Hello. My name is Story Teller.

I'm going to tell you a story of something that hasn't happened yet. But it might. The future changes for every step, you, normal human beings, take.

The story I'm going to tell is about normal human beings. You might be asking yourself... so, is it really interesting to read something about normal people? I would answer that yes, it's boring.

But what you conceive as normal is not the same thing I think of as normal.

For me, every human being is normal. All of them, no matter how intelligent, how powerful or rich. No matter how twisted their lives are they are normal.

They are normal because, as every creature born, they have an expiration day:

Their deaths.

Not like me, I'm an eternal being.

Originally, I wasn't going take a part in this particular story. It wasn't my job. The people who had to tell it found it convenient that a certain person wrote down what they were going to tell.

If you ask me... they are certainly lazy when it comes to work.

Because telling stories is our job. They never really take it seriously. This is the first time I'm going to tell something, I'm not as experienced as them, but I think I'm more professional.

Without further ado... here we go.

June 12th, 2043. Bahia Blanca, Buenos Aires, Argentina

This is a funeral. A woman has died from lung cancer.

She died at 68, in an old, big house, from where she and her husband controlled the drug trade of South America.

The funeral takes place there, in the living room, where only her family mourns her.

There you have her husband, a blue eyed man sitting next to her coffin, his eyes empty, looking down to his wife's face crying silently. They've been married for almost thirty years. He remembers the first time they met, when both of them were young, living somewhere else. He remembers how afraid he was of her, of the woman who looked more like a creature from hell than a human being, shooting at his door in Arkham Asylum, asking about his degrees.

Back then when he was her employee.

He remembers their first kiss, she barely brushed her lips against his, and then planted small kisses all over his face, saying that she loved him.

He remembers the day his son was born, and the arguement they had over their child's name.

He remembers the day the whole family sat at the kitchen's table, deciding how to divide the Company and expand it worldwide. She said she wanted to take South America, where they could manage the drugs trade. Her brother stated boringly that she was becoming predictable as years went by.

In that corner, you have her so called brother. His arms crossed over his chest, his brown eyes lost in deep though.

He remembers the first time he introduced her to the mob, and how the men in the fancy meeting room looked horrified while he held a man down in a chair and she came by with a spoon in her hands, saying only one man was allowed to call her "bitch"...

...and that man was her brother.

He remembers how she poked his eyes out with the spoon, saying that they would do as her family say, no questions asked. Then it became her trademark: poking eyes with spoons.

She gave him one of the eyes to him whispering loud enough for everyone to hear.

" Souvenir"

He remembers the countless bets they played, and how it seemed that every time he won it backfired. But the same happened to her, anyway.

Their lives... marked by lies and bets. And here he was, watching his so called "sister's" corpse lying in a red coffin, her red and white suit tidy and ironed.

Who was that stupid? She never really cared about her clothes! (Or her image for that matter)

He closes his eyes and sighs. The old good days when The Company only ruled one city: Gotham. Now The Company, so big that became too difficult to maintain working properly without having to delegate.

A business to run, people to terrorize, buildings to blow up, power and political connections to maintain.

Everything to deliver a truth that nobody really understands, no matter how many times it's been told.

There's a woman in the funeral, her sister-in-law. She's holding her nephew in her arms or maybe it's the other way around. She's not sure who's holding who. She cries, and remembers once she tried to kill her, thinking that she was her husband's mistress.

How wrong she was... they were just siblings, and the seemingly strong and heartless woman had a traumatic experience that haunted her dreams.

Without her nephew noticing, she glances the widowed crying next to his oh so belovedwife's corpse.

Now she remembers exactly why she did love her sister-in-law...

That bitch certainly did well turning the oh so sad bastard into her lapdog. She tries not to laugh at the scene displayed.

She remembers the day those two got married, how she got drunk and started yelling

"Love ya, bitch, love to death you manipulative bitch! In your face, you bastard! She's gonna make ya suffer to no end! God bless the fucking Queen!"

And then laugh until she couldn't take it anymore... and then her husband's fists colliding against her face while she kept laughing...

She passed out... thinking how miserable The Bastard would be next to the Bitch she had linked him to.

Her son, Joseph, is holding his aunt in his arms, while she cries and embraces him tightly.

Joseph is 30 years old, and he controls the business in Europe. His are eyes brown, like his mothers, and so it's his hair.

They often say he looks more like his uncle than his father, although he's more lanky and not as tall as him.

He knew her mother would die of cancer one day with the amount that she smoked per day: one or maybe two packs a day.

He has some memories of his childhood. He remembers the first time they moved to Buenos Aires, the first time they arrived at Ezeiza International Airport, holding both his parents hands while he jumped and sang merrily.

He was just five years old.

He remembers when his mother told him, at fourteen, that he was old enough to start doing something for The Company. She called him to sit by her side on a computer, while his father smiled proudly at him. Joseph looked hesitant at him.

-Go, she needs someone to help her - His father whispered to him - That's why she wants you to learn

It seemed her mother had good hearing

-Jonathan I heard you. I don't need help, I only want him to learn- She stated icily- One day I'll die and I want this Company to keep going

Both of them stayed silent. How could she talk about her death so peacefully, so calm?

-Mom, don't say that- He had told her, scared of the prospect of her mother dying.

-Every human being dies, get used to the idea – she sighed - Come here, first lesson. Open, empty and close bank accounts. Create new ones, make them seem legal. You could make up one ghost company... I'll do some and I'll leave you to do others as homework.

He found hacking terribly boring but highly useful. He preferred when his father taught him how to manipulate people's mind into fear. Or maybe her mother, when she talked to him about manipulating people into liking you enough for them to give their lives for you.

A politician,that was his mother.

Yesterday, his mother, the hacker, the politician, died. She gave him something before making his father do it... and now he's holding it in his hands, nervously.

- I need you to do me a huge favor- Her mother managed to say, her voice raspy and her breathing heavy

He had been sitting beside her, holding her hand

-Of course mom- He smiled down at her- whatever you want

She smirked at him smugly, an old habit. Soon she seems to realize it's her son, not an employee. She smiles warmly and caresses her son's face.

-Open the box over there- she had told him, her small hand pointing at the corner of the bedroom her mother had been lying in for some weeks. He went to open it.

A small notepad, labeled "To Jonathan". He was about to read it when her mother yelled desperate.

-NO!- she managed to vocalize and grabbed her her chest painfully- That's for your father, not for you!

-I'm sorry mom - He apologized, closing the notepad quickly.

His mother's desperation only raised suspicions about what might be written there.

No, his mother never hid things to family members. Never really lied.

There was only one thing that she never told: Her surname. It was the secret between her and his uncle, although their childhood wasn't any secret for them. They knew about the rich children abused and almost killed by their father.

-Ok.. just..- she started, her voice barely audible- I'm dying, sweetie. And I'm suffering- she stated- Call your father, tell him to shoot me- she said with her voice full of sadness- it's time.

Joseph stays there, frozen. What was he supposed to do? She wasn't lying, she was suffering... and she was asking for some mercy.

Once a strong, feared woman, The Puppeteer, was agonizing in a lonely room.

He understood that she was asking for mercy... but didn't she feel any remorse on leaving them alone?

-Mom... – he tries to persuade her- don't say that... there must be a way of saving you- he says with a hint of desperation- we can...

-No. There is no way to avoid death- she interrupts him seriously, her voice cold and commanding- It's cancer, there's no cure and there are no miracles- she says, her detached voice hinted with defeat- I just need you to promise to give that to you father. When I'm dead, in my funeral, you will give it to him- she told him, looking directly to his eyes- Don't read it, don't dare do so- she said, voice breaking, her eyes starting to water- It's my last wish. Respect it. Oh and once your father reads that... I'm sorry for what will happen. Really sorry.-

No "I love you"s from her mouth. Nothing. It wasn't new, his mother rarely spoke about her feelings. They simply knew she loved them through her actions, the way she looked and smiled at them, both him and his father.

They learned to know without her telling so.

He talked to his father. It was funny to see old photos and videos of his parents, when they looked so young, so full of life.

Now his father was a gray-haired man, his face marked by wrinkles and his blue eyes, behind his glasses empty of any emotion, simply exhausted.

His father took a deep breath, his eyes watering, and asked him to give him his gun.

Joseph hesitantly gave it to him.

His father knew... he knew she eventually would ask him to kill her. It was just a matter of time.

- Tell Mom I love her- he said with his face down, his voice barely audible- I don't want to be there when you...

- It's ok- his father interrupted him- I'll tell her.

Her father entered the room, closing the door behind him

After some minutes, a gunshot.

Joseph heard it.

His mother is dead.

He sat in the floor, and put his hands to his face, crying

10 minutes passed before his father came out of the room. His hand still holding the gun, shaking, his shirt covered in his wife's blood.

His father just let himself fall next to him, throwing the gun away.

-I hugged her while doing it. She asked me to kiss her before...- his father started, still shocked at what he'd done- I.... I shouldn't have done it- he stammered, his eyes lost in thin air. He looked down at his hands, covered in blood. He started to sob and cry as if a child, completely desperate- But it's too late! Look, look what she made me do!- he yells, sounding maniacal- She made me kill her, that bitch!- he cried harder trying to clean his tainted hands with his pants- She promised not to leave me alone, and...!

Joseph slapped his father. He was furious at him, not only for his words, also for his actions: he agreed to kill her.

Then he remembered: He'd gave him his gun to do it.

He was as guilty as his father was.

-How dare you! Mom suffered until the last moment, and you only think about yourself?- Joseph hissed to his father, disgusted- And how dare you to call her bitch?!

- I can't think my life without her- his father answered after some minutes of silence, his voice numbed- but she wouldn't want me to commit suicide...

And now, here was the whole family. He has the notepad in his hands, and he has a bad feeling about it. Maybe he was imagining things... but his mother had been hiding something, and the truth might be there. If not, why to ask him to forgive her for what would happen?

No, his mother had written his father about her feelings, the ones she never talked about.

She wouldn't hide anything really important from them. Right?

He's still holding his aunt, who's crying her eyes out.

-Aunt, I need to say something here- he tells the blond woman in his arms- Would you let me..?

-Yeah sure- she says, wiping her eyes and loosening her grip on him- I'm sorry...

Joseph walks next to his father and puts his hands in the old man's shoulders, in a reassuring way. Jonathan doesn't move, he's still too sad, too shocked by his own actions to do something.

Joseph clears his throat soundly, trying to get the attention of the family.

His father just looks up at him for a moment, just to keep from looking at his wife's corpse.

His uncle just rolls his eyes annoyed at the sight of his... sister's little family mourning her.

His aunt, just nods at him and smiles reassuringly.

-They call us the Royal Family of Crime, they say we're heartless, we're crazy and that we should die- he starts, his voice commanding and never hesitating, just as his parents had taught him- Well, let them be happy that one of us is dead- he says, his voice bitter, tainted with sarcasm- They will know The Queen of Hearts, The Puppeteer, The Soulless is dead. They will laugh at the irony of her dying old and ill, not a violent death as her violent life- he smirks, disgusted by the people who would feel happy about it, who would mock at his mother's death- They wrote books about us, they made documentary films, and even some dared to made fiction, speculating about our private lives- he tells the rest of the family cocking an eyebrow mockingly.

His uncle starts laughing. Everybody looks at him with accusations in their eyes. He just shrugs and smirks

- None of them reflected the truth- he nods to his uncle, who jut makes a gesture with his hand to go on-. Here we are, mourning the Queen of Hearts- he says with his voice full of pride at the name of his mother- But we know the truth. She wasn't a soulless creature. She was a mother, she was a sister and a wife. She was good mother. She loved us even if she rarely said it aloud-

And his uncle starts laughing again, this time harder and not making any attempt to hide the sound. He laughs maniacally until he loses his breath, and makes another gesture to Joseph to go on.

- And I think everybody in this room loved her. We'll remember her as Alicia, not as Hearts. Because here we are. Not the Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane. Not The Joker, but Jack. Not Harley Quinn, but Harleen. Not the Cheshire Cat, But Joseph Crane. We're as any other family. I want to remember my mother, not the criminal. I think all of us want that, and so would she- he finishes.

He takes a deep breath and approaches his uncle.

-Uncle Jay?

-Yeah?- he sounds bored, lifting an eyebrow mockingly.

-I'd like to write her real name in the tombstone. We know what happened to you both- he says with some hesitation.

Both his father and his aunt look at him as if he were crazy. His uncle Jay just shrugs non-interested

-Could you let us know your real surnames?

-Ok, Kid. Alicia Jeanny Napier- he answers making a mock reverence- I don't give a fuck hiding that anymore. That's our surname- he says suddenly serious, bitter- But put the following in her gravestone...

His father is completely disgusted, furious at his uncle. They always hated each other, for some reason. He never really understood. He guessed it was because his father, in some way "stole" his little sister away from him, or simply because they're too different.

His father gets up from the chair, knocking it roughly at the floor.

He approaches his uncle, who just looks mildly curios at him.

- I think I should say what's to be written there- his father states bitterly.

- You're a nobody, straw-for-brains- his uncle smiles down at him, patronizing- I was her ...everything.

- I was her husband, the father of her child!- his father protests, his voice raising

- Let me laugh about it. HA HA- his uncle Jay says sarcastically- You really think she loved you?- he tells his father, rolling his eyes amused- I mean... it's Queenie we're talking about here- he laughs bitterly- She loved nobody but herself! Maybe she loved me... but I'll never know that.

- We lived together for thirty years!- his father yells at him furious, pulling a gun and aiming it at his uncle, who just holds his hands in mock surrender, a smirk on his face.

The situation of his father aiming at his uncle is not new. But it was always his now deceased mother laughing at it, taking the gun off his father hands.

This time it's his job to do it.

- Hey Cheshire, you have a notepad there- his uncle asks him, a sinister tone in his voice - right?

- Yes?

- Give that to your so called father- he orders him- Go ahead!

He does as he's told, not because his uncle is ordering him: he promised his mother to do so.

- Ok, Birdie, simple- he addresses his father- We make a bet.

- Your sister dies and you want to make a bet?- his father answers angrily- You don't have any respect to..

- She sure loved bets. We would be... honoring her by making one – his uncle interrupts him, grinning maliciously at him- Read what's in there... I bet... that after you read that you will put a bullet in your brain.

- You're implying she kept something from me?

- Not implying. I'm stating.- his uncle's grin widens- If you don't want to kill yourself after that...- he points at the notepad- you get to kill me- he ends smirking smugly- How does that sound?

- If you keep your word, it sounds like we'll have another funeral. Soon.

- Yeah...- he says nonplussed -what do you want me to put in your gravestone?

His hatred toward his uncle just increases, seeing him approach his mother corpse. He lowers his head to her level, and whispers in her dead ears.

-Hey Allie... I love you- he whispers amused, for the whole room to hear- You won that bet! Happy now?- he shouts into his mother's ears, like trying to wake her up. He smirks, caressing her head- Hmm too bad that it always backfires... You're dead, bitch- he hisses at her.

He stays there some seconds, in deep thought. Then he storms out of the room, dragging his aunt with him by her arm.

-Harls, we're leaving.

Both him and his father are left alone in the living room. His father is standing frozen in the middle of the room, the notepad in his hands. His eyes unblinking, his face void of any emotion.

He opens the door and calls some employees inside.

- Ustedes, entierren a mi mama- he orders- Rapido.

- Si, señor.

Their employees lift his mother's red coffin and take it outside, to be buried in the garden. They haven't decided what to put in her gravestone, not sure if writing only her name along with her alias, some phrase referring as her life as a mother and wife, or as powerful criminal is the right engraving to place there.

His father looks at his wife's coffin being closed, and taken away. He sits in his chair again, and puts his free hand to his face, closing his eyes.

Joseph just pats his back, both of them feeling empty, silent.

- Dad... just don't listen to him- Joseph tell him after some seconds- he just wants to put something funny in mom's gravestone - he shrugs, trying to sound confident although his doubts are noticeable in his tone- This must be a love letter, not some obscure secret.

- Did you read it?

- No, But I know that Mom loved you- he says sadly- Do you want me to read this with you?

- No, I think I'll read it alone- he answers, removing himself from his son's arms- It's ok... I'll go to our...my...bedroom and read this.

Joseph looks at his father walking to his bedroom, the one he shared for almost thirty years with his mother.

Jonathan sits in his bed and hesitantly, opens the notepad and starts reading it.

"Lie, lie and keep lying. If done well enough, they will becomes truths for those who hear them. My life as it is is based on lies... but I shall never break my word... I say we're married, it's true even if I don't love you. Back then I promised to take you as my husband, but I never said anything about me being your wife. You're mine, but I'm not yours. I promised never to abandon you, and I've been always there for you to pull your strings carefully, lovingly and see how you react to a simple word, to a simple touch. I love see how you look up at me with irrevocable adoration, even if it's been more than thirty years since we got married. You're a puppet, our relationship is based upon lies, and you will only find out about it once I'm dead. I know you'll be heartbroken when you read this, I know you will hate me, but I'll be gone. But I still need you to know, that even if started as a lie... I think I lied so much that not only you ended up believing it. Because, at some point... I believed it myself. At some point I loved you as much as you loved me. Only to realize thereafter that I can't love someone who's being manipulated. At some point, you're lying to me as much as I'm lying to you. Because you love the character that I've become for you, not me. In fact, only one person could ever love me for real, and I would never find out if it's so. It troubles me, it haunts me and I'll never find out.

I've given my whole life to show the biggest truth in the universe, and I couldn't achieve it. I can only guess the truth is too big, and us, simple mortals, too insignificant to show something that belong to the gods.

Borges described it as "The Garden of Forking Paths" It's in the library, in Ficciones.

Before you continue to read, I need you to know that even if the person writing this doesn't love you.. I'm sure there are thousands of other universes where I do.

There must be a place where Jack Napier doesn't have any meaning in my life, there must be others where I forget, and other where I didn't start smoking and I'm not dead.

Unfortunately, in this one, I am deceased and you're my puppet. But I can assure you that you're the most beloved one...."

I think it's enough for today.

In that letter Jonathan Crane is reading, one of the biggest truths is lousily written, but it's words are effective.

Now he knows for sure. He didn't mean anything to the woman he loved for years. He never lost his rank of employee, she used him as she pleased, and he's miserable.

He wants to throw away the notepad.. but he doesn't dare. He wants to know the complete truth.

The biggest secret, the biggest truth. Only two people know it. One's dead, and the other laughing while heading back to Gotham.

AN/ Hello there!. For those who didn't read my other stories, it's not completely necessary. In the notepad Crane's "wife" wrote it has a summary... but I would highly recommend to read "all World's Stage: Wanna hear a Joke?" Some things you can read there: A tour to The Joker's , Harley's and Crane's mind... and when I say tour I mean exactly that... a "person" showing you around their conscious and subconscious.

Harley being manipulated, huge lies, Crane being a complete jerk with Harley, Harley getting her revenge and Crane doesn't even notice... Crane having "little problems" in bed and the Joker mocking at him... just after the incident. And a lot more!

(I just sounded like a commercial, I know)

And for those who did read "AW"... this will tell you exactly how the hell Hearts and the Joker can be dead... and still together. This the other side of the story... how exactly the Joker got his scars and how did he... well... die. Remember Femme told something about Hearts being around Crane for years and he doesn't remember anything? well... this is the story.

Anyway.. please leave reviews, constructive critics is welcome (not flames... although I never received one)

Nezzie (This Rat is getting older... and older...)