Prologue

Officer James Gordon of the Gotham City Police Department lit a cigar and turned his coat up against the pelting rain. It was a bitterly cold night, and the wind wasn't helping the chill as the rain stung his eyes. He wished himself anywhere but here. Although he was eager to get field experience, the night wasn't a pleasant one, and the case made him sick to his stomach. He was still new to the force, but he hoped he would never again have to deal with anything like this.

He could dimly make out the yellow headlights of an approaching vehicle through the storm, and headed over to it.

His sergeant stepped out of the car. "Jim," he said, shaking hands with him. "Nasty weather tonight."

"Nasty business altogether, sir," replied Gordon.

"Tell me about it inside," he muttered.

Gordon led him back inside the house, where several police officers were gathered in the living room marking out chalk outlines and taking pictures. Gordon gestured at the body. "Joseph Napier," he said. "Age 51, strangled with a leather belt. Signs of a struggle but extremely intoxicated so probably didn't put up much of a fight."

"Any suspects?" asked the Sergeant.

"Just one," said Gordon. "And he confessed."

"Well, that makes our job easier anyway, Jim."

Gordon looked at him. "Wait until you see him," he muttered, opening the door to the kitchen. "Jack?" said Gordon, gently.

A small boy was seated in the corner of the kitchen by the stove. He had his knees drawn up to his chest, and looked up at hearing his name. His eyes were stained with tears. "Jack, this is Sergeant Thompson," said Gordon, leading him inside. "He'd like to talk to you about your father."

"I don't wanna talk about my father," replied the boy, hiding his face again. "He's dead."

The Sergeant approached him gently. "Now son, I know it's a terrible tragedy, but if you want us to catch the bad people who did this…"

"I did it," the boy interrupted, looking up again. His face was completely serious. "I killed him."

The Sergeant stared at him, taken aback. He looked to Gordon, who nodded. "Why…did you do that, son?" he asked, quietly.

"He was a bad man," murmured Jack. "He hurt me. He hurt Mommy. He deserved to die."

The Sergeant studied him gently. "Is that why you've been crying?" he asked quietly.

Jack shook his head. "I ain't been crying because I'm sad," he murmured. "I was crying 'cause I was happy. I was laughing so hard I cried. It felt so good, killing the bad man. I ain't ever been so happy."

"And why ain't you laughing now, son?" asked the Sergeant, quietly.

Jack hid his face again. "Mommy wasn't happy when she saw what I did," he murmured. "She laughed, but she wasn't happy. And then Mommy cried. I don't like it when Mommy cries. That's why I killed him."

The Sergeant looked at him, and then patted him gently on the shoulder and went over to Gordon. "Where is the mother?" he asked under his breath.

"That's the other nasty bit of this," muttered Gordon. "She's being restrained upstairs. She's suffered a mental breakdown. The doctors are coming to take her away."

"Jesus Christ," murmured the Sergeant. He looked at Jack, who still had his face hidden.

"What's gonna happen to him, sir?" asked Gordon.

"He'll be put into psychiatric care," replied the Sergeant. "Probably have to spend some time in juvenile, under medical supervision. And then probably the orphanage. But hopefully they'll be able to help him…"

Gordon puffed on his cigar. "Hard to imagine a kid having to deal with this," he murmured. "Hard to imagine what's going on in his head."

At that moment, the front door opened and several men in white coats entered the house. They went up the stairs and returned a few moments later dragging someone with them, a woman, who shrieked and struggled against them. Jack leapt to his feet and rushed to the door before Gordon could stop him.

"Mommy!" he cried.

She saw him and tried to break free, but the doctors held her back. "Let her hold her son, for Christ's sake!" snapped the Sergeant.

The doctors reluctantly released her, and she seized Jack, holding him tightly. He clutched her as if for dear life. "Jack," she whispered. "Jack. You gotta be a good boy now. You promise me? You promise me you'll be good?"

"Yeah, Mommy," he whispered. "I've always been good."

She shook her head. "You…you did a bad thing, Jack," she whispered. "But you gotta be good now, ok? You gotta be good."

"I didn't do a bad thing, Mommy," he whispered. "He was a bad man, and I killed him. He hurt you. It was good to kill him, wasn't it? It felt good. It must have been good."

She shook her head again, and suddenly laughed. "Jack, don't be silly!" she exclaimed. "You…you didn't do a bad thing at all! Daddy's fine – he's just out at the bar, as usual. But he'll be home soon, and we'll all be happy."

He stared at her. "No…no, Daddy's dead, Mommy," he murmured. "I killed him."

She laughed again, hysterically. "No, Jack, no, you didn't!" she exclaimed. "You couldn't! You're a good boy, Jack. You ain't killed anyone! Don't you worry. Daddy will be here soon. And we'll all be happy."

She laughed again, and then began sobbing. The doctors dragged her off. Jack held onto her until he was pulled out of her arms by the Sergeant. "Mommy!" he screamed after her, tears running down his face. "Mommy, no, please don't leave me! Come back, please! I'll be good, I promise I'll be good! Mommy, please! Come back!"

The Sergeant tried to calm him, shushing him as he sobbed. "Now your Mommy's just gonna go to the hospital so she can get better," he murmured. "You'll see her soon. Why don't you just come with Officer Gordon and me to the station and we'll make you a cup of hot cocoa and have a little talk? How about that, son?"

"I wanna go with Mommy!" he sobbed.

"I know. I know, but you can't right now. But I promise you'll see her soon, ok, son?" he asked, gently. "Now c'mon, let's get your coat. It's a cold night out there."

Gordon sat in the back of the car with Jack. He tried to think of something to say, but what could you say in this situation? He didn't want to promise the kid everything was gonna be all right when it probably wasn't.

Jack didn't say a word, just stared out the window, crying. Gordon noticed that he was shivering.

"You cold?" he asked.

Jack nodded. Gordon took off his coat and put it over his shoulders. They drove on in silence until Jack asked suddenly, "Mommy's gone crazy, hasn't she?"

Gordon was taken aback. "Um…no, Jack, she's just…a little upset after what's happened."

"She's gone crazy," he repeated. He turned to look at Gordon. "Why do bad things like that happen, Officer?" he asked, quietly. "Mommy isn't a bad person. Why have bad things happened to her?"

Gordon didn't know how to respond. "I…don't know, Jack," he murmured. "Because sometimes life…isn't fair. Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and vice versa."

"That doesn't make sense, Officer," he murmured.

"Well…the world doesn't always make sense, Jack," replied Gordon, gently.

"You mean the world's crazy too?" asked Jack. "Like Mommy?"

"It's…it's…well…um…"

"It's fine, you don't have to make up a lie for me," retorted Jack, turning back to look out the window. "I know the truth now."

Gordon couldn't say anything in response. They didn't speak for the remainder of the journey to the station. Jack sat in the waiting room, staring at the floor, while Gordon and the Sergeant prepared the appropriate paperwork.

"For God's sake, can we get the kid a comic book?" snapped the Sergeant, noticing him through the glass. "I wanna give him some kinda distraction – his thoughts must be driving him mad! Boys!" he shouted at the office at large. "Anyone got a comic book?"

Everyone rummaged through their desks. "All I got is a joke book, sir," retorted one of the officers.

"Jesus Christ, could there be anything less appropriate to give a kid who just killed his dad and saw his mom dragged off to the looney bin?!" shouted the Sergeant. "Why don't you just give him one of your porno magazines?" he demanded, sarcastically.

"Sorry, sir, I just thought…"

"I'll take the joke book," said a quiet voice. They all turned to see Jack standing in the doorway. "If you don't mind," he added.

"Jack…you didn't hear…" began the Sergeant.

"I heard someone say they had a joke book," interrupted Jack gently. "I'd like to read something funny, please."

The Sergeant nodded, and the officer handed Jack the book. "Thank you very much," he murmured, returning to the waiting room.

The Sergeant ran his fingers through his hair. "Christ, the poor kid," he muttered. "I hope he's gonna be ok."

"Wouldn't bet on it, sir," retorted the one who had give him the joke book.

"And why not?" demanded the Sergeant, rounding on him.

The man nodded at the window. "He's laughing," he murmured, quietly.

Gordon turned to see Jack with the book open on his lap, holding his stomach and laughing hysterically as tears streamed down his face. Gordon shuddered. It was the most horrible, despairing, and terrible laugh he had ever heard.

30 Years Later…