Gotham's Discontent
Chapter Eighteen: Back in Arkham Asylum
The large cross-knitted gate closed behind Jerome as he entered the community room. He gave a great sigh. Four walls build a home, they say. But it had been quite boring with Deedee's release; and although he had been surprised to see his sister standing in the courtyard late at night, looking up at him reluctantly, he was amused.
However, Jerome had not been oblivious to turn the moment the gates had slammed shut behind her. He had seen the black van skirt up the street, two blurs jump out—Deedee scampering down the street. The trees flanking the road had obscured his vision of whatever had taken place, but it wasn't within moments before had seen one of the captors carrying his sister over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and shoving her into the van. Then it had taken off to an unknown location.
Jerome took a seat beside his cronies. Since the death of Lawrence Greenburg and the assault of Peter What-His-Name during movie night, Warden Carlson Gray had done his civil duty to prevent any more inmate unrest; he was kind enough to install a television in the community room, mounted on the wall. Not a very clear picture, but it was better than sitting in silence.
The discovery of Laura Greenburg's head stuck on a metal spike of the Arkham gates had been written in the newspaper on page 2; and the story was covered on Gotham News. And while Greenwood expressed his lament of not having first crack at the little twerp, Jerome had let out a hysterical laugh as the news reporter had smacked an image of Deedee Valeska onto the screen.
"Deedee," Aaron had said, pointing at the television with a smile on his face.
"Thought she had been kidnapped," Greenwood had remarked, sullen as he had started to devour a red velvet cheesecake.
"Someone's guiding her," Sionis had said in his own self-acclaimed knowledge of psychopathy.
"I think it's beautiful," Jerome had said with delight, as he had admired the defined bullet hole in-between Laura's eyes. "Deedee can handle her own. Whoever caught her outside of Arkham, apparently, they might have said something that she liked. I don't think she'd have gone along with them if they hadn't."
"But you said there were two of them," said Dobbs.
Jerome gave an impatient sigh, "I said she could hold her own; she ain't built with muscle, Dobkins. But she got help to find Laura Greenburg; ain't no way she knows how to traverse Gotham like that."
"It's Gotham," Sionis had shrugged. "Everybody's looking for a lapdog."
Jerome snorted, "She's not up for adoption."
"You don't think her loyalty would go to someone else?" Sionis had said tauntingly. "She's a woman, Jerome. Easily swayed—"
Jerome had shaken his head, gazing at the screen where Laura's head had been perched, zooming out. "No, she knew I'd see it. Also, listen, Sionis—"
"A girl just wants to have fun."
Jerome turned his head. Barbara Kean, the new girl on the block, familiarized to the cronies as the new pretty face in the community room. She had been lounging against Sionis's shoulder, a note of disagreement with her new, close ally. Barbara waited for the rest of them to understand where she was coming from, but, hey, they were men.
Barbara clicked her tongue, and sighed deeply. "Deedee, that's her name? You know, the way you talk about her, I think it's kind of sweet. Creepy, what with the family love and all—however, she's got a flair for theatrics, doesn't she? The head on the spike—that's love, baby."
Dobbs stared at Barbara, "How is that? That a woman thing, or…?"
"Are ya kidding?" Barbara remarked. "She ripped off another woman's head and stuck it where she knew Jerome would see it. And considering the only encounter that Jerome ever had with Greenburg—uh, hello, she interrupted them having sex—it's an ode. Kind of romantic, honestly; you never see that these days."
That was 48 hours ago.
Jerome had resumed playing a card game with Greenwood. Wanna see a magic trick?
Greenwood reached for the top of the deck, looked at it.
Jerome shook his head, "Uh, no, that's mine." He snatched it out of Greenwood's hand, wearing a smile on his face.
"That's the most useless card in the deck," said Greenwood. "Why even use it?"
Jerome revealed the card as the Joker card, waved his hand flippantly, and it vanished up inside the sleeve of his inmate's uniform, "Every deck needs a Joker, Greenwood. Keeps things interesting."
Barbara cleared her throat loudly, a look of awe on her face, and she cockily pointed at the television to grab Jerome's attention. "Oh, lookie there, Jerome. Looks like your sister's finally had her time in the Circus."
Jerome rolled his eyes, "Please, after all this time, Haley's Circus isn't even active—"
Barbara gave an impatient sigh, grabbed Jerome's head by his hair and twisted it so his face met the television screen. The frown on his face dissolved into a wide, amused grin.
On the television, there was chaos, with the reporter leading the camera man around a furiously roaring fire of a tent catching ablaze—ashes of material and wood billowed through the wind, feeding the flames and causing mass panic as the circus performers attempted to scurry out of the furnace. Screams and echoes of cries for help. The TV reporter was giving a small summary of what might have happened—
"Following the death of Laura Greenburg, another terrifying plague of chaos today as—Oh my god—!"
To Jerome's delight, he saw a hand snatch the microphone out of the reporter's hand and Deedee Valeska appeared on screen, shoving a knife roughly into the reporter's neck. The camera man's angle shook, but Deedee held the knife out of view, and she said, "Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, buddy. I ain't gonna hurt you. But I need you to keep that fucking thing still and aim at the tent. You're missing all the good shots. That's what you get paid to—Hey!"
The camera man clearly had taken off into a run, and although the screen shook violently, he was suddenly stopped by an unknown force. Out of sight, whomever was clearly helping Deedee set up the stage must have silently given him an offer he did refuse, and the man was shot off screen. Deedee appeared on screen again, hand on hip, dressed in a bloodied white tank top and short red shorts, bare foot, her wild hair caught in the wind, wearing a smile of approval at whomever picked up the camera slowly.
"Finally," said Deedee, "Hard to find good help these days. Anyway," she held the microphone in her hand cockily, "Hi, Gotham. I'm Deedee. The forecast is calling for clear skies and loud cries with a chance of rain and brains scattered across the freshly mowed lawn of Broadwalk Circus. Don't bother calling the cops because I ain't staying long. Kind of busy, but I just wanted to give a shout-out to my family in Arkham…"
Deedee leaned forward into the camera.
A splash of blood on her cheek gave a beautiful comparison to her emerald green gaze, as she peered into the faces of the community room, panting slightly. Jerome clapped his hands eagerly.
"Hello, Brother," Deedee grinned. "Gave the Circus thing some thought. I don't wanna do that anymore. Clearly. Though, apparently, I'm still pretty good at the pyrotechnics." She blew a kiss at the camera. "Miss you."
And with a small smile, she whispered, "See you soon."
Jerome smirked.
"She does look pretty good on TV," Barbara said, her chin resting in her hand. "Though, I don't know about that outfit."
Greenwood shrugged, "I don't know, Barbara, I think it's kind of cute. Gives a Raggedy-Ann vibe."
Jerome agreed with a nod, "It's better than the jingling number she used to wear in the Circus."
Deedee's face froze as the sound of sirens wailed off screen.
"Oop, that's our cue." Deedee dropped the knife. The camera dropped too. And she was tailed by a woman with long, dark hair dressed in black leather; Deedee scurried off into the distance, periodically performing cartwheels, laughing good-humoredly as if it had all been a funny joke. It was to Jerome.
Sionis patted the back of his hand in an aristocratic clap, amused, but not as amused as Jerome.
He rose to his feet, and he applauded. "Bravissima! Bravo! Encore!" The less than mentally present inmates of Arkham joined him in a round of applause, whistling through their fingers, causing an uproar as the guards rushed in to calm them down, turning the TV off as Detective James Gordon found the camera, killing the live feed.