"There's a fairy tale that Gotham's parents tell their kids. I don't know why. Perhaps to teach them how unstable life is. Anyway, there's this boy. He grows up, wins the lottery, gets a pretty girl, and wins a tennis championship. But then, one day, he gets stranded out in the mountains on a vacation, and almost freezes to death. The doctors save him, but his arms need to be amputated. He can't play tennis anymore, so the committee takes his trophy back the next season. His girlfriend leaves him, and he loses all his money pity-gambling. He kills himself, all because of one bad day."
A wall of glass separated the two boys, each seated facing each other, sitting on hard wooden chairs and talking into telephones to each other. Each side of the room was identical, and if it wasn't for the boys in the chairs, you would've thought one side of the room was a mirror of the other.
"Why are you telling me this?" Bruce asked, his arms crossed and his voice shaky. He didn't like talking to the psychopath, but he had to. He was determined to stay strong, and not say anything more than he had to. He didn't want to give him anything more than the little he deserved.
Jerome Valeska grinned, his eyebrows narrowing and his voice becoming a hiss. "Why do we say anything? I'm wondering why that story stuck around for so long. It's grim, the kids don't like it too much, and it's not pleasant enough to live up to. I suppose it's because it's relatable, almost to the point of being scary."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Jerome laughed, an evil, hissing laugh that scraped at Bruce's heart like nails on a blackboard. Bruce winced, and Jerome sneered. "Come on. Think about everything wrong with your life; a broken family, an estranged lover, a death. Can't all of it be attached to one bad day? Doesn't the fault of all your life's troubles fall on one bad day?"
The notes that were sung at the opera still rang in Bruce's head. According to his mother, he wasn't old enough to fully appreciate the stories and legends that were told at the theater, but his dad always said no one was that old.
"The acting was fine, and the music was lovely!" laughed Martha Wayne. She gently pushed Bruce along the street to the uptown bend. Alfred was busy at home, so they would have to catch a taxi. "What do you think Bruce?"
Bruce smiled, just a little bit guilty. "Sorry, Mom. I agree with Dad. It was kind of lame."
Bruce's mom looked down at him, feigning shock, and then back to her husband. Thomas Wayne shot his wife an I told you so look and nudged Bruce in the head gently, adding onto what he said. "There's no such thing as kind of, it was totally lame."
The two laughed at each other, and Martha Wayne grinned, giving up trying to look surprised. "You two! So judgemental!"
It was perfect. The breeze made Bruce's ears red, and his mother tried to warm him in her arms. If anything else, he was a bit thirsty from the popcorn his dad bought from the stand outside the theater, but he would get a drink once he got home. The street was dark, illuminated only by a few lamp posts, and a black street cat ran past them and up a chimney, but Bruce never felt safer. He was with his parents.
A man almost materialized out of the dark, wearing a mask over his face that only showed his eyes. Bruce stared at the ground, trying not to notice the man.
There was a click, and the man stopped in front of the three with a gun pointed straight at them. Bruce froze in his footsteps, the fear turning him into a statue, staring straight down the dark barrel of the handgun, hearing his mother's gasping raking across his soul. His father's hand went to Bruce's chest, gently pushing him back and away from the man. It was as if he was telling him it was going to be alright.
"Give me your money." the man growled, jerking the gun in his hand and making Bruce shut his eyes for a split second, fearing for his life.
Bruce's father wavered. Not knowing what to say, he looked to his wife, and then back to the man with the gun.
"Sure." he said, slowly taking his wallet out of his jacket, not moving suddenly. Bruce saw his father's hand shaking.
The man snatched the wallet out of Thomas Wayne's hands, with all the anger and suddenness that Bruce's dad was avoiding. Then the gun went to Martha Wayne's chest.
It all happened so fast, but at the same time, Bruce saw every single moment of it, as if it was a movie. The man reached for his mom's necklace, ripping it off her neck and dropping the pearls on the wet, concrete floor with his other hand. The shiny, white pearls provided the soundtrack to the man tightening his grip on the handle of the gun, then pulling the trigger.
Bruce watched his mother fall to the ground, like all her bones had given in, and lay in a broken heap right next to him. Her hand left his shoulder, trailing after her and turning cold. Bruce turned to his father, horrified, at the same time the man pointed the gun at Thomas Wayne. Once again, the trigger was pulled, and the hand of Bruce's dad jerked off the back of his head, falling in a crumpled pile onto the ground. Then the man pointed the gun to Bruce's forehead.
Bruce could stare down into the barrel of the gun, seeing every detail of the metal bullet inside that could end his life with the click of a trigger. He saw the slow, condensed breaths of the man through the mask, slow but sure. Everything around him froze as Bruce could only focus on the gun, and think, my life is ending right now. It already did a few seconds ago.
Right then and there, the man did the only thing worse than shooting him, the thing that destroyed him. The man put the gun down to his side and left, brushing past Bruce's shoulder and letting his heavy footsteps echo through the alley.
This isn't real. Bruce thought. It was probably why he couldn't feel anything. I'm going to wake up, and my parents will be there, waiting for me. He stared down at his father, then at his mother. It hit Bruce like a freight train, making him shake to the point where his knees gave way.
"Mom? Mom!" he yelled, shaking his mother's body, putting one hand over the bullet and the other tilting her cold, lifeless face towards him. Bruce turned to his father, and stared into his eyes. "Dad?"
It was like a statue, or a doll. Bruce looked down, expecting to see his parents, and instead saw lifeless bodies, everything that made them his parents gone. They weren't his parents anymore. His parents were gone, and two empty shells lay on the ground, as if thrown like rag dolls, beside him. Bruce stared at his own trembling hands, his parent's crimson red blood beginning to dry around his fingers and into the precipices of his palm.
There was a small shuffling, and Bruce looked up. On the stairwell of the building on his right, there was a girl. She couldn't be much older than him, and as soon as their eyes met, she disappeared back into the dark. Bruce couldn't think about anything. No memories flashed in his brain, and no traces of human thought were left in his head. All that was left was overwhelming sadness, and as his tears met the blood on his hands, there was anger.
"You're wrong." Bruce said, glaring into the dark and soulless eyes of the man in front of him.
Jerome grinned, showing Bruce each one of his crooked, yellowing teeth. "What, per se, am I wrong about?"
Bruce didn't answer. Perhaps Jerome was right, but Bruce's stubbornness rejected anything the psychopath said.
Jerome grew impatient. "You know, my mother was a whore, and my daddy was a liar, but they taught me things. One of the things my old mommy forced me to grow up listening to was that you never look on another person with a doubting heart. You would be destroyed if you had to go through what they have."
Once again, Bruce was quiet.
"Anyway, that was shit. I mean, I would've believed her if she actually lived by her own rules. But, no, Jerome, I need you to be better. No, Jerome, you will never be good enough. No, Jerome, you little shit. But, to be fair, she wasn't the brightest. She didn't understand the things that you and I have gone through."
"You and I are nothing alike." Bruce hissed. He shouldn't have said anything, but everything Jerome hissed out was like a slap in the face. It was like Jerome was mocking his life.
That only got Jerome to smile more. "Oh? We're both strapping young men with mommy and daddy issues, orphaned by the world and left to fend for ourselves. We're both vengeful, and spiteful, and stubborn as hell, so tell me, what makes us so different?"
"I'm not a murderer."
"You see, as shit as my old mother's saying was, I do agree with a part of it. Though my philosophy is you don't need to go through another person's whole life to break yourself. You just need one day. But not just any day will do, it has to be their one bad day. I believe that we are all born the exact same, and we all go through one bad day that shapes us for the rest of our lives. Imagine how fucked up we would be if we had to go through two."
Bruce shuffled in his seat, beginning to shake. Jerome noticed. Bruce hardened his grip on the phone and hissed, "I don't understand."
"I don't know you. I don't know what your day was, but mine was a few months ago when I plunged a hatchet into my mom over and over and over again. What if you had to do it? What if you went through your bad day, and then had to do mine too? Why, you'd be a shivering mess, a shell of who you were. If one bad day turned you into what you are, what would two do?"
"She said she saw the killer's face." Detective Gordon said. It was a few months after the death of the Waynes, and a few months since Gordon's investigation had started. Bruce knew investigations took time, but he had wanted to scream at the detective for months.
Alfred stood behind the two on the couch, Bruce's hands trembling as he held the police sketch of the man that killed his parents. It could be him. Bruce couldn't tell. The mask only left the man's eyes unveiled that night, and even then, Bruce was too scared to really look carefully.
"What's her name?" Bruce asked, surprising the detective. He was usually so clandestine.
Gordon sighed. "Selina Kyle."
"And she saw the killer's face?"
"Yes."
"Then she can stay." Bruce put the sketch down on the coffee table and left. He didn't know where he was going. Possibly to meet her, most likely his bedroom. He didn't want Alfred's company, or Gordon's. Bruce's footsteps took him up to the study. There was a board there, where he tracked any leads he could find about his parents. A small portion of those were thanks to Detective Gordon. Most of it was from his own search. Wayne Enterprises was a big company, and he explored every single part of it.
He scanned the board, looking for clues that had maybe eluded his mind before. There was a witness now. If Selina Kyle saw who killed his parents, the board could expand three times. There would be so many more clues, and so many more answers. Honestly to himself, Bruce didn't know what to think of it. He didn't know to be happy or angry or sad that the case was going to be solved. What if it wasn't what he wanted it to be?
There was a quiet clinking sound coming from the floor below, and Bruce guessed it was Selina Kyle. He went back down to see her. It would help if she knew him.
She was standing right down the hall from him, near one of the displays, weighing a vase in her hands. It was one of his dad's favorites, one he bought from a Chinese museum during a business trip.
"It's from the Chinese Ming Dynasty." Bruce said, surprising the girl. "It's over eighty-two-" Bruce almost froze when she turned around to look at him. She was beautiful. Selina wore black torn jeans and a leather jacket, fingerless gloves showing off her dirt-caked nails. Her hair was dirty and curled, and she was a bit taller than him, but there was just something about her. She looked so pure, as if she was an angel. She looked at him, confused, and Bruce finished his sentence. "It's over eighty-two thousand years old."
"You can get one just like it for five bucks in china town." She smirked, her voice like silk. Bruce crept closer to her as she put the vase back on its stand and crossed her arms, smiling.
Bruce held out his hand. "My name's Bruce Wayne."
Selina looked at his outstretched hand, then back at him. She shook his hand. "Selina Kyle. People call me Cat."
"It's nice to meet you, Cat."
Jerome laughed again, thin and grating, and touched his finger to the glass. "You were thinking about something, weren't you? Yes, I can see you were thinking about a day. Was it the day?"
Bruce no longer wanted to talk to Jerome. There was nothing he could say, and nothing Jerome could say that would justify what he was. All Bruce felt was a small pity.
"So, tell me, Bruce. I've told you plenty about me, so it's only fair I know a bit about you. Let me guess. Billionaire tycoon brings all the girls and drinks to the yard, and mommy and daddy have no time to spend with you?"
Bruce didn't say anything.
"Okay, fair's fair. How about, mommy and daddy are dead?"
Bruce's eyes widened as he looked up at Jerome to see his sneering grin, wider than it had ever been.
"I knew it." Jerome hissed.
"Don't talk about my parents." Bruce growled, his voice a shaky snarl, trying to wipe the grin off Jerome's face.
"Ooh, that was good. I was almost intimidated. How about you try again, but this time, deeper and raspier. Think throat cancer."
"Don't talk about my parents!" Bruce yelled, bringing a fist up to pound on the glass. The pain made his knuckles red and his fist shake, but only made Jerome laugh louder. If only the glass wasn't there, Bruce could punch straight through and shatter Jerome's nose. That would probably just make him laugh. Once again, Bruce punched the glass straight where Jerome's face was, trying to break all of his teeth, but the pain surged through his own hand and made his fingers start to throb.
Over and over again, Bruce punched the glass to the point where the blood from his knuckles left stains on Jerome's face, while all the sociopath did was laugh. Jerome was about to fall over in his chair while Bruce was about to break his fist, but the glass didn't break a bit.
The first tear broke out of Bruce's eye, and his fingers unravelled as they slid down the glass and onto the table, as Bruce started to break down, and Jerome's manic laughter quieted to a sneer.
"Do you want to know how I know?" Jerome hissed, while Bruce leaned against the back of his chair and cried. It was the first time he was completely vulnerable, and Jerome loved it. "You and I are part of a very special club, along with... well, Bambi."
"You and I are not the same." Bruce's voice was a strained whisper, trying to shut up the madman.
"Oh, really? Because from what I see, we are almost the same person. I know because the look in your eyes, full of despair and fury and heart-wrenching need for vengeance, that's exactly what I looked like when I killed my mother. I was so happy, and mad, and sad, and furious, all at once and that's what you look like. So tell me, Bruce Wayne. What happened after your mommy and daddy died?"
There was a knock at the window. Bruce's eyes darted up to see Selina crawling though into the study, closing the window behind her. She put her arms behind her back and smiled, "Your security still sucks."
Her face was easily what he needed most at the moment. The contours of her cheeks shone in the moonlight, her bright green eyes were like emeralds. He missed her. Even Bruce couldn't really know what he was feeling, just that all evening, he ached to see her face.
"No one's hunting for me." He laughed. Bruce smiled right when he saw her. He couldn't help himself. "I didn't expect to see you again."
Selina grinned. "Never said goodbye."
"No, we didn't"
"Didn't want to be rude."
Bruce laughed, making her smile. He came closer to her, picking out every detail of her in the moonlight. "It's good to see you again."
"Here." said Selina, holding out a crumpled, brown paper bag for him. Bruce came closer, confused, and took the paper bag in his hands. He opened it, peering inside. It was everything she had taken from the manor before.
"Thank you, but you can keep this. You need it more than I do."
Selina shook her head. "Let's keep things honest between us. Besides," she grabbed something out of the pocket of her jacket, and held it in her fist, just far enough away that he had to come closer to see what it was. "I'm keeping this one anyway."
Bruce stepped straight up to her, inches away from her, and looked down, confused. It was a small silver box with an Egyptian eye on it. It didn't belong to him, or at least, he thought it didn't.
He looked up, into her shining green eyes. She looked so pure, and so beautiful. The two of them had been through so much together. The light welled up in their eyes, and they were so close together.
Within a split second, Selina had leaned in, grabbing Bruce's side and kissing him. It could've lasted an eternity, and Bruce would've been okay with it. She was so warm, and he couldn't think about anything else but her. The moonlight glinted off her eyes, and his screwed shut as Selina's soft, wet lips just barely grazed him, sliding off with a grin.
Selina darted back with a smile, evidently amused at Bruce's shocked expression. She put one hand on his shoulder and nodded, smiling, as if saying it's okay, and then disappeared out the window and back into the dark of the night.
Jerome laughed so hard he might have passed out. Bruce wanted him to pass out, because that meant he could leave. But instead, Jerome regained his composure after a full minute of insane cackling, and pretended to wipe a tear from his eye. "Isn't this hilarious? You're a billionaire, a tycoon, and have everything you ever need in life waiting in your bank account, and you're sitting here in front of me crying. You don't even know what hardship is."
Bruce brought his head up to meet Jerome's and scowled. "Shut up."
Jerome sneered, snorting what was a marriage of a laugh and a scoff. "I mean it. You're a billionaire who can buy half the city and get any girl he wants once he's legal. My mother hated me. My father lied to me. I grew up in a circus and now I live in a mental asylum, which I must say is a step up. But here we are, together, and I'm the one seeing the funny side."
"You're a psychotic. There's no justification for what you've done."
"Maybe not. Maybe I'm out of options and out of repair, but we're not talking about me. We're talking about you, the billionaire that's crying his eyes out in front of me. It's been educational for me, but I don't know if I can say the same for you."
"What kind of weirdo plays chess with himself?" Selina's voice surprised Bruce, as he looked up from his chessboard and smiled. He remembered what he had bought for her.
Selina laughed. "Don't you have a butler to do that kind of stuff with?"
"He's making lunch."
"I got your message."
Bruce stood up, walking around the coffee table and going up to meet her. "I'm glad you're safe. Alfred made me go out of town. Switzerland... we have a house there. A chalet, I guess."
Selina tilted her head, confused. "A chalet?"
"It's basically a house."
Selina nodded, easing up a bit. "Why did you want to see me?"
Bruce smiled, stopping a distance away from her. "We're friends, aren't we?"
Selina laughed. "You've been driving around looking for me and sending messages. What's up?"
Bruce looked down at the table in front of him, and at the small paper bag on it. He right away had small second thoughts about giving it to her, but he dismissed them. She would like it. He knew she would. Bruce picked up the bag and weighed it in his hands, handing it to her. "I got you a present."
Selina grinned, taking the bag from him and taking out the snow globe. It was small and wasn't expensive, but it made her smile. She took it upside-down and shook it, making the snow fall over the small model building. She laughed a bit, but her eyes never left the glittering snow. "Whoa."
"It looks like the town we stayed in." Bruce said. Her smile was like sunlight, overjoying him.
"Thank you." Selina said, happy.
Bruce smiled back, relieved she liked it. It had been so long since they met, and it was like a dream to see her standing at his window again, the sunlight making her glimmer.
"Also, I wanted to know if... if you wanted to stay here in my house."
Selina's eyes left the globe and turned to Bruce, looking confused. "Why?"
"I figured we could help each other out. You could help me find the man who killed my parents, and I could give you a better place to live."
"What's better about it?"
Bruce stepped back, confused, as the smile left his face. He was worried, and scared. Had he offended her?
Selina sighed, closing her eyes for a moment and shoving the snow globe back into Bruce's hands. "Listen, kid. Chill. I came here to tell you to stop hassling me."
Bruce held the snow globe, and his hopes plunged. She looked so disappointed. "Hassling you?"
"Yeah." Selina nodded, frowning. "You're beginning to bug me."
"I thought we were friends."
"Listen, I lied. I didn't see who killed your parents. I didn't see his face."
Bruce's jaw dropped open as his whole body shook and his eyes started glimmering with tears. She couldn't be lying. She did a sketch. She seemed so sure, and Bruce was so sure. He never even fathomed what he would do if she was lying. "I don't understand."
Selina threw up her arms, creeping closer and closer. "I lied so I wouldn't get thrown in juvie, so it's no use buying me presents or sending me messages, because I can't help you!"
Bruce's heart dropped from his chest into his stomach, and shattered. He couldn't do anything or say anything. All he did was watch as Selina stormed out of the room and out of the window, disappearing behind the curtains and into the city.
There was nothing that anyone could do. If she was lying, everything that had happened in the past few months was also a lie. Bruce was no closer to finding the man that killed his parents than he was the second they were shot. If she was lying, everything that they had, and everything she had done was for her.
Bruce's eyes went to the snow globe in his hands, trembling and shaking, until everything was clear. It was all a lie. He never would know what else Selina lied to him about, and he didn't care. His hands stopped shaking until his grip on the globe hardened, and he smashed it against the floor. His legs gave, and he collapsed on the floor, his tears dropping on the ground with the water from the globe. Everything had been a lie, and his last hope of finding his parents left with Selina Kyle, out the window and gone.
"What are you doing here?"
"Ivy comes here once a week to steal food from the sickies. Is he okay?"
Bruce didn't say anything, and neither did Selina. All she did was creep closer and closer to him until she could wrap her arms around him, her head resting on his shoulder, and whisper, "I'm sorry." He knew what she meant. Not just sorry for Alfred, but about everything. She was apologizing for everything that had ever happened to him, and for that, he hugged her back.
"So," Jerome asked, sneering and showing all of his teeth. "Am I finally going to hear about that one bad day, or am I going to make you cry more? To be honest, I don't think there are many more layers I can strip off before you're just a skeleton."
Bruce sighed, staring straight into Jerome's dark, evil eyes. Except for him, there was no fear this time. There was no anger or sadness. Bruce cracked a smirk, and finally wiped the grin off of Jerome's face. "We all have one bad day. But I didn't just accept mine. That's why I'm not a psycho like you."
Jerome's insane laughter, muffled by the glass, was the soundtrack to Bruce opening the door and leaving the room.