Rich? - Jerome Valeska

10

I flipped the channels until I saw a show that looked interesting on an educational channel. It was about the history of religions in the Middle East and Asia. I enjoyed watching it, but couldn't take any of it seriously. I never really belonged to a religion, despite my brother constantly bothering me about it. The way I saw it, I would have a better life if there was a God up there that cared about me.

I had sunk lower on the couch, slouching to the point where I was practically laying down, so when the door opened, I assumed that whoever had come inside couldn't see me.

There was silence for a second, then a man's voice screamed, "Will you stop doing that?" I had heard this voice before, earlier today. "But I'm not crazy," he continued to shout, "it's just you, you're a psychopath, you twist my mind - "

He stopped talking as if someone had cut him off and then I heard him walk across the room, followed by the sound of a teapot. The man muttered to himself as he made a pot of tea, then laughed manically. "Yes, it's the son, of course it's the son," he said, as if pointing out the obvious to himself. He must've been talking about Jerome.

It sounded like the man's hands were shaking as he got a mug from the cupboard, as the glass mugs hitting each other made a musical kind of sound that echoed in the cabinet. He breathed heavily and wearily. This was when it occurred to me who he was; the forensics worker in the GCPD, who I met earlier with Bullock, which shocked me, seeing as he sounded somewhat like Jerome when he talked in a maniacal tone.

Ed gasped and I heard the mug hit the counter, seeing him turn around in my peripheral vision. I glanced towards him, then smiled at his shocked expression and sat up. "Hey Ed," I said calmly. "Remember me? I'm the girl from earlier who answered your riddle."

His mouth hung open for a moment, and then he cleared his throat. "Yes, um, of course. My deepest apologies, I never properly introduced myself," he stammered as he walked towards me, straightening his coat and then extending his hand.

I shook his hand politely and continued, "I'm Elaine, Laine for short, but there's really no need for introductions."

Nygma tugged at the collar of his shirt a bit and looked down nervously. "So I'm assuming you heard the rambling conversation I was having when I walked in to fix my tea?"

"And the shouting at yourself when you first arrived," I added, smiling.

He smiled back, but it was different from before, more relaxed. "You're quite good friends with Mr. Valeska, aren't you?" Ed teased.

I almost laughed. "Calling us friends is giving Jerome some credit. He's been trying to make conversation with me, but we don't, uh, share any interests." I thought of my interests; writing, classical music, watching sunsets, having a dog as a best friend. Jerome's interests were probably more along the lines of killing and torturing for fun.

"You might find that you do," he said, clearly with someone personal to him in mind. "I mean," he said, shrugging, "you're both gingers. Cute ginger couple like you two would be a nice break for Gotham."

"Ginger?" I asked, taking a strand of my short hair in my hand and squinting to take a good look at it. "It just looks brown."

The man blinked a few times. "It's orange. It's bright orange."

"What, no it's not," I argued. "It's not orange at all."

"It's the same color as Jerome's hair, maybe brighter."

I strained my memory and tried to remember if Jerome's hair was a bright color, but I just remembered it being brown.

Nygma held up his coffee cup. "What color is this?"

"Blue."

His jaw dropped. "Are you colorblind?"

"No!"

"Didn't the officers say you needed to get your eyes tested earlier?" he thought aloud, then smiled. "I'm taking you to get them tested once they let you leave."

Laughing I slumped back down on the couch and turned my head to the TV again. "Thanks, but the point of leaving is getting away from you police people. I don't need you snooping in my past."

"What could be so bad about it? You're just a kid."

I turned the volume up. "You have no idea."

"Oh, but I do," he said, clearing his throat and standing in front of the TV, reciting, "Your full name is Elaine Nicole Campbell. You have a brother named Ethan Nicholas Campbell. I found it humorous that you have the same initials.

"Your father was a doctor and your mother a classical piano teacher, who both died in an unexplained accident that the MCU took up and then later dropped over eleven years ago. You and your brother were never found." He smiled cockily and then added quickly, "Oh, and then there's the deal with your parents' wills."

My memory flashed to when Ethan and I were searching in my parents' desk all those years ago. Ethan had said he hoped to find that we were going to be left a million dollars each in each of their wills, but we couldn't find any sign of them. "What's the deal?" I demanded. Maybe it had something to do with the keys that Ethan and I kept. I had always been dying to know what the keys were about.

Just as he was about to respond, the door to the break room opened quickly to reveal a frantic looking officer that I didn't recognize. "Ms. Campbell, Gordon needs you in the interrogation room immediately."