Psychotic Showdown
1864 Words
✮ a c c a l i a POV✮
Jerome and I are about to leave when we hear an all too familiar voice.
"Excuse me," Mr Cicero calls. "Am I speaking to Detective James Gordon?"
Jim turns away from Barbara and Dr Thompkins, and gives the blind man a once over. "Yes."
"Then this must be Dr. Thompkins, the medical examiner, and Miss Barbara Kean, your fiancee."
"I'm sorry, how did you know who we were?"
"My name is Paul Cicero. I'm a psychic with the sideshow. Lila Valeska was an old friend of mine."
"A psychic. I see. How could I help you, Mr. Cicero?"
"I sense that you don't think Owen or Alphonse are guilty"
"You must be psychic."
"In which case, perhaps you'd like to hear the message Lila sent me from the other side."
"Thanks, Mr. Cicero, we're not quite looking at the other side just yet."
"As you wish. I'm merely a messenger."
"What's the message?" Dr Thompkins asks, butting into the conversation rudely.
"Thank you, Doctor." Mr Cicero straightens up. "Lila told me that the servant of the Devil lies in the garden of the Iron Sisters."
"The Iron Sisters? What does that mean?"
"I don't know."
"We'll get right on it," Jim informs, sarcasm dripping from his tone.
"I don't think sarcasm is your métier, James. Make of the message what you will. Good day to you both."
"Well, that wasn't very open-minded of you," Barbara teases.
"Oh, come on, Barbara," Jim sighs, looking over at both Dr Thompkins and Barbara. "He's a fraud. He's gonna go straight to the press and say he's consulting on the case. He's looking for publicity."
"Maybe."
"If you were gonna send a message from beyond the grave, don't you think priority number one would be the killer's name and not a riddle?"
"Who knows how it works?"
"Alright. I'm not gonna argue with you."
"Good."
✮✮✮
Hours later, Jerome and I are lounging on his bed, strangely wide awake. We haven't slept in over twelve hours, but there's no trace of exhaustion in my bones. Jerome's eyes are alive with a strange light and ferocity that I've never seen before. He's finally free of his tormentor, and there's nothing that can stop him now - not even being caught and thrown into Arkham. The ginger is free, and he's not going to be climbing back into the cage of abuse anytime soon.
"You seem different, ginger," I say, rolling onto my stomach and propping my head up on one hand. "Is it because you finally killed that b***h who called herself your mother?"
Jerome laughs. "I feel free, Cali. It's like there's nothing holding me back any longer."
"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but you deserve to know."
"What is it?"
"I have a nagging feeling that something is going to happen; something bad. I feel like they're going to find out we both played a part in killing her and we're going to be locked away at Blackgate or Arkham. Ginger, I don't want that to happen."
"I won't let that happen to you. Alright? You're not getting locked away for something I've done. If it was anyone else, I'd throw them under the bus in a heartbeat - both literally and figuratively. You're different. I care too much about you to do that." His eyes meet mine and they're utterly sincere. "You're the one thing in this f****d up world that makes sense to me."
I shake my head and smile, allowing myself to be swallowed by his warmth. Our contentment doesn't last long. It is broken by the shrill ringing of my phone. Answering it, my expression drops almost instantly as Jim explains that new evidence has turned up on the case, and that he wants Jerome and I to come down to the precinct as soon as we possibly can.
Hanging up, I jump up off the bed and pull on Jerome's jacket, all the while explaining to him what's going on. Jerome's eyes darken, and he follows my actions. We rush out to the road, me being on the phone to the taxi company as we weave our way through the tents and attractions, and our pounding hearts don't cease even when we climb into the taxi and tell them to get to the GCPD precinct as quickly as they can.
A dark cloud of threat and promise of discovery looms over us as we pull up outside the GCPD only minutes later, and it only worsens as Alvarez takes Jerome away from me. Harvey leads me to an interrogation room without a word and my heart leaps into my throat as I look over my shoulder at the ginger. His eyes meet my petrified ones and they begin to burn with anger, hating seeing me in such a state. He doesn't care about anyone else, only me - he'd kill anyone who got between him and I, as well as anyone who meant me harm.
Entering the interrogation room, I find four people already seated and waiting for me. Jim, Barbara, Mr Cicero and Dr Thompkins are waiting patiently for me, and I have a sickening feeling about the events about to unfold. I lean against the wall and swallow my fear as best I can, not even bothering to hide the fact that I am nervous about this new 'evidence' that has shown itself.
Jim is the one that breaks the silence. "Good evening, Mr. Cicero. Sorry to bring you down here so late."
Mr Cicero gives us all a tight-lipped smile. "Good evening, Detective Gordon; Dr. Thompkins and Miss Kean; Miss Gordon."
"How did you...?" Dr Thompkins asks, sharing a look with her blonde friend.
"He smells your perfume. We solved the message Lila sent you."
"Oh?"
"Took us to Arkham Bridge Park. We found a hatchet there with Satanist symbols scratched into it."
The old man actually looks disturbed at the mention of the Satanist symbols. "Dear lord."
"You know what that hatchet means, Mr. Cicero?"
"Tell me."
"It means you're an accessory to murder."
"Such drama. I merely passed along a message."
"A message from the dead. Didn't happen. Which means you invented the message." Jim is using his 'I am in no mood for bullshit' voice, and that means he's about to be ruthless. "Which means you had someone plant the hatchet for us to find. You wanted us to think Satanist were responsible for Lila's death. You're protecting somebody."
"Lila spoke to me. That's all."
"You know, a hatchet is a clumsy ploy. You wouldn't try it unless you were desperate. Which suggests you're protecting someone close. Someone you love."
"This fantasia was conjured in your blinkered mind. If you could only see what I see..."
Jim looks up as the door opens and I follow his gaze to see Jerome walking in. His green eyes are confused when he sees Mr Cicero sitting at the table in front of Jim. I smile at him and he returns the motion, but it is hesitant, his act back into full play right now. Moving over to his side, I pull a chair around and sit beside him, not prepared to leave him to face my foster father on his own.
"Hi, Jerome. Please. Take a seat. You know Mr. Cicero, from the show."
"Yes, sir," Jerome says, ever the well-behaved teenager. "Hello, Mr. Cicero."
Mr Cicero tilts his head in recognition. "Good evening, Jerome."
"Do you know why you're here?" Jim asks.
Jerome's eyes widen in hope and he leans forward. "Did you find out who killed my mother?"
"You killed your mother, Jerome."
"Me?" He is shocked that anyone would suspect him of killing his mother. Damn he's good.
"You killed her up on that hill and Mr. Cicero helped you cover the murder. He told you to scratch the Satanist stuff on the hatchet and throw it off the bridge."
"Sir, that's... absurd and... and offensive."
"But it's the truth. What I don't know is why this man risked so much to help you. I think he's your father."
My eyes widen and I look between the two, not wanting to believe what Jim is saying. There are similarities between the two, but nothing that would confirm that they are of blood relation.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Jerome exclaims, baffled. "My father was a sea captain."
"Am I wrong, Mr. Cicero?" Jim asks, looking at the older man.
"Yes," the old man says stubbornly.
"He was a sea captain," Jerome continues. "His name was Sven Karlsen. He died at sea."
"What was the name of his ship?"
"He worked on a lot of different ships."
"The one he went down in."
Jerome's expression becomes confused, before turning sad. "She never said."
"We can do a blood test to prove I'm right. It takes only half an hour to get a foolproof result. Isn't that right, Dr. Thompkins?"
"Yes," Dr Thompkins said.
"Save yourself a needle."
"I do hate needles," Mr Cicero says with a pained expression.
Jerome looks over at Mr Cicero in confusion, and I find the sickening feeling in my stomach growing. This is something that none of us expected, and it's only made matters worse.
"I'm sorry, Jerome."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's right. I am your father."
"No, you're not. Why would you say that?"
"You must have suspected the truth."
"You're not my father. My mother would never..."
Jim's eyes widen, not sure where Jerome is going.
"Your mother was a cruel woman; she was often unkind to me, but she did once love me, in her way. And she loved you very much. That's why she gave you a better father."
Jerome begins to cry, but it soon gives way to a creepy laugh that causes the hairs on my arms to rise. "My mother was a cold-hearted w***e who never loved anyone. And she'd never touch a pathetic old creep like you."
"All these years, do you think I was kind to you because I'm such a good man? If I wasn't your father, would I help you as I have, after what you did?"
Jerome looks over at a baffled Jim and drops his facade. "My father... Hm. I'll be damned. Oh, that's very funny." A psychotic laugh leaves him and I fight the urge to grin. He makes drumming motions before dropping his arms back onto the table. "Ba-doom-shh! Looks like the b***h got me with a zinger in the end."
"Why did you kill your mother, Jerome?"
"Oh, you know how mothers are." He waves his hand as if it's nothing, but then anger rises to the surface and he loses his cool. "She just kept pushing. And I'm like, fine, mum. Be a w***e. Be a drunken w***e, even. But don't be a nagging drunken w***e. You know? Don't come yell at me to do the dishes if you've been banging a clown in the next room! You know?"
Another psychotic laugh escapes him, and this one raises red flags in my mind.
- Writer
