Play with Fire

Chapter 19

Jerome felt a fresh tear slide down the side of his face. He was a man full of many complex emotions, but always hid them the best he could. Everyone had their demons, but Jerome kept his strictly to himself. He had learnt to block out a lot of the memories and nightmares, but since he met Lilith, he felt like they were creeping back. He spent most of his time infiltrating her dreams and amusing himself by using her as a pawn in his cryptic games. But now that he was able to speak to her in person, there was little to no need. He knew as soon as he stopped controlling her dreams, his own would return to him. He knew it was a risk, but it was one he had to take. He let out a long and stuttered sigh. He felt the heartache from his dreams manifest in his chest. He reached up to his wound and felt something soft. He opened his eyes, seeing they were blurry from the tears. He glanced down at his chest and saw his wound was bandaged. No doubt Lilith had treated him whilst he was asleep. He wiped his face with his hand and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked up at the ceiling and paused. He didn't remember getting into a bed.

He looked around the small room. It looked old and un-lived in. Even from his position he could see a thick layer of dust on a cabinet opposite him. It looked to be made of oak and painted blue, but the dust was so thick it was hard to tell. The room smelt old and stale. Most of the furniture he could see looked as old as him. He swallowed, noticing his throat was dry. He shuffled and tried to sit up, but was stopped by a shooting pain in his chest. Even though the wound had been treated, it still hurt like hell. He looked around for his shirt, but didn't see it. He prepared himself for the anticipated pain and pushed himself off of the bed and to his feet. His hand shot out and slammed onto the wall next to him as he held his head in the other. He groaned softly and waited a few seconds until the dizziness dissipated. He took a deep breath and walked towards the door, his vision still tainted by the dizziness. He stepped into the next room and glanced around. This room was a bit bigger than the previous one, but it still looked old and un-lived in.

"Hey Mr. I've-had-worse," a voice called.

Jerome looked to his left and saw another room.

"Sit down or you'll get dizzy."

He looked over at a wooden chair. He questioned its stability, but decided to sit anyway. He didn't have enough energy to stand, let alone argue. "Already there, doll."

Delilah entered the room and placed a plate down in front of him.

The corners of Jerome's mouth turned upwards into a smirk when he saw what was laid out in front of him.

"You said I owed you good food." Delilah looked down at his bandage. "How are you feeling?"

"Fucking fantastic," he replied, his voice hoarse and weak.

"I can imagine. I did the best I could," she began.

Jerome looked up at her and saw she was holding his shirt. It was clean and the small hole made by the bullet was fixed.

"I don't know how you'll like food, but I think needlework was definitely my forte." she shrugged. "I'm sure we can pick another one up somewhere." she said, folding the shirt up.

"Speaking of somewhere..." he looked around the room, then gave Delilah a questionable look.

She sat on the wooden chair next to him. "Back when my father had just died, I'd just turned 18. My uncle Bobby took me and my brothers into town and helped us set up a joined bank account and put all of his life savings into it, combined with the money from my father and mother's will and whatever Dean, Sam and I had earned from any jobs we had. It was supposed to be an emergency plan."

Jerome noted the change in Delilah's tone as her eyes fell to his shirt she was holding.

"When Dean and Sam died, Rhys somehow found out about the account and tried stealing the money."