Chapter One: Boy Next Door

She couldn't breathe all day. There was a constriction in her chest, each breath was raspy and unsure of itself. Her mind was just as unsure, it could not decide whether it wanted to be on the alert or completely inert. One moment she would be looking over her shoulder, recognizing a particular shade of green. Or a particular shade of brown. The next she would slip into her own mind for a few moments, contemplating her own idiocy at being so afraid. No, that's not the right word. Not afraid. Anxious. So anxious. She'd slowly assess her own memories and reasoning and deem her assumptions as childish. She was wrong. Then she'd go back to work, handing out dishes and taking orders with proficiency. But, something would strike her again. A woman with a particular bloody shade of red over her taut, smiling lips would pull her back into her reverie. A beat would pass, the woman would cough politely.

"Did you get that, honey?"

"w-What?" Emma sputters, placing a hand against her temple and rubbing harshly at the flesh. She lets her eyes focus fully on the woman in front of her, trying to ignore the jarringly red lips that are forming into a pitying smile.

"It's okay. I'll just have coffee then," she says, reassuringly. Her eyes flit back to a newspaper splayed out on the table.

"Sure. Um- yeah, I'll go get that for you."

The woman gives a nod, eyes never leaving the newspaper. Emma doesn't have to sneak a peak to know what she's reading. It's all over the news. It's all people have been talking about all day. She'd never had to contemplate how hard it is to ignore a subject when it was all anyone was talking about. The great escape. Twelve inmates at Arkham Asylum had escaped. No one knew where they had gone. They'd just vanished. At night they were safe and sound in their rooms. By morning, they were gone.

The waitress tried to control her breathing once more, not letting her anxiety get the best of her again. Instead, she focused on the task at hand; making her way behind the counter, grabbing a coffee-stained, but otherwise clean, coffee cup and an equally stained saucer. She filled the cup with the noxious liquid (her boss, Elton, preferred to keep the coffee just short of tar) and then she quickly grabbed a container filled with cream and packets sugar. About to give herself a mental pat on the back for moving past the issue that's been haunting her for the hundredth time that day, she gets distracted by the television jutting out from the wall. Halfway between the counter and the expecting woman, she stops in her tracks.

There he is. Just a picture of him, hanging just above the shoulder of Mike Engel. The anchor is waving frantically, gesticulating in an almost manic way. She can just imagine the reaction the man is having to Joker's escape. He'd been taken hostage by the madman just two years ago, and it would seem that the grudge is still there. The television flashes to a compilation of photos, twelve to be exact. They go over each one: a mugshot of a man with a blonde buzzcut. He'd be attractive, save for a collection of barbarous cuts not completely covered by his asylum uniform. Tally marks. She shivers. An older man with thick, grease coated hair. An attractive woman with thick red tresses wildly framing her picturesque face. Their names and faces flash quickly by, the GNN logo being the only thing that continuously remains on the screen. Then, the twelfth picture. Joker. His face twisted grotesquely into an exaggerated smile. His eyes look wildly out through the photo, and she can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable. Strangely, his full make up is still on- she imagines these pictures were taken once he was taken into custody two years ago. Why bother to show a picture of him at all? It was n't likely that anybody in Gotham didn't know what the madman looked like. Dark pictures of a ghostly, laughing face haunts the best of them from the videos he sent to GNN. They all knew what he looked like, that was certain. Well, probably not to the extent she did-

"Hello?"

Snapping back into her body, she flips around, an apology already forming. But, before she can utter her phrases, she slams into a hard body. Searing pain for a quick moment; the coffee drizzling down her uniform.

"FUCK!" she screams into the face of the male customer she had rammed into. Not even bothering to apologize for her own clumsiness, she rips a towel that was strategically placed in the pocket of her apron and begins hopelessly drying off the still-hot liquid from her.

"Em?" a voice says from behind her, stern but with a sense of concern.

"It's fine, Elton," she says through gritted teeth, scrubbing aggressively though she knows that the stain has set no matter what she does.

"No, Em, it really isn't." Nervous laugh. God, that laugh is her equivalent to nails scratching a chalkboard. She turns to him, an exaggerated look of intent on her small face. He takes this as leave to continue- though it really wasn't. "You seem a little stressed today." His broad shoulders shrug, as if to say it's understandable. "We're all a little stressed out, you know? Maybe you should go home. Get some rest."

She grimaces, catches herself, and tries to smile. "I-" she walks closer to him, trying to keep the conversation just between the two of them "I need the money... I'm fine. It's a little stress, but I'm sure I'll calm down."

"Don't worry about the money." He laughs, gratingly, again. She tries not to glare. He knows that she needs the extra hours; rent is skyrocketing, even in the Narrows. The girl can take care of herself, she'd always done just that. But even she, working seven days a week with a just-above minimum wage salary, had to choose between electricity and running water every other month. "I can't afford to lose another cup or plate today, Em."

Her eyes glance down at the broken coffee cup on the floor. Forlornly, she massages at a fresh pang at her temple. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." He just nods. "I'll- I'll just clean up the mess."

"No no no. It's fine," he says reassuringly, taking the towel from her hands. "I got it." He winks, and she is forced to put on another grimace/smile in response to his friendliness.

"Thanks."

She slips into her one bedroom apartment; dropping keys to floor, letting her overcoat drop down from her shoulders to the floor, kicking off her shoes to a corner. She locks the door, and sluggishly makes her way to her bedroom. It's just big enough to fit a bed and have a closet that opens. Most of her clothes lay on the floor, however. A small stack of books lay on the floor, a laptop resting, precariously, atop them. Emma falls onto the bed and immediately groans. It was one thing, to be busily taking orders at the diner, letting her mind fall into thoughts of Joker every once in a while. It was quite another thing to be sitting in her apartment, with no distractions from the thoughts plaguing her.

Especially with such proximity to the empty apartment across the hall. His apartment. At least... she thought it was his apartment. Jack's apartment. Jack, the quiet enigma. Jack, the guy with the scraggly brown hair and seemingly endless supply of black hoodies pulled up to encase his entire upper body and most of his face. Jack, the eerily quiet neighbor with the penchant for slipping out at night with a backpack, thinking that no one would noticed. But she had. The walls were thin, and Emma wasn't much of a sleeper. Every night at eleven thirty, he'd disappear. Walking quietly past the wall that separated the hallway from her bedroom. Sometimes a floorboard would squeak, more often not.

She'd always wondered where he'd gone off to, the boy with the scars. Emma usually kept to herself, but she'd let her mind wander to just what he would spend his time doing. At first, she found it distasteful. It was probably a job, and she knew what nighttime jobs in Gotham entailed. Then she imagined a lengthy list of things. Convenience store robbery? Thief? Mugger? Maybe he was the Batman, she'd joked. Which- she must admit- is ironic now.

Upon moving in, she'd thought that particular apartment was vacant. No noise came from it, except at night where she could hear the door open and soft footsteps falling just outside. However, a month passed before they finally met.

It was a weekend, she had no work the next day. She had a small amount of spare cash on her, and her stomach was growling. All of these reasons led her from her apartment at exactly eleven thirty at night, heading for the 24-hr convenience store a block up. She was locking her door when she heard a knob turn behind her. His door opened as she twisted her key. It remained open as she took the key from her knob and turned around. He stood in his doorway, looking at her with an almost surprised expression for a moment. He was tall. Taller than her by at least five inches, but he wore a baggy hoodie that enveloped his entire upper frame and a pair of slouchy jeans that looked ragged. His hair was slicked back, and his face almost boyish in his surprise. The only thing that marred his otherwise handsome face was a series of scars gaping across it, creating the appearance of a jack-o-lantern smile where there wasn't one. Her eyes flashed across it for a moment, before looking down, placing her keys in her bag. She looked back up as he exited into the cramped hallway with her and closed the door to his own apartment, not bothering to lock it.

"Hi," she said to the back of his head, "My name's Emma."

He turned around, looking down at the hand she had extended to him as if it distressed him. She looked at his own hand expectantly, watching it clench and unclench. Something about him made her uneasy. His nighttime habits of disappearing and his somewhat intimidating appearance she could brush off, but this brief exchange made her break into a light cold sweat. She noticed how his posture was stooped, slouched, but still managing to seem tense. His eyes were watching her incredulously, as if she was some kind of animal that had learned to walk and talk. His head tilted to the side, and his eyes roamed over her body. Not in a leering way, but something about the action was much more sinister. As if he was wondering, not what she'd look like under her clothes, but what she'd look like a layer under that. Her hand dropped back to her side.

He disappeared a year after that- just gone. The same time the Joker had been placed in Arkham Asylum. At first it was a fleeting suspicion. The Joker's antics had gotten him so much media attention, it seemed impossible that she'd been the only one to notice a similarity between the scarred Jack and the scarred Joker. But, then again, people in the Narrows keep their heads down. They don't look anyone in the eye, and with his "warpaint" smeared across his face: his scars were practically hidden in his attempt to make them more pronounced. Plus... she had a feeling that she was the only one that had really seen his face.

She cupped her face in her hands, willing herself to forget all about Jack or Joker or whoever he was. It wasn't as if she'd ever see him again. But then- with Batman gone... who could really stop him?

The lithe girl got off her bed, stretching her arms and back until she heard a satisfying crack. Then she rubbed her forehead and scalp until she could calm her thoughts completely. He's not coming, she told herself.

He's not going to come back here. He's going to run from Gotham and find a new city to tear apart.

Emma slipped off her waitress uniform, a blocky paisley blue dress with red trimming and a completely settled coffee stain. She throws it into a pile she thinks are dirty, and makes a pact with herself to go down to the laundry room in the basement later tonight. But then she looks out the window, the sun is setting, and she changes her pact to tomorrow morning. Right now, she's going to go pick up her mail and see if Ms. Johnson is in.

Ms. Johnson is the landlord of the shitty apartment building, and one of the sweetest ladies in the world. Until it was that time of the month. The time where she harassed and harassed until her tenants paid the rent (most of the time, the rent for the previous month). But Emma, being Emma, never made it onto her list of useless tenants who owed her. Every first, Emma was downstairs with an exact check that never bounced. So, they were always on good terms. Ms. Johnson would invite her in for some desert that she had made recently, and Emma would accept most of the time. Tonight, however, she wasn't sure if she would be good company.

Walking down the stairs, she planned on slipping her check under the old woman's door and making it up to her the next night- when her head was firmly on her shoulders and not constantly swiveling, expecting dark eyes bordered with black paint to be glaring at her. Leather gloves clutching and unclutching. White face with a red slit running through it; head cocking to the side, wanting to see what she looks like under her skin.

But then she saw Ms. Johnson's door already open and the old woman laughing quite loudly. Her interest piqued, she gave a small knock on the door and poked her own head in. Ms. Johnson immediately waved her in, a welcoming smile gracing her aged face. "Emma! Look who's come back!" she said, almost girlishly. Emma's eyes scanned the broad shoulders of the man sitting in front of Ms. Johnson. Messy, moss-colored hair almost touched his shoulders. Her body tensed immediately. She tried to think of words, but none came. He looked back at her, head cocking and a smile gracing his lips. His eyes, however, still vacant. The scars were still there, painfully present.

"Emma!" he stood, coming towards her with an expression of surprise and relief. His arms were extended before him, as if he were going to hug her. She panicked. She stepped back. He looked as if he was hurt and gave Ms. Johnson a shy smile before turning back to the shaking girl. "Don't you remember me? Jack. Jacky jack jack." His voice lilted in a playful way, but he grabbed her shoulders painfully. She winced, but tried to smile at him.

"Jack," she said with no inflection in her voice.

"Emma," he said, releasing her shoulders for a job well done.

"Jack's back from... where was it again?"

"Minnesota. Had some family problems."

"Minnesota! Isn't that nice? And we still have his apartment ready for him."

"That's great," Emma said mechanically.

She placed her envelope on the table and stated something about not feeling very well. The girl ignored the older woman's requests to stay- she hurriedly left the room, trying to control her breathing as she leapt from stair to stair. Panicked tears were pricking behind her eyes and she wanted to get back into her apartment before they fell. Falling back onto the bed, she breathed in heavily and released a shaky breath. This was just a coincidence, she told herself. It's not him. The tears quickly dissipated as she slowly calmed herself, admonishing her childish behavior towards him. If her suspicions were true, then she shouldn't be any different around him. If they weren't true, then she'd treated his new friendly disposition with nonchalance.

A few hours past in her state of discontent. She tried to read. She showered. She tried to steal internet from a neighbor. Then she tried to read again. Nothing could take her mind off of her returned neighbor. At about eight o'clock she fell into a fitful sleep.

At nine thirty she woke up as the floorboard in the hallway creaked. She knew it was him. He was right outside. Again. Just like all those years before, but he was more of a threat now. There was more to fear than just a neighbor with weird habits, if she was right. There was a mass-murder, a terrorist really.

She got up, deciding to see if she could catch a glimpse of him through the peephole. It was so dark, but she didn't turn on the light. She didn't want him to see the light through the crack in her door and think... That I'm in my own apartment? Either way, she refrained. She pressed her hands to the door and stood on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the neighbor/murderer. Nothing, his door was shut. i Maybe he wasn't even moving back in, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Tsk tsk. Never would have pegged you for a peeping tom, Emma."