Bruce up, both of them laughing all the while. A small cough came from Alfred, catching their attention.
"I hate to end this moment you two are having, but don't you have a play to get to?" Alfred said, eyebrow raised, the smirk remaining on his face.
"Oh, alright if we must go; go on Bruce, out to the car," Thomas said, putting his son back down on the ground. Bruce immediately rushed out, his parents walking close behind him, Alfred remained behind holding the door open. Once they left the manor into the driveway, the door swung slowly shut behind them.
- A couple hours later -
"That was amazing!" Bruce shouted, as he and his parents exited the theater. Thomas and Martha were in each others arms walking behind Bruce, who was mimicking fencing motions in front of them.
"I'm glad you liked it son," Thomas said; he then looked down an alleyway to the right of him and said, "Hold on Bruce, I can see the car through here, let's just cut through this way."
"Are you sure dear, it doesn't look too safe," Martha said cautiously. "We should just go around."
"Honey, it'll be fine, the alley isn't too long and it's already getting late. The sooner we get home the better," Thomas replied.
The family then turned down the alley, moving swiftly at Martha's insistence, the car growing closer with each step. Bruce, however, felt uneasy, for some reason something wasn't sitting right with him. Suddenly, the car started to stretch further and further away, the alley beginning to elongate. The noise of the windy Gotham air slowly died away, until no noise could be heard, save for the breathing coming from the family. Then, a shadow could be seen coming from the end of the alley, facing towards them; the shadow then began to move, its footsteps echoing like an earthquake.
Bruce suddenly knew what was about to happen, he's seen it play out multiple times, and knew he was powerless to stop it. The footsteps echoed louder and louder, until finally it stopped in front of them with a final boom. The shadow up close took the form of a man, yet with no facial features; slowly, the shadow produced a gun from within itself, as it did many times before. Bruce was suddenly pushed back behind his father, his face scared yet determined. Martha too was kept behind her husband, but stuck close to him eyes filled with fear.
A hand emitted from the shadow, the gun still outstretched; after what seemed like a lifetime in a matter of mere moments, a voice spoke from the shadow.
"Give me your wallet now, and the pearl necklace, don't try to be a hero." The voice was distorted, yet very low, having an almost demonic-like quality to it.
Bruce knew what happened next, but could never stop what was coming; it was as if he was being forced against his will to witness the scene about to transpire. Thomas's face turned angry as he lunged forward, fist outstretched and a small shout coming from his mouth. An echo of thunder cracked around the alleyway, as Thomas's body was suddenly flung backwards, blood pouring out from the wound in his chest. Smoke curled out of the barrel of the revolver, a shell clinked quietly on the floor. A scream emitted from Martha's lips, as she watched her husband start to bleed out on the alley floor.
The shadow stalked forward, its thumb clicking back the hammer of the gun, the clip spinning to the next bullet in the round. "Shut the fuck up lady, or I'll shoot," the shadow growled, putting the revolver inside the loop of the necklace, yanking Martha closer to him.
This action caused Martha to scream in terror, trying to push away from the creature pulling her in. Bruce could do nothing but watch, as he did many times over. Another, even louder crack of thunder shook the alley, and then Martha too flew backwards, blood spilling out of the hole in her neck. The force of the shot caused the revolver to yank back hard on the necklace, causing the band to be snapped. Bruce watched as hundreds of tiny pearls scattered around him, falling from the sky like raindrops. With a loud thud, Martha's body finally connected with the ground, laying right next to Thomas's already motionless corpse. Tears streaming down his face, Bruce slowly turned to look at the bodies of his parents, before looking back to the shadow figure. There was, however, no one there, only a brick wall, turning the entire alley into a dead end.
At this point, Bruce went to his knees, silently sobbing, asking the same question in his head as he did the many other times he had this experience, why? Police sirens echoed far away, speeding their way to the alley from the precinct to respond to the shots fired. This time though, something changed, darkness began to surround Bruce as he knelt there sobbing, until only he and the bodies of his parents were left in inky blackness. Then, Bruce felt something, an icy cold sensation on his leg; this feeling caused him to turn around. Stilling laying in a pool of blood, he saw both his parents facing him, eyes stark white; the cold sensation belong to the hand of his father, who was gripping Bruce's leg tightly.
"You... you could... have... saved... us," the body of Thomas Wayne choked out.
"Why... did... did... you watch... us die?" Martha's corpse asked.
Bruce tried to back away but couldn't, his father's hand refusing to release his leg. All he could do was shake his head in terror, and watch his thought-to-be-dead parents speak.
"We would be... alive... if it weren't... for... yoooouuuuu," Thomas's corpse croaked out the last syllable, dragging it out for what seemed like an eternity. His head then rested silently back into the ever-expanding pool of blood, his hand relinquishing his grip from Bruce's leg.
"It wasn't my fault," Bruce said, eyes wide with fear as he backed slowly away from the corpses of his parents. "I couldn't do anything, I... I need to get out."
Bruce started frantically walking around in a circle, looking for a way out, only to find darkness surrounding him. It felt like it was enclosing him, trapping him in a suffocating space of darkness.
"I need to get out, I need to get out, I need to get out," Bruce continuously muttered to himself. Eventually, the suffocation got to him, and in one last breath he shouted, "I need to wake up!"
Bruce Wayne jolted up in bed, icy perspiration laying on his forehead, his breathing heavy. He covered his face with his hands, wiping the sweat from his brow. Moonlight shown gently through the window in front of him, bathing him in a white glow. He turned towards the alarm clock, its face reading 2:30, and he slowly lowered himself back down onto the bed. No matter how hard he tried the nightmare always came, sometimes it lasted a few hours, other times it lasts the whole night. All he knew was, that night will forever haunt him, and it will be a stain in his past that he can never wash away.