WAYNE MANOR

Bruce Wayne took the keys from his black coat pocket and reached up to unlock the door to Wayne Manor. The only problem was that the door was already unlocked and standing slightly ajar.

He cautiously observed his environment. It was night time and their was no noise around except for the sounds of crickets. He slowly entered his home, looking in both directions of the lobby. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

He proceeded further into the mansion. He noticed that the kitchen was faintly lit by a candle and made his way cautiously there.

He found Vicki Vale seated at the counter, sipping at a vintage year of champagne.

Bruce sighed in relief. "Breaking into the house of a man who used to beat up criminals for a living is playing a dangerous game, Ms. Vale."

Vicki held up her keys. "Not changing your locks in the past thirty years is also playing a dangerous game, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce studied her for a moment. She wore a white turtleneck shirt and a black skirt that reached just barely above her knees. God, she is still so beautiful. He thought to himself.

He walked over to the counter and took a large swig from the vintage champagne bottle. "Not bad for champagne worth eighty thousand dollars."

Vicki's eyes widened, "Wow. Sorry about that."

Bruce smirked. "No, you're not."

Vicki smiled sheepishly, "Guilty." Silence passed between them for several moments before she asked. "So, what have you been up too for the past thirty years?"

Bruce took a glass from the cabinet and poured himself some of the vintage wine. "Oh, you know. Growing old and burying friends and family. The usual cliche mundane life of a rich over the hill millionaire... or is it billionaire now. I can't keep track. How bout yourself?"

Vicki shrugged, "Much of the same really. Doing the job and pissing people off. Think I managed to piss a few people off at the funeral today."

"Well, as usual, you weren't too subtle. Harvey, Jr. didn't need to be dealing with the press today."

"I'd say that in spite of that dirty little secret of his that was thrown out there for the world to know, he definitely got back on his feet quickly."

Bruce nodded. "Definitely his father's son." He stared at her a for a few silent moments before speaking again. "I heard you finally got married some years back. Congratulations."

Vicki smiled as she sipped more champagne. "I did. It didn't take though. We got divorced a few years ago."

"Sorry," Bruce said. "I didn't know. I've been out of the lime light for quite some time now. Guess you'd have to classify me as somewhat of a hermit."

"About five years now," Vicki stated. "Being the reporter that I am, I tend to keep track of these things. That's about the time Alfred died, wasn't it? Fifteen years since the appearance of the other guy. That was when Jason..."

Bruce stared holes into her. "Are you mapping an outline for my autobiography or something, Vicki? You don't just show up after all these years and talk about shit that you no nothing about."

Vicki nodded. "I understand and I'm not writing about you. I wouldn't do that." She sighed. "I'm just worried about you, is all."

"Don't be," Bruce advised. "I'm fine."

Vicki shook her head. "Not buying it, Bruce. Your pantry is stocked with more booze than food. The landscaping around this place is abysmal and your house looks like a cyclone hit it. I mean... couldn't you hire another butler or something?"

Bruce sighed. "Their is not another butler. Their was the butler and he died. I can take care of myself now."

Vicki motioned around the filthy house and sarcastically stated. "Clearly, Bruce." She studied him for several moments before asking. "And what is that thing on your lip?"

Bruce gulped down the remainder of his glass of champagne. "It's called a moustache and what the hell do you want from me? This is my life now. Deal with it or don't. I don't care. Why are you here anyway? Go write a story or something."

Vicki looked at him pitifully. "You've always been a loner, Bruce. I know that but this..." she indicated the trashy state of the house and the empty liquor bottles scattered around the place. "It's just not healthy, Bruce."

Bruce said nothing.

"You need people in your life, Bruce."

Bruce angrily slammed his fists on the table. "I had people, Vicki. The thing about people is that eventually they do one of two things. They either leave out the front door like you did, or..." He hesitated as tears welled up in his eyes, "...or they die. Sometimes they die horribly."

Vicki reached across the table to touch Bruce's hand, "You know none of what happened is your fault, right?"

Bruce drew his hand back from her touch. "I used to blame all the bad things that happened to me and those that I loved on the Batman. That's why I stopped being him. But in the end it was never because of Batman. It was always Bruce Wayne.

"Batman wasn't there when my parents were murdered. He also wasn't there when Harvey came here and asked for my help. I was. Me. Bruce Wayne."

Vicki walked towards him, "Bruce..."

Bruce stepped back. "Please leave. You're one of the few people from my past that's still alive. I want to keep it that way. Go far from here, Vicki. Go back to Central City where you'll be safe."

Vicki sighed. "Goodbye, Bruce." She started to walk away but stopped and looked back. "If you ever manage to stop wallowing in self pity then look me up."

With that she left the mansion and left Bruce to his silence and solitude. He grabbed a bottle of vodka from the freezer and turned the bottle up, chugging it. He walked to the living room and sat heavily on the sofa.

He took one final chug from the bottle of vodka, finishing it. He stared at the empty bottle for a few moments before throwing the bottle across the living room. The bottle shattered against an old family portrait of when he was a kid, sitting in between his mother and father. The portrait fell from the wall and shattered once it hit the floor.

Bruce shouted angrily up at the ceiling. He shouted until his voice went hoarse. Once he finished shouting, he leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes.

He almost fell into a troubled sleep when the distant noise of a sinister laugh echoed throughout the mansion. It was a laugh from his past. He opened his eyes and stood up abruptly. Silence followed and he started to wonder if he was just drunk and hearing things.

The laugh came again.

This time it was louder. He followed the sound through his home until he ended up in front of the one place he didn't want to be. It appeared to be just a white wall to the common visitor's eyes. He started to turn away when the laugh came again. This time it was much louder and clearly coming from behind the wall.

Am I losing my mind, he wondered to himself.

He pressed his hand against the wall and the wall lit up like a neon light. It was a secret passage activated by a hand print. It was only designed for three hand prints and the other two were no longer around.

The door slowly opened, revealing a pitch black room. He entered through the doorway and into the black void. He descended down the steep steps. He couldn't see a thing but he knew the steps by heart, seeing as he had traversed up and down them thousands of times in the past.

Bruce approached a generator hidden within the black void and switched up the lever. The entire area lit up, revealing the place that he had once called, the Batcave. Actually, Alfred had come up with the name and Bruce had taken a liking to it.

He had not entered the Batcave in years and it was clearly evident. The place was dusty and filled with cobwebs. The large computer he had once used for research and analyzing was an outdated older model. The Batmobile, another Alfred moniker, was lying in the distance, also covered in dust and dirt. It was pretty much a black tank, somewhat larger than a hummer.

In the far right corner was a collection of his assorted Batsuits and other assorted memorabilia that he had accrued from past criminals. He almost turned back around and left when he noticed one of the glass cases were shattered. It was the case that had contained The Joker's outfit.

He slowly approached the broken case. He also noticed that the case that held the Robin outfit was also shattered. The outfit had been ripped to shreds. He touched the ruined suit and he began to get teary eyed.

"I never took you to be a sentimental person, Bruce."

Bruce spun around at the sound. Someone was standing in the darkness. Bruce didn't know how that was possible considering that it took his hand print to open the place up. Only two other people had been able to access the Batcave and one of them were dead. The other one was just as good as dead.

"Who are you?" Bruce asked.

"Oh, I think you know," the person in the darkness stated. "Tell me something, old man: Have you ever danced with the Devil by the pale moonlight?"

Bruce shook his head defiantly. "No, you're dead. You've been dead for thirty years." He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them of the shadow that was taunting him. "I've finally lost my mind, haven't I?"

The figure chuckled. "Not yet, Bruce."

The figure stepped from the darkness and revealed himself. Bruce's eyes widened in shock at the person standing in front of him. It was a man wearing The Joker's old purple suit who had the same pasty white skin complete with the red ruby lips. The face belonged to someone far younger than Jack Napier would have been if he were still alive. Bruce knew exactly who the man was even though he wanted to deny it.

"Jason!" Bruce exclaimed.

"Jason is dead," the man said. "You can call me, The Joker."

Bruce stepped closer. "What happened to you?"

"You mean, what happened to me after you locked me away in an insane asylum," the Joker asked. "Well, you see... I evolved. That's what happened to me. I embraced my destiny but it seems that you've turned from yours. You couldn't handle what happened to your little Boy Wonder so you just quit and hung up your cape and cowl. You're a coward, old man."

"We need to get you back to Arkham, Jason."

"Stop saying that name!" The Joker shouted.

Bruce nodded as he stepped closer. "Ok, Jas...Joker. Let me take you back to Arkham and we can get this whole thing sorted out."

The Joker chuckled. "No need for that, Bruce. I've been cleared. I'm no longer a ward of the state just as Jason Todd is no longer your ward."

Bruce sighed. "You're sick, son. Let me help you."

"Son? Perhaps you were once a father to the boy that was Jason Todd but you aren't anymore. You're nothing but a bitter shell of your former self." The Joker started backing up toward the back exit of the cave. "Maybe one day we can talk again. The Joker has returned and perhaps someday the Batman will return as well."

He then disappeared into the darkness.

Bruce just stood there, frozen in place, unsure of what to do next and staring off into the dark void where the boy who had been Jason Todd disappeared.