Jerome's P.O.V
I notice that Sam is still trembling out of the corner of my eye.
I quickly walk up to her, pressing my lips against her ear, in which she flinches against my touch.
"Stop shaking," I whisper so that only she can hear me, and she doesn't even try to stop herself.
Instead, she gets even more scared, her shaking intensifying.
"Did you not hear what I said?" I snarl.
She heard you loud and clear. How do you think you're making her feel any better by shouting in her face?
"I-," she pauses, sighing. "I'm sorry."
Her eyes aren't on me, but are fixed on the floor. She's terrified.
For a good fucking reason, dumbass.
I practically groan in annoyance a the nagging voice in my good 'ol head.
I watch as Sam glances at something behind me, before firmly staring at the floor again, not tearing her eyes away from it for a second. I turn to what she looked at.
It's the Whack-a-Mole residue, which is a person. When Gordon finally figures out where I am, he's gonna have a tough time figuring out who that is.
I chuckle, facing her once more.
"I forgot," I place both of my hands on her arms. "You're too delicate too be seeing this sort of thing..."
She doesn't reply, but instead looks up at me, her fearful expression now replaced with an angry one.
"I wouldn't be seeing these things if you hadn't brought me here," she grits out, her eyes glistening with annoyance.
"You'll get used to it," is the short answer I give in reply, and then turn to the two clowns holding her. "Careful, she'll bolt for it. My advice? Don't let her," I narrow my eyes, and they both nod quickly.
I love being able to tell people what to do! I mean, I always could, but I love doing it without them begging me not to kill them!
... On second thoughts, it's funnier that way.
----
Sam's P.O.V
Me and Bruce are moved around the circus, which is eerily like the one I grew up in.
As we make our way towards wherever the hell we're going, Jerome stops us once in a while, usually playing one of the circus games that ends up with someone being hurt, or killed.
It's not long before we stop at a mirror underneath a small canopy. This must be where the makeup artists used to work. I wonder where they are now.
Bruce is practically forced down onto the chair, and someone runs towards him, face painting tools in their hand.
The man starts doing his work on Bruce's face, but after a second, he looks up at me, and then at Jerome.
"Do you want me to do her?"
Jerome frowns, "Are you implying what I think you are?"
The man shakes his head, realising that he probably should've worded it differently.
"No- No, sir! I-" he spits out.
"No, I don't want you to 'do her'. Pervert," Jerome places his switchblade to the man's throat. "Do you want me to slit it, dollface?"
After a few seconds I realise that he's talking to me.
The man looks at me pleadingly.
Although he works for Jerome, I don't really want to see anyone else die tonight.
"No, please don't. He didn't mean it."
Jerome shrugs, pulling away from the man, who hesitantly continues his work on Bruce.
I try to take my mind off of the screams and cries flooding the circus, so I look around.
Away from all of the torture scenes, and grisly murderers surrounding me. I look off into the distance, hoping to see a familiar red and blue light of a police car. Nothing.
But, I do spot something else, just behind one of the stands. Something that brings up a few sad memories. It's a trailer. Like the ones me and Jerome stayed in as kids. Like the one Jerome was beaten in throughout most of his childhood...
An arm wraps around my shoulder, tugging me away from the dorks who had their hands on my arms.
Jerome's eyes study my face for a second, and then observe the trailer I was looking at.
"Ah! That reminds me," he snaps his fingers, smiling. "Can you watch Brucie-boy? I'll only need a minute," he says to the other crazed lunatics, who nod and smirk in my direction, as if thinking that Jerome is going to beat the shit out of me. Which he won't. Right?
I'm pulled further from the group by Jerome, and taken into one of the tepees.
"Ah, finally alone," Jerome breathes out a loud fake sigh, his hand grabbing my wrist, yanking me closer.
"Why did you bring me here?"
"Straight to the point, I see. You always were like that. Anyhow, there's something I want to know," his eyes darken.
"I don't know what you want me to tell you, I don't know-"
"My ninth birthday," he cuts over me, clearly angry about something. "Do you remember it?"
"Yeah..."
"Do you not remember the promise you made me?"
"Can you promise me something, Sam?" He says, after we start walking towards the nearest trailer.
"Depends what it is," I joke, but spot the serious expression on his face. He's never usually serious.
"That you'll never leave me. Like, I mean you can leave this dump, but-"
I stop in my tracks, and he does too, clearly anxious about how I'll react.
"Jerome, you know I could never leave you. Not ever."
He smiles, "Good."
The memory makes me grimace. Where did the sweet boy I grew up with go?
"You told me that you would never leave me," Jerome grits out, his grip on me getting threateningly tighter. "Well guess what, doll? You lied. Where were you when I was taken to the Asylum, huh? 'You have no visitors today Jerome, please don't kill me', well surprise surprise! Where were you when I escaped? You didn't bother to look for me, I was the one who found you!"
He never asked me this when I was with him before he died. It's as if death has made him more hostile... and possessive.
"Y-You grabbed me."
His eyebrows scrunch up in confusion, so I elaborate my point.
"After the interrogation... after I found out you killed Lila, you grabbed me and held me against the wall. I-I thought you were threatening to kill me too."
"And that's why you didn't give little old me a visit..." His voice goes deadly quiet. He then throws his head back, laughing, "That's why I had to kidnap you, so I could see your pretty little face again!"
----
Jerome's P.O.V
"I'm s-sorry," she squeaks after I've finished laughing.
"For what? Not visiting me in Arkham?"
She nods.
"I'm not mad, dollface. I just missed you."
Her eyes widen.
"But you're here now. And don't think I'll ever let you leave."
She clearly notices my instant change in mood, because she tenses up again.
I lift her wrist up, as if pretending to look at a watch, "I think our times up, doll."
With that, I drag her back over to where Bruce is getting his makeup done.
I leave her for two of my followers to grab, and inspect the work done on Wayne's face.
He looks angry. Now, why on earth would he be angry? Maybe he's allergic to the makeup.
"Go to be honest, Bruce," I lean in close to his ear, "you don't make the world's funniest clown. But..." I flip my switchblade up.
"Ooh!" The artist giggles.
"We can fix that," I grab the back of Bruce's hair, holding him still, and lift the blade closer to his face.
"No, don't!" Sam calls, and I give the people holding her a look. One of them places a hand over her mouth.
I move in to slit a pretty smile onto Bruce's cranky face, but instead, I stab the idiot standing next to him.
He pants and groans, as I place a finger in the wound, getting as much blood as I can on it. "Aw, shut up, you big baby."
I lift the bloody finger to Bruce's face, "Let's turn that frown..." I paint an even deeper scowl on his lips, "... upside-down."