The telephone rang, and Thomas Wayne wondered why Alfred wasn't answering it. "Alfred!" he called, looking up from his newspaper in front of the fire.

"It's his night off, dear," reminded Martha, not looking up from her knitting.

"Dammit, that's right," grumbled Thomas, folding his paper and getting to his feet as the phone continued to ring. "Where's Bruce?"

"He had some party to go to," replied Martha. "You know how college boys are," she said, smiling at him.

He grunted as he picked up the telephone. "Hello, Wayne residence," he said. He listened to the voice on the other end, and his face grew gradually paler. "I…I see," he stammered. "Well, thank you very much. We'll…be there as soon as possible."

"Thomas, what is it?" asked Martha, noticing his horrified expression as he hung up the phone.

"There's been a breakout at Arkham," he murmured to his wife. "A lot of people have been killed. They think they know who did it."

She stared at him in horror. "Not…Jack?" she stammered.

He nodded. "He's the only one missing, along with Harleen Quinzel. Right now they don't know if Jack's kidnapped her or if she's gone with him voluntarily…"

"She likes clowns," murmured a soft voice from the window. "She's always liked chasing clowns."

They turned as a bolt of lightning illuminated a figure standing there. He was tall and pale and dressed in a purple suit, his smile huge and menacing.

"Jack?" whispered Thomas.

The figure stepped into the light, holding up a playing card with a smiling clown face. "It's the Joker now," he murmured. "The Joker. And ain't I just a card!" he chuckled, flicking the playing card at him.

"Jack, where's Harley?" demanded Thomas.

"She's safe, Mr. Wayne," he murmured. "Safe and happy. I left her asleep in bed, one satisfied customer, if you know what I'm saying," he chuckled.

"Oh…my God!" he stammered, horrified. "You…raped her?"

Jack's eyes narrowed in fury. "I ain't Joe Chill," he muttered. "I didn't do anything to her against her will. I think she was a little shocked by the violence at first, but she fell asleep with a smile on her face, and that's what I like to see. She's got a sweet, compassionate heart, Harley, and she's a bright kid. Real fast learner, and really adaptable to anything. So she's gonna stay with me. She ain't gonna abandon me. Not like my family did."

"Jack, we didn't have a choice…" began Thomas.

"You always had a choice, Mr. Wayne!" he interrupted, furiously. "And you always made the wrong ones! I don't know if you were just stupid or heartless or some combination of the two, but every choice you made from the moment of my conception was wrong! You had a choice to save my mother from her brute of a husband, and me from my brute of a stepfather! But did you? No, you moved on, found someone else, started a new family, and gave up any kinda responsibility or loyalty toward your old one! And now when the prodigal son returns, you don't even look happy to see me! Why don't you smile, Mr. Wayne? That's all you can do in this joke of a life, isn't it? Just smile!"

"What do you want here, Jack?" asked Thomas.

Jack laughed. "Do I have to want something to come home, Mr. Wayne? I don't want anything more than what I've always wanted. A home. A family. Parents who loved me. But that was never gonna be the case for me – my family couldn't accept the path I'd chosen or the person I'd become. They still can't. They lock me away, shut me outta sight, and try to forget about me. But I ain't gonna be forgotten, Mr. Wayne. Not by you or anyone else. By the time I'm through with this stinking town, everybody in it is gonna know my name: The Joker. If I can't have the love of my own family, I'll have the adoration of the masses. Or make them cower in fear, anyway," he chuckled. "That's what my first father taught me about how family treats each other. And my second father didn't set a hugely better example."

"Jack, we tried to love you," whispered Martha. "We both did…"

"I don't blame you, Mrs. Wayne," he said, gently. "You did try. It would be difficult for any woman to love another woman's son, a woman that her husband loved before he met her. That must have really eaten away at you, but you never showed that to me. You were never unkind. I have nothing against you. This isn't a personal vendetta, not like Joe Chill was."

"What are you talking about, vendetta?" demanded Thomas. "You wouldn't kill us, Jack! You wouldn't kill your own father!"

"No, Mr. Wayne, Jack wouldn't kill you," he agreed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun. "But I'm not Jack anymore, remember? I'm the Joker now. And the Joker lives to spread smiles and laughter, especially to the people he loves."

"And don't you love us?" asked Thomas.

"I do love you, Mr. Wayne," said Jack, nodding. "That's why I'm doing this. I just love Bruce more."

"Jack, you're mad!" whispered Thomas. "You need help…"

"I needed love, Mr. Wayne!" he roared. "Not to be imprisoned and abandoned and tortured in Arkham! That's all I ever wanted," he whispered, tears in his eyes. "Unconditional love. And the only person in my family who ever gave me that was Bruce. I know…no matter what happens…no matter what I do, Bruce will always be there for me. He'll always support me. And he'll always love me."

He raised his gun to Thomas's face. "Something you never did, Father," he whispered. "You don't even deserve to have me call you that. But since this is the last time we're ever gonna see each other, it seems like a nice thing to do. And I'm a nice guy, really."

He pulled the trigger and fired directly into Thomas's skull. Martha screamed as his body fell to the ground, and Jack rounded on her. "Nothing personal, Mrs. Wayne," he repeated, softly. "Really. You did the best you could."

She stood, staring at him and shaking, as tears dripped down her face. He approached her, shushing her gently, as he bent down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "Goodbye, Stepmother," he murmured. The barrel of the gun was pressed against her stomach, and he fired. He held her, soothing her, until he felt her life slip away, and then lay her carefully down on the ground.

He straightened up, laughing at the blood that covered his clothing. He rubbed some off onto his fingers, and then looked around, grinning. "Might as well leave my brother a note!" he giggled, tracing his bleeding finger down the wall…