First, let me apologize to you all! I wanted to have this chapter up a long time ago, but literally everything that could happen did. At one point my computer even crashed, and I lost all of my work… all of it!
So, thank you to everyone who read the last chapter! A big thanks to: Han, Djwignall, NibbytheHedgehog, Gideon Moriattis, EthanFlux, Nicki, and kendramccormick for reviewing the last chapter! You guys are amazing and I hope you will forgive the long wait. And, a big thank you to all of you who have favorited and alerted this story, as well!
So, here we are, we've come to the end. Yes, I am kind of depressed, but looking forward to new projects. There is still an epilogue left and I promise all lose ends will be tied up- so please don't fret. I've had a few people ask me about a sequel, and honestly I am game to do it, but it is really up to you guys if you want more. I have a rough outline and I am building the concept, but I would really like to know if you all want a sequel, or if you just want me to leave it alone. That's probably something you will be more suited to answer after the epilogue!
Thank you again for all of your support all the way through. Please, enjoy your ending!
"All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day…"
-The Joker, The Killing Joke
Chapter 24-
"It's a rainy night here in Gotham," The worn, heavy voice of local weatherman, Skip Goyforth, crackled from the radio as a few fat raindrops began to spit against the windshield, faster and faster. "Expect the occasional downpour and thunderstorm…" A quick, brittle hiss of static cut through the air then dissolved into silence as Jack tuned off the ignition and sat back in his seat in the small overflow lot on the North side of the chemical plant. It was a safe place to hide his car while carrying out the robbery. It was down a little hill, tucked into some trees, and had all but been forgotten about…
The perfect place for a quick escape…
There was an underwhelming numbness creeping through Jack's veins. He expected to feel something… sadness….despair…rage… devastation… anything…anything at all to let him know that he was still alive. Everything he ever loved, or worked for, or valued was gone. Meaningless… he should be feeling something. But… there was just empty, hallow space. He became so frustrated that he slammed his hands around the steering wheel, gripping it so tightly that his knuckles grew white, while he let out a guttural cry of despair.
Hopeless…
Rudderless…
There was nothing left for him. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't very well go on trying to live a normal life. His ballerina… his Jeannie… she murdered his children, destroyed his life… she put her hands around their little throats and choked the life out of them, one by one. And... he… he pushed her… pushed his pregnant wife to her death. There was no recovering from that.
He had never felt so forsaken.
He only wanted to go back. To be happy, again. To not be left alone. To have the old days back- before he worked too much, drank too much, before she woke up one morning and the world seemed too bright, too loud, too cold, too desperate.
He closed his eyes and laid his head against the cool glass of the window. It was a night like this when he had come home after a terrible day, close to midnight, to find Jeannie sitting on the couch with a calendar and newspaper spread across the coffee table in front of her. He could see so clearly, in his mind, the way she sat there fidgeting with her hair, in her old polka-dot bathrobe that smelled of lavender and Jeannie.
They only had two children at the time… a girl and a boy- the ideal family, and they had moved from their Bowery Apartment to a small townhouse with drab exposed-brick walls, in a marginally better part of Gotham. There were still plenty of break-ins by petty thieves and prostitutes littering the sidewalks, but it wasn't The Bowery. Jeannie, of course, hated it and complained every day, but she hated The Bowery, too. This townhouse was the lesser of two evils- or at least that is how Jack liked to describe it. They had been living there for barely two months, yet Jeannie was already planning their escape… and Jack was certain that she had landed upon their perfect next home as she stood up, gave him a tentative smile, and began to pick at the material around the waist of her nightgown as he entered the living room.
"What is it?" Jack said a little too gruffly in anticipation, as he threw his jacket over the back of a chair and kept his eyes cemented firmly to her.
"Why do you just assume that it is somethin'?"
"Well, isn't it?"
"No." She put her hands on her hips in outrage, then slowly let them fall to her side with a little bounce of her shoulders. "Well… yes… it is…I suppose."
Jack's eyebrows rose as he plopped down in the chair, then slouched so deeply that it looked like he might tumble into the floor. "Can't this wait? It's been a long day, Jeannie."
"I'm sure it has been, but this is important." She returned to her seat on the couch and scooted to the very edge. Her eyes volleyed between the calendar and the newspaper as if she were trying to decide where to start. She stopped on the newspaper and gave herself a reassuring, half-hearted nod. Then she forced her expression to change to one that conveyed exciting, new beginnings. "I… I think I might have found you a new job."
"Jesus Christ." Jack put his hand on his forehead and moved his fingers inward until he was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why?"
"No…don't start…just listen…." She placed her hands flat against the coffee table in an attempt to punctuate just how significant this opportunity was. "This is a good job. The Ace Chemical Company is lookin' for lab technicians."
He looked up slowly and made a disgusted grunt. "I don't think my skills set qualify me for that job."
"Will you just listen to me, please!" Her voice rose to an octave that made Jack grit his teeth. "There is no experience required, you only need to be a high school graduate… its Monday through Friday… eight to five! Helen always talks about how much you liked chemistry in high school and how well you did. Maybe this is your chance to do somethin' that you really want to do."
Jack slammed his hands against his knees, then stood abruptly and began to pace the floor in agitation. "Helen is a crazy old woman. It wouldn't surprise me if her cancer has gone to her brain." His tone dripped of sarcasm and he ran a hand through his tousled hair.
Jeannie sat back and crossed her arms over her waist. Seeing Jack disintegrate before her eyes should have been alarming, but the only thing she could see was how similar Jack and Sullivan looked before they threw tantrums. Their faces would grow red, they would talk through gritted teeth, and their steps would turn into deliberate stomps. It was almost funny to watch and she felt a little tickle of a laugh scratch at the back of her throat, but before she allowed it to escape she coughed and said, "Why are you actin' like a child?"
He stopped mid-stride and gave her a drop-dead scowl with intense, burning eyes. "It has been a long, tough day, Jeannie. All I wanted to do was come to my home and relax… why can't I just be left alone… why can't I walk through the door without my wife telling me what I should be doing! Why?!" he shouted while waving his arms in anger- another similarity between he and his son. He looked like a man so racked with frustration and stress that he could have sat in the floor and began to sob. "Why can't you just leave things be…we are finally getting our footing… why can't you just be happy. It's not like you've had a hard day's work ever!"
Her nostrils flared and she began to tap her foot- now it was her turn to work up a tantrum. She wanted to scream at him: You think takin' care of this house isn't hard work? Takin' care of our children? What would you know about hard work? It's not like you're ever home… how could you possibly understand? But, she decided to be more prudent and simply straightened her neck, smoothed her hair behind her ears and began to play upon his sympathies. "Jack I need you to be home more. The kids miss you… I miss you. Don't you want to be with us?"
His jaw shifted and he shoved his hands in his pockets. This was one of her best and most effective tactics when trying to win an argument. She knew that his heart was putty in her hands, and taking full advantage of that was something that she made standard practice of every time the opportunity presented itself. With the right wording and the right facial expressions she could get whatever she wanted out of him.
She then took a deep breath as a little, nervous, coquettish smile pricked at her lips. "I need you home more often because…because…because I think I might be pregnant." She added the words "I think" for his benefit alone. There was no doubt about it, she was pregnant and she had known it for a while. Jeannie always had very distinct signs of pregnancy: odd food cravings, such as pickles and ice cream, morning sickness, feeling exhausted after doing something as simple as sitting up in bed- this time was no different. She was just keeping it to herself. Maybe if she ignored it, it would go away.
No such luck.
"What?" He whimpered pathetically and his entire face dropped, making him look years older than his age. "I…I thought we said we were stopping with two."
"We did." She shrugged. "But, things change. You're not happy?"
His shoulders fell forward. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to hear the news of another of his impending offspring, but his life was just so unprepared. He wanted lots of children, but he wanted them somewhere stable- not Gotham. Not somewhere that he made sure to check the locks three times before he went to bed. If they were living in a good suburb…well, then he would be over joyed. They would be safe there. Nothing bad could happen to them in a safe place like, suburbia. "Of course I am happy… I just thought we were finished, that's all. Don't we have enough to worry about with the two we have? I mean, we barely make ends meet now."
"What would you have me do about it, Jack? I'm pregnant… there isn't anything I am willin' to do to change that."
Jack ambled across the room and sat down next to his wife, then placed his hand on her knee. "How did this happen? We've tried to be careful…when?"
She looked down at the calendar that was lying next to the newspaper. "Well, I've tried to count back the weeks and I guess that weekend in September, when we left the kids with Frankie and Tonya."
"Goddammit," he huffed then once again took on the position of a man who was on his deathbed.
She turned to him, keeping her eyes cast to the floor. She didn't bring this up to him to start an argument… she didn't want to fight, she simply needed her husband… and she needed him to understand that his presence was vital to the delicate balance of their home. Of her sanity. "Jack, I want you home more. Somethin' just doesn't feel right… and…and I need you. I can't explain it; somethin' in me tells me that this baby is goin' to be a hard one."
He exhaled a rough, exhausted breath, then leaned forward to take a better look at the "wanted add." His eyes panned carefully over each word. She was right, this wasn't a bad job…actually, it seemed kind of fitting. Perfect, really. Like it had been created just for him. Then, just as he was beginning to cross over to her side, he came to the killer- the salary. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, and shook his head. "No… no this won't work. Do you understand how big of a pay cut this is? We would lose everything. We couldn't afford this townhouse anymore. We have another baby on the way… we just can't take the hit."
She began to nod in a, I've-already-thought-of-that manner, then she grabbed his hand with both of hers and gave it a hard squeeze. "I've done the math and, yes, we will have to move. I called Mrs. Burkiss today and… and our apartment is still available."
"Of course, it is…" Jack jerked his hand from hers and gave a quick tug at his tie to loosen it before it strangled him.
"Jack... we can do this. Do you really want to work for Sal for the rest of your life? You have no future there. You've hit the top, and when he is done with you, well, then you are goin' to find yourself at the bottom of the bay. Ace offers advancement… eventually you will climb the ladder. This is your chance, sweetheart. Take it!"
His forehead wrinkled and then he began to wring his hands with such friction that they became red and incredibly hot. He looked as if he were about to rattle apart right there in their living room. "I…g-guess I could at least go to an interview. See what it's all about."
Her face lightened and she ran her hand over his back. "Yes, at least give it a chance. This could be the start of a new life for us… new job… new baby… what could go wrong?"
"Really?" he said with a cynical laugh. "What could go wrong? Take your pick! We could not make rent and end up living in a box on the street… you and the kids could starve to death… and I could end up a crazy person. A whole hell of a lot could go wrong."
She put her hands on his face and gave him the sweetest, most reassuring smile that he had ever seen. "Oh, Jack… I have more faith in you than that."
As he felt her soft touch and watched her pretty blue eyes search his face, he never would have imagined that in less than two years he would be stumbling through a downpour towards the Ace Chemical Company with the intent of robbing it. Ace was a good employer and he enjoyed his job. Damn Jeannie for ruining it… damn her for ruining his life… his everything.
As he came to the fence separating Ace from the river, images of his children began to flash before his eyes. Images of them running through the backyard playing, sitting around the dinner table, sneaking into their parent's bed during a thunderstorm… then their cold, grey skin. The way their bodies lied limply across Heather's bed like oversized toys. The dark purple and black bruises around their tiny necks. Then, as he looked at his reflection in the water, being marred by drops of rain bouncing through its surface, he thought of Jeannie.
That woman… that broken, pathetic shell of a human being… that wasn't his wife.
Not his Jeannie.
His Jeannie wouldn't have hurt her children. She loved them… she fought for them… she was a mother, albeit an imperfect one.
He couldn't reconcile in his mind how he actually put his hand on her chest and pushed her. The feel of her skin still tingled across his fingertips and the sound of her little body hitting the ground rang in his ears. She looked so small and so broken as she lied there with blood trickling from her mouth and nose.
No… that wasn't his Jeannie…no… it couldn't have been.
His Jeannie was lost a long time ago…
And, what he found even more troubling was that he still worshiped her. In fact, the thoughts of losing her grieved him more than losing his children. She was the loss the stung the most. What they hell was wrong with him? Maybe it was because there was nothing he could do for his children. Nothing that happened to them was their fault. But, Jeannie, she was a different story. Her mental state was fixable… something could have been done.
There was still a chance for her.
His chest began to ache so fervently that he grabbed for the fence and twisted his fingers in its links before his knees could buckle. Just supporting his own weight seemed like an impossible task. How was he supposed to lead his partners through the labyrinth of corridors and crosswalks without being caught? This job seemed so easy just hours ago. A simple job with a big payout… but, now… but, now with what he had been through, with the knowledge that his entire family was gone…and cold…and dead…well… it seemed impossible.
Suicide…
"Napier!" A voice cut through the roar of rain. "You're here! Always so early. Hey! Hey, Napier! You with us?! C'mon, quit daydreaming!"
Jack forced his knees to straighten and he took in a deep breath as he felt the rain begin to soak through his clothes. This was it… this was the time he had been planning for. There was a hard shove to his shoulder that caused him to slip in the mud as he turned to find his two Red Hood cohorts standing in front of him, struggling to pull the all-too familiar red dome from it case.
"Are we doing this, or ain't we?" the taller of the two hissed as he shoved the mask into Jack's hands.
Jack regarded his reflection in its metallic surface and began to nod slowly. He didn't recognize himself. He normally saw Joseph Napier glaring back at him, but the man mirrored back at him now was a stranger… a shattered husk…
It was tragic…
"Yeah…yeah, of course." Jack swallowed, then bounced it up and down in his hands as if he were gauging its weight. He always felt so oppressed when he slipped it over his head. Everything became red… like blood… like the flames of hell. It almost seemed fitting. He was in hell… eternal torture… no escape… that was his life.
All he had ever known…
And, his angel… his saving grace…well, she had vanished…
"I don't know why, I'm doing this," he began, "my family… they're gone."
He expected a little sympathy. After all, he had been working with these two men for years. In an odd way, he considered them friends. They were more aware of the triumphs and tragedies in his life than most. They had listened to him vent his frustrations and fears about his wife. They had been given the news of every child. Hell, when Maggie was born, the shorter of the two men gave him a hundred bucks just to help him out.
So, when Jack was met with silence, and a firm slap on the back, accompanied with, "it could be worse," he was a little thrown off. Did they not understand the enormity of the word gone? How could everyone else in the world be going about their business as if everything was okay? The weatherman still reported, people were still leaving their jobs to go home to their families for the weekend, and these men who had known Jack for twelve years… there wasn't even a pause… not even a hiccup in the flow…
How was the world still going on as if everything was perfectly fine, when his life was so irrevocably shattered…
Where was the justice?
How was this fair?
Before he could protest or explain just how gone, gone was, the two other men were jumping the fence and sprinting towards building 706. Shit! No! This was happening so fast! He needed it to slow down… he needed a minute to think… to breathe.
"C'mon, Napier! We got to do this now! Now!"
Jack slung the mask over the fence and watched it roll across the grass, then followed. He barely had time to pick it up and wipe the few blades of sod from its surface before it was being ripped from his hands and shoved over his face. "Jeez, y'know… you got a funny shaped head."
The falling rain streaked down in front of his line of vision and everything became blurry and distorted. He couldn't even make it up the stairs leading into 706 without being pulled and pushed from his accomplices. It felt just like his first time under the hood; that night so long ago when he and Frankie were robbing the Gotham National Bank. He felt the same urgency and alarm. He felt clueless and klutzy... like a boy trying so hard to impress a girl. That's how this all started… she liked men with money, and this goddamned red fishbowl was his ticket to wealth. His only hope of catching her eye…
What a fool he was…
As his hands reached for the hard, steel doors, he closed his eyes and imagined that she was somewhere waiting for him. Just like the first night; she was waiting for him to show up to the Midtown Ballet. She had to be somewhere now, getting angry and tapping her toes, anticipating his arrival.
He was grasping at straws and this illusion… this spark of madness… it was the only way he was going to make it through the night.
As he pushed open the doors he was immediately met with a rush of scorching air that seeped up into the mask and carried with it the acrid smell of chemicals and heavy machinery. There was noise all-around of pumps and drains sending one batch of chemical waste to another holding tank then back again, and the occasional rush of steam breaking free from an exhaust.
This was hell…
Jack straightened his back and took in his surroundings for a moment, then with just as much confidence as a seasoned soldier leading troops into battle, he pointed his finger to a scaffold on the other side of two tanks. "Okay… we go past the filter tanks and up those stairs… the business office is just beyond a partition."
He had found his stride again amongst the familiarity of his red mask. There was something homey about it… and just for a moment he felt safety… security… maybe there was still a future for him… a new life…
…and that is when he heard it.
They were passing between the tanks as a voice rang out above the hisses, and clanks, and bangs, of building 706. "HEY YOU! FREEEEEZE!"
Jack's hand instinctively reached for his gun… but, it wasn't there. No…no…no… he must have left it home. How could he make such a stupid mistake? He knew better. This was not his first time. Now he was left with security guards, police officers, and two pissed off partners…
And, no protection…
"You asshole! You said there was no security!"
"There wasn't! Things must have been altered!" Jack shouted back in a panic. When he left Ace Chemical, security in building 706 was looked at as a waste of resources. Who would want the shit that floated around in those tanks? Obviously… things had changed. Just like everything else in Jack's life.
"Altered! I'm gonna alter your stupid horseface!"
Then there was a shot that echoed around inside of the helmet so loudly that Jack thought that his eardrums might burst. He grabbed at his head and tried to yank the mask off, but the left over droplets of rain had made it so slick that he couldn't get a grip on it. Then there was another shot and another. He couldn't see and he felt as though he was going deaf… there was nothing to do but run.
Then, all loyalty amongst thieves dissolved as he began to sprint, and he heard, "You guys don't want me… you want him… he's the ring-leader…he's the Red Hood," being shouted over the gun shots.
For a moment, he could hear footsteps behind him; if they belonged to his partners or security guards, he would never know and he really didn't care. The only thing that was important to him in that moment was getting the hell away from Ace Chemical. It wasn't until he reached the stairs leading to the scaffolds, and looked back over his shoulder, that he saw the two men that he had met for the first time inside The Bowery Tavern, years ago, lying bloody and dead several feet behind him.
He was alone in this now…
As he reached the top of the scaffolding the gun fire died down and he slowed his steps… maybe they lost track of him. Just for a moment he thought he might get away with it. He could hear some shouting, but it seemed very far away and nothing to concern himself with. He needed to catch his breath and get his bearings. If he wanted to get out of 706 alive, then he had to be thinking straight…
He heard it before he actually saw it. The monstrous thud through the streams of steam and wavy aura of heat. "Dear, God… what have you sent to punish me?" He blinked at it for a moment, trying to force his eyes to understand what was before him. Then it came into view… oh god… here it was. The urban legend… the thing that was whispered about amongst thugs on the street… the number one headline…
…the batman.
"No…no…no, this isn't happening! Wait! You don't want me. I'm no crook…" he again grabbed for the red mask, and this time had the luck to pull it halfway up…
What would happen next occurred so rapidly that there would always be confusion and mixed reports from the security guards who witnessed it…
"He pushed the guy, I saw it! I saw it with my own two eyes…"
"No… he picked him up and threw him over the rail."
"The guy jumped…"
"No, he fell…"
"I didn't see a damn thing…"
But, to Jack it happened so slowly that he would always remember the feel of the punch cracking across his jaw, his heartbeat racing and thudding in his ears, and then stumbling backwards until his lower back hit the top rail…
…and he fell…
It wasn't a long fall, but it did give Jack just a split second to see the irony. She must have felt like this as she was falling. She must have known she was about to die…
Just as Jack was about to hit the pool of chemicals below, he began to smile…
It was just too damn hilarious…
What a joke!
…
…
…
Get up!
Get up, now!
You have to wake up!
His eyes fluttered open and everything was a red, hazy blur. His skin felt as though it was being eaten away and every nerve ending in his body was screaming in pain. For a moment, he knew he was dead.
And, he was burning… oh, God, the pain was unbearable…
But, wait, why was he still in pain?
With death, wasn't there supposed to be peace?
He suddenly felt the caustic chemicals he had breathed in begin to bubble in his esophagus and he ripped the red mask from his face just in time as they flooded up from his lungs and spilled from his mouth and nostrils. He tried to suck in air between retches, but there was just too much of it. What a horrible way to go; spewing poisons that burned the lining of your windpipe as you suffocated on the bank of a river.
He crawled to the water and splashed it against his skin in an attempt for some relief. Jesus Christ, he was burning alive. His vision was gone… he could see light, but nothing else… nothing concrete enough to actually count as an image…
How had this happened?
He couldn't remember anything…nothing about the robbery… not even the drive to the chemical plant. His last cognitive, tangible memory was of having a fight with Jeannie. But… what was it even over? Vince?
Yes…
That was is it!
She told him she had kissed Vince and they had argued…
And…Vince, was blackmailing him…
Was Vince there with him at Ace? Was he still inside? Had he fled?
What the hell happened?
He tried to stand, but his body was too weak. He felt as if a thousand pounds was atop his shoulders and holding him down in the mud and gunk building up next to the river. He lied there for hours, slowly inching his way away from the chemical plant. His vision had returned, but only slightly, he could now make out fuzzy shapes- at least it was an improvement.
He had to get home. He had to know where Vince was. Who had he told? Where was Jeannie? The kids?
He found the strength to pull himself to his car, and after much grunting, and pushing, and prodding he was able to lift himself up into the driver's seat. He squinted at the speedometer and was just able to make out the numbers… that was good enough for him…
…and Jack Napier went home.
He crashed through the front door around three in the morning. His vision was moderately enhanced, but the fire across his skin was only building with every passing minute. He thought about shouting out for Jeannie through the darkness, but decided against it. It was late, and she and the kids were probably sleeping. Waking them up would only provoke wrath from his slumbering wife, and if his memory were serving him, their fight had been a rather hefty one… and certainly one that he would be feeling the effects from for a while.
He stumbled up the stairs, through their bedroom door, and to the shower. After washing the corrosive liquid from his skin, he tripped back into their bedroom and rummaged through the closet for anything he could get his hands on, and he mindlessly grabbed the first thing he touched.
"Jeannie," he said in a hushed voice in the direction of the bed. "I know it's late, honey. I'm sorry."
Nothing...
Not even the ruffle of sheets from her turning over in the bed.
"Jeannie?" He again asked, then clicked on the lamp, to discover his empty bed.
Where the hell was she?
"Jeannie!" He shouted down the hall. "Jeannie!" Then it hit him full force. Oh, no! She must have left him. Their fight must have been so horrendous that she thew him away. Then an even more terrible thought entered his mind- what if she left him for Vince?
What if his beloved wife had packed her bags, taken his children, and left with Vince Carpenetti…
NO!
He rushed down the stairs, hitting every light switch as he went, and shouting her name into the tomblike silence of his home. "Jeannie! Please! For the love of God! Please!"
Goddamnit, his eyes! It was just like trying to look through frosted glass. As he moved he bumped and stumbled against tables and coatracks that he mindlessly tossed out of his way. But, when his feet hit something large and hard, laying in a heap beside the stairs it gave him pause. And then, a little trickle of dread began to drip down his spine. He looked down and blinked through the ambiguous edges of his vision, until his eyes focused enough to see a mess of blonde curls splayed across the floor.
"Jeannie!" he screeched as he sunk to his knees beside her and began to touch her limp body. "No! Please, God…no!"
She had done it this time. She had killed herself. She must have thrown herself from the second story landing. He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a hard shake. This wasn't like last time. When she had slit her wrists she was mumbling and making small, doleful movements… but now… now she was dead.
He put his forehead against hers and knotted his fingers through her hair. "Please wake up! Please, baby, wake up."
Then he noticed her arms… her little delicate arms with big, ugly scratches running from her wrists to her elbows… and then…
…then he remembered.
He remembered it all. He killed Vince; smashed his skull in with a wrench and left his corpse to rot in the trunk of his car in the garage. Frankie ratted him out to Sal, and Sal was planning to kill him and his family; make an example out of the Napiers. Jeannie confessed to hearing voices, to deliberately throwing herself down a flight of stairs, and killing Patrick.
And…no…no… it was too much he couldn't think of what happened next… it hurt too much. It would kill him…
Wake up now!
But, he couldn't stop it. Again, he could see his dead children. Again, he could feel the hatred radiating from his bones as he pushed Jeannie…
…and he could remember falling himself.
Falling into those chemicals that ate away at his skin and burned his insides raw…
… and he could remember what made him fall.
The Batman…
It was then that he first caught sight of his hands. Wait, no, not his hands, but hands somehow attached to his body. They couldn't have belonged to him, though. But, he could feel them wrapped in Jeannie's hair. He could turn them from one side to the other. His wedding ring was even on the left ring finger.
But, they weren't his.
They were white. Not just pale, but white. Like a ghost, or a skeleton, or a…a…clown.
He felt tears begin to brim at his eyes, and he sucked in a sharp breath. He had to be dreaming. This wasn't real. This was just a god-awful nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. He growled in anger as he began to slap himself against his forehead, and pull at his hair, and claw his skin.
"Why can't I wake up," he moaned as he lied flat against the floor and stared into the face of his wife, who was just as lovely in death as she was in life. "Why can't I just wake up?"
It was a low, grinding whine cutting through the silence and bright streams of morning sun glaring through the windows that finally made Jack stir. His body ached and he groaned in pain as his stiff muscles cracked and popped as he moved. His eyes first came to Jeannie… his mind didn't even give him the luxury of forgetting this time. Never before in his life had he realized what a curse remembering could be. If only he could have stayed on that river bank, maybe he would have forgotten forever.
His throat was hoarse and raw, and he swallowed dryly as he rose to his feet. He could finally place the noise that had roused him awake. It was the sound of Todd Willis' rusted out, old lawn mower firing up. What the hell, was that idiot doing, mowing the lawn at this time of the morning? Didn't he realize that half the neighborhood was still asleep?
Jack's kids were still…
No…
He ran his hands through his hair, then stumbled over to the mirror that hung beside the door. He hadn't gotten a good look at himself since the night before. His skin must have been minced- if it was even still there. He remembered fondly the day before standing in front of that mirror, checking his reflection and straightening his tie, as Jeannie gave him a sweet embrace. Oh, how he wished he could feel her now.
Jack always hated the fact that he could have been twins with his father. And, on every occasion, taking a look at himself was a bit startling. But, Joseph Napier was part of his identity. Jack knew who he was and he took comfort in it, just as everyone else does. Everyone has something that makes them who they are, and for Jack looking like his father was part of who he was. Ballet was part of Jeannie's identity and when she lost that…well, she stopped being Jeannie. It was traumatic…
And, taking in the sight of himself on this day, was traumatic for Jack. At first he did a double take. Who was this? What was this, looking back at him? His black hair, his pink flesh… where were they? What stood before him was a monster with skin that looked as if it had been slathered with greasepaint, and dark green hair and red stained lips… and to top it off he wore the stupid purple suit that he had worn as a gag to his high school prom.
…this was not Jack Napier.
This was not the man who had been married to the same woman for eleven years…
This was not the man who had happily fathered three children, anticipated the birth of a fourth, and grieved daily for one that was lost.
Who was this?
Who the hell was this?
His breath rattled around in his throat and began to escape him in little choppy bursts that mingled somewhere between snickering and crying. And, then the dam broke… what could have been mistaken for the beginnings of a wailing fit of tears, became thunderous waves of laughter. Laughter that shook his entire body… laughter that made his soul curl into a ball and hide away in fear… laughter that caused his insides to seize up in pain… and laughter that caused him to ball his fist and send it dead into the reflection of the creature that he now was.
As the shards of glass began to fall away from the mirror, that Jeannie had so proudly hung by herself, he saw just how phony, and contrived, and pretentious Crown Point Estates was… and especially the house that he built within it. Oh, yes, he had thought of how artificial it all seemed, but now it was so glaringly evident that it couldn't be ignored.
His beautiful, ideal family was dead in the house that he struggled to build for them.
His sick, deranged wife placed her hands around the necks of his children and pushed her fingers into their flesh until she had stolen the life from their helpless bodies.
He deliberately pushed her, knowing full well that the fall would kill her...
One of his neighbors was rotting and festering in the trunk of his car.
And, he looked like a goddamned demented clown...
Everything was fucked up... and disgusting... and tragically, tragically real...
…yet the fat neighbor with balding red hair still mowed his grass.
…the sprinklers still popped up and twirled on the front lawn.
…spoiled children still woke up to sugary cereal being poured out in chipped bowls and placed before mind-numbing cartoons.
...everything went on in it's bleedingly, nauseating perfection...as if it really meant something...
As if it couldn't all be destroyed and knocked down like a house of cards in the blink of an eye.
It was all so ridiculous…
And sad…and pathetic…and futile….
So obscene…
And, unbelievably, undeniably…
Funny…
According to Jane Willis, who had told the story many, many, many times in the following years, everything worked out as well as it could have. "I mean," she would always add, and here she would give a little shudder, "I mean it was pretty much the worse thing we had ever been through." Then she would cut her eyes to Todd and give him a slight nod. "Well, of course other than our son, Russ, passing away. That was worse… but for different reasons… isn't that right, honey?"
This would cue Todd to agree that it certainly was. His role during these recitals was to sit and stare gravely at the carpet, occasionally shaking his head or flexing his bite, until she prompted him to make certain corroborations. He was happy enough to let her do most of the talking- or rather, he was glad of it in the beginning, throughout the rest of the summer, fall and winter of the year that it happened. She would tell anybody who was willing to listen, which was most people. A mother killing her children was unspeakably taboo- even for Gotham City. Talking about it was a cheap form of therapy. He would often find her staring out their bedroom window at the Napier house, or standing on the front stoop twisting her fingers at her waist, as another morbid sightseer would slow down in front of the ill-famed house, only to point and stare, make a few snide remarks, then slowly pull away. So, at first, he was more than willing to let her talk… she needed it. But, by spring of the next year, and the years after, he wished she would find something else to talk about.
And his annoyance grew all but intolerable on a Friday evening in March, seven years later, when she was going over the whole incident with a reporter named, Gwen Importico, from some rag magazine in Gotham. Every time his wife had performed her monologue before, it had been to a house guests, or people on the subway, or unsuspecting women sitting in waiting rooms, but this was the first time she had spoken to someone in the press. To Todd, it seemed like a betrayal and a sacrilege, somehow, to be telling the horrible story of people who were once good friends to a woman who would just twist the story, write half-truths, and then print it up to make a dime. That was part of the trouble… it just seemed wrong. And, it was partly because Miss Importico made for such a dull audience, nodding and shaking her polite, well-educated head in remorse for a family that she had never known, but was more than willing to write about.
But, what bothered Todd the most was that Jane's voice had taken on just a little too much of a voluptuous narrative pleasure. She is enjoying this… really getting a goddamn kick out of it, he thought, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she came to the part where she would always describe the Napiers as a little neurotic, but nice enough. "Apparently they fought a lot, but believe me, seeing them together, you would have never known they were anything but deliriously happy… he sure did love her… didn't he, sweetie?"
"Uh…yes…yes, he really did."
Gwen Importico was young, bored, and ambitious. She was a recent graduate of the Gotham State University School of Journalism, and she was damn proud of it, decorating her cramped office at The Gotham Tattler with her crisp, framed diplomas and accolades. She had always been one of those girls that flew under the radar; unpopular in high school, not many friends, graduating at the top of her class, but being passed over for jobs at more reputable magazines. When the story was being shopped around it was overlooked by The Gotham Gazette and Gotham City Times… even being laughed at by her own tabloid colleagues as unprintable garbage dreamed up by kooks- this from a magazine who readily printed articles about giant crocodiles in the Gotham City sewer system. Even though it earned her some pretty rough heckling, she saw an opportunity and jumped for it. If there was any weight to it, this could be her big break… who knows, maybe she could write a book about it someday.
"So, Mrs. Willis-"she started.
"Jane, please…"
"Jane," Gwen clicked her pen, pushed back a lock of her brownish/blonde hair that was cut just an inch too short, and then gave her most friendly smile. "Tell me about Crown Point Estates?"
Jane narrowed her eyes then gave a brief, startled look around her home. She had been thrown off by that question. She expected this thready, obviously over-eager young girl to jump right in… ask the big question… invoke the name that Jane had said under her breath ever since Todd pointed out the resemblance between Jack and… and…and him… that thing… that monster…a few weeks prior. "Oh…well… it was just the most lovely neighborhood. The houses were all new and polished. There were nice sidewalks for children to play on, and lots and lots of trees. It was a real wholesome place. The kinda place that makes you feel warm and safe. No one could have expected…" She sighed and ran her hand over her throat as if she were feeling faint. "You know, what they call that neighborhood now? Toxic Acres…. That is what they call it." Her tone became outraged and her skin began to flush. "Can you believe that? It was such a nice little place… then after the Napiers…well… the place just dried up. Then the next year a truck carrying chemicals crashed over a guardrail…we had to evacuate." Her expression was painted with a sad sentimentality. "That's what brought us back to the city…"
Gwen nodded her head in quick, astute movements that were in time with Jane's words in a way that showed Todd that she really wasn't listening. She was simply being polite and building a rapport until she got to the meat of the story. This girl obviously liked her stories to be neat, clean, and to have a point. And, the only reason she was giving Jane's any thought was to tie up loose ends. "And, when did you meet the Napiers?"
Jane seemed to regain her footing, straightening her back and pulling down her skirt. "Well, I suppose I first met Jack when he was closing on the property. I had noticed him wondering about with a contractor… so… I just walked over to introduce myself… well, we were going to be neighbors after all." Jane made a little hissing laugh as she realized how nosy this must have seemed.
"And, the wife?" Gwen pushed her glasses up over her wide set eyes.
"Oh, I guess about six weeks later, when they moved in. She was a little shy, y'know. But very, very sweet. She liked to keep to herself, though… not much of a social butterfly."
"Did you know the children?"
Jane's eyes became wide and a tight smile crossed her quivering lips. "Oh yes. The little one a…aaa… Maggie, well, she was just a baby. But, the oldest girl, Heather, she was real precocious and pretty… one of those girls that was going to grow up to be prom queen. The boy, Sullivan, he was very quiet. A little awkward because he was so tall… kinda bashful. But, oh boy, did he idealize his father." She stopped then and moved a little closer to Todd. She knew her next words always made his stomach twist. "I think about that little boy a lot. I think… I think when he died…well… as awful as it is, I think he probably didn't fight. He probably just accepted what was happening…" Her voice became small and trailed off at the end.
Gwen looked up from her notepad, and gave a thoughtful wrinkle of her brow, fully taking in the gravity of what was just said. The air seemed to become a little thicker and she felt a very distinct tug of nervousness pull in her chest. "Can you tell me about that day? You were the one who found them, correct?"
"I was," said Jane in a very clinical, matter-of-fact way… it was obviously a question she had answered a countless number of times. "I watched the kids the night before because Jeannie was complaining of being sick… she was pregnant, y'know. Well, the next day, I hadn't seen her… or Jack… or the kids. "She made sure to take full pauses and punctuate all of her words to emphasis her rising alarm. "I called… and called… and called… finally, well, I had just worried myself to tears, so I simply had to go over to check on them." Jane scooted to the edge of her seat and placed her hands lightly on her wrinkled knees. "I knocked several times and after there was no answer, I found the spare key they kept above the doorframe… and let myself in."
"And?"
"And there she was. She was lying on the floor in this little, sad, twisted position… and there was a broken mirror by the door. The entire house just felt…it felt… it felt." Her features wrinkled and her posture became indignant as she thought about what had happened to her perfect street, in her perfect neighborhood when she made that gruesome discovery. "It just felt bad… like it had spoiled."
Gwen diligently took notes, pushing up her glass between every few sentences and giving both Todd and Jane inquisitive glances. "And, Vince Carpenetti, can you tell me about him?"
This is where Todd always had to get up and excuse himself from the conversation. He couldn't stand the way Jane would always swing both of her legs up on to the couch behind her in one awkward movement, then clasp her fingers together while shaking her head and saying, "Well, Vince and Jeannie were close… a little too close, y'know. So, I think Jack just got jealous and killed him." She would always then grin morbidly and say, "It's kinda romantic… loving someone that much."
What the hell kind of statement was that. How stupid and morose, and frankly, disturbing was that. The fact of the matter was that Jack did kill Vince out of some misplaced territorial jealousy. But, to call it anything other than what it was: cruel, sadistic, evil… well that was just asinine.
Todd's hands began to shake and he felt tears begin to moisten his cheeks. Even after all of these years he couldn't shake it… the horrible, soul-crushing guilt. If only he had spoken up… maybe he could have stopped it. He remember walking down to the cul-de-sac one sunny morning the week before it happened, to say good morning to Jeannie, who was watching Maggie and Heather drawing on the pavement with chalk.
She looked perfectly normal… cheery even as she smiled brightly and flipped her hair behind her ear, as a pleasant, "Good mornin', Todd. How are you?" slipped from her pale lips.
He made small talk with her: Oh, the weather has been nice. Jack's birthday party went off without a hitch… little things to fill the air and make it less awkward that he felt the need to walk to the end of his driveway just to talk to the neighbor's pretty, young wife.
Then she said the oddest thing, as a little worried v formed between her eyebrows. "Jack's a good man isn't he, Todd? I mean, I know he is a good man, but do you think he could ever hate me?"
Todd just assumed that there had been an argument. Just a lover's spat… nothing to worry about. "Ahh, no Jeannie! Believe me, Jack could never hate you."
She nodded and her face smoothed in relaxation. "That's good. Could you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Could you keep an eye on him for me… it's goin' to be hard on him…" And then she stopped and went back to watching the children as if she hadn't even noticed that Todd was standing next to her.
How could he not have said something to Jack?
He began to bite down on his fist in an attempt to stop his tears as he remembered watching the police take their bodies out of the house. One by one… big black bags holding little bodies.
It was his fault!
He stood by his kitchen sink with heaving shoulders, quietly sobbing until he heard Jane call for him. "Oh, I'll be back in a minute, dear."
It was only after Jane finished her second act of the story, that Todd allowed himself back into the conversation. He handed off fresh drinks to his wife and to Gwen Importico, then took his place next to Jane and again began his chore list of well-timed affirmations, while trying to keep his reddened eyes and running nose out of sight.
"Do you think the wife, Jeannie, do you think that she jumped or do you think she was pushed?" Gwen asked barely looking up from her notepad.
"Oh, I think it was pretty evident that she jumped." Jane said in a tone that was crudely jovial. "She had these huge scars on her wrists… she was obviously a little off." She then pointed at her head and made a face that would've been almost comical if she weren't so involved in such a serious conversation.
"Jane," Gwen started, letting her shoulders fall in a disappointed sway. "I was only about fifteen when this incident took place, but I remember it well, it was all over the television and newspapers… the rumor was that the husband." She looked down at her notes to remind herself. "Jack, ran away with a high school sweetheart, and that is what prompted Jeannie to kill her children… there hasn't been any evidence to prove otherwise and there have been many, many journalist, and psychoanalysts, and investigators research this case for years… even you admit that you believed those to be the facts. Why the sudden change of heart?"
Jane licked her lips and took Todd's hands. She had been preparing herself for this very question, but now that it was upon her, it seemed so astoundingly unlikely that she could barely form the words. "A few weeks ago Todd and I were talking about the Napiers. We were just reminiscing about Crown Pointe and Jack's thirty-fifth birthday party. And the kids, and Jeannie… we brought out some old pictures." She stopped and her expression darkened. "That's when Jack Ryder broke into the program we were watching for a special report. Ummm…ummm." Her breathing became shallow and she looked as if she were about to cry. She couldn't even bring herself to say his name. "He had escaped from Arkham again… he killed five guards… five! And, he's still on the loose…" Her eyes widened. "Anyway, they put a picture of him up on the screen and that's when Todd noticed it. He said, 'Look at him, Jane. Look at him! Doesn't he look just like Jack Napier? And, he robbed that bank two weeks after Jack disappeared.' If you know my Todd, well, then you know he doesn't get worked up about too much. But, this…this shook him. And, he is right y'know? Jeannie and Batman were the only things in the news for weeks…until he came along."
"Why did you feel it important to contact the police and newspapers, Jane? Reward money?"
Jane looked offended and repulsed, and she made a clicking sound with her tongue as her body became rigid. "No, of course not! I thought it was the right thing to do. Nobody knows where he came from…rumor has it, he doesn't even know. But, what if someone got to the bottom of it? Could that help? Could that save lives? Someone has to stop him? Maybe this would do it… or at least slow him down."
Gwen then sat back and steepled her fingers in her lap. "You keep saying him. Him...him...him...never a name. Who is he? Who are you talking about?" She knew exactly who Jane was speaking of, but she needed to hear it. If she wanted to ever be considered a reputable journalist she needed Jane to actually say it. Give some credit to the story.
Jane pursed her lips and looked as if she were about to be ill. At first, she had refused to even acknowledge that Jack Napier and that beast could be the same person, but she had to admit… it was just too much of a coincidence. The likeness was too sharp. She shook her head then cleared her throat.
"The Joker."
Fin
There you have it, friends! This story is dedicated to the readers! Thank you so much! Love you all and please stay tuned for the epilogue!
And, just a little fun fact, Jack's transformation into The Joker was inspired by a picture by the amazing Alex Ross of Joker seeing his reflection for the first time, then smashing a mirror. I'm sure many of you have seen it, and if you haven't take a moment to look it up! You won't be sorry!