JACK

Jack sat patiently, eyes darting in their sockets. His hands rested quietly on the table in the middle of the interrogation room at Gotham's Major Crimes Unit . . . save for one tapping finger.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

It was the first time Jack had been caught–unintentionally–by the Batman. Routinely, he had let Batman catch him and lock him up in Arkham. He couldn't have the Bat lose interest in a game he could never win, so, letting him have the winning hand once and awhile was necessary. Jack didn't mind it. He found the asylum to be rather comforting. He got free meals, a warm bed, a pot to piss in . . . hell, he even had his own room.

Yes, there was a certain nostalgia about the place, with its white walls and daily doses of thorozine. He'd spend a little vacation time at Arkham, escape, and start the entire process over again. Ah yes, life was good.

But, for the first time, Batsy had actually gotten the best of him.

Jack had been making a small withdrawal at Gotham National Bank to replenish his pocketbook. Later, he decided that pulling a .38 on the teller was his first mistake. Pulling the trigger was the second. So, of course, who was first on the scene? Not the brave, valiant officers of the Gotham City Police Department but a man in a Bat suit carrying Batarangs.

It was nearly protocol: Bat throws the first punch, Joker throws away the gun and grabs a knife, Batman attempts to disarm Joker, Joker stabs, Batman falls, Joker stands back and . . . turn to page 30 if you want to make a run for it, turn to page 6 if you want to continue the fight, or turn to page 41 if you want the Gotham City Police to show up and nab you while you are distracted by the Batman trying to pick you up and throw you into a metal door.

It was Jack's own fault he ended up on page 41. But, hey, no one's perfect.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

"Joker!"

Jack lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

"God?"

"This is Commissioner Gordon," came the muffled voice from a small speaker in one of the top corners of the room. Jack looked over to the large black window and was met with his own face. Of course, it was one-way glass so people could see inside the room but those in the room could not see out. He knew Commissioner Gordon was standing just on the other side of the glass, however, watching him, along with countless other officials, wanting to see the infamous Ace of Knaves.

"Nice to see–er–hear your voice again, Commissioner. How's the wife and kids?" Jack said.

"Glad to see you in police custody. As is everyone else in Gotham."

"Well, Gordon, I'm sure you'll enjoy it while it lasts."

"I assume you realize you're going to Arkham again?"

"Is it that time of year already?" said Jack, giving a nod. "Yes, I guess I could use a holiday. I've been working overtime, you see."

"Well, maybe your friends over at Arkham will be able to convince you to take an extended stay," said Gordon.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly, Commissioner," said Jack, "All I need is a few weeks to get myself refreshed and rejuvenated. I've got too much on my plate right now to take such a long stay. Things to steal, people to kill. You know, the usual."

There was silence for a moment.

"You actually joined us at a convenient time, Joker," came Gordon's voice echoing over the speaker. "There's someone who has been wanting to see you."

"Oooo! A visitor? For me?" Jack said, bouncing in his seat.

"He'll be only a minute."

There was a click as the speaker went dead.

Jack couldn't help but let a smile creep across his face. The Batman was going to have another go at it . . . another try at getting the Clown Prince of Crime to stop his evil, nasty ways. It had been awhile since their last session—Jack needed some new scars. Their last meeting had left only bruises and bruises aren't forever.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Jack heard the door open behind him. He did not turn his head.

"Evening, Batsy."

The only response was a quick flash of black cape as the Batman took the seat across from Jack.

"Long time no see," Jack said, a dark smile plastered on his face.

Batman stared Jack down through his mask, though Jack noticed his eyes were dull. There was a moment's pause as Jack narrowed his gaze.

"What have you come to talk to me about today, Bats? Do unto others as you would have them do unto you? Stranger Danger? The power of love? An it harm none, do what ye will?"

"No," said Batman, the deep, raspy voice sending a shiver down Jack's spine.

"Gonna keep me guessing?"

"I'm here to observe."

Jack's smile dissipated. "Observe?"

"I'll be observing you and your visitor."

Jack raised one brow. "But," he said, smile half returning, "You're my visitor."

"No."

Jack's little smile retreated again.

"I'll be standing against the wall behind you. The lights will be off so I'll remain unseen. If at any point something goes badly I'll stop it."

"Batsy, what're you rambling about?" laughed Jack, leaning forward over the table.

"Your visitor won't know I'm here – "

"Bat – "

"But you'll know."

Jack stared at Batman. "If things go bad? I kill people everyday and you're worried about 'things getting bad?'"

"We're taking precautions."

"Against what? A fight?" cackled Jack. "God knows how many times I've been bloodied up in this room and now you're concerned about my welfare? And people say I'm crazy!"

Batman's gaze fell from Jack's eyes to the table. He grew quiet.

Batman's going to leave you. He's going to turn himself in and be done with you.

Jack flinched and shook his head . . . (You can stay outta this)

Look at him. He wants nothing to do with you. He's going to give you up.

(Shut up)

You know he will.

(Batman won't give up his mask)

Now how do you know that?

(Because he needs me like I need him)

No . . . A cold laugh echoed in his brain. No he doesn't.

( . . . he does)

No. He could put down the mask. He could leave Batman behind and live like Beaver Fucking Cleaver. You, on the other hand, would die without Batman. You need him. He does not need you.

(Without the mask he's nothing)

He probably has a girl and a family in his regular life – something more than this life of crime fighting. You are not the center of his life. But you . . . he's the center of yours. The logic is simple: no white without black. No Joker without Batman.

"Shut up!"

Batman looked up at Jack.

Jack let out a frustrated breath and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry. I do that."

He couldn't tell if Batman was completely surprised by his outburst or not surprised at all.

"Are you ready?" Gordon's voice echoed off the walls.

Batman glanced at the glass window to his left, then back at Jack, who was watching a light flicker on the ceiling. "Yes."

Batman stood and moved around the table behind Jack.

Jack, still looking up at the light, felt his eyes caught by the black figure and follow him to the corner of the room.

"Right! So who's my visitor?" asked Jack, turning his body to face him.

A door clanked open down the hall.

"Your father."

The lights cut off.

Batman would never say so to anyone but he could've sworn there was a spark of sanity in those cold, black eyes—pure, unyielding horror.

Darkness.

Jack didn't know if the lights had been shut off or if he had passed out. But the lamp now flickering to life on the table told the ugly truth—he was not safe in the blackness of his mind.

He heard the door open.

Jack hadn't turned away from where he knew Batman still stood.

(no)

Yes.

(not this)

Jack heard footsteps.

(Why didn't you show me this before?)

Because I didn't know.

( . . . oh god)

Jack saw a figure out of the corner of his eye. Then it hit. The smell: liquor, sickness, and anger . . . the silence was such as Jack had never experienced.

"Hey, Danny."

(I love you Danny I love you more than anything in the whole world I would never do anything to hurt ya I have let you fuck up my life so far The smell of bourbon and blood You shine the hardest I think you have some very definite ideas about what should be done with Danny Tony why don't you want to go to the hotel Oceans of blood I think he should be taken to a doctor Redrum You believe his health might be at stake Redrum I'm not gonna hurt ya Mommy's red lipstick staining the door I'm just gonna bash your brains in DICK PLEASE COME QUICK WE'RE IN BAD TROUBLE DICK WE NEED I'm gonna bash them right the fuck in PLEASE COME You give me your word Mr. Torrance? Running Daneeeee I give you my word Running An axe whistling through the air Running Danny! Blind running I'm right behind ya REDRUM)

Jack wretched.

Nothing came up. He was bent over in his chair, gripping his stomach with one arm and the edge of the table with the other. Silence. He didn't move. Maybe if he didn't move it would go away. Shuffling footsteps continued past Jack and then he heard a muffled plop as the man took a seat.

Jack could see a shadow of him from the corner of his eye. He realized he hadn't taken a breath since the man entered the room.

"So . . . this is what's become of you."

Jack swallowed. He tasted metal.

"Thirty years," said the silken, raspy voice. "Thirty fucking years."

Jack could hear himself breathing now. It was the only sound in the room. He hadn't turned to face the figure sitting across the table but he could sense it shift positions.

"How's your mother?"

Jack's heart felt as if it were beating into his chest rather than out.

"From the look of ya," said Torrance, "I figure she's dead."

Jack gave one stiff nod.

"Figures."

Jack slowly straightened his spine but still gripped the edge of the table. His knuckles were white. Memories long forgotten were flashing through his mind's eye. It seemed as if it were someone else's life, a movie he hadn't seen in years . . .

The maze. The snow. The axe.

"I gotta say, Danny," Torrance said, "I'm disappointed I couldn't watch ya grow up. Must've been one helluva childhood."

Jack's eyes wandered closer to where the man sat but stopped short.

Tap, tap, tap . . .

Jack's stomach did a 360 and he could almost see the man's finger tapping. If Jack raised his pupils a hundredth of an inch he would meet the eyes of the man.

"So, what'ya in for?" There was a smile in his voice.

Jack closed his eyes. He focused on breathing.

"They said something about you robbing a bank. That's bad form, son. Bad form."

Inhale, exhale . . .

"'Course," said Torrance, raising his brow, "I'm not one to tell you right from wrong, am I?" He laughed.

Jack squeezed his eyes tighter as his stomach lurched.

"By the way, sorry to just drop in on ya like this," his father said. "But there wasn't exactly a way to give you a heads-up was there?"

Jack opened his eyes far enough to look down at his lap. He noticed his fingers were trembling.

"So . . . how's life treatin' ya?"

Jack's heart was thumping quick and shallow.

"How's Tony?"

Before Jack was conscious of it, he had lifted his gaze to the face of his father. Adrenaline erupted in his stomach and he felt it course through to his legs. His fingers curled and tightened and his breath hitched. He thought he made an audible noise but wasn't sure.

Well, what d'ya know? The old bastard remembers me.

Jack couldn't look away once his eyes locked on his father's. Those eyes. They were as black and as cold as his, sunken by time. They were framed by high, arching eyebrows and underlined with purple shadows. His hair was completely grey and came down to the nape of his neck. There were crow's feet whiskering out onto his sallow cheeks.

He was smiling. Oh, he was smiling. That mirthless, insane, perfect smile. A smile so wide it seemed to run out of cheek and become an entity of its own. The Cheshire Cat's floating grin.

"Tony still with ya?" Torrance asked, eyebrows rising with the corners of his mouth, resembling a grinning skull.

Jack nodded unconsciously.

His father smiled. "So, uh," he said, his eyes roving over the tabletop. "You're probably wondering how I found ya."

Jack stared numbly.

"Just a matter of finding the right people and then following the breadcrumbs. Amazing what you can find when you have the motivation. You didn't make it an easy trail to follow, I'll tell ya that. Without the help of my guy on the "inside," actually, I probably wouldn't've ever found ya."

Jack's brow crunched.

"Oh, yes," said his father. "I may not have a Tony but I'm the one you inherited him from. Let's just say Tony has a sort of . . . father."

Jack's heart felt as if it had dropped into his stomach.

"I can see things too, ya know. I never told your mother about it and you were too young. I saw you twice as a teenager and once what had to be sometime in your twenties. Visions, you know?"

Jack remained motionless and continued staring at his father's face. He could still feel adrenaline pumping in his stomach and through his thighs. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to stand.

"Look, uh, Danny, I didn't spend thirty years trying to track down my son in order to have him look at me like some fuckin' deer in the headlights."

Danny. There's a name you haven't heard in awhile.

(My name's not Danny)

But Jack isn't really your name either, is it?

(Jack's always been my name)

No. It's always been his name.

(no)

Why did you steal his name?

(I didn't steal it)

Then why does he call you Danny?

Torrance leaned forward and started to stand. "Why don't – "

Jack shoved his chair back and removed his arm from the table.

His father paused and sat back down.

"What are ya? Scared?" his father said, laughing. "I figured with your line of work you would've tried slicing the shit outta me by now."

Even if Jack had been carrying a knife he didn't think he could pull it out. Not on this man.

"Are ya even gonna try talkin' to me?" Torrance was leaning back in his chair now, a bemused smile on his face.

Jack wanted to speak. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch and kick and rip his brains out. But he couldn't. He knew he couldn't.

His father sighed, throwing his hands in the air. "So, what're we gonna do?" He let them fall back into his lap. "Sit here and stare at each other like fuckin' idiots?"

"W—" started Jack, but his throat swallowed the words. He took a breath. "What do you want me to say?" His voice was dry and cracked, as if he hadn't spoken in days.

"Well, for starters, what's with the get-up? You try out for the circus and didn't make the cut? Or is it just to distract people from that cut up face?"

Had this been any other person, Jack would have blown his face off. But this was notjust any other person.

"Who did that to ya, anyway?"

Jack still stared.

"Eh, it doesn't matter," Torrance said. "You probably wouldn't tell me even if ya did know. I suppose you're pretty messed up in the head these days? Sorry, kid, you got that from me." He chuckled.

Jack didn't laugh. Hell, he didn't even smile. All laughter seemed to have drained from him.

His father sighed loudly, making a face and throwing his hands in the air.

Jack dropped his eyes. "How?"

Torrance looked back at him. "What?"

Jack finally turned his body, slowly, until he faced his father.

"How?"

For the first time there was a look of confusion on Torrance's face. "How what?"

Jack's heart beat madly. "H-how are you here?"

His father's grin faded and he lowered his gaze.

Jack watched, frowning. Had his own mind always been this fragile? One word from that mouth, one look into that face, and a whole section of his life that had taken a half a lifetime to forget had come flooding back. He had based his entire self-image on the fact that he had no past, no origin . . . now, that entire self-image had been compromised and his world turned upside down in an instant.

"How am I here?" repeated his father. "Well, didn't I already kinda explain that?"

"No," breathed Jack. "How did you escape the hotel? I thought you were dead."

The smile returned. "Oh, right. That. Well . . ." he sighed, "I finally found my way outta that fuckin' maze and discovered you and your mother were gone. I called the rangers up and got off the mountain not three days later. I was fired as caretaker, of course."

(You showed me he was dead)

No, you saw what you wanted to see. That wasn't me.

(No, you showed me his face. His eyes were empty.)

In your mind he was dead. I had nothing to do with it. You wanted that image to be real and eventually you believed it had to have been from your good ol' friend Tony.

A low laugh echoed in his head.

Jack swallowed. He felt overheated.

"Of course, there was the issue of old man Hallorann. His carcass was still leaking blood when I found him in the lobby the next morning. So, I dragged him outside and took care of 'im. I won't get into details, us bein' in a police station and all, but officials assumed the old man had lost his bearings and ended up getting lost on the mountain and froze to death. I'm sure there was a search but, of course, no body or snow mobile was ever found." He smirked and raised his brow.

Jack's gaze fell from his father's face. Blurred images of Hallorann were trying to resurface in is mind. He could remember a face with gaping eyes and a wide, white smile.

( - Maybe things that happen leave other kinds of traces behind . . . Not things that anyone can notice, but things that people who shine can see . . .)

The echo of axe cutting bone and a five-year-old's scream. Jack shuddered.

Torrance cleared his throat and glanced over at the one-way window, frowning. He readjusted his seat. After a moment, he turned back to his son and continued –

"After that it was a matter of getting back on my feet financially and finishing a goddamn story. But I never did so I've never sold another book."

Jack swallowed again.

"So, besides what I've seen on the news about ya, what're you up to these days?" asked Torrance.

The nausea was back. He didn't want to get sick, not here.

"Dammit, boy, are ya just gonna stare at me or what? After thirty years of not seeing your ol' man there's nothing you want to say to me? No welcome back hugs, no father to son chats . . . Come on, we could go get a beer and shoot the shit, huh? Pop in a cassette in the car on the way? How about the Talking Heads? Used to be you're favorite tape!" He started laughing.

Jack swallowed, willing the nausea away.

"A beer?" he repeated.

"Yeah, there's a bar around here somewhere right? A Gotham City Pub and Greasery?" He laughed.

"No."

His father's smile disappeared. "What d'ya mean 'no'?"

"I'm not gonna have a beer with you."

Torrance furrowed his eyebrows and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. Shadows shifted on his face. He didn't say anything for a long while.

Jack's heart beat harder, not from fear, but from anger. He remembered before the hotel. He remembered a time he hadn't thought about in thirty years. His father coming home at four in the morning roaring drunk. Screaming at Jack when he got into his papers. His mother crying and his father yelling . . . it was like watching an old filmstrip through a fogged window.

Torrance wasn't smiling now. He spoke slowly, savoring each word. "I'm getting the feeling that you don't like me bein' here, Danny."

"Don't . . ." started Jack.

"What?"

". . . call me that . . ."

"Call ya what? Danny? Sorry, doc, that's your name."

Jack flinched. Doc. More memories. The doctor asking how he had broken his arm and his father telling a lie. His mother holding him too tight in her lap, crying. His father looking like he hadn't slept in days.

"You remember 'Doc' don't cha?" said Torrance, noticing Jack's reaction.

Jack searched for the off switch in his brain. Something to stop it from remembering, or regressing, or whatever the hell it was doing. He didn't want it. Any of it.

"I guess you go by a different name these days. Joker, is it? Something to go with your little clown get-up?"

Jack breathed harder.

Torrance continued. "Well, at least it keeps those police guys entertained. Why not put on a show as you murder and steal? Keeps things fresh, I suppose. What with that Batman fella, I'm sure you two make fine symbols for Gotham City's forces of good and evil, eh?" He chuckled, eyeing Jack with raised eyebrows.

Batman.

He was still here.

Suddenly, Jack could feel the Bat's eyes pressing on his back, hidden in darkness, wondering what had become of his maniacal, cackling Joker. Jack's pulse quickened and he could feel a force rising in every muscle, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Get out."

His father, who had been slightly bouncing in his seat, beaming, froze. "'Scuse me?"

"Before I snap your neck."

Now the smile was gone. Torrance sat back in his chair. "Well, now we're gettin' somewhere."

Jack's heart thudded against his chest. He and his father sat for a full minute, eyes locked. Jack thought he could hear Batman breathing in the corner of the room.

"I know I fucked up, Doc," said Torrance, voice quiet. "I know I let you and your mother down. I was a bad father. I drank too much, I had an anger problem and I couldn't write worth a damn after we moved to Colorado. I had—have—issues. But I'm sorry, that's the way I am and the only way I'll ever be. I could've made promises but I wouldn't've kept 'em. I could've said I'll never have another drink but I'd come home a month later drunk as a lord and smellin' the high heavens. I could've said I would work on my anger but a week later your mother would've said the wrong thing and I'd of screamed at her . . ."

You remember those nights . . .

Jack tried ignoring the sing-song voice.

We were so quiet because we didn't want Mommy to know we heard her crying . . .

(Stop)

Pretending to sleep while Daddy cracked open the bedroom door, praying to God he didn't notice your eyelids twitching . . .

Jack heard his father still talking but couldn't comprehend it.

(just stop)

" . . . Going to that fucking hotel was like pressing a fast forward button on what would have happened in a few years time. To this day I don't understand what that place was. But I do know I would have killed that bitch one way or another . . ."

He threatened it once. Remember?

(not until the hotel)

No. In Vermont. Mommy accidentally threw away some of Daddy's papers and he said, "Wendy, I'll kill you!" Remember?

(he didn't mean it)

Oh, didn't he? I think you know better than that.

Jack took a slow breath.

" . . . She didn't love me and I wonder if she even loved you. She married me when my writing looked like it would take off. She was hopin' for the world on a platter after I'd write a couple best sellers. She only ever looked out for herself and fucked up my life because of it."

Torrance held both hands out towards Jack, palms up. "And look, she fucked yours up too. What was it like living with her for the last few years of her life? Maybe you were able to get a glimpse of what I had to live with! Look what she's done to you. You're a psychotic freak who runs around in a purple suit and make-up killing anything that moves! You hear goddamn voices and talk to an invisible man named Tony who lives in your mouth!"

Well, actually, he doesn't do much talking anymore. I seem to be the chatterbox nowadays . . .

(shut up)

All he can think about is that Bat guy, really. You could call it an obsession . . .

(Shut up.)

" . . . She stole you from me and corrupted your mind even more than it already was. She took you and hid you away for me to never find. Well, the bitch is dead and I've found you. She can burn in hell if she isn't already. And now that I have found you, we can fix things and try to live with each other. I want the time with you that was taken from me for thirty years. We belong together. You can even bring Tony with ya! I don't care! You can tell me stories of robberies and murders, it doesn't matter. I love ya, you son of a bitch!"

He leaned forward. "I'd do any fucking thing for you, Danny."

Torrance was smiling again.

"Don't . . ." Jack said, "call me Danny."

Torrance's smile disappeared. "Danny – "

He stood up and started around the table. Jack leapt out of his seat and over to the opposite side of the table. His legs threatened to go weak but didn't. For one horrible moment, Jack lost sight of his father in the blackness as he stepped out of range of the lamplight, but he returned, smiling.

"Come on, Danny," he said, still walking around the table.

Jack leaned away, not taking his eyes off the man. He tried to step backwards but his foot stuck to the floor and he stumbled. Panicking slightly, he regained his footing and took a few steps back. He could feel his body being swallowed by darkness.

"Danny . . ."

Jack kept walking backwards, eyes bright and brow set. He finally hit one of the cement walls. Blackness pressed in on him and the dim light coming from the desk lamp made strange shadows on his father's face as he came forward. Jack pressed his back and hands against the coolness of the concrete. His father continued toward him.

"Danny . . ." he said, grinning and lowering his voice, as if Jack were five years old. "What happened to the happy, smiley clown I've seen parading his face all over the evening news? Don't tell me he's gone soft. There's no fun in that. Come on out of the corner! Crack the long face! Isn't that smile supposed to be permanent?"

Jack's breath caught. His stomach flipped again. His father stopped stepping toward Jack and his smile slowly faded. His eyes wandered down to the concrete floor. Neither of them said a word. Something had made itself known in that room and the only two people that seemed to sense it were Jack and Torrance.

"Danny?" his father said, sounding uncertain. He took a breath and wet his lips. "How did you get those scars?"

Jack wasn't watching his father anymore but looking to the black far corner of the room. He knew Batman was watching him. Years of chasing a seemingly invincible, psychotic maniac all over Gotham seemed about to come to an inevitable end. Batman would never look at Jack the same way again.

Jack remembered. He remembered everything now.

His first twenty years of life had been a living hell. He remembered cowering under his bed while he listened to his drunk, raging father bursting through the door. He remembered his mother crying on the kitchen floor over a spilled glass of water.

He remembered Tony warning him about the hotel. He remembered Hallorann talking to him with his eyes. He remembered room 237. He remembered convincing himself that Tony had shown Dad dead in the hedge maze.

He remembered moving to New Jersey with Mom. He remembered Mom always being sick and smelling like cigarettes. He remembered finding her cold on the bed after school.

He remembered the first time he set foot in Gotham, so angry he didn't know what to do with himself. He remembered smelling gunpowder and smoke. He remembered finding a little pocket knife on the sidewalk and picking it up . . .

You don't want to go there.

Jack was breathing rapidly. There was a bit of anxiousness in the voice.

Do you want to compromise everything you've built up in yourself? Everything.

Jack mechanically lifted his hand and felt his cheek with his fingers.

Don't let your head go there, Jack . . .

There was desperation in Tony's voice. Jack knew it. But his mind had already gone to that place. It remembered what it had taken thirty long years to forget. What was done was done . . .

"I did it."

Torrance raised his eyes to rest on his son's face, which was looking into nothing, expressionless.

"Danny . . ."

Torrance wore a mask of twisted sorrow. He tried to move toward his son but found he couldn't do it.

"My name isn't Danny. It's Jack."

Confusion washed over Torrance's face. "What?"

Silence beat on Jack's eardrums.

"I went into a bathroom stall to sleep," Jack said quietly, with a sobriety he hadn't used in years. "I remembered the knife and took it outta my pocket. My hands were shaking and the floor was wet. I stood up and went to one of the sinks to wash my hands . . . Tony showed me your face in the mirror. You were smiling . . . I was livid . . . I picked up the knife."

Jack tore his eyes from the far corner and dragged his gaze to the table in the middle of the room.

"Where else are you gonna go if you're at your limit? Suffering is weakness. Being frozen to the world is cowardice . . . But your face smiled at me in that mirror, and it wasn't weak. It wasn't the face of a coward . . . it was my revelation . . . happiness . . . white-hot happiness. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't make myself smile. I tried but my face wouldn't move . . . then there's only red . . . all over the sink, on the mirror, the floor, my hands . . ."

The room was silent.

"Jack?"

The son's eyes rose to meet the father's.

"Jack," said Jack.

The lamplight flickered on and off, making the room a temporary void.

Jack's gaze fell to the floor.

Well, now you've done it. The Bat knows what you really are: a weak, suicidal coward who's been channeling his demented father for thirty years.

Jack tasted copper at the back of his tongue. His knees were shaking. The room started tilting to the left.

"Danny – "

Torrance seemed to defy his age as he glided over to Jack as Jack's knees gave and he hit the floor with a dull thud. "Danny . . ."

Torrance got down on all fours beside his son and picked up his head, which had slumped to one side. He shook him. Jack's eyes opened slowly, one opening wider than the other.

Jack didn't remember falling to the floor but when he opened his eyes he felt the cold concrete and an ache in his hip. Hands gripped the sides of his face and he felt himself being shaken. The room became a black blur. He tried struggling out of the hold but was afraid that if he moved too much he would be sick. His stomach was churning again.

"Danny!"

Torrance stopped shaking him but held fast to Jack's face, lowering his own eyes to Jack's.

"I know what she did to you, Danny! I can't imagine what she told you over the last few years she was alive. She always encouraged you and your stories about Tony. She didn't know! She never understood what you were all about. I did! I knew how you felt! She would never let me talk to you! Shit! She wouldn't even let me be in the same fucking room with you! She thought I would hurt you or lose my temper with you! Why d'ya think I drank so much? Because that bitch wouldn't even let me be a father to my own goddamn son! So what if I had one small accident? It was one time! You were three years old, how was I supposed to know your bones were still that fragile? I was being a good parent and disciplining you! It was more than she ever did – "

Tell him that "bitch" is the only reason you're in his very arms right now . . .

"She spoiled you rotten. You know that? Giving you whatever the hell you wanted . . . Bringing you fucking breakfast in bed! When did she ever do that for me? Once a year. On our fuckin' anniversary, that's when! That's when I'd get a good meal, a quiet day alone to write without her grating voice over my shoulder and a good fuck before rolling over and snoring . . ."

Torrance paused, looked at the wall and looked back at Jack.

"All so I could wake up the next day and continue in my daily routine in hell. I wouldn't even hope to see you during the week. I'd leave for work in that piece of shit we called a car and sit all day at that fuckin' school teaching goddamn idiots how to write a fuckin' essay. I'd be gone before you woke up and not get home till you were in bed. Your mother made sure of that," he snorted. "Oh, you better believe she made sure of that. I remember comin' home one night while she was still reading you The Three Little Pigs before shutting your door and letting you go to sleep. I stepped in your room and she looked at me like a little squirrel about to be squashed by an on-coming tractor-trailer."

Torrance sat back on his haunches, his hands falling to Jack's shoulders.

"But you and I, we know we're the same person. The bitch kept us apart for thirty years but now I can finally be a father again. We've got a whole lot of catchin' up to do, Danny. You, Tony, and me. I'll be supportive of him too, just like your mother. Hell, I'll even call you Jack if you really prefer that name better. Jack Torrance Jr.! Come on, Danny! We're one and the same! You knew it twelve goddamn years ago in that bathroom mirror and you know it now!"

Jack's eyes never left his father's. Torrance's temples were shining with perspiration and the smile was back.

Jack furrowed his brow.

"What?" his father said.

"How'd you know that was twelve years ago?" Jack breathed.

Torrance slowly lifted his hands from Jack's shoulders.

"How did you know?" Jack repeated.

Torrance stared, trance-like, past his hands and into some unseen world. His face relaxed but his eyes remained dark.

Jack's heart beat almost painfully against his chest.

"Because I was there, Danny."

A jolt of electricity radiated out of Jack's stomach. His skin prickled.

"Remember I had told ya that I saw you three times while you were growing up? That was one of' em." Torrance was glistening with sweat. He came out of his trance and looked at his son. "And I think it was actually me you saw that goddamn bathroom mirror. I watched you carve your face like a fuckin' Butterball."

Blood rushed in Jack's ears. There was only his father's face.

God damn it.

"Move," said Jack.

"Danny, let me – " Torrance reached out to take Jack's face in his hands.

Jack screamed something incoherent, yanking his head away and with one shove, pushed the man back. Torrance toppled over, catching himself with one hand. He stared with crazed eyes up at his son.

Jack got to his knees and stumbled to his feet.

"You've always known it was you who made me . . . this. You knew."

"It wasn't! It was that bitch mother of yours! That weak little mind of hers couldn't do shit on its own, but it sure could fuck up everyone else's – "

"Your wife was anything but a bitch. She was the only person who ever gave a damn about me. I would've been dead if she hadn't been around."

"Of course you think that!" said his father. "She brainwashed the fuck outta ya!"

"Brainwashed?" said Jack. Everyone muscle in his body clenched. "You wanna talk about brainwashed? You've been brainwashed your entire life. You're brainwashed to think you could be a father, brainwashed to believe you're innocent, to think that any offspring of yours could ever be normal. Brainwashed to believe that you could ever be loved.

"You've been my demon all these years, you . . . you . . . you're the reason you see the man I am before you. You talk about your wife destroying your life but without her you would have killed yourself years ago. If she's guilty of anything it's keeping you alive in your own hell longer than you would have without her!"

A muscle twitched in Torrance's cheek. "Danny – "

"I've lived in a void my entire life! I've never known anything but misery and madness. How can you even conceive of me being anything other than what I am? I don't feel! I can't feel! And I bask in it! If I've learned anything from you it's blindness! To be blind from the world and free from thinking! I live in agony every second of my life and I worship it. My psalms are howls of laughter! My communion isn't receiving blood but feeling it run hot over my fingers! I pray for bedlam and anarchy! The Devil is my acolyte! There's no sanctuary in this Church of Chaos. And do you know who the God of this twisted religion is?"

Jack swallowed and took a breath. His voice flattened. "The thing that sired the 'psychotic freak' standing before you."

Torrance's eyes were glazed and his mouth hung open.

Jack's voice was stony. "You tell me I'm a freak and I'm insane. Well, I'm the blood of your blood. My flesh is your flesh. If we're the same person, like you insist we are, then you're just as psychotic as I am."

Torrance stared at Jack for a moment before rising slowly to his feet, his age visibly affecting him for the first time. He stood and swayed, putting his hand on the table to steady himself. Jack watched him with narrowed eyes.

"Danny," said Torrance, trying to steady his voice. Jack noticed his hand was shaking. "I know and you know . . . that I am a whole lot of fucking things . . ." – he paused a moment before lifting his weight off of the table and turning to look at Jack, hand clenching – "but I . . . am not . . .insane."

His father wore a look that Jack had never seen before, neither in his rediscovered memories nor within the time spent in this room. Initially, it was a look of pure malice, threatening, in that it seemed Jack had crossed some kind of line. However, Jack swore that underneath this piercing stare was pure desperation, that if Jack said anything else questioning his father's sanity, his father would spill over whatever edge he looked to be balancing on this very moment.

"You . . ." said Jack, voice almost a whisper, "are the single most fucked up human being I have ever known."

Torrance swayed, literally teetering on the edge of some abyss.

"You're not even worthy of being my father."

Torrance plunged—plunged down into the void that had threatened to consume him all these years. With sharpening eyes and red, contorting features, Jack's father threw himself toward his son, arms outstretched and hands gripping for invisible throats.

Jack ducked and moved to the opposite side of the room into complete darkness, but kept his eyes on the staggering shadow.

"DANNY!" came Torrance's voice, reverberating off the concrete. "Come here!"

Jack's heart pumped painfully hard and fast. His stomach churned.

(No)

Jack's stomach clenched and a wave of nausea hit him. He grabbed his torso and tried to move away from the approaching sound of heavy breathing, but another pang of sickness brought him to his knees.

(tony please no please no please no)

Another wave of nausea. He was on all fours.

"DANNY!"

Jack gripped his middle, temporarily paralyzed as he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor. His entire body clenched and he couldn't breathe for what seemed an eternity. When it finally passed, Jack coughed, wiped his mouth and placed both hands back on the floor. His pulse throbbed in his head and he could hear his heart beating in slow thuds. He tasted sour acid.

"Where'd he go?"

"I can't tell."

Commissioner Gordon, three officers and two detectives stood watching through the one-way window, listening.

"Should we go in there?" asked one of the officers.

"I can't see a damn thing . . ."

"Is The Joker on the floor?"

"Commissioner?"

Gordon narrowed his eyes.

"If anything happens there's Batman."

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