Hey everyone,

This is a possible back story for the Joker. I have taken his origins from The Killing Joke and Batman: Mask of the Phantasm, and combined them. This is not meant to be canon and the Joker (as the actual Joker), will not be making an appearance until the end. Since the Joker's past is a mystery, I thought it may be fun to explore the options. This is meant to be a memory out of the mind of madman. So, please take it for what it is! Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: These characters are owned by DC Comic.


"Something like that happened to me, you know. I...I'm not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another. If I'm going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice."

-The Joker, The Killing Joke

Prologue-

"I'm home," Jack shouted, as he walked through the door of his placid, suburban home.

The moment he heard the door click behind him he could feel the tension hanging in the air. He looked to his left into the den, where his children normally played, but found no one. He assumed his children were already asleep. He paused for a moment to look up the staircase to make sure he hadn't woken them. He then set his sights down the long hallway into his kitchen. He could hear the sounds of plates clanking together and water splashing. The light aroma of what had been for dinner still lingered in the air.

He sighed deeply and prepared himself for the wrath that he was about to encounter. As he slowly crept down the hallway he began to admire the family pictures that graced the walls. Each one was happy and joyful. Indicative of a perfect, loving family. Some posed; some not. Pictures of family vacations, home comings of babies, and precious milestones. The last picture he passed was taken on his wedding day. The young optimistic girl that stood alongside him seemed like a stranger. Although she looked the same, she wasn't the same.

He paused for a moment before he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. He turned his eyes upward and said a silent prayer, to whatever god may have been listening, that she wouldn't be able to smell the liquor on his breath or the cheap perfume worn by the woman who had propositioned him that night.

"Jeannie, I'm home," he said, softly as he leaned against the door frame. He shifted his gaze from her, hoping that withholding eye-contact, would somehow restrain the coming argument.

She didn't bother to look up from the sink. "You're late," she replied, in a heavy, southern accent.

He noticed her entire body stiffen, as if she were repulsed by his mere presence.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "Traffic was bad….."

"Just stop," she interrupted. "Your dinner is on the stove."

His shoulders dropped. "I've already eaten."

She gritted her teeth as she grabbed the plate of food that had been waiting for him and forcefully dropped its contents into the trash.

"It's a shame that old man you work for gets more attention than your family does," she said, as she began to wash the plate that had held his ill-fated dinner.

He felt a twinge of relief that his stop at the local bar had seemingly gone unnoticed. He began to walk towards her, but then thought better of it. From this distance the tell-tale signs of his true whereabouts where harder to distinguish. As long as she thought that he had just been working late, there was no reason to make her think otherwise.

"You know I have to work Jeannie," he said, dryly. "This place doesn't pay for itself. Besides, I owe everything to Sal. He has afforded us a good life…for you to stay home with the kids…" He stopped for a moment and chose he words carefully. "… For our family to move out of Gotham and into to this house when you were sick and had your accident."

She tentatively looked up from the dishes. "I've been sick here too, Jack."

He felt her desperate eyes staring through him. It sent a wave of terror down his spine. He knew what she meant. He had recognized her behavior change. She was acting like she had before. Before…never mind… there was no importance in recounting the events that had brought them to the suburbs. The doctor said to move her out of Gotham. To act as if everything was completely normal. And, that is what Jack intended to do.

He shrugged her words off as if they were never even spoken.

"I thought you liked it here? You were making friends with that neighbor lady. What was her name?"

"Sarah," Jeannie whispered.

"Yeah…Sarah. She seemed nice and her kids were the same age as ours."

She sighed. "They moved away six months ago, but I wouldn't expect you to know that since you're never here and when you are, you're never sober."

He gritted his teeth as he felt a hot rush blood that made his ears ring. "You know that isn't true," he shouted, as he forcefully moved across the kitchen towards her.

She startled slightly at his aggression. He was never like that towards her. No matter how out of hand an argument would become, he would never attempt to intimidate her. And, this was not the time to try new tactics; there was too much bitterness. Too much hostility.

She slammed her hands into her hips and turned towards him to meet his gaze. "If it wasn't so pitiful, it would almost be funny. Do you think that I am stupid enough not to know about the stacks of bottles in the garage? That I couldn't smell the alcohol on you as soon as you walked through the door? For Christ's sake, Jack, are you ever sober anymore?"

He slammed his hands down against the counter. "Maybe if I had something worth coming home to I would make more of an effort."

She bit her bottom lip as her cheeks became red. "We have been married for eleven years. Eleven, good and bad years. You would think that I might mean somethin' to you by now."

"Jeannie, you know you do. Things are just so different now. You're like a ghost."

She cut her eyes towards him in disgust. He was trying to turn it around on her. Make this all her fault.

"Maybe I'm not enough anymore. Maybe I am a ghost, but what about your two daughters, or your son. Have you forgotten about them?"

"Of course not," he spat out through gritted teeth.

She sighed deeply; crossing her arms over her chest. "I had an appointment with Dr. Peters today," She almost couldn't bring herself to say the next words. "And I'm pregnant…again."

Jack's expression softened. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I didn't notice. I should have known," he said, as he tried to embrace his wife. "That is such wonderful news."

She pushed him away. "Wonderful?" Her voice was incredulous.

"You don't think so?"

She was almost slack jawed at his ignorance. "Yes, how wonderful! How silly of me not to see the blessin' of another child to raise by myself. Please, won't you forgive me?"

"You have not raised our children by yourself," he became wide eyed and defiant. "I've been a good father."

"You think bein' a good father means, not beatin' the shit out of your kids like your father did. But, do you realize it has been two days since you have even seen your children. You leave before they're awake and come home after they're in bed. I don't know how by any stretch of the imagination you call yourself a man…let alone a father."

He sucked in a sharp breath as his right hand balled into a tight fist. If nothing else he adored his children, and how dare she question that. Before he could stop himself he began to swing at her, but was stopped short by the sight of her quickly turning from him and covering her face. He changed the direction of his blow at the last moment and connected his fist against the nearby refrigerator. He felt the sharp pain of the punch reverberate up his arm and into his shoulder, then the familiar sensation of warm blood dripping down his hand.

Soft sobs made him turn quickly to the hallway. His heart sank when he saw his oldest child, Heather, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The fear on her face made him sick to his stomach. He stood frozen, at a loss on how to proceed.

Jeannie rushed past him to their daughter.

"Jeannie…I…I…"

She stopped him. "We will talk about it later." She avoided looking at him. "Just take care of your hand and I will take care of her." Her voice was gentle as she guided Heather down the hallway.

Jack breathed deeply, trying to calm himself as he watched his wife and daughter fade into the darkness. He stood silent until he heard them reach the top stair that always made a horrible creak that would echo throughout the house, each time someone passed over it.

"I've been meaning to fix that step," he said to himself with a cynical chuckle, as he examined the large cut across his knuckles. "I guess I deserve this." He let the shame hit him directly in the gut.

As he ran cool water over his bleeding hand, he looked around and observed the hollowness of his home. It was a beautiful house. There was no denying it. But underneath the veil, it was very sad. His entire life was a source of envy for many of his acquaintances. He was a favorite of his boss, owned a perfect two story home in the suburbs that was filled with a perfect wife and three perfect children. Everything looked good; therefore it was good.

After he cleaned his wound and wrapped it tightly in a bandage, he retreated to the couch. He thought it best to let her cool off over night- no reason to pour gasoline on a fire. It had been so long since he had even sat on this piece of furniture, that he almost had forgotten what it felt like.

His time at home was sparse, and when he did find his way home he would make a hasty retreat to the garage, where he would secretly indulge his vice. He couldn't even remember the last time he actually ate dinner with his family. He sighed with guilt knowing that his daughter's frightened face was the only sight that he had of her in the last two days. His absence hadn't even occurred to him until Jeannie pointed it out.

He closed his eyes tightly. "This has to stop."

No matter what the evidence implied, he did love his children. In fact he couldn't imagine his life without them. Although in many ways, he emotionally neglected them; he was a good provider of material things and made sure that they wanted for nothing. His job made him do gruesome things, to sometimes innocent people. His children were an unseen comfort and silent stability. They were the only things pure in his life.

They were his humanity.

He rolled to his side and noticed a picture of Jeannie placed carefully on the mantel. It was taken the night he met her. The woman in the picture and the woman he had just argued with were totally different people. From their first meeting, he had noticed a spark of madness in her that was, at first, exhilarating, but now terrified him. He couldn't help, but think back to the days when he was merely a glorified chauffeur for Salvatore Valestra. Before he had anything...

Before he met her…