Jack lay sprawled on the old, worn-out couch in the dimly lit living room, his small frame barely taking up any space. The flickering light from the TV cast eerie shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The apartment had always been humble, but tonight it felt even more suffocating. Jack glanced at the clock on the wall—it was almost time for his parents to leave for the restaurant. A knot tightened in his stomach.
“Mom, Dad… do you really have to go tonight?” Jack asked, his voice laced with unease.
His mother, Sarah, looked up from the kitchen where she was packing up leftovers. “Jack, honey, we’ve been through this. We have to keep the restaurant running. It’s what keeps us afloat.”
Jack sat up, his eyes pleading. “But the Joker… he’s been around here. What if something happens?”
Sarah’s smile faltered, a shadow of concern crossing her face, but she quickly masked it. “Nothing’s going to happen, Jack. We’ve been careful, and besides, we’re just a small family restaurant. Why would the Joker come after us?”
Jack’s father, Henry, walked over and ruffled his son’s hair. “Your mom’s right, kiddo. We’ll be fine. You just stay inside, okay? Lock the doors, and don’t open them for anyone.”
Jack’s grip tightened on the edge of the couch. “But what if Batman doesn’t show up in time? What if—”
Henry crouched down to Jack’s level, looking him squarely in the eyes. “Jack, listen to me. Batman’s out there every night, keeping Gotham safe. If anything happens, he’ll be there, I promise.”
Jack bit his lip, doubt gnawing at him. “But what if he isn’t?”
Sarah sighed and joined them, kneeling beside Henry. “Sweetheart, I know it’s scary. Gotham isn’t always the safest place, but we can’t live in fear. We have to keep moving forward. We’ll be back before you know it.”
Jack hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay… but you’ll call if anything happens, right?”
“Of course,” Sarah said, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “We’ll bring back some of Mr. Lee’s dumplings for you, okay?”
Jack tried to smile. “Okay… I’ll hold you to that.”
With one last hug, they gathered their things and headed out the door. Jack stood there, watching them leave, the sound of the door closing echoing in the silence that followed. The knot in his stomach tightened, but he forced himself to sit back down on the couch. The TV continued to drone on, but Jack couldn’t focus on it. His mind was elsewhere.
An hour passed. Then two. Jack kept glancing at the clock, growing more restless by the minute. He switched off the TV and began pacing the room, anxiety prickling at his skin. What if something really did happen? What if the Joker—
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens in the distance. Jack froze, his heart pounding. The sirens grew louder, closer. Unable to stand the uncertainty any longer, he grabbed the old baseball bat his dad kept by the door and bolted outside.
The night air was crisp, biting at his skin as he ran down the street. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and the world around him seemed to blur as fear took hold. He reached the corner of the block where the restaurant was, and what he saw made his blood run cold.
The restaurant’s door was ajar, the glass shattered. Red and blue lights from police cars bathed the scene in an ominous glow. Jack’s legs moved on their own, carrying him inside, where the faint smell of his mother’s cooking was overpowered by the acrid stench of chemicals.
“Mom? Dad?” Jack called out, his voice trembling.
Silence. Then, a soft, high-pitched laugh echoed from the back of the restaurant, sending chills down Jack’s spine. He tightened his grip on the bat and slowly made his way toward the kitchen.
