May 27th

Every morning when I wake up at 5.30am my window is wide open. For the first few days of my new existence this did not bother me, I hardly remember anything at all, so not remembering how or when I ever open my window in the middle of the night when I ought to be sleeping wasn't much more than a little fleck of dust of my worry radar. But now it is bothering me, ever since my escapade into the world outside. I thought that worry and panic were bad for a person and I was right. I feel like I'm shrinking in on myself; if I don't do something soon I might end up as a skeleton, vacuum-packed inside my own skin, creeping around and feeling frightened to step out of my door again.

Two days ago I left my den with a wad of the suspiciously copious amounts of money I had found in the kitchen drawer, dressed quite normally I thought and feeling optimistic about going out into the world. I cannot express the excitement I felt, because I had been of the idea that I might bump into someone who might know me. I had a combination of every single type of nerves a person can feel. I had butterflies in my stomach (they felt more like cannon balls), tingling fingers, tingling skin, tingling everything! I was so giddy with adrenaline I nearly fell over as I walked down the corridors of the apartment building – I even had to bend over in the corner at one point when I thought I was going to be sick.

After that had passed I fell into a moment of stillness and that was when I realised something very strange – the entire place was absolutely silent. It is a cheap, shabby block of apartments with thin walls and I would have expected to hear the noises of the other tenants, people who had too many children, unemployed drunkards, cats and dogs perhaps? Mismatched married couples arguing about the bills? But there was nothing, the place was dead. I hesitated. Had everyone been evacuated? Was there a fire on one of the floors and I had simply and stupidly been completely unaware of it? A bomb scare? Chemical hazards? Maybe there's just a big parade on today... I suddenly wanted to get away from the building as quickly as possible. It was a sunny day and I almost ached to feel the warm light on my skin.

I ran to the nearest elevator and yelped when I discovered that the doors were open and the elevator itself was resting on a level far below this one, its thick cables plunging into the darkness where I could not see. That terrifying rage returned to me, a vile brutality making my fingers twitch. With a shout I punched the controls on the wall leaving a smudged blood stain behind. I spat at it for good measure and took off like a wild hare towards the steps, running and running around and down them. I made myself quite dizzy by the time I reached the bottom; apparently I live in an apartment on the topmost floor. I belted towards the entrance, promptly rebounding off the door and landing on my back, clutching my forehead.

It was locked! I'm Jack Tanner and I live in an... abandoned apartment block? An abandoned apartment block with broken elevators and locked doors! The strangeness of my situation ripens by the second. I was not unnerved by this as I thought I might be or as I nearly was when I first suspected it, as a matter of fact the very thought of the solitude that I am existing in holds a peculiar appeal about it. I rather enjoy the thought that I have an entire block of apartments to myself.

Despite this it still didn't explain how I was meant to get out. I hunted around the ground floor and it wasn't long before I discovered a double-door fire exit near the back of the building, nestling in the shadows. My hands fell hard upon the release bar and a swamp of thick, heavy sunshine flooded over me. I threw open the doors wider, they crashed against the outside walls and I just stood in the threshold for a moment, letting my head droop backwards, my chest swelling with delight.

God I love the sunlight.

I didn't really do much for a fair while after that, all thoughts of shopping and acquaintance hunting were temporarily lost from my mind as I simply strolled along the streets, gazing at all I could see around me, staring at all the people. I swallowed every face I saw, a long face with a big nose, a round face with small eyes, faces with wide smiling mouths, thin unhappy mouths, blue eyes, green eyes, acne, make-up and stubble. It was like an open zoo or a human safari; I was walking amongst strange beasts.

Fascinating though these fellow inhabitants of Gotham were I was coldly grounded by my hunger. I had barely noticed my stomach grumbling and grousing at me as I waltzed aimlessly around but I couldn't ignore it for much longer, no matter how enthralling the world around me may become. I saw a café and made a sharp beeline for it, nearly running headlong into a car as I dashed across the street. Like I say, some mothers do have them.

I chose to sit outside with the meal I had ordered – I chose one of their most expensive dishes; a 14oz fillet steak, blue to rare and peppered, accompanied by tomatoes and mushrooms fried in butter, shining and dripping, a large mound of herb potatoes and finally a trio of spiced onion rings. I clutched my knife and fork, consumed by glee – a feast! I felt like shouting. It's a feast! In a moment that nice waitress will come with my drink, just iced peach tea. I tucked into my glorious meal, enjoying every mouthful.

When I was about half way through my feast I realised that a woman who was sitting on a little table near mine had been eyeing me strangely, if I was not much mistaken I think she looked a little disgusted by the sight of me. My heart skipped, was it the scars? My tongue absently skimmed over the marks that I could feel on the insides of my mouth. I decided to ignore it and carried on eating, but she would not stop looking at me with that face of utmost repulsion, well, mild repulsion I'd say, but still! I was staring at the edge of my plate but I could just about see her in the very edges of my vision, what's wrong with her? I thought for a moment as I turned my eyes to another diner, watching how he sliced his food and smoothly transferred it from plate, to fork, to mouth. To be honest I hadn't been paying much attention to how I was eating. As I moved on to finish the last of the steak and some of the potatoes I was horribly aware of what I was doing with my cutlery and mouth. With a short, sharp jolt of panic I realised that I had butter and oily steak blood all over my chin and as I put a forkful of meat into my mouth I realised that I was chomping on it in a terribly beastly manner, with my mouth open, making all sorts of nasty, squelchy noises. No wonder that woman looked faintly ill by the sight of me – she's gone now, she didn't even finish her own meal. Oops.

I wiped my chin and was mindful from then on to keep my lips locked together when I chewed. It was a surprisingly hard task; from deep inside me I felt a need to carelessly devour my food like a dog. I buried it, associating it with that awful man who had emerged from me the other day when I trashed my bedroom and choked on pillow feathers.

Unwillingly lost in my memories of that little episode I then spotted someone else sitting in the outside café area who was eyeing me oddly. I pretended that I hadn't noticed as I took a swig of my iced peach tea. I realised he wasn't alone, there were three of them, all sat around one of the small round tables and all looking at me. The apprehension suddenly drained from me – they must know me! Hurriedly I tucked a wad of notes under my empty plate to pay for my meal and to tip that nice waitress, glugged the remainder of my drink and quickly made my way towards them, snaking awkwardly between the other customers and tripping on a few handbags. To my surprise the three men suddenly look extremely frightened as I ploughed towards them; they leapt from their seats and darted from the café area but did not run away completely, stopping several hundred yards down the street. I followed them, confused by their fear, perhaps they didn't recognise me? What do I normally wear, what do I normally look like? Maybe they've never seen me in a hat before. I ran after them at a breakneck speed which felt delightfully effortless and I caught up with them easily, skidding to a halt beside them. They were all out of breath, either from the strange panic they had displayed or from their short sprint. I on the other hand felt exhilarated, surely they must know me! Else why would they have stopped and turned to face me? I grinned at them. They visibly shuddered. One spoke in a rushed whisper.

'Boss, what are you doing?'

My face fell and an icy chill filled me. Boss?

'Um –' I stuttered and floundered for something to say. 'I was... getting a meal –'

'Boss! The whole of Gotham is looking for you!'

That was it. I'm a criminal – I must be a criminal mastermind if the whole of Gotham is looking for me. I gazed into each of the mens' faces, quite shocked, just as much as they were. They were beginning to look very confused in fact, as if they were befuddled by my behaviour. I didn't know what to do. I stared at them, totally lost.

'I'll – well I'll go home shall I...'

With that I turned and high-tailed my way back down the street, leaving three rather dazed... acquaintances? Friends? Colleagues? What were they? They called me Boss. I hope they're not, how should I say, my goons. My cronies, my hired thugs.They seemed somewhat frightened of me; I hope I was never mean to them.

Somehow I remembered where I was going as I dashed like a mad thing between all the people littering the walkways, dodging prams, knocking into moody looking business types and generally causing a bit of a whirlwind in my wake. Suddenly paranoid I turned to look over my shoulder as I ran, convinced that an entire battalion of law enforcers in shining riot gear were chasing me, waving spiked batons and pouring molten fire from their mouths.

Unexpectedly I then found myself on the floor, flat on my back and slightly dizzy having just bowled into a body. It was a man and he stood over me, looking quite concerned.

'You okay, son?'

I stared up at him through bleary eyes, he seemed friendly enough, so I smiled at him. His eyebrow tweaked.

'I'm fine thanks,' I said, suddenly wary that he didn't return my smile. 'I'm just, ah, late for something.' I smiled again. His face didn't change but he extended a long, weathered hand to me, which I gladly took. He hoisted me to my feet, staring at my hand which was covered with dried, brown blood from where I had punched the elevator controls. He said nothing. I dusted myself off and found myself staring into the face of a man who was just a little shorter than me; he was wiry and neatly dressed with greying hair and a rather bushy moustache. His twinkling but tired looking eyes gazed almost suspiciously at me from behind a pair of spectacles.

'Something important?' he inquired, keeping his tone light. It took me a moment to find my voice, I had a nasty feeling this man recognised me, and for all the wrong reasons too.

'Oh, well,' I said, trying to look quite tired and fed-up myself. 'It's the not the end of the world if I miss it.'

The man smiled ever so slightly, ruffling his moustache.

'Certainly looked otherwise, the way you were running down the street. You sure everything is all right?'

'I'm fine, really.' I added another smile and his eyebrow furrowed even deeper. He spotted something on the ground between our feet and he stooped to pick it up. As he bent over I saw a dark shape underneath his jacket, it was a holster, a dark gun nestling against his side. That chill returned to me, if I am a criminal mastermind and the whole of Gotham really is searching for me then it would be bad if this man recognises me, I think he's a police officer. He returned to full height and presented the item to me, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose with his other hand. It was a wad of my money and it was obviously an unusually large sum for anyone to be carrying around in hard cash. I stared at it, my face going cold even as the sun beat down on us.

'This yours?'

'Um, yes I think so.' I made a show of dipping my hand into every pocket on my person. The man had raised his eyebrows as he handed the money to me. He looked more suspicious than ever now. I wanted to go; my skin was itching with the desperation to get away from him, like a million cockroaches shuffling around under my skin. Before I had a chance to stutter out any excuses he spoke, smiling softly.

'Well son, I'll let you get on.' He idly pulled his wallet from a pocket, moving towards the coffee shop to the left. 'I'm sure you're very late by now.'

I nodded and said a brief goodbye before marching hastily away from him and the coffee shop he had entered, trying not to turn my head and look back at him. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked, I think he recognised who I am, whoever that may be.

I was of the mind to go straight back to my apartment but I hesitated – it was such a glorious day, there was lots of sun and I was sure that it would last. I was enjoying this sunshine; I could bask in it for an eternity. I glanced around me but didn't see any suspicious strangers giving me funny looks. I felt a little calmer as I headed towards a shopping precinct I had noticed on my earlier, much more relaxed stroll.

Now I hadn't really thought about it as I was shopping, but obviously I was going to have to walk back up all those stairs to my apartment on accounts of the fact that all the elevators were broken. I had a lot of bags with me, bags of food, toiletries, lots of things! I had bought new bed sheets, some necessary items of clothing such as boxers (I really liked the purple and green ones for some reason) and lots of socks (purple and green also, chequered, striped and spotted). I bought a new pillow too; this one was filled with foam so that I wouldn't choke on any more feathers.

Hoisting the lot up the stairs was a nightmare. I could have got really angry again, like I did the other day or this morning when I realised the elevators were broken but I was just too tired. I was exhausted! Interaction with other people was strangely tiring to me. I had been fascinated by all their faces at first but as soon as I had to speak or intermingle with them they suddenly became very boring, grey and... Well, they were just plain boring. Why were they so damned boring? It left me with a pining for some kind of revolution, for a wave of passion to rise over the populace and expose their souls, to expose all the people, not the dreary husks that I had been walking amongst all day. It was kind of depressing in a way. I hope I'm not boring like they are.

Finally I reached the top floor where my apartment was. It was tough going and I had to stop quite a few times on the way but I did it. I dragged myself and my purchases along the corridor to my door. I hadn't even thought to lock it when I left this morning so I just leant upon the handle and fell through, staggering into my kitchen which was still littered with all the papers I had dropped on the floor. I'll pick those up later; I'm rather looking forward to reading more of that story about The Batman and The Joker.

I went into my small lounge and dumped all the plastic bags on that ugly sofa. It would be tricky to replace that I thought as I gazed with distaste at all the cigarette burns and worn, threadbare patches. I'd have to get some people to help me take it up the stairs and they'd wonder why I was (probably illegally) making my abode in an abandoned block of apartments. I sighed. Maybe I could just buy a throw to go over it or something.

Tutting at myself for not having bought anything like that I made myself busy with packing all the food items away in my cupboards, a strangely satisfying activity. I had lots of food now, bags of pasta in every shape and flavour, brown and white rice, loaves and crackers, basics like flour and sugar, things for my refrigerator like milk, eggs, butter and cheese... I suddenly wondered if I had bought too much, some of these things might go off before I get a chance to actually use them up. Oh well. I had bought some microwaveable meals too only to realise that I didn't actually have a microwave, just a stove with dusty hobs. Damn. Well that was okay; I bought tinned oven meals too, so I allocated a cupboard and put them away.

My next mission was to find homes for all the toiletries, underpants and socks I had bought. I grabbed those bags and headed for my bedroom, swinging my arms contentedly and humming a little. I caught a flash of my reflection in that long mirror as I walked through the bedroom and into the bathroom but I tried to ignore it and the shudder that rippled through me at the brief sight of my scars and dark eyes. I quickly arranged all the toiletries into the mirror cabinet above the sink, as meticulously as I had arranged my knives upon the table next to the laptop. Face washing things had to go on the top shelf, graded by size from left to right and body and hair washing things had to go on the shelf underneath, body washes graded by size from left to right and hair washing things graded by size from right to left, so that the little bottles met in the middle. It was good, it was organised and I was in control of them. It annoyed me that there weren't three shelves inside the cabinet so that the body wash and hair wash could have their own shelves, but I'm certain I'll cope. The toothpaste was a special case though, it had its own spot on the sink between the taps with my new toothbrush (green with purple bristles).

Satisfied with the composition I closed the little door and was confronted by the reflection of my face. I stared, still unsure of myself, still not familiar with the curve of my scars and the way they made my cheeks look puffy, the way they made the corners of my mouth turn up. I couldn't get used to my eyes either, they were so dark and they didn't shine, not like that moustache man whose eyes sparkled so much despite the fact that he seemed incredibly tired. There were impossibly dark rings under my eyes. I tried to smile at myself as I had been smiling at other people during the day. To my dismay it came out like a horrid, lopsided grimace. It was as if I was just baring my horrid, yellow teeth, just gnashing them like a loony. No wonder I hadn't got any proper smiles in return today. Well, that nice waitress smiled at me, but that was just part of her job.

I sighed heavily again, moving into my bedroom to put away my new clothes but I faltered in the threshold of the bathroom. My bedroom window is wide open again. The worst thing is that I don't remember if I closed it this morning when I found it open... Considering all the oddness that happened today – am I really a criminal mastermind with the whole of Gotham searching for me? Have I done something really bad? Did I kill someone really important? Maybe I'm a terrorist... But I have cupboards filled with chocolate and nice things, I think I have feelings, not that I've had very long to prove how much feeling I have but I'm sure it's all there. Then again... I also have a horde of knives and a wardrobe of blood stained clothes that I'm not entirely certain belong to me at all...

I think I'm panicking. I have to stop writing, my hand is shaking.