CHAPTER 6

Fury

Bruce dragged himself away as Jerome sliced a scalpel towards him, the air cut by a fine edge. He seemed to smile at the boy, as if this was the best day of his life. The atmosphere was teetering on the brink of chaos as kicks, punches and fatal blows were handed out to each other like penny sweets. Bruce ducked, the blade skimming the top of his head narrowly. Jerome brought his arm back to his side and smiled in his usual slouched manner. He bared his teeth, the cracks appearing in the dull light.

"Well, well," Jerome chided, his voice like sandpaper. "Quite a pickle we've got ourselves into, isn't it, Bruce?"

Bruce was silent, his eyes narrowed and steady. He knew his attacker was unpredictable.

"What's wrong? Oh, yeah." He snapped his fingers, his green eyes trailing around the room. "I forgot about your seriousness problem. C'mon, pal! Learn to loosen up a little bit," Jerome swung forward, stabbing the scalpel into the tabel. Pieces of wood were splintered across the room as he lower his head, his pupils pinpricks against his skin. "Let's have some fun."

Bruce leapt to the right, avoiding Jerome's pounce forward. He pushed him against the wall, his hands tied around his throat.

"I'm not here to fight you, Jerome."

Jerome sighed, gasping for a breath. "Pity, I was itching for a first-round K.O."

"I'm here to make you a deal," Bruce struggled to keep him under control. Jerome was far older and stronger than he was. "So, what are you going to do? Are you going to listen to me?"

He let out a quiet giggle as the room fell silent. Noises could be heard from downstairs. "Now why would I do that?" There was no answer. "C'mon, Bruce, use your brain! I know you have one 'cause I know you ain't stupid." Bruce felt his warm breath against his face. "Ya know... you and I are a lot alike,"

Bruce didn't look convinced. "And how's that?"

"People don't appreciate the way we do things... they don't get us." Jerome stared him in the eye, unblinking. "They think we're different because of the way we think and feel... ever since we were children the world casted us into a group far from the rest. I mean, sure. We were born into different social classes; you the self-righteous snob," he saw Bruce tence. "And me the lowly carnie. But you and I are the same, at least not physically but mentally. We're connected, and I know you and I... are destined to do this forever."

Bruce scowled as he produced an inward growl. He pushed Jerome closer to the wall in frustration. "You and I are two very different people, Jerome, and don't ever tell me or yourself other wise."

"Stop kidding yourself, Brucie." he laughed. "Your as crazy as I am,"

"No, I'm not. You're a psycho, Jerome,"

Jerome pushed forward as Bruce hit his head off the brick behind him. "It's all a matter of dignity, you're too self-conscious to show your madness. But... all it takes is one bad day, maybe you just haven't had yours yet." he shrugged. "And when you do, you'll be just like me. An outcast, an outcast without a care in the world."

The two men stared for a moment, Bruce staring into Jerome's pale green eyes. He wondered if somewhere hidden behind all of those scars was a normal person, with thoughts and cares. He watched him smile. No, Jerome was a killer that lacked conscience and mercy, and he was delving further into fantasy than any man had gone before.

Jerome's laughter began to increase in volume as Bruce winced. "I'm gonna send ya mad," he whispered into the boy's ear, grinning intently. "C'mon, let's release this psycho."

Bruce growled, growing tighter on Jerome's neck.

"Help me paint Gotham red, Brucie... we can do it together."

"Shut up, Jerome."

His eyes widened. "Not everyone can see the killer inside you, but I sure can... after all, it takes one to know one."

"There is no killer in me," Bruce held him to the wall tighter, tensing everytime a gunshot was heard from downstairs.

"Sure there is, we just have to find him,"

There was a crash from below, the floorboards quaking. Jerome raised and lowered his eyebrows. "Ooh, Jimmy and his sidekick are in a lot of trouble, aren't they? You want me to let you in on a little secret?" he paused. "They're gonna die... 'cause you're up here bickering with me instead of helping them. Wow, you're a great friend. Ya willing to risk the lives of two cops all for me... how touching. It's like that time you watched your parents get killed before your eyes,"

"How is it?"

"You let them die, like the coward you are."

Jerome watched the fury build in Bruce's eyes. He began to giggle, the grip on his throat getting tighter and tighter, yet he didn't seem to care. Bruce dragged him forward suddenly and pushed his body across the room with a blow to his torso. Jerome recoiled and rested a hand on the wall with a groan.

"Wooh," he breathed. "Didn't see that coming, I can say that."

Bruce pounced forward, gripping his arms and forcing him back.

"Where do you get all that power?" Jerome asked.

"My hatred for you," he said bluntly as he dove a fist into his face.

"Man," Jerome clutched his nose as a trickle of blood ran into his filtrum and into his mouth. "I don't know what hurt more; the comment or the punch." he sniffed, wiping his face on the sleeve of his blazer. "But there's one thing for sure, I don't go down without a fight."

Jerome surged forward, delivering a windmill of hits all at once. A laugh produced itself from his throat as he threw his head back.

"Like I said before," Bruce held his arms in front of his face. "I'm not here to fight you, I'm here to make a deal."

Confusion took hold as Jerome ran round him and gripped his neck, pulling his head back forcefully. Cold metal touched his skin. "Oh, I don't want to hear it, Brucie. You're too boring and, anyway, I like fighting."

Bruce snapped. Something in his mind clicked and he lost control, swinging at Jerome with full force. The next few minutes were a blur, the only memory left in Bruce's mind a vague image of Jerome's face in a look of surprise. He didn't feel any pain, or any emotions. In fact, he felt free. Perhaps this is what Jerome had been talking about; maybe there was another side to him he had yet to discover. Maybe this was it.

As his eyes began to adjust again, Bruce was greeted by the taste of blood and copper. He felt the pain that was progressing through his body, but that didn't matter now. Jerome was slumped against the wall on the other side of the room, his eyelids drooped. Bruce struggled to his feet, using the table for support, and hobbled forward clumsily.

"You're finished," he wheezed. "You have no-one else to turn to."

"Ah, that's okay," Jerome spluttered, refusing to open his eyes. "I won anyway."

"Take a look at yourself, Jerome... face it, sometimes you just can't win." Bruce stumbled, locking his arm against the table so he wouldn't collapse.

"I made you lose control," he coughed, creaking open an eye. "So, in a way, I'm stronger than you ever were." Jerome let out a weak giggle, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth as he did so.

"I think it's time for you to leave," he ordered, aiming a finger at the door.

"Do you now? And what makes you think I'll be leaving so soon?"

There was an explosion from downstairs as the main entrance blew itself apart. Yells and gunshots echoed up the building.

Jerome struggled to his feet and wiped his mouth of his blood. "Ah, I see where you're coming from." he stared for a moment. "See ya round, Brucie. Maybe we'll be seeing each other sooner than you think."

And with that, the ginger bounded away, hobbling down the stairs. He walked into a battle between his own men and the GCPD. Blood was splattered up the walls, painting it red.

"Oh, heck." he backed up as a bullet sailed past his ear. Gordon was ahead of him, loading his pistol. "You."

"Valeska," Jim said bluntly, aiming his gun. "You need to leave, take your men and leave. Find another place to settle down."

Jerome snorted. "You don't have the guts to kill me, Jimbo. Remember that time on the roof?" he waited for the cop to recall the events. "Yeah, that one. The one where I was hanging from that flagpole and you put out your hand to help me. Just like the goodie-two-shoes you are... you'd never kill me."

"No," Jim made sure his gun was correctly loaded. His hands were shaking violently. "You're right, Jerome. I wouldn't kill you, and it's not because I'm a coward, it's because I'd rather see you behind bars than six feet of earth."

There was an explosion. A shockwave exploaded from the end of the pistol, scarring the air and piercing it with a chunk of metal. The bullet crashed into Jerome's shoulder, his body pushed back a few feet by the mere presence of the object. Blood leaked into his blazer and he let out a cry.

"Agh!" Jerome toppled, struggling to stay on his feet. He grabbed the attention of a few of his men. "Fall back! Fall back!"

The message spread itself round the room and the punks began to pile out of the doors in chaos. Jerome jumped forward toward Jim, resting one hand on his shoulder and one hand on his middle. Jim let out a muffled yelp.

"This is for you, Jimbo." he patted his arm in a friendly manner. "After all, sharing is caring."

Jim looked down to see a heavy blade penetrating his torso before everything went black.