Insanity at Its Finest:A story of love, loss, redemption and madness.
In an age of madness, to expect to be untouched by madness is a form of madness. But the pursuit of sanity can be a form of madness, too.
Twinkle twinkle, little bat
Who could love a flying rat?
Up above your kind, so high
Little bat, prepare to die!
Now I'm done, but you are not-
Give my baby back or rot.
Episode One
"Please?" I asked again, following my dad into the study.
"No," he said, his answer as firm and unwavering as ever.
"I just got my second degree!" I showed him the stripe on my black belt. Alfred and I had just pulled into the garage when I saw dad waxing his black Audi. That's when I thought of using my new belt rank as an excuse to bring up being Batgirl again. I followed him to the study.
"I see." He smiled and hi-fived me. "I'm proud of you."
That was it. No 'I'll sleep on it,' no 'maybe.'
Just, 'I'm proud of you.'
I see how it is.
"Fine," I walked away, my face burning. I forced my legs to carry me out of the cozy, bookshelf lined room.
"Maybe next year," I heard him say.
'Maybe next year.' He had used that same exact phrase when responding to my last attempt at taking up the mantle, which was on my last birthday... and the time before that, which was the birthday before last. For years, it had seemed to be the only response he can muster.
"You have got to be kidding me!" I yelled in frustration.
I heard the newspaper crinkle and the soft complaints of the chair as my dad got to his feet in surprise.
"Clara," he began.
"Don't 'Clara' me! Just let me go out with you!"
"Honey, you know I can't let you do that."
"What can I do, then? Spend fifteen years training six days a week, earn two black belts, and still not be able to go out?"
"Clara-"
The door opened, to my left and dad's right, and my mother appeared. The hearth to my right crackled as a log shifted.
Her green eyes shined in the firelight, and the tense mood faltered slightly.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Har and dad's blue eyes met, and for a second the air stilled as Mom padded between the two of us. Putting a hand on his chest, my father relaxed. His weight retreated to his midfoot, and his almost inhuman glare, reserved for the foulest of criminals, reverted to his casual-yet-watchful gaze. Mom glanced between us carefully, backing away slightly. She remained wordless, but I was incredibly aware, through her half-apprehensive, half-expectant look and not-quite-relaxed posture, that she could pounce and intercept anything that got out of hand. She'd always been pretty good at defusing the conflict in the room, and had a lot of experience in doing so.
I remember fighting once with Damian, my half-brother, over one of my dad's old capes when we were very young. I wanted it to play dress up with, but my brother was cold and wanted to take a nap. We both pulled with all our might, but eventually Damian got bored and let go of the cape. I went flying and hit my head against the carpet. I was fine after five minutes of crying, but my dad wasn't happy and we both lost our cookie rights that night after dinner.
Today was no different. Just like then, I was in another high-tension situation. Luckily this time, while I was fighting with Dad, I had Mom in my corner. However, as my father relaxed, my resolve to act mature slipped. Before I could catch myself, I heard the words come out:
"This isn't fair!"
"Clarabel," Mom moved to rebuke. I knew that my plan to act like an adult had just gone out the window, so the best I could do is stick to my guns.
"I've been trying to prove myself to you for years! I've got not one, but two black belts! I'm at the top of my freshman class! And I've got my junior pilot's license! What else can I do?!"
I knew that came out more harshly than planned, but was too irritated to care.
I swear I saw my father wince.
"Clara, if I ever lost you..."
"Dad, it's been three years, and you still won't let me be Batgirl. I just want to help people and make you proud, but you won't let me!"
He sighed and pulled me into a tight embrace.
"I'm already proud of you, Clara. I always have been."
I hugged him back, but didn't let my attention be diverted by his loving action.
"So can I be Batgirl?"
I waited tensely as he thought silently for a moment. Finally, he said, "I'll think about it."
I looked up, momentary disbelief evident on my face. I disappeared quickly as comprehension hit me, the foreign words singing in my ears.
"Thank you, daddy! Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!"
He chuckled softly. "I love you," he responded simply.
"Love you too!" I was too giddy to say anything else, so I let go and ran to my room. I grabbed the sketchbook on my desk and flipped to my Bat-suit designs. For the rest of the night, I reveled in my glory and decided what shade of pink I wanted to accent the lamp-black of my Batgirl look.
My head was laying on the sketchbook as I began to nod off, an hour of joyous planning behind me. My grandmother's off-white antique clock, which hid in its gears a switch that gave way to a chute bringing one to the Cave, chimed six as I nearly fell off my bed from the rude awakening. I never dozed off- what was causing my strange behavior today? I shook my head and grabbed my hairbrush. As per every night at six, the door opened.
"Hey," Mom said.
Strange. Mom almost never called me for dinner; usually Alfred stopped by.
"Hey," I responded. I made a displeased face as my golden locks refused to unknot.
"I gotcha," she smirked and took the brush out of my hands.
"Um, no offense, but why are you here?"
"None taken. I know, Alfred usually calls you down around now, but I wanted to see if you were okay,"
"Why wouldn't I be?" I questioned, raising my eyebrow slightly in thought as I mentally rewound my day.
"Oh," I concluded before she could respond. "Mine and Dad's fight.."
"I was just wondering if you were feeling... ignored."
For a brief moment her light blue eyes met my green ones. Mom quickly averted her eyes to studying the floor and I felt her hand falter.
"No, no mom; you and Dad are the best parents anyone could ever have asked for," I consoled.
She sat on the bed and I followed suit next to her.
"You know we love you right?" she asked quickly, looking at me again.
"Of course!" I said, startled. Whose parents wouldn't love their own children?
"I know that lately, with your father's aversions of you being Batgirl, you might feel a little shot-down, but he loves you. He just doesn't want to see you get hurt. The last Batgirl..."
I had a sudden image of Aunt Babs in her chair, and shuddered slightly. The idea of how easily one could go from the peak of their abilities to a lifetime of confinement scared me, though I would never admit it. What was worse was how that anxiety was all driven by one clown.
"Anyways," Mom veered from the depressing subject, "I just wanted to make sure you know that we love you; Batgirl or just plain ol' Clarabel Wayne. Either way, you're ours forever and always, no matter what."
"I know..." I looked out the window at the stony gray clouds, lazily wafting towards the house. "I love you too," I whispered.
Mom gave me her signature half smile and walked to the door.
"Let's go. Alfred said he made your favorite tonight: lemon pepper chicken over wild rice."
"Sweet!" I grinned.
I followed her out of my room. As I passed my eggshell white desk, I couldn't help but smile softly at the picture of my entire family at the circus:
I had insisted on going when I was about six. Dad was reluctant about it, due to a long history with clowns, but he caved after I begged... and begged… and begged. For weeks, really!
I remembered every sight and every smell of the small, family-run show. They didn't have many animals, except maybe a few trained dogs, nor many sideshows, but the part I would remember eternally was the acrobats. As the small six-year-old I once was, watching the performers soar was exhilarating. It looked so easy; almost lazy, really, as they flew through the, or rather their, air so effortlessly. I savored every breathless moment as the acrobats' hands were about to grab the trapeze, wondering if they were going to make it, or if they were going to fall. My tiny mind was boggled at the sight. Gripping Dad's hand a little tighter during that pivotal instant, I witnessed the blonde acrobat's hands grasp firmly around the trapeze handle. She perched onto her pedestal, pigtails bouncing. Turning around, she prepared to go again.
My thoughts were cut off by a soft voice. "Clara, you coming?"
My mom was leaning lightly on the banister of the top stair.
"Yeah, sorry."
Sooo," Damian drawled as he drove us to school in the red Beamer, "you're Batgirl now?"
"Basically." I replied. "Dad finally agreed to think about it the day I got my second degree black belt."
He turned to me, black hair looking slightly red in the reflection of the rising sun. One of his eyebrows raised.
"I'm happy for you and all, but why Batgirl?"
"What do you mean 'why'?"
"Clara, think about it- you've got the opportunity to go out on the Gotham streets at night, and you just want to be Batgirl? Why not create your own mantle?"
"I guess that I never thought about things that way. I mean, my own superhero name could be cool, but wouldn't taking up Batgirl's role, you know, avenge Aunt Babs?"
Damian snorted. "If you were a crippled ex-Batgirl, wouldn't it kind of suck to see someone running around in a costume that should've been yours?"
"Aunt Babs isn't like that," I argued. "She would be proud of me for continuing her legacy."
"You don't get the big picture," Damian pressed. "You have the choices that I or Richard never had. I could only be a Bat hero, as the only superhero parent figure I had was a Batman, but you have the choice: Bat or Cat?"
"... Cat?" I murmured, "It never crossed my mind."
He laughed. "How do you manage to be in Junior level classes while being a Freshman, but not see that sitting right in front of you?"
I flicked his ear, but not too hard because he was driving. I didn't feel like having him drive the rest of the way to Gotham High at 35 miles below the speed limit, which he would of course do just to annoy me. He didn't have to worry about being late, as he was a senior and he had a free first period. I, on the other hand, had to be in class in fifteen minutes.
We had a pointless argument over peanut butter's health benefits for the next ten minutes, while stuck in a traffic jam caused by a minor accident. We had been at a standstill for some time when I asked, "Would Dad be mad?"
"You mean if you took a Cat name instead of a Bat mantle? I mean, it's ultimately your decision. If he thinks you're ready to be a hero, then he probably has enough faith in you to let you pick your own name."
"But I don't wanna break his heart," I outwardly joked.
I did enough of that the other night.
"So let him down easy," Damian shrugged. "Or have Selina tell him."
"Mom," I automatically corrected, "wouldn't let me just back out like that. She'd at least make me go with her."
"So do that. Have Selina there to back you up when you tell Dad. 'Hey, I'm not gonna be Batgirl. I'm gonna be something else instead because I want to be hipster,'" He teased, bringing his pitch up to a girlish falsetto for the last part. I rolled my eyes.
"You have a good point," I admitted as we finally pulled into the Gotham High School parking lot.
"Have fun in pre-calc," he snickered.
"At least I don't have to cram for an AP bio exam," I smirked and walked towards the door.
He laughed I pushed open the school's front doors, hearing the ordinary screech of tires as he sped away on an ordinary day.
It was past eight as I double-checked my supplies and shut my locker. My friend Tandy appeared, smirking at my lateness. With a slim build from figure skating, golden skin, curly brown hair paired with chocolate eyes, she easily contrasted my porcelain skin, bright green eyes, platinum hair and athletic figure that I had gained from training with my Dad the Batman. The bell for first period rang at 8:10, but I usually was in my desk by eight o'clock sharp; training with Dad would either end with a sense of punctuality or a sense of exhaustion from the extra laps around the manor that you had to run for every minute you were late.
"Wow, Clara, its past eight! It must have been a pretty killer party for two whole minutes!" She laughed as we strolled towards the math hall.
"You're just jealous that I was invited and you weren't," I shot back sarcastically. Tandy elbowed me in the side as we took our seats.
Pre-calc was relatively uneventful, aside from a small pop quiz that I scored 100 percent on after we trade-and-graded.
Second period was my favorite class and elective: psychology. That day we had a new substitute teacher who managed to rock a silky muave shirt, a half-grown beard, and a fir colored bowler that.
The bell rang, but it took about five minutes for the substitute to finish reading our normal teacher's packet of lesson plans and promptly toss them in the air. He leaned forward and met my eyes with his shiny emerald ones.
"Okay, kiddos. Call me Mr. Jack! Today we have a very interesting lesson that your teacher, Mr.-?" he paused, not knowing the usual instructor's name.
"-Gordon." I assisted, glancing towards Tandy.
"-Right! Mr. Gordon has planned for you. Grab your stuff, follow me and buckle up kids!" The sub jumped out of his chair, and sauntered out the door on a pair of long, spindly legs. The class nearly had to jog to follow his quick pace. He hummed lightly as we stepped onto the gymnasium floor. I eyed a rack of bright ruby colored dodgeballs on the center line of the court.
"Okay, gather round, and don't look so glum!" We all assembled in a semicircle around the sub and the rack of dodgeballs. "Today I have been instructed to teach you about human instincts. You, on this side! You, that side!"
Mr. Jack continued to separate us onto opposing sides of the court and then began chucking balls to us.
"Mr. Jack? Are you sure Mr. Gordon wanted us to be here? He said today would be a study hall, and I really have an American History test to study for..." A classmate inquired.
The sub whirled around suddenly, leaning towards the student with a look of carefully composed cheerfulness on his face. "What's your name, again, kid?"
The kid looked slightly nervous, and replied, "B-brandon."
"Well, Brandon, I very carefully reviewed Mr. Gabriel's-"
"Gordon's," Brandon corrected as Mr. Jack's smile only widened.
"-notes and I am simply doing what he asked: to instruct you about the principles of human nature and survival. We wouldn't want to have a problem, would we?" The sub had a dangerously happy look on his face, and chuckled.
"N-no sir."
"Fannntastic! Okay, kids, listen up! You have one goal: to take out the other team! Regular dodgeball rules apply, and the team left standing will receive a passing grade for the day while the losing team will not. Hands on the wall!"
Losing a game of dodgeball means an F for the day? I thought. Seems kind of ridiculous, but I'm not ruining grades over a crazy sub's lesson… game on!
"Ready," Mr. Jack called, "Steady, SNOW!"
A few kids rushed forward until he pulled out a bright green whistle and blew it so loudly that I had to clap my hands over my ears.
"Now, now, students," Mr. Jack got out through fits of laughter, "Listen carefully! I did not say go!"
After a few moments, he contained himself to a giggles and managed, "Take two! Ready, steady, GO!"
Most of my teammates went straight for the balls, but I hung back, and let the other kids fight it out until the competition was thinned out. There were five of us and six of them. I managed to jump over a few kids' throws and grabbed a ball that bounced off the back wall and towards my direction. Dodging another dodgeball, I nailed a kid twice my size in the chest. To my left, a teammate got hit in the leg and was sent out; four to five.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Tandy swerve out of the way of Brandon's throw, which was so hard that it could've taken off her head. She scowled as I ducked under another throw. I hit a second opponent, this time in the arm, and avoided a cheap shot to my feet. Luckily, I caught the cheap thrower's next attack and it was then four to three, with our team having the majority of players.
Tandy was holding her own, and got a direct hit on a girl with a bright red ponytail. A teammate got hit in the leg as I hit another enemy player in the shoulder. I jumped over a knee high throw and before I could throw, immediately had to roll underneath someone's chest-high pitch that whizzed over me. I planted my feet on the ground and hit the thrower straight in the goods. I smirked and noted the loss of another player on our team. That meant it was us versus Brandon. I twisted under his desperate, final stand, and watched Tandy hit Brandon's arm so hard with the red round ball that his ball in his hand escaped and fell to the ground. I whooped and high fived my best friend while our team cheered.
"Excellent! Okay, kids, let the lesson begin!"
"I thought that was the lesson," Brandon scowled, apparently ticked from losing to a bunch of girls.
Mr. Jack was in front of him before the word 'lesson' had escaped his lips, grinning ear to ear, but giving him a look that meant far from what his smile conveyed. "Listen, Brandon, I know you're eager to learn, but it's imperative that you let me do my job. You wouldn't want to get in my way, would you?"
Brandon went white, and I almost pitied him, "S-sorry."
"Now, I need to implement a small rule amendment. The remaining players will now separate from their teams! Remember, my young pupils- the winner gets A good grade!" he chuckled and blew his whistle to resume the game.
Before I registered what I was doing, I had thrown the ball and hit my friend in the back. She narrowed her eyes at me in shock and disappointment while Mr. Jack gleefully blew his whistle and motioned for us to sit on the bleachers with him and the rest of the class. On the way over I turned to Tandy, but she kept her eyes straight ahead and narrowed.
When we finally got there, I began, "Tandy, I-"
"Excellent experiment, children! What have we learned today?" There was silence; no student was eager to talk to him after he flipped out on Brandon.
"Seriously, kids? No one has any idea about the point of today's lesson?"
After there was more silence, I uncomfortably fidgeted in my seat. He snapped his gaze towards me, and smiled casually. This time, there was not the fury that Mr. Jack had held for Brandon. There was something else between smugness and pride that I could not place exactly.
I gulped and he asked, "You! What did you learn today about human instinct for survival?"
"Um..." I scrambled mentally for a moment. "Everyone ultimately lives for one belief or another, and will die trying to support those beliefs."
My well-trained answer came out more like a question, and Mr. Jack noticed, giggling.
"That's close, but not the cigar we're looking for," he reached into his pocket, pulled out a small green box, opened it and offered me a small white cylindrical thing.
I looked at it blankly and he facepalmed, "Come on, kid, you're killing my schtick! It's a candy cigar!"
I grabbed it quickly, and he continued, never breaking eye contact. "Anyways, younglings, today's lesson was to teach you that all humans will try in vain to claim loyalty to something: family, friends, religion, anything really, but if placed in an environment where survival is on the line, they will fight for only one thing- but what is it?."
There was a moment of silence, Mr. Jack had still not left my gaze and things were getting awkward.
"Think about it," he commanded softly his smile only getting bigger.
Standing up, I grabbed my stuff and walked towards the door. As if shaken from a trance, the other classmates followed me and we congregated near the gym exit. Tandy hadn't looked at me since the end of dodgeball, and stood at the other side of the blob of students. In my peripheral vision, I saw Mr. Jack ambling towards the emergency exit, waving over his shoulder.
"Stay sharp, kid!" He laughed as he kicked the door open and sauntered out into the streets of Gotham. As the door whooshed shut, I realized that there were still twenty minutes left in class.
What the heck?