Your eyes snapped back open and you awoke with a sudden jolt. You glanced about the darkened hospital room, and you were quick to realize that you were dressed in a white hospital gown on the bed you knew you had been operated on. You were alive, so whatever happened you survived.
There was no one around. The entire room was empty. You wondered if your parents were okay, that was the first thought that came to mind. You had to find out what happened to them. Your head was fuzzy, and your throat felt scratched. You stared up at the ceiling with dull glassy eyes. Eyes that were tired, red, half closed, and underlined with dark circles. When you tried to move, pain blazed in your shoulder. You noticed that your right wrist was connected to an IV attached to a saline bag. When you were about to tear it off, you sensed a presence in the dark, like someone was lurking, prowling at the foot of your hospital bed. Yet when you glimpsed about, no one was there. You vaguely wondered if your brain was playing tricks on you. You made another move to leave the bed and then...
And then he's there, engulfing your field of vision and taking your face in his large, deadly hands with that same wicked grin you were sure you saw moments before you passed out. You flinched away from him immediately and panic overtook your body. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your blood ran cold. How did he get in here?
"Hey, how are you holdin' up, dollface? Looks like they patched you up pretty good, huh? No broken bones?" he said, chuckling lowly to himself.
Your mouth was curled into a frown, brows furrowed as you stared back at him. He brushed his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and you winced as he stroked your skin with a delicacy that contradicted everything that he stood for. His expression changed when you tried to move away from him, and then he examined the look on your face with a cold stare. You hated how he could switch to smiling like a clown and then turning dead serious. You exhaled deeply through your nose, and then avoided his unblinking gaze. You wanted to scream for help but you didn't know what he would do if you did so you kept silent.
"What... what are you doing here?" you asked meekly, your voice as low as a mumble.
"I thought I'd check up on you. Looks like you got yourself in a bit of a pickle," he sighed in what sounded like disappointment but then it was quickly followed by a puff of a laugh. He grabbed you by your cheek and made you face him, which made you flinch.
"You shot me. You're the reason I'm here," you told him bluntly, and you mentally cursed yourself when you could feel yourself getting choked up.
"Aw, do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me for losing my temper? Maybe I did go a little overboard," he whispered in a dark tone. His spidery fingers made their way across your neck and to the curve of your injured shoulder, then your arm, chuckling as he felt the goosebumps that had risen on your tense skin. "You should have seen the look on your face when I went 'pow!'" he cheered and made a gun symbol with his hand to emphasize his point. "Oh, it's something I'll never forget."
"Are they okay? Please just tell me they are okay. That's all I care about," you pleaded, your voice breaking in between your words.
"I wouldn't wanna ruin the suspense, doll, that's for you to find out," he told you with a dangerous grin.
"I need to know, please, just tell me," you continued to beg.
"Nuh-uh, that would ruin all the fun of it!" he cackled, finding your predicament to be as amusing as ever.
You blinked back tears, and you could hear yourself breathing but you still felt choked, suffocated. You feared for your life being alone with him in a room, you just wanted to run out and cry for help, but that wouldn't get you anywhere, so you were stuck here. You hated how much power he had over you, and everyone you loved.
"Why? Why me?" you managed to get out even though you felt your throat closing up.
"Don't get all dramatic on me, you know how much that bores me. Now what's my motto again, dollface?" he asked as he scooted closer to you on the bed, his fingers slowly crawling back to your neck as he eyed you. You gulped hard and involuntarily flinched upon his touch.
"There's nothing more contagious than laughter," you quoted him after a brief moment, knowing it was better to just abide by what he wanted than to argue.
"That's the spirit!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's been scientifically proven that with a good laugh you'll be cured in no time. So it looks like you're stuck with me, eh?"
"You've successfully ruined my life. What more do you want from me? What else do you have to take?" your voice started to raise despite yourself. "Please, this isn't fair," you murmured.
"Aw, don't cry, you'll wrinkle that pretty little face of yours. C'mon, smile for me, like you used to," he replied, his tone somewhat sweet in a sickening way. "You know, we were good together. Actually, no, we are good together. 'Were' is past tense and we're definitely not a thing of the past."
"You don't own me, I'm not your doll, I'm not your anything, so just stop. You're sick. You belong in Arkham because you're nothing but a nut case. You just used me, for some twisted game. You never..." you trailed off, sucking your bottom lip in as your eyes welled up inevitably. You didn't want to speak another word because you knew if you did you would burst into tears and your humiliation would only serve to amuse him.
You were ashamed that a part of you, even if it was for a moment, believed he could possibly care about you. He was a monster. He didn't care about anyone but himself. You were just his prey, and he was having too much fun playing with said prey before he decided he was finished with it. You should have known better. Like a mouse, you fell right into the cat's trap.
"I think we both know that's not true," he answered with a overly dramatic pout that you were more than aware was mocking you. "You see, you're not just a toy to me. I would have gotten bored already if that was true," he added, staring back at you with that dangerous glint in those piercing blue-green eyes, inching closer and closer until you could feel his heated breath upon your parted lips. "You were just a sad little orphan girl without me, the goody-two-shoes that was too scared to break the rules, who always wanted to please Mommy and Daddy. It isn't like that when we're together. You like that. You like who you are when you're with me. We are going to have so many more good times together, doll," he told you, and you saw a flash of his sharp-toothed grin before leaning in to whisper against your ear, "and maybe I like who I am when I'm with you too."
You were speechless for a moment after he spoke those words, eyes widening in your surprise once they left his lips. You exhaled then inhaled to calm your rapid heartbeat and mentally cursed yourself for letting that last sentence affect you. It couldn't mean anything now. Not after everything. You weren't going to be his marionette that he pulled by the strings and played with however he wished. He had been manipulating you from that first day, and you were powerless to do anything about it, but now, his charm didn't seem to have the same effect. You were scared, angry, repulsed, and numb all at once.
He pulled away from your ear to look you in the eye, only to laugh at the way your jaw clenched and a frown formed on your face. The distance small enough that you could feel his hot breath over your mouth once more.
"Do you think things can go back to the way they used to? Breakfast in bed? Cuddling at night? Trying out all those stolen overpriced dresses and posing in them for me? Playing hide-and-seek and chasing each other around the penthouse? Scratching me so hard I bled as I pounded you into the mattress?" he started reminding you of all the good times that you two had that you know you shouldn't have had fun with, yet you still did anyway because he was somehow able to make everything exciting. You loathed how he had that kind of control over you, how he could lure you back in so easily because he always had a way with words. "I know you still want all of that, just as much as I do. All you gotta do is say the word!"
"No," you barely managed through a sob. "I never wanted any harm to come to them. I just need to know if they are okay, now. So just let me visit them," you spat, your throat scratchy.
"Hmmm," he started, acting as if he was actually considering it. "That sounds more like you're telling than asking, dollface. What's the magic words?" he asked while his eyes remained focused upon your own. His hand reached up to stroke your cheek, those long spidery fingers tracing your bruised skin. With a wince, you shot him a cruel glare upon his oddly affectionate gesture.
"Pretty please?" you hissed through gritted teeth, frustrated that he continued to kick you while you were down.
"I don't believe I'm the one you're supposed to be asking. Shouldn't there be a nurse around? A doctor, perhaps? Yeah they would probably know," he teased with a laugh, making you feel all the more pathetic for attempting to ask nicely.
"If you did anything else to them, I swear to God you're going to regret-"
"Fine, you want to see them so badly? You can," he cut you off before you could finish your threat. "So impatient as always I see. The buildup can be the best part, you know, it gives you something to work with, but nope, you're always in a rush to get to the climax!" he exclaimed with a burst of cruel laughter. Your jaw clenched and your features wrinkled further in aggravation at his choice of words.
"Want to see a magic trick, doll? he questioned with a tilt of his head. You raised your brows in confusion, wondering why the hell he would be asking something like that now. It didn't come as a surprise to you that he was still messing with you even with how disoriented you were. Before you had a chance to respond, Jerome snapped his fingers in front of you and in a second you weren't in the bleak hospital room anymore. Instead, you were in a familiar darkened living room. You were quick to realize that this was your living room, the one that belonged in your home.
The only light coming in was from the moonlight peeking through the blinds, faint and pale, but you still didn't have trouble making out your surroundings even after being gone for so long. As you made your way across the room, you took your time looking at all the happy family photos that hung on the wall and everything that made this place feel like home. This was where you were supposed to be, not in a penthouse full of convicts.
You only took a few more steps when you heard loud sobbing that echoed across the room. Immediately, you recognized that it was coming from a woman.
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Jim was pacing about the waiting room. He cursed under his breath in frustration because he had to wait to see how you were doing. His heart was beating frantically in his chest as he buried his face in his hands. He couldn't believe this was reality. He couldn't believe he let this happen. It was all his fault, that was all he could think about. That guilt consumed him, twisted and knotted relentlessly in his gut. Waiting for the doctor to arrive was slow, agonizing torture, and it ate away at him. He couldn't sit still, it was nearly impossible with his anxiety pumping in his veins, and the smell of your blood stained on his suit made him feel nauseous.
His eyes fluttered shut as his mind replayed the horrifying image of you falling from his arms. He knew the sound of that gunshot would stay with him forever. He recalled the tears streaming down your face and the way you weakly attempted to cling to him. After that, things were a blur, though he did clearly remember how panicked he felt when he knelt next to you and told you that everything would be alright while Jerome escaped the scene. He couldn't stop thinking about it, what happened just hours before played in a continuous loop, tormenting him again and again. With you and Leslie's lives in jeopardy, he knew he failed you both, and there was nothing he could do.
When the doctor arrived in the hallway, Jim immediately raced his way over to the middle-aged woman. With tears staining his face, he impatiently asked if you were okay. The doctor promised that you were going to be fine. The bullet had ploughed its way through the back of your shoulder blade and out through your collarbone, though it didn't hit any major arteries, so there was minimal bone shattering. Jim was so relieved, and in the first time today, he smiled. The doctor informed him that you were asleep but that he could still see you if he wanted, and Jim blurted out a 'yes' without giving it another thought.
The doctor led Jim to the hospital room, informing him about the morphine you were on and how long you would be staying here, but assured him that you were on your way to a speedy recovery. When the doctor left, Jim fully entered the room, where you were sleeping peacefully, or so he hoped. But your slumber was anything but peaceful.
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You followed the voice until you found the source; your mother. You didn't see Leslie crying often, it was a rare sight because she didn't like people to see her in such a vulnerable state. That strength was nowhere to be found in this moment.
She was hugging her knees tight to her chest, her tears staining the sleeves on her blouse as she wept. Her eyes were swollen, breath stuck in her throat, and her chest heaved as her head hung low.
You approached her slowly, with caution, like you would a frightened animal. You felt a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach from the sight of seeing her so helpless, so fragile, so utterly broken. It was almost too much to bear.
"Mom?" you asked, taking a long pause when she didn't answer or even bother looking up at you. "Mom... are you okay?" you repeated as you stood in front of her.
A chill went down your back when there was still no answer.
Her eyes continued to well up as she choked on her convulsive gasps, and she was looking down at nothing in particular. You stayed where you were, patiently, to give her as much time as she needed. You wanted to comfort her, embrace her, or say something that would help even the slightest bit, but every word that sat on your tongue, waiting to be uttered, just disappeared.
Soon, a blank, emotionless expression swept over her face as she sniffed and took a moment to steady her breath. It was like you weren't even there in the same room as her, and you don't think you ever felt so small in front of the one who always made you feel like you could do anything. There was static in the silence, and you didn't understand how the sound of nothingness could be so loud. The air in the room was suffocating, and suddenly this place doesn't feel so homely.
"Mom, I'm here. We're okay. Everything is going to be okay. I promise," you assured softly as you took another step toward her and awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder.
She pulled away almost instantly as if you had burned her, and just as quickly your stomach was in knots from the inside out.
"Get away from me, I can't even look at you right now," Leslie blurted out, the sharpness in her tone enough to make your bones jump. "Don't you dare touch me."
Your hand returned clumsily back to your side, and she might as well have slapped you because those words were just as damaging. You bit the inside of your cheek to stay quiet and to keep the tears from streaming down, but deep down you knew that could only last for so long.
"We should have never took you in, you weren't worth it. There's thousands of other kids who need a home in this world, and we chose you. You turned out to be such a disappointment," she said grimly, her bleak gaze averted to the floor. You didn't know if you should consider it a blessing that she wasn't looking at you, because you didn't think you could handle it if she did.
A disappointment. That was enough to break you.
"M-Mom, I... I'm so sorry," your voice cracked into broken sobs, and you struggled to string the words coherently. "I'm so so sorry. Please don't give up on me. Please don't get rid of me, I'll do – I'll do anything."
Silence.
You could hear someone's footsteps coming, but you didn't bother to look up and see who it was. Your eyes were fixated on Leslie, hoping and praying that she would face you and tell you that she didn't mean what she said.
Through the blur of your tears, you noticed that Jim entered the scene and stood close to Leslie. He settled his hand on her shoulder and caressed it with circular motions, comforting her as she continued to weep. They stayed like that for a few minutes, but it felt so much longer than that. You were hiccuping between low whimpers, and a small part of you was hoping that Jim would reassure you or show some type of sympathy. Maybe he felt differently. Maybe you weren't a disappointment to him.
"Look at what you've done. You did this. You broke her. What do you have to say for yourself?" Jim snapped with the most hateful tone he could muster, his face hardened and cold. Each word felt like a jab to your already sick stomach.
You didn't say anything. You couldn't. You knew how pathetic you would sound if you even tried.
"Of course you don't have anything to say," Jim uttered a heavy sigh, shaking his head in disapproval. He wasn't looking at you either. "You know she's right. We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you. You ruined everything."
You nodded your head in agreement and you covered your mouth with a hand to stifle the sobs that threatened to come pouring out while your nails dug furiously into your forearm.
"I know," you muttered, your red-rimmed eyes filling with tears as they rushed down your face. "I know. I messed up, so bad. Mom and Dad, please forgive me, you're all I have. I can't – I can't be on my own again."
"I'm sorry, but we've given you several chances. We can't do this anymore," Jim admitted, his tone was unforgiving and piercingly sharp. "We tried, but this is just not going to work out."
"Don't you dare start with me. Don't waste your breath begging. You had to have known this was bound to happen," Leslie chimed in, her voice laced with hostility and her features twisted into a bitter scowl. Your nails gripped your arm harder, and you were almost certain that you were about to break the skin now.
"Please, just give me another chance, please," you pleaded amidst your struggle to form a proper sentence together. "I can try to make it better, just let me."
"There is no negotiation. You can't get yourself out of this one. Not this time," Jim raised his voice, it was harsh and forbidding.
He charged forward and seized your right arm in his firm hold, so tight that he was squeezing your skin. You writhed about to try and escape his grasp even though it proved to be futile. The more you fought, the harder he clenched on your skin. You cried out to Leslie for help while you struggled, but she didn't even look in your direction. It felt as if she couldn't hear or see you, like you were nothing to them. He forced you down a dark hall with him, and your heart rapidly thumped in your chest, so much so that you thought it was going to give out.
He came to a halt only to open a door to a small room. You took a closer look at it and discovered that it was a cramped, pitch-black closet. You nearly choked on the lump stuck in your throat, and a rock settled in your stomach once you realized what was going to happen. You were shoved into the closet with a forceful push, and before he slammed the door he yelled out, "You're staying in here until we can get rid of you!"
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Jim couldn't stop thinking about how close you came to dying. The machine next to you beeped out a heart rate, a blood pressure. He needed you to be alright. Jim was seated beside your bed, his chair pulled as close as he could get it. Your hand was lying limply in his tight grip, being the one that was not connected to an IV attached to a saline bag. Jim was praying – praying that you would survive this.
The muscles in his jaw clenched sporadically as he inhaled and exhaled, slowly and silently. He was trying to keep his mind blank and his body calm but he was quick to find out that was nearly impossible. He couldn't stop his breath from catching each time he looked at you and saw how pale and damaged you were. Tears dropped on your hospital gown as his hand on yours tightened. He was supposed to save you. His eyes shot open and he tore his hand away from you, jolting from his chair to start pacing around the room, hands running through his hair.
His breathing became erratic and his body ached from the suppressed rage he was holding in. He wanted to scream and yell and kill the maniac who was the sole reason you were lying unconscious in a hospital bed. Taking a few deep breaths, he attempted to calm himself, blanking his mind as he had learnt to from so many years of controlling himself. He dropped back into the chair with a sigh, and he gently took hold of your hand again. The truth was that being here with you was killing him, knowing how much he had let you down, it was the real reason he could hardly look you in the eyes.
"I'm so sorry, this is all my fault," he whispered.
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You rushed back to the door to try to escape but then you heard the click of it being locked by Jim.
"Please let me out! Please, I'll be good, I'll be good! I promise! Don't leave me!" you pleaded brokenly as you pounded your balled up fists on the door over and over again. There wasn't a sliver of light coming through the room, and you could hear Jim's footsteps as he walked away from the closet without another word. Wave after wave of dread rushed over you, and spikes of cold fear stabbed at your chest. Sweat covered your skin, and you were feeling the closeness of the walls surrounding you.
Nothing stopped the panic rising in your gut. You inhaled deeply through your nose and exhaled through pursed lips, just like Leslie had taught you when you were feeling anxious. "Please... I – I don't want to be alone anymore," you whispered, and started thumping quietly on the door in a last ditch effort in case they changed their minds. The next breath that you got in just then exploded from your lungs in a sob.
The hot tears dripped down your face as you tried to regain control of your breathing, but it was useless. There was no saving you. They didn't love you anymore. And after all the trouble you put them through, you didn't blame them. You leaned your whole body to the door hopelessly as you whimpered lowly to yourself. You were twitching involuntarily as you struggled to stay upright. You lacked any motivation to move or to speak or to do anything, everything felt agonizingly painful. You decided you deserved this, every part of it.
You stood there, alone, for what seemed like forever. You just wanted to get out, but you felt drained of all your energy and you were completely exhausted. It wasn't worth trying to escape when they weren't going to let you out no matter how much you begged.
Your eyes became heavy and as they were slowly drifting shut, you heard an oddly comforting sound of someone humming outside the door. Immediately, you jolted up because maybe you had a chance of getting out of here. You pressed your ear against the door so you could hear it more clearly. The sound continued and you determined that it was a young man's voice, which was very familiar.
"Is somebody there?" you asked, and when there was no answer, you repeated yourself.
The thrumming started to sound more faint and like it was slowly starting to disappear. You needed to find out where it was coming from. You pulled on the doorknob and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Your heart jumped in your fear that Jim or Leslie would push you right back in, and as you started to cautiously step out, you still didn't see them. Maybe it was safe.
You made your way down the hall with careful footsteps as you looked about your surroundings. There was only darkness, but as you explored further, you caught sight of a dim light at the end of the corridor that brought color to the room. The humming sounded clearer now. You wasted no time rushing to it, and suddenly hope was alive again that there was a way out of here.
Your instincts guided you while your mind struggled to keep up. There was a corner and then you were running down another hall.
You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, and when you finally reached your destination you saw a door that was wide open where the light came from. You knew something was wrong the moment you stepped into it. You swallowed the lump in your throat once the smell assaulted your nose.
Colors suddenly began to shine bright and wet on the dark walls, what looked like crude paintings done with messy red hand-prints. Puddles of blood on the floor. There was so much of it. The air was like fire against your skin, making you sweat, yet you felt cold. Fear took your heart in its vice-like grip, and the hairs on the back of your neck prickled. You couldn't speak, you couldn't scream, you couldn't do anything. You were frozen.
When your eyes scanned the rest of the room, you saw Jerome in front of crumpled bodies on the floor beneath him. He was covered in dried and fresh blood from head to toe, how it was running through his fingers, slippery and metallic as he took turns stabbing Leslie and Jim's bodies. He plunged a knife deep in their shoulders, their arms, their stomachs, their legs. There wasn't a single part of them that wasn't covered in blood. He was wearing a satisfied, smug kind of smile on his face, too big to be a smirk, with a flash of teeth. His hair was disheveled and his face was glazed with a faint layer of sweat and dirt. On his forehead was one single, pale pink line where his target had attempted to pry and claw him away. He watched with sick pleasure as the person underneath him squirmed.
You couldn't do anything. Your parents were dying in front of you and you couldn't do anything. You tried to move but you felt compelled to stay in place as the crime scene played out before you. The pair on the floor finally made a sound: a weak, choked exhale, shivered more than truly breathed. That sound earned a low, sardonic chuckle from Jerome. Broken lines of deep maroon was smudged on the floor, and you recognized that the family photos that hung in your parents' bedroom were broken and tossed about the place. You didn't know if he could see you or not because he didn't bother looking at you or showed any indication that he knew you were there.
Jerome knelt down to take in the image of his prey. His eyes were dark and focused as he examined their battered forms. A vile smirk played across his face, clearly proud, as he began to take in all the details: their legs were splayed on the floor, their ripped clothing drenched and leaking with scarlet as it sipped into the floorboards, the lifelessness of their eyes, faces scarred and mangled, how their bodies twitched with the acceptance of defeat, cuts and bruises covering every inch of their skin.
You heard the sound of dull footsteps making its way to the room, the figure coming out from the shadows. Your breath hitched the moment you saw who it was.
It was you. Only this version of you was covered in blood, it dotted your face and painted your attire shamelessly.
The wicked grin that played on her lips scared you more than anything. She played a part in this, too. She killed them with him.
You glanced down at the blade in her hand that was dripping with crimson, and felt yourself shiver when she tossed it to the ground. The sound was amplified by the heavy silence in the room. You still couldn't move.
She rushed to Jerome without waiting another moment and his hands were on her, turning her to face him. He angled his head to capture her mouth, and she cupped his blood spattered cheek in her hand. His kiss was searing. Starving. His body drove her back, stumbling from the force it, though his hold kept her upright. Her legs hit the wall and he lifted her up against it, hands reaching down to press her further against him by her ass. They needed each other. Ached for one another.
His kisses dragged along her throat, nipping and biting as speckles of his blood rubbed onto her skin. You could hear him tell her how much he wanted her, of the many ways he was going to take her, detailing promises that one day he would fulfill them all. His voice was like honey and she licked it from his lips, his hands dipping below the hem of her black skirt. Fingertips trailed along her thighs, slowly tracing the parting of her lips through her panties and already it wasn't enough. It could never be enough. She could feel her pulse racing beneath the brush of his hand, her hips already arching to meet him.
This was you.
You helped him kill your parents.
"You look fucking gorgeous like this, doll," he groaned low in her ear as his body drew close, stepping between her parting knees. Her breath was caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling in anticipation. He grinned, tilting her chin up with his other hand, staring at her intently. "Is this what you want?" he questioned, dragging his thumb against her lip.
"Please," she choked out with her eyes drifted shut as his fingertips circled against damp fabric, enough to tantalize but not nearly enough to satisfy. She reached forward in her haze to drag him into a heated kiss, his hand working her panties down as his other set to free himself from his pants.
He positioned himself, drawing her legs up around him, biting her neck hard as he pressed himself into her. Her back arched, gasping as she urged him on, begging for more. Kicking off her shoes, she hooked her ankles behind him so she could drive him forward, leaning back on the wall as he dragged her hips further down, angling to bury himself deeper.
Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she turned to look at you with a wicked grin and a malignant laugh spilled from her lips. "This is who you are, this is who you've become! Accept me, love me!"
"No, stop! I'll never be you! Please stop!"
You bolted up on your bed, shaking and cold with sweat. You drew quick, shuddering breaths, your face wet with tears. All the monitors around your bed flashed various numbers and vital signs, offering reassurance that you were indeed, technically speaking, still alive. Your gaze shifted quickly to your surroundings, scanning the stark white room, flinching from the fluorescent lights.
Then a scent: clinical, disinfectant, comforting. Touch came to you next, the feeling of a hand clutched to yours, warm and loving.
"It's okay. I'm here," Jim assured in a hushed voice.
"Dad? Dad," you whispered, a small smile spreading across your face. "Dad," you repeated insistently, and Jim's tear-blinded gaze never wavered from your own. The first thing you were aware of was the steady beeping of a machine. You tried to remember everything that took place on the fuzzy edge of your memory.
You remembered why you were here in the first place, how one moment you were in the safe embrace of Jim's arms, and the next thing you knew a gunshot pierced the air before everything went out of focus. You recalled the searing, sharp pain in your shoulder, and you could feel the blood leaking from you, but then that was it. Everything else was a blur. But you knew that it was morning now and that you were in a hospital; safe and alive and where Jerome couldn't get you.
"You're going okay, he can't get you here," Jim said as he gripped tighter onto your hand.
"Is Mom okay?" you implored.
"Yeah, I checked on her, she's okay," he told you with a small smile.
"Thank God," you said with a loud sigh of relief. "I'm so sorry Dad, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry," you choked out after a beat.
"This is not your fault. None of it is. This is all Jerome's doing," he said, his tone sounding hateful when he mentioned the reason why you were here in the first place.
Even though he's trying to reassure you, it doesn't stop the tears streaming down your face. "Please forgive me, please don't get rid of me, I'm so sorry. I never wanted any of this to happen," you begged around a choked sob.
Jim's eyebrows knit together in concern. "No, no, we would never. We love you. Please, I can't believe you would say such a thing," he whispered as he leaned over to wrap his arm around your back and pulled you into a hug that wouldn't hurt your shoulder.
You sobbed into his shoulder, tears pouring into the fabric of his suit. You didn't say anything more, staying silent as he continued to try to cheer you up by reminding you of how much he loved you.
"I killed those cops, Dad, that was me, I did it," you wept, and your heavy heart ached as you thought about all the cops whose lives were lost, because of you.
After a long moment, he pulled away from the hug to look you in the eye. "Jerome killed those cops, not you. I'm going to make a statement tomorrow and tell the police everything that happened. Everything he did. Don't blame yourself, this is not on you," he paused to make sure you understood but you merely nodded. "I'm going to kill Jerome. He's never going to lay a finger on you or Lee ever again. I swear. There's no way in hell he's getting away with any of this."