Blood Rush

Chapter Fifteen: Daddy Dearest

Ah, dear old Daddy…

With a single knock rapped on his door, Mr. Cicero opened it. His gaze was off in the distance, clouded over and blue—but the tone of his voice indicated that he had an idea of who would be at his doorstep sooner than later. He caught the scent of a candle burning at both ends:

"Ah, well, well, well," sighed Cicero, fully opened the door as it swung on its hinge of his trailer. "Delilah, you should be home grieving."

"Mm-hm," Deedee said, walking the steps—Mr. Cicero gave a disapproving grunt when she pushed pass him.

"Please," he said sarcastically. "Do come in."

"What d'you tell Detective Gordon and the pretty doctor at the precinct?" asked Deedee, turning on her heel to glare at him.

"Trying to insert yourself into the investigation, my girl?" asked Mr. Cicero as he felt his way to his comfortable armchair, plopping into it nonchalantly. He looked in her direction.

"You showed up." Deedee said curtly. "You weren't taken in like the rest of us. You showed up. Voluntarily."

"Simply being a helpful citizen—"

"Cut the shit, Dad," Deedee snapped. A gaudy lamp crashed to the floor and Mr. Cicero gathered that she must have shoved it off his end table like a teenager having a temper tantrum for not getting her way. The pieces scattered to the floor, sliding pass Deedee's feet. "You don't ever get involved in my life until now? What's your motive? Why am I so important to you now?"

Mr. Cicero gave a small pause. "I told the detective and Dr. Thompkins a message."

"A message from who?"

"Your mother."

SMACK!

Mr. Cicero gave a small gasp, suddenly shaken, when Deedee's hand came across the soft side of his face—Deedee's nose and lips scrunched up unattractively to form an angry expression. The sting of the slap burned his cheek. Most people in the circus avidly believed in his psychic abilities; however, Deedee usually thought that Daddy Dearest was an outright fraud; and his claim to have spoken to one very dead Lila Valeska caused outrage.

Mr. Cicero looked up to blindly meet her gaze. Mr. Cicero frowned at her, "Delilah, my dear, I'm a psychic—"

"What did you tell them, Dad?" Deedee demanded.

"—And as a psychic," continued Mr. Cicero, "I have an obligation to pass on messages from the grave—"

Deedee uttered a low, frustrated groan, "What did you tell them?"

"A riddle," answered Mr. Cicero.

"Psychics and their riddles," said Deedee coldly. "I don't believe that shit for a second, Dad. You showed up in the precinct. Voluntarily. You weren't even taken in by the cops in the first place. You know what that looks like to me?"

"I can't possibly know what you see, my dear, I am a blind, old man—"

"You're a blind, old fool," corrected Deedee.

"And you're an angry, cruel woman," Mr. Cicero retorted. "We all have our blind spots…"

"WHAT DID YOU TELL THE DETECTIVE!?" Deedee suddenly burst into rage, reaching her hands around the collar of Mr. Cicero's purple suit. "What riddle? 'A message from Lila Valeska'—You fucking told them it was us, didn't you?"

"So, this is how you're going to get information out of the kind man who brought you into this world, my girl?" Mr. Cicero said calmly, grabbing her hands and removing her from his collar.

"You'd have been kinder if you had taken me out of it like Mother always promised," Deedee said contemptuously. "What did you tell them? What riddle?"

Mr. Cicero shook his head slowly.

"The message from Lila Valeska was only for Detective Gordon—"

SMACK! Mr. Cicero almost fell out of his chair as Deedee's hand came across his face once more, skin viciously slapping against skin. Mr. Cicero grunted. Deedee felt rage, but hitting him felt right as rain. Personal gratification with every painful grunt from the old man. He'd never been there for her; he'd never shown support or love. He'd never noticed that she was there—deadbeat dad.

But he had been suddenly willing to cover Lila's murder, WHY? Deedee lowered her face to meet Mr. Cicero's, glaring at him. If he wouldn't answer her, she'd beat him until he was blue in the face to match those pair of glazed eyes of his. Mr. Cicero might not have cared for her, but it wasn't just Deedee's life at stake; Jerome's laid in the balance too.

Mr. Cicero made a small sigh, "'The servant of the devil lies in the garden of the Iron Sisters…'" A pause.

Deedee blinked. Then uproar—

"You gave them a lead to the one piece of evidence that would break the case wide open?" Deedee said angrily. "Why would you do that?!"

Mr. Cicero pulled a small tissue from the hidden pocket of his suit, dabbed his mouth slowly where Deedee had hit him; and he licked his dry lips, tasting something familiar—metal, like a penny…Blood.

"You don't want to be like her," said Mr. Cicero slowly, "but you hit just like your mother did."

"How would you know?" Deedee sneered. "She was just a warm body to you for one night. Ain't like you had a relationship with her."

"There's a lot that you don't know about your mother and I," said Mr. Cicero.

"Yeah, Dad? Like what?"

"Your father would like to keep some secrets," said Mr. Cicero with a tight smile. "Let your ol' man have some privacy, hm?"

Deedee narrowed her eyes. "Mother would never have dated a man like you, Dad. What could you possibly have done for her? She'd have to take care of you—like an honest woman, a loving woman. She wasn't any of those things. You weren't like that for me—"

"Lila Valeska cared for me at one point…In the same way that you care for your brother, Delilah. It stings, but love…Love makes us do crazy things." Mr. Cicero said. "Love makes people do things that they never think they'd ever do. She couldn't love you because you were a product of a one-night stand. But I did try to be there for her when she was pregnant with the twins—"

Deedee shook her head, "Shut up."

Mr. Cicero raised a hand to pat Deedee on the cheek, "It's true, Delilah."

"I said shut up." Deedee hissed.

"She fell in love when she had Jerome and Jeremiah. But she still resented me…because she still resented you…"

"You're Jerome's father too?" Deedee breathed. "But Mother said his father was a sea captain, died at sea, went down on his ship—"

"She wanted to give him a better father; she loved him very much."

Deedee frowned. "So, Jerome gets to have a hard-working captain, and I get you, huh? One last middle finger to me, hm?"

"Lila loved Jerome, Deedee. I can't help the fact that she loved you less. She was a cruel woman, yes; but she did love me in her own way. So," he added with a sigh, "that's why it pained me to discover that you conspired with your brother to have her killed."

He sounded so conflicted about Jerome; so disgustingly upset about Lila's passing. But he wouldn't mention her, how he knew that she was his blood but he never would step in to save her. All this love for Jerome, and he said that Lila loved him enough to tell him that Mr. Cicero wasn't his father. But for Deedee…There was no love. But then why go to the precinct to deliver the only clue that they needed to find evidence of their crime? Unless…

Deedee's face contorted with both pain and fury as she straightened her back; and she cursed her emotions that betrayed her when she felt her eyes tingle on the verge of tears.

"You…" she breathed. "You only stepped in to help cover up Jerome's crime…Didn't you?"

"I stepped in to help him. Yes…"

Deedee heard the faint sound of a police siren off in the distance, growing louder…

"Delilah," said Mr. Cicero as he slowly rose to his feet, "I have always been kind to him because he's my son. But you know I'm your father, and you've never returned my kindness, or greet me pleasantly when we walk under the big tent. You show as much respect to me as Lila did…I helped Jerome cover up the scene out of love for him and love for Lila, my sweet girl. But you…" he shook his head slowly. "There really is no hope for you, is there? All that rage inside you—"

Deedee glanced behind her to see flashing red and blue lights, "You called the cops?" she said breathlessly—

"They aren't coming for him," said Mr. Cicero. He raised a finger at her. "They're coming for you."

"Why?" Deedee said, backing toward the trailer's exit.

"I can protect Jerome…" he said slowly. "But only as long as you're going down for Lila's murder. Call it a last favor for your mother—I told them about your relationship with Jerome, the incest"—the word was acid in his mouth, frowning in disgust; and then suddenly his voice became poison: the real Daddy Dearest came out: "You and your temptress ways preyed on his vulnerability, his eldest sibling who should have protected him; abilities run through our family, Deedee. I'm a psychic, but no doubt the mystics run through your veins as well—Why else would a weak man like your brother fall for your charms produced by the fire light—?"

"You're insane—"

The trailer door flew open. Deedee whirled around, staring into the face of Detective Harvey Bullock, holding a gun directly in her face.

"Delilah Valeska," said Bullock. "You should come with us now."

"He set me up…" Deedee said, pointing at Mr. Cicero with an accusatory finger. "No, he set me up—!"

"Your father told us about your sickness—"

"I'm not sick!" Deedee suddenly exploded, stepping out of the trailer to stand in front of six police officers. "I did nothing—"

However, her words were cut short when her gaze fell onto the bewildered expression on Jerome's face:

"Deedee…?" Jerome came out of the Valeska trailer, his hand still holding onto the door. Where the hell did all these cops come from? "Deedee, what—?"

"HE SET ME UP!" Deedee screamed, and she made to step toward Detective Bullock, to explain to him what Mr. Cicero had done—

"It's going to be okay, son!" Bullock called to Jerome. "It's okay! You don't have to be afraid of your sister anymore; we know the truth, son. We can get you help, but your sister here…She's going to have to come with us."

Deedee tried to push pass Bullock, to tell Jerome what she had discovered—however, as she had passed him, Bullock grabbed Deedee's wrists and locked a pair of handcuffs, the sound of metal clicking—

"He wasn't even a suspect, they didn't even know who he was," Deedee scrambled to hurriedly tell Jerome what he needed to know—even as Bullock pulled her to the nearest police car. Jerome stared at her as he watched his sister, in the flash of blue and red lights, struggle against Bullock's burly arms, thrashing around like a worm on a hook, gobsmacked— "He wasn't helping me! There's a reason he wasn't helping me! You can't trust him! He's a fucking snake—"

"All right, sweetie," said Bullock, closing the door quickly as he managed to push Deedee's head down under the roof of the car. He peeked over the hood to see Jerome still watching him. "Listen, pal…" He passed a hand across his face, clearly sweating from restraining the eldest Valeska.

He strode around the car to step toward Jerome. "Your sister…Deedee…" He patted his brother's shoulder consolingly. "We don't think that she was the one who killed your mother, son; but she's an accessory to murder. She's a pistol…I know this is a bit of shock, so I understand why you're speechless, numb even."

"Yes, that would be why I am speechless," said Jerome slowly, glancing at the cop car. He could see Deedee in the back seat, trying to wriggle out of her cuffs. "Who is she talking about, Detective?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"But she was in Mr. Cicero's trailer." Jerome said in a flat voice.

"She certainly is quite upset; but from what I understand, she doesn't really have a great relationship with father figures, does she?" Bullock patted Jerome's shoulder again. "It would explain why she turned to you to meet her perverted needs—"

"Hey." Jerome shoved Bullock's hand from his shoulder. "Whatever you think happened—That's my family you're talking about, isn't it?"

Bullock gave an apologetic nod. "Sorry, son. I know that it's a lot to take in…I'll leave you to it, then, yeah?"

Just as this row of cops began to leave, another vehicle showed up immediately after, no sirens this time. One of the cops in blue—patrolman—drove up into the driveway and approached Jerome, tipped his hat.

"What now?" Jerome remarked.

"Mr. Valeska? Would you so kindly come to the precinct with me? Detective Gordon would like to ask a few more questions."