You can say most anything you want about Rorschach, and more often than not, it would probably be true. You could call him a criminal, and you'd be right. You could call him a hero, and you'd be right. You could say that he was crazy, and you'd be right. You could say he was the only one of them who wasn't crazy, and you'd be right.
Like I said, you can say just about anything about Rorschach, but there's one thing you can't say. One thing I will never let you say about the man. You can't say he was a bad father.
You're probably laughing right now, thinking, he wasn't a Father, of course he couldn't be a bad one since he wasn't one at all. That's where you're wrong. He was a Father, but on the day that civilians considered to be one of the happiest, and saddest days of history, the day the whole world united because of fear of Dr. Manhattan, he didn't know it. Neither did any of his friends, his team, except one.
You might say that this is stupid, it's rubbish, and complete lies, just like they said when they first read the journal that got published in the paper. But eventually, they came around, and Adrian's empire crumbled. Strangely enough, no one ever went back to the idea of nuclear war. Why? Because they realized that if they did, they would all die. So they kept up with the masquerade, trying to ignore Adrian's wrong, and just work with what they had. Guess what? It actually worked.
I love that fact that although Dr. Manhattan killed Rorschach, in the end, Rorschach still won. He still got them, and they looked like complete losers. Rorschach made the smartest man in the world look like a complete and utter idiot. I tip my hat to him, one psycho to another.
I'm getting off topic, and you must be thinking, if Rorschach knew about this kid he supposedly had, would he still have wanted to die? Would he have still shouted out the two words that defined his child's life? "Do it!"
I've thought it over, and based on everything I've ever heard about him, and my surprising own experience with him, I've come to a sudden realization. Yes he would have.
You can call me inconsiderate, or cruel even. Tell me that it's easy for me to say that, but to that kid, it could really do some emotional damage. You know what I would say right back to you? "Shut up and leave me alone, hypocrite."
If you leave around here, in New York, you're a hypocrite by saying that. Answer me honestly, how many screams of help have you heard in your life? Even better, how many of those cries for help have you run after to answer, or even just called the cops to handle it? You can either answer that question, or just back off.
I have a right to say that it doesn't matter, that it wouldn't have helped in any way. You know why? Cause I am that kid. That kid who got left alone, forgotten, no, not even discovered.
Don't start to feel pity, or even, much less, empathy. I like it better this way
You can't look back at the past, and just keep wondering, what if? It'll only either give you, a headache, or heartache. Maybe even both. Kind of wish I could say that if he hadn't died, I would have turned out okay. That he would have gone back to my mother, and discovered it. Maybe not have been a husband to her, that I could handle, but he would have at least looked after me. Not let most of the things that happened to me, happen.
But if I look back at it, I wouldn't change a thing, even if I could. If I hadn't been born to only a Mom, and all the things I had seen on the streets, done on the streets, hadn't happened, I can almost guarantee I'd be dead. Really, you would be too. Everyone around you would be dead, maybe the entire Earth.
Yeah, I'm that important, I've saved your life. Can I get a thank you? You know what, forget it, I didn't do it for a thank you, and I didn't do it for you. To this day I don't know why I did it, or who I did it for. I just did it.
I'd like to think Rorschach is proud I did it. That he would have done the same thing. I'll admit it, and I'm not ashamed of this fact: I'm chasing after a dead man's trench coat, in hopes of donning it myself one day.
That's one of the reasons that I'm writing this down, because he wrote down his story. I'll send this in to be published in the Newspaper too. Because people need to know.
The Comedian died, the world knew him as Edward Blake, but his friends knew better. He was killed in what looked like a robbery, but what Rorschach knew was the beginning of a hunt.
So, wanting that information, he talked to the one person that Eddie left behind, his son, Johnson Blake.
Rorschach kneeled in front of the five year old boy, grimacing behind his mask. Kids were never his specialty. He hadn't had to many experiences with them. "Where were you when your dad died?"
The little boy looked up at him, fear clearly seen on his face. "In my bedroom."
"Did you hear anything?"
The boy looked like he was reliving exactly what he had heard. "Yes. Everything."
"The man who attacked your father." Rorschach pressed, "Did you hear him talk?"
"No." The boy croaked, about to cry, as tears pooled up.
"Did your father say anything?"
"He said… that it was all a joke." John whispered, a single tear running down his face. "I heard the glass break, and I screamed. I ran out into the living room, and there was a man standing there."
"What did he look like?" Rorschach asked.
"I didn't see." The boy said, "He covered his face."
This got him nowhere, all it did was make him feel sick to his stomach, and sorry for the little boy as his tear flowed. Eddie wasn't a perfect father, but the boy seemed to love him all the same.
K'S POINT OF VIEW:
Hiding, I'm not proud of it, but that's what I was doing.
The voices from the hallway were hissing at each other, whispering in a manner that didn't sound friendly in any way. Any normal child would ignore it, but I was only four and a half, and I was scared. Fear and curiosity mingled with each other, until curiosity over ruled what might have actually been common sense. I slipped out of my bed, tiptoeing barefoot to my room door, peering under the doorway.
Two sets of feet were there, which also scared me because I lived alone with my mom. I opened the door a crack, listening to the conversation.
"I didn't come here because of some feeling you're desperate to see, Charlotte." Said a deep, raspy voice. "Someone is hunting down masks, and for all I know you could be next. I've already warned Jon and Laurie, they refuse to see reason."
My mothers voice sounded next, "I'm a big girl Rorschach, I can take care of myself. I recall a certain someone saying I needed to."
I opened the door more, stepping one hesitant foot into the hallway. I saw the most terrifying man I had ever seen in my entire four year old life. He wore a dark trench coat, and a hat that looked like Indiana Jones. He had grabbed my mother's upper arms, pinning her to the wall. What scared me the most, was his face, or rather, his lack of one. What seemed like a white bag covered his face, with constantly shifting black spots. Mommy had called him Rorschach. Strange name.
His grip on her arms tightened, "Stop dreaming about something that will never happen!"
She winced, and I stepped fully into the hallway, "Mommy?" I asked, my small voice shaking.
They both turned to looked at me, and fear flashed across my Mom's face. The man looked even scarier when he was looking at me. He tilted his head to the side, and I looked away from him, to my mom. "Mommy, is he hurting you?"
I had no idea what I would do if she said yes. Was I supposed to help her, and fight the man? I couldn't do that, he was to scary. The man let go of my mom, and took a step towards me. Every instinct told me to run away, but I stood there, not moving, staring right back at the man's concealed face.
"Go back to bed sweetie." My mom whispered.
"Bed." She said firmly. My gaze traveled to the man again, and I'm pretty sure he met my gaze behind his mask.
I backed away from them, stepping back into my room, and closing the door behind me.
CHARLOTTE'S POINT OF VIEW:
As soon as K shut the door, Rorschach turned back to me, and his rough voice turned on me like daggers. "What did you do?"
I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "It doesn't concern you."
"Explain her." He ordered. "Now."
I shook my head, "You told me you wanted nothing to do with women. Can you honestly blame me if I sought out someone else?"
He doesn't say a word, his black and white face staring into me as if I'm a simple clear substance. I know I am. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I don't bother to hide anything form him, he'll figure it out. He always does.
I sighed, "It's been years since I was Archer. I'm trying to have a life, to really move on. I have a daughter now, I can't just go running off with you on some wild goose chase like when we were young." I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on, "Eddie worked for the government, same as me. We're constantly targets, but we're in completely unrelated sections of work. Whatever's involving him, it's got nothing to do with me."
His mask may hide his face, but not his intentions. He won't drop this. "What was Eddie working on?"
I shrugged, "I don't know, like I said, our work is unrelated."
"Did you know he had a son?" Rorschach pressed.
I groaned, "I haven't seen Eddie in years! I don't even know where he lives!"
"What do you work on?" Rorschach asked. Does he really think he's going to find something? Does he really think I know anything about this conspiracy theory he has?
"I'm not allowed to tell you." I said evenly. "But it has nothing to do with killing off masks."
"They know who you are?" He questioned.
"They're the government, of course they know. But I never told them anything about the others. They knew who Eddie was, and quite honestly, if this was more than a simple killing, I think that Eddie got too big for his boots, went out of line, and the government couldn't afford his haywire actions. So they get someone they know can take him down."
I shrugged, "The government has alliances in all the right places, and training to insure that they have the upper hand in all combat forms. I'm not surprised that they made sure to have a self destruct button on Eddie. They've probably got one on me, and I understand that. They had every right to be afraid of us! Do you really think anyone could have stopped us if we all crossed the line? Decided that it was better to manage them instead of save them? It's not that far of a fall."
He was silent for a moment. "Gonna stop whoever's killin' us off. Then, find out what you're hiding."
He left, and I breathed a sigh of relief, looking back to the door where K had disappeared behind. Let's hope he doesn't come back.
K'S POINT OF VIEW (NARRATIVE)
That was the first, and last time I ever saw my father. In the traditional form that is. John got put into a group home, several families were interested in fostering him, but he outright refused. No one ever came close to his real father.
I remember about three days later, my Mom put a dress on me, and took me to a cemetery.
We stood there, in the rain, my mom's umbrella doing little to keep us covered. As soon as the casket was lowered into the ground, Mom turned to a man with big thick glasses, and started talking to him.
I turned to the only kid my age there, Jonny. "Hi."
He didn't answer me.
"Wanna play tag?" I asked.
"No." He snapped, "What's wrong with you? I don't have a Dad anymore."
Even thought I was only three, I knew tears when I saw them. "I don't have a Daddy either."
We stared at each other, we were in the same boat, and weren't sure where to go from there. The man with glasses suddenly raised his voice, "You did what?"
I looked over at the man talking with my mom, and he looked back at me, emotions on his face I hadn't experienced for myself yet. The man shook his head, turning back to Mommy. "Charlie, I can't do that, you know he's-"
"I'm your friend too." Mom protested. "I just needed someone else to know. If he's right and we're being hunted down…" There was a long pause, before she continued. "Just promise me you'll look after my little girl."
The man was silent, before sighing. "If you die, I'll take care of her. But you should tell him."
Mommy looked over at me, "K, go play with your little friend while the grown ups talk."
Me and the new boy looked at each other, before walking off together, heading for the fence circling around the cemetery. We got there, and we each put a foot on the bottom rail, seizing the next on in our fists, and just standing there, hanging off the fence like the stupid little kids we were.
He paused, looking down at me. "I'm Jonny."
"I'm K." I said, letting go of the railing with one hand and offering him my tiny little pail fist. He took it in his much bigger one, shaking it firmly. For one day, we were the best of friends.
I remember the day that New York blew up, a huge gaping hole punctured right in the center of the great city. I remember Mom picking me up and running, crying and screaming.
I remember her hiding with me in a back alley, ashes caught in her hair and tears streaking her face.
I remember about a week later, she took me to this really big house, a mansion. The man with big glasses was there, and he smiled at me weird, then offered me a cookie in the kitchen. I sat at the counter of the kitchen, nibbling on my cookie, when I heard Mom talking.
Being the nosy little kid that I was, I walked to the kitchen door, pressing my ear to it.
"What happened to him Dan." Mom asked. "I know something's wrong, he would have showed up already is he was okay."
I heard Dan sigh, then say, "I'm sorry." There was a long pause, and he finished, "He died in the arctic."
I heard Mom choke, and footsteps running towards the kitchen. I hightailed it to the counter, plopping down in my chair right as Mom rushed in, crying. She threw her arms around me, holding me close and sobbing into my hair, "Mommy?"
She never answered me. I waited for her to pull away, but she never did, so I finished my cookie, patting her wrist in a comforting way. "Mommy, please stop crying."
She didn't, and Dan stood in the doorway awkwardly, not sure what to do. After what seemed like an eternity, Mom gathered herself, and we left, going home. I heard her sobbing through my bedroom wall all night long.
When morning came, no one made me breakfast. No one came in to turn on cartoons and tell me, "Alright, just this once, you can eat in the living room." Only to let me do the same the next day. My stomach growled, and I mustered all my wits about me to scrape together my own breakfast.
I climbed up on the counter and took a banana out of the fruit basket. It was the first time I had ever made myself breakfast.
After my stomach stopped grumbling, I went to see what was wrong with Mommy, but she was still in bed, and wouldn't wake up when I shook her. She spent two days like that, until she finally walked out of her room. She didn't even say anything to me, she just went to work.
That's what my life turned into. I fended for myself, and helped out Mom. Whenever she went into episodes where she would cry and not come out of her room, I would keep the house clean, talk to her boss on the phone, and make her food she could eat in bed.
My life became about me less and less, centering entirely around my mother.
That's how it all started anyways.