It was warm in Gotham, but not the type of heat that made people want to walk around the city. A layer of clouds hung low in the sky, trapping the summer heat of the day on the streets. The summer made teenagers do stupid things- it made them stay up late, stay out late, break hearts, break curfew. But none of those things were on the minds of three teenage boys as stood on the corner of Third Avenue and Lexington. They were more focused on the store they were about to rob.
The three boys were young, but they had old faces, like they had grown up a long time ago. The tallest one was also the strongest. He had a handsome face and dark blue eyes that glinted in the streetlights. The shortest man had dark skin and dark eyes, and he seemed jumpy, skittish. The other boy was the youngest, no older than 17. He wasn't the tallest or the shortest, the strongest or the weakest. He had skin that was somewhere between light and dark, and a mess of blonde wavy hair that covered his hazel eyes, which shifted from brown to green in the light. The only definite thing about him was a small scar on his temple, hidden most of the time by his hair. It had been a deep wound, because the scar was still dark in color.
"Jack, you ready to go in?" asked the tallest.
The blonde boy nodded.
"Jalen, ready?" asked the tall guy again.
"Ready, Nick." The shortest man replied.
Nick, Jack, and Jalen turned towards the store on the corner. It was a convenience store, stocked to the brim with trashy magazines, cigarettes and liquor. And, occasionally, money.
The store was usually empty at this hour, and that's what they were planning on. The street was just a few blocks away from the business district, right before the Narrows began, so it wasn't teeming with nightlife. That meant no witnesses.
Nick went in first. He walked around the store, stopping in the chips aisle, where he pretended to make his selection. The cashier looked up for a second from his magazine uninterestedly, and took a drink from his soda before looking back down. That was the beauty of Nick's charm and good looks- no one suspected anything from him. A minute later, Jalen walked through the door. Nick yelled a "Hey, man!" across the store, and they began talking like they were old friends. Their talk soon became louder as they faked more enthusiasm, and after a particularly funny "joke", Jalen backed into the magazine stand laughing. The rack spilled all over the floor, sending magazines everywhere. The cashier rolled his eyes and walked around the counter to clean up the mess. This was part of the plan; there was a gun behind the counter for the worker to protect himself. Luring him out in the open meant that Jack could get a better shot at him.
Jack slipped into the store as the magazine rack fell over. He walked up silently behind the cashier and shot him in the back of the neck. The silencer on the gun made a satisfying sound as the man fell over on the floor with a thud. Nick and Jalen sprang up and headed to the counter. Nick went through the register, while Jalen searched for the video surveillance VHS and ejected it so that there was no way to identify them.
"Look at this cash- this is more than the last two weeks combined! We made bank!" laughed Nick, counting the bills in his hands. Jalen walked over and slapped him on the back, and they let out yells of joy as they found a few more 100s tucked under the drawer.
Jack was silent as he looked out onto the street, gun still in hand. His job was to make sure no one on the street was getting suspicious, that no one had seen the cashier die and had called the police. But the only people outside were a few downtowners stumbling into a cab, and a homeless man sleeping on a bench almost a block away. Jack walked towards the back of the store, past Nick and Jalen, who were still counting their money. Jack scoffed as he walked past them- it was all about the money for them. Sure, the cash was nice, and it meant that there was no need to choose between the heating bill and good food, but it wasn't why Jack did this all the time. He liked pulling the trigger. It was his job, what he was best at.
Jack reached the back row of the store and turned the corner, and let out a small groan. Because tucked in the corner, shivering between the beer display and the milk cooler, was a young girl. She couldn't have been more than five. Her wide brown eyes were visible behind a curtain of brunette curls, and a few tears were running down her face. For a moment Jack and the girl looked at each other, first with surprise, then curiosity. The girl glanced up at the dark scar on his forehead, so Jack self consciously shook his hair in front of it. Jack took a step forward, but the girl backed even farther into the corner and hid her head between her hands. She was scared of something… Jack realized he was still holding the gun and slid it into his coat pocket. He tried to approach her again, this time a bit slower.
"Hi there, uh, girl. Whatcha doing here? Where's your mommy?" he said. She looked up, and upon seeing that he didn't have a gun, she looked into his eyes. Jack hated looking people in the eyes, but for some reason this girl wouldn't look away- and neither could he. The staring contest was interrupted when Jalen rounded the corner.
"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. SHIT! Nick!" yelled Jalen.
Nick came running and swore when he saw the girl.
"When did she get here? Is anyone else in here? She's a witness. We have to..."
Jack knew what Nick was about to say.
"We are not getting rid of her. She's alone, which means that someone is looking for her. Do you really want to deal with another body?" Jack said.
Nick was silent for a minute. He didn't like when someone questioned his authority, especially when that someone was the only one with a gun.
Nick eyed the girl. "What the hell are we supposed to do with her then? We can't just leave her. She knows our faces- she could talk to the police. This kid could send us to jail. I'm not gonna take my chances."
Nick took out his own gun and pointed it at the girl. Jack lunged at him, and the gun went off.
I woke up from my dream with a start. I was back in my room, in the Wayne Penthouse, in Gotham. No convenience store, no guns, no Jack. I was used to the dream by now; it happened every now and then, just as it had for the past twelve years. I knew that I was the girl in the dream. But for some reason, I had a feeling that my dreams weren't only dreams- that maybe they were memories. I couldn't help but feel like I knew the people in the dream. Especially Jack. There was something about how he seemed in the dream. He wasn't just a character, a product of my imagination. He was a person.
I told Bruce my theory once. He said that sometimes memories could get confused with dreams, and dreams with memories. He assured me, however, that my dream was probably just that- a dream. I knew he was wrong though. I could feel it- the dream about the girl in the store was my own memory.
A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. A second later, Alfred walked through the door, balancing a tray of waffles, a jug of orange juice, silverware, a card on a tray, and a matchbox in his hands with skill that only came from decades of experience.
"Good morning, Miss Gemma!" He said brightly. "And happy birthday!"
"Thanks Alfred," I said with a smile.
"I'm afraid we only have one candle left. My birthday was last month, and you know we had to put more candles on that cake then I would have liked! You'll just have to pretend you have 17 candles," he said with a wink. I laughed and watched him light the one candle on the waffles. Alfred always knew how to make me feel better after the dream, and he could always tell by the look on my face when I had dreamt it that night.
"Another one of those dreams?" he asked.
I nodded silently.
"I'm sorry, Miss. Let's hope they don't happen again, shall we? Now make a wish and blow out your candle!" he said.
I closed my eyes and blew out the flame, which led Alfred to applaud loudly. I smiled at the old butler as he grabbed the smoking candle and left the room, no doubt to make breakfast for Bruce. I eyed the card on the silver tray on her bed and reached for it, immediately recognizing my uncle's handwriting.
Dear Gemma,
I'm afraid I'm busy all day at Wayne Tower, so I won't be able to celebrate your birthday with you. How about we have dinner tonight with William at that Italian place on 5th, the one with the crazy Irish waiter? See you at 7.
Happy 17th,
Bruce
I set down the card and smiled. I love my uncle, even if he isn't home as much as he could be. I was adopted by Carlisle and Natalia Wayne when I was five. My younger brother, William, was born a few years later, making me seven years older than him. Natalia and Carlisle were kind people, but they didn't have a lot of time to raise us between their various business affairs and social events. As a result, William and I had been raised by an army of nannies, tutors, and chauffeurs. When Carlisle and Natalia died in a car accident right before my 16th birthday, I was old enough to choose our next legal guardian. There weren't a lot of people to choose from. Sure, there was a slew of family friends that barely knew her, an old grandma that was aging fast, and an aunt that lived somewhere in Montana. But my recently "rediscovered" uncle, Bruce Wayne, was my first choice. He knew what it felt like to be an orphan at a young age, so he opened his doors to us. When Wayne Manor caught on fire, Bruce bought an expansive penthouse in the city, with separate quarters for both William and I.
I heard another knock at the door, and William walked in. He was holding a huge bulky thing behind his back, and I laughed as I realized it was my present.
"Happy birthday, sis!" he said, jumping on the bed. I was able to hold onto the tray of food, but the card and platter went flying off my bed. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that not even my orange juice had spilled.
"Thanks, Will," I replied as he devoured my side of bacon. "God, doesn't anyone feed you?"
"Nope. I'm photogenic. I get all my energy from the sun!" he said with a smirk.
"That means you take good pictures, smart alec. You mean photosynthetic," I said with a roll of my eyes.
"Well, I suppose I am handsome as well as a sun God. Now, open my present!"
He presented me with a square thing wrapped in newspaper. I opened the layers until I reached his gift. It was… a stapler.
"Wow… you go me a stapler… for my seventeenth birthday…." I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
"Not just a stapler. It was the last one sold to the public before they were all recalled. Apparently if you open it up all the way, it shoots staples at people without warning. It's, like, possessed!" he said.
"Oooooh, I get it, you got me a paranormal stapler! Thanks Will!" I said with fake excitement.
"You still don't get it, Gem. If you "accidently" shoot this stapler at yourself, then you could file a lawsuit against the company. This stapler is worth millions!"
I stared at William with a mixture of fear and awe. He was a genius- but not in a good way. I worried for him sometimes.
"I am soooo not shooting a stapler at myself! But it was a nice thought. Thanks!" This time I really meant it.
"Ok, so now that that's out of the way, turn on the TV! The Saturday morning cartoons are almost over!" he said.
I sighed in defeat and reached grabbed to remote, which turned on the TV over the fireplace. I flipped through the channels, looking for the cartoons, when something caught my attention. On the news channel there was a breaking news story, and it was happening right down the street.
"Hey, Gem, isn't that the bank down the block?" asked William.
I nodded and shushed him, turning up the volume.
"Breaking news," began the reporter. "Gotham Bank was robbed this morning. The thieves made away with millions in cash. The bank has, in the past, been a suspected money laundering front for the mob. The criminals were all wearing masks, but one showed his face to the camera. Gotham Police are circulating the image, hoping that someone else can identify this man."
A grainy security camera photo appeared on the screen. It was of a man in a purple suit. He didn't look like a man at all, really. It was hard to tell what his face looked like under the clown makeup. But there was something about him that caught my attention. Aside from the scar on his mouth, I recognized the man. The eyes that weren't really any color, the dyed green hair that looked blonde underneath, the calm stature- he looked exactly like the Jack in my dreams. He was Jack.
I took a deep breath and calmed myself. There was no way a guy in my dreams could be a criminal on the news. Jack could look like anyone really. That was the ambiguity of him. Then I remembered that Jack had a scar on his temple. It was a long shot, but I knew that it was the only way to know for sure. I took a closer look at the screen, and gasped. There was the smallest scar on the clown's right temple, visible through the slightest smudge in his makeup.
I started breathing faster as I took it all in. The masked psycho on the screen had the same scar as Jack. He was Jack. Which meant that I was the girl in the convenience store in my dream- no, memory. It had to be a memory. So the crazy guy robbing a bank was real. And, if I remembered correctly, he had saved my life.
