The Schemer

Joker on Jack

Summer in Gotham was only slightly different than summers in other cities. Only criminals rose up from their deep slumber. Drug dealers. Mobsters. Thieves. That, and chaotic men without a clear purpose. Other than that, nothing else changed, giving the surgeon a sense of familiarity. 

That year, July seventeenth happened to be exactly in the middle of the week. Clara enjoyed Thursdays. Thursday meant a slow nearing of the weekend, close enough to feel it, but not here, yet. The woman, just like everybody else, was somewhat fascinated by the idea of the weekend. When you think about all those activities that you could assign yourself to, you get a river of ideas. Except, Clara's approach to leisure time consisted of slightly different plans. Although being in Gotham for over half a month now, she still lacked knowledge of the city. Famous for its criminals and Batman, but not well-known for art museums, and theatres, nor other cultural buildings. Not that Clara was overly into that, but she understood the value of knowledge, and get acquainted with one's city was definitely something of potential use. Therefore, instead of staying at home that weekend, she intended to spend some time outside. But first, two more days needed to be lived through. Two more days of small cuts and beauty-threatening scar making. Perhaps saving lives, but hardly maintaining one's features that match the classical understanding of attractiveness.

With these thoughts in mind, Clara went through her routine, not skipping a single step of it. She disliked that weird feeling, which came if eliminating one minor, but constant detail. No stretch after climbing from bed? Tiny itching at the back of her neck. Something's wrong. Leaving untidy bed? Constant thoughts about the mess that she has left behind. Not cleaning the cup after drinking morning tea? She would have a hard time concentrating at work. But this was Clara and her way of being a control freak. Whilst it might be hard to control a constantly changing outer world, it is fairly easy to have a hold on your own routine, especially if it's an enjoyable one. She enjoyed discipline. Discipline meant order, and order equalled freedom. It may be hard to understand for the majority, those, who called themselves chaotic. Funny thing, because they actually never really experienced genuine disorder in their lives. A lost shoe or a boyfriend being late is not mayhem. Clara did not belong to the majority. She knew what real chaos was, and understood that being chaotic does rarely provide one the freedom that he craves.

Leaving her home, double checking the door, the woman got inside her car. Not that a lock would help against the metaphorical sharks. It was meant to deter smaller fish, not as experienced in breaking in. Also, in Gotham, it was not wise to demonstrate your foolishness. What else would an open door indicate, other than a stupid occupant?

Driving to the Gotham's General, just like any other day, was hardly anyhow adventurous. Living at the suburban area of Gotham definitely had its benefits, like the calm wildness and small patches of forest, and a lake, too small to attract tourists, but big enough to catch some fish or have a little boat trip. Overall, to some extent that area actually met the standards of your typical countryside, only with a huge city besides.

Traffic jams were definitely something in this city, especially in the morning. Roads full of cars, modern monsters that took far too much space, with lonely drivers inside. "Who the fuck needs that?" The woman murmured underneath her breath, seeing vehicles that were made specifically for huge families, yet used by one. Clara enjoyed small, quick cars, valued their mobility and economized space. That, and also the fact that big vehicles reminded her of the time overseas.

Stuck in traffic, there was little else to do, besides staring outside. Out of boredom, the woman could either stare at her nails or out the window. The later one seemed a little more appealing. Old habits died hard, after all. And perhaps because she was trained and used to seeing minuscule details, or maybe because the surgeon was gifted with perspicacious intuition, Clara noticed a man standing on the sidewalk. A human being in the street full of men and women didn't seem suspicious at all. What caught her attention was his hair colour. Sleek and glistening against the sun, they had this weird greenish tint to them. Seemingly tall and broad-shouldered, the man had his back turned to her, slightly hunched forward. The man seemed way too old to be another youngster, dying his hair to project his punk style and anarchistic nature. After taking a better, more analytical look, Clara saw a clown mask in his left hand. "Do we have a bloody circus in this city now?" The question hovered in warm air, not answered. Cool, steely eyes followed his every move. Not that there were many. The man stood still as a statue, his baggy clothes barely moving in the light breeze. Suddenly, a silver car pulled towards him, hiding the clown from the view. Clara couldn't catch a glimpse of him anymore, only the vehicle was visible. And it wasn't big enough to clear her suspicion. "Not a circus bus, huh?" The woman's uneasiness increased with every second. Her gut feeling screamed to expect the worst from that clown, and she learned to trust her instincts a long time ago. "Oh, fuck it." Changing the parking lanes, Clara sped up and followed the grey car, murmuring curse words underneath her breath, as if there could be someone to hear it if she said it any louder.