The last thing Jerome Valeska recalled was having a knife plunged into his throat by that bastard Theo Galavan. Those events had long passed, and he'd woken in a bit of a haze, laying upon something cold and hard. A work bench, of some sort? A figure loomed over him, and that's when he'd felt seering pain tracing down the side of his face, near his temple. A hand shot forward, clutching the figure tightly by the neck and pulling him to look into Jerome's hazel, wild eyes. The figure came into view slowly as he blinked a bit, and then emitted a soft growl. "And just what the hell do we have here?" Jerome asked through gritted teeth, head tilting a bit, though it was difficult to move. His body had been dormant for so long, and was annoyingly stiff. Unbeknowst to Jerome, it was Dwight, the current leader of Jerome's cult, of sorts. His grip had not faltered at it's place on the panicking man's neck.
Dwight had been successful; he'd brought Jerome back from the dead. It was better late than never as well. He'd gone through the process of sending varying shockwaves through the young man's body several times over. Dwight had nearly acted on instinct. In order to please Jerome's followers, who waited eagerly for his rebirth, Dwight was just about to remove Jerome's face to create a mask, of sorts. The effort had resulted in about a 3 inch incision along Jerome's temple, before he had woken and abruptly began strangling him. Dwight moved his hands frantically, motioning to the machines and wires around Jerome. Jerome's wide gaze followed slowly, as he took in what had just been achieved. "I brought you back," Dwight clarified, voice rasping out desparately against the hold on his neck. With a loud cough, he'd at last been released, stumbling backward a little, shoes slipping against the cement ground. Jerome peered around curiously, his red brows furrowed as he muttered to himself, trying to take in what just happened.
"Huh," the ginger maniac at last uttered, vaguely impressed. With a stretch, he scooted his way off of the work bench. Dwight watched as the 18 year old psycho took a look around, and then yanked a camera out of a half-open bag sitting upon a work cart. "Hmmm," Jerome considered as he set the camera in place on it's stand, angling it towards Dwight, whom was struggling to stand on his own violently wobbling legs. Jerome tilted his head down a little, a large and menacing smile creeping onto his lips as he gazed intently at Dwight; who in turn stared back, doe-eyed and frightened. What was Jerome planning? "We've got some work to do, don't we, old pal?" Jerome quipped, with a manical laugh that echoed against the warehouse walls.
-That night-
Soft chanting emitted past Amelia's lips, still stained with faint red from her favorite lipstick. Amelia rocked softly back and forth, candle light dancing across her freckled skin. The front door opened quietly, though she did her best to drown it out. It wasn't usual for Holly or Laura to come home most nights, they both were quite into their boyfriends. Though, they knew to enter quietly, as you never knew when Amelia might be doing some spell work. It was a cleansing ritual; nightmares were plaguing her yet again, all about that filthy piece of trash that took advantage of her years ago. She killed him, but certainly not the memories. Amelia was shaking as she chanted, willing the memories to leave. Soft footsteps approached. "Are you okay?" Holly's voice whispered. Amelia opened her eyes, turning to look at Holly, who looked sleep deprived. "You know I wouldn't have interrupted if I wasn't concerned," she said, noting Amelia's slightly vexed expression. It fell away quickly however as she stood, making her way to the living room couch.
"Nightmares again," Amelia said as the two of them sat. "It's driving me nuts," she threw her arms up, defeated. "It's gotten to the point I have to try healing rituals. So far, it hasn't even helped." Holly placed a hand on Amelia's. The trembling came to a slow halt as she sighed deeply. "So, how about you, sis? Everything okay?" Amelia's green eyes gazed at Holly. She had been coming home more lately, looking down, and Amelia's suspicions were rising. Holly half smiled.
"Yeah. I actually just came by to get some chamomile. And pot," Holly stated, sensing Amelia's suspicion and trying to make her way out of any questions. She stood, went to grab the herbs from a locked drawer and then was approaching the door. "Couldn't sleep either. See you in the morning!" And then, she was gone. Amelia glared at the door, and then huffed. Slowly she stood, drifting toward the drawer that Holly had left open. Some pot didn't sound so bad at that moment, in fact it was likely much needed. There was a broken piece of a "jack in the box" inside, namely the head portion; a little jester looking fellow. Amelia picked it up from the concert venue she worked at, at one point, back when Jerome Valeska still lived. There was a band in tribute to him, and one of the fans left it behind on the floor. Amelia found it while cleaning up that night. The whole thing seemed outrageous to her, the only reason she kept it was because she liked the design. Somehow, her gaze couldn't leave it though. She'd never thought much of the piece before, but in that moment, it was as if the little guy's purple eyes were peering into her; somehow alive…
Amelia shook her head, chalking up any odd feelings to her blasted nightmares. Taking the pot, she slammed the drawer shut, locked it, and made her way out to the patio.