Jerome Valeska Imagines

FOURTEEN | Pressed to Meet Ya Pt. 4

We approached the Manor and the car came to a halt. I wanted to sit in the car, because I wasn't willing to watch someone die. Jerome parked the car and pulled the key out of the ignition. He got out and changed into a white shirt.

"You coming?" He asked.

I shook my head. Jerome laughed out loud, his deranged cackling then stopped.

"Sorry, no's not an answer," Jerome came over and opened the door. "I'm gonna cut your ropes for your feet, and don't run off. I'd hate to have to see your blood spilled for disobedience."

I nodded in agreement. Damnit. I really didnt want to go. It's fine, it's fine, it's fine. Maybe I can prevent whoever's in there from dying. Wait, it's Bruce Wayne. He's like, a year younger than me, I remembered.

Jerome whupped our a switchblade and sliced the rope on my feet. He grabbed my arm and helped me out of the car.

He grabbed the back of my neck and held the blade to my throat. My breath hitched.

"Remember...you run...."Jerome pretended cut my throat.

"O-okay," I said quietly.

"She speaks!" Jerome laughed. "Although Id like to hear more than 'okay'."

I gave him a judgmental look.

"Hah, I'm just kidding!" He cackled for a minute before composing himself again. "Alright, gang! Let me do all the...show biz. Rest of you, do as I say, trash the place!"

The followers muttered in agreement and then we went in through some back way, Jerome still dragging me by the arm. We entered their kitchen which was strangely large.

"Toots, follow behind. Watch. The. Master."

We came to a hall which I could tell opened into a larger room. I heard a shush come from the room. A crash rang out from the room, and Jerome began to walk forward.

He began to slowly laugh as we entered what I deemed to be a living room. He let go of me and stepped toward a kid. It clicked in my mind. Bruce Wayne. His butler, too, except he was on the ground.

Jerome walked up to Bruce. "My, my. Look how big you've gotten."

"Toots, why don't you sit over with the billionaire Bruce," Jerome grabbed my arm and pushed me over to him. I stumbled and fell, but Bruce managed to catch me before I hit the ground.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Are you two okay?" Bruce looked at the both of you.

"I'm fine, Master Bruce. I'll be fine." Said the Butler.

I nodded my head and winced, feeling the blood of my arm drip to the ground. Bruce looked at your arm.

"You-you're bleeding!" He quietly exclaimed as Jerome walked around, watching as the followers began trashing their living room.

"I'm-i'm okay," I answered quietly.

"We have to stop the bleeding," Bruce replied.

Jerome walked over to the fireplace. "Hey, nice place you got here. You rent?"

Bruce stood up. "What do you want?"

Jerome rolled his eyes. "Attitude. Teenagers, am I right? You got Toots here who barely speaks, it's alright though. She's pretty to look at. And there's you. Oh, I remember those days. So many new emotions rushing through you; wanting to kill everyone you saw."

Bruce's glance met a follower picking up a glass owl. Jerome took note.

"You, you! Gimme," He motioned for the follower to give him the owl. The follower complied with ease. "You know, I've never understood expensive people's taste."

"It's worthless," Bruce cut in beside me. "My father found it at the flea market. I kee it around for sentimental reasons."

"Awh, nice try. Oo-got some heft to it. Expensive, I'm guessing. It would be a shame if I-"Jerome stopped the owl.

"No, don't!" Bruce exclaimed.

The owl rested on the ground, unbroken.

Jerome picked the owl back up. "Tougher than it looks." He threw the owl backwards. The owl broke into pieces. "Anyway-"

"Oh, bloody hell!" The butler responded in anger.

"I asked you what you wanted!" Bruce said through gritted teeth.

"Right, sorry. The old nogaroonie is still a little al dente post all. The reason I'm here is I'm gonna kill you." Jerome's eyes seemed to turn dark.

Bruce's face turned shocked. "Why?"

Jerome shrugged. "Well, it's the last thing I remember wanting to do. It's been nagging at me since I woke up."

Jerome pulled his blade out again. "The idea of slitting that pretty pink throat of yours...figured that it'd clear the decks."

I leaned, about to get up, to defend him if needed. As was the butler, who went tk stand up, when all the guns in the room cocked.

"I remember that night," Bruce answered. "The night you took over the benefit. You were quite the showman."

Jerome played around with the blade. "Thank you, always nice to be appreciated."

"And you're just going to kill me here?" Bruce questioned.

"Bruce—" I chimed in. The butler reached out to me, as if telling me to wait.

"It's kind of disappointing." Bruce said, and the two went into a eye contact dominance battle. Jerome pointed the knife at Bruce's chest and then raised it, a maniacal grin plastered on his face.

"Awh, what do you mean?" He said, giving in.

"Though all the build up, you coming back to life, turning off the lights in Gotham. Killing me just doesn't show a lot of..." Bruce stopped.

Jerome, impatient for a response jumped on to the couch. "Flair? Hmm? Style? Huh? Go on, boy, spit it out, I can take it."

"I'm Bruce Wayne," Bruce bluntly stated.

It took me almost everything not to laugh at his obvious remark but I collected myself silently.

"I'm aware," Jerome replied.

"I am the ruling elite. My company is the machine hat keeps the cogs of Gotham running. Killing me should mean something!" Bruce yelled. "And you're telling me no ones going to see it?"

Jerome laughed unconfidently. "You're saying I need an audience?"

He approached Bruce and put his hand on the back of Bruce's head, knife pointed at his neck. The butler's breath hitched audibly.

"Look, I know you're just tying to buy time so you can escape, but your point is still valid. " Jerome's eyes lit up. "So, look, boys! We're taking this show on the road!"

The butler stood up to join the group when Jerome stopped him. "The Prince of Gotham deserves a public death. His butler, not so much. Kill him."

"No!" Bruce ran to the butler.

"Bruce!" The butler exclaimed.

Jerome pulled me up by the bloodied arm. I made a sound of pain, and Jerome looked back but didn't say anything in regards to it.

Bruce ans Afred talked to each other quietly. "Strangely intimate, come on." Jerome said. "Oh, and try not to get blood on the couch. I might come back for that."