One Year Later...
Haly's Circus completed another cross-country tour and had finally cycled back to Gotham.
Bessie dreaded returning.
She rocked with the moving caravan. Her father and mother were in the car up front which was pulling it along the highway. Green pastures rolled by the window above her couch-bed, but soon they would give way to a couple dots of houses, then stout buildings, and finally immense skyscrapers. Bessie sat on her unfolded mattress, bent over, resting her face in her hands meditatively. She wasn't ready.
Gotham was where the trouble started. And just when she was finally beginning to feel some distance, too—from how she almost lost her life, from Lila's end, from...him.
She didn't want reasons to think of Jerome. He was gone a long time ago. He couldn't get her now.
Yet, his presence lingered like a perfume in the air. In the Big Top. In the cafeteria. Everywhere he frequented or touched. His deeds and their aftermath could not be erased. Moving on without him was a long process Bessie endured that still was not over, but at the very least, she could say that some progress had been made since witnessing his demise on that tiny television screen. These days, she could almost go a day or two without remembering him, which was a major step up from every waking minute during the year prior.
Gotham, however, had the potential to undo everything. Jerome was just so permeated into that city's air. The streets still bore the echoes of his brief but nightmarish crime spree.
Bessie sighed and released her face. Fortifying her spine, she planted her hands on her knees in submission to her fate. Gotham could not be avoided forever. She would have to get through this, one way or another.
Maybe it won't be as bad as I'm making it out to be, she told herself, rising. Sometimes the expectation of doing something unwanted was more daunting than actually doing it. She could get through this. The support of Haly's Circus was behind her should she ever fail or fall. Two years was enough for them to prove this time and time again.
Bessie was now a whole half inch taller than when Gotham last saw her. Four-foot-eleven was in range, but it was iffy these days on whether she could ever break the five foot barrier, given her age of nineteen. She tucked a strand of her now platinum-blonde bob behind her ear. In regard to her hair she just felt a change had been necessary. Some said it was a natural impulse after the incident, a reactionary break to somehow distance herself from that point in time, to exercise and regain a sense of control that she felt she had lost. Truly, though, Bessie did not have a rebellious bone in her body.
Not even the color was enough. Her hair's natural volume was also toned down, as she adopted a straightening iron routine. The old, natural, brown, fluffy style was no more. A brief rumor floated through the circus at the time that Bessie was so fearful of Jerome returning that the hair bleach was her adopting a timid disguise, to throw off his recognition.
Bessie never corrected anyone over it.
She leaned a hand on the kitchen sink counter, staring out the window pensively at a group of cows grazing in the vast, green farm field that stretched to the horizon. A memory she hadn't recalled in nearly a year flashed into her mind—she was seventeen again, at this very counter, baking blondies for a friend whom she thought had been sad.
Bessie pressed her lips and let her hand drop off the counter. Truly she had not been able to eat blondies since that day.
Gotham drew near. And with it, seemed to still carry a dense atmosphere of memories that Bessie had hoped were left far behind.
She got to work on making herself a sandwich for lunch. Gotham would have to be treated just like any other city.
Two Days Later...
Gotham was darkly beautiful. Dark being the key word. Her architecture was cold, yet elegant. The skies above were grey and bloated with light rainwater more often than not. The city was almost regal. However, it hid a sinister problem deep within it's cracks and crevices. She had the look of a city of class, but Gotham's history was stained in blood and alternating red and blue lights.
That's why excursions from the grounds were never done alone.
Bessie stepped out from the restaurant, cocooned in a group of ten other circus kids, giggling at a joke Octavio Campos just told them. John Grayson led his fiancee Mary Lloyd outside by the hand.
No rain was scheduled for today, the skies had opened up. A soft orange sunset was unsuccessfully trying to peek around the towering downtown buildings.
The circus kids had all made good on their promise to never neglect their brethren again. Jerome hung heavy on all their minds, an achingly regretful lesson in not being the support he could have needed. No one would ever know the real reasons for Jerome's final snap, so blame could not be pinned on any one person, but everyone carried some share of the 'What If's. What if we visited him more? What if we knew of the abuse? What if we just asked him how he was doing more often? What if, what if, what if...
John and Mary seemed to argue less, too, no doubt realizing their family's petty squabbles didn't matter greatly in the grand scheme of things when compared to the tragic saga of the Valeskas.
They all gathered at the bus stop down the way. The Circus was situated in an open field on the outskirts of the city, much too far to walk. They chatted among themselves until their bus came.
The circus kids, by extension, were always like adopted brothers and sisters, but ever since one broke rank and fell away, they acted more like it from then on. Bessie still held a sense of inner conflict over this. She was grateful to have their restrengthened bonds, her wish from years ago had come true, but something tragic was needed in order to create something beautiful. Maybe in a book or a movie that would have been poetic, but in real life, the sacrifice to get there had been steep and life-altering.
By the time they arrived home, the sun was gone, night was absolute, and stars splattered the widened sky where skyscrapers couldn't block them. While city cores were wonderful and exciting to visit, Bessie could never find herself living in one, though. Something about the fresh scent of the outdoors and warm popcorn still said home.
The fairgrounds were still draped with the hundreds of light bulbs on poles, guiding them all back home.
Bessie glanced aside down the big, grassy expanse, just for a second, and found the same alder tree in the distance from her last visit, still hanging over the black crack cutting the landscape. The long drop into the Gotham river.
She immediately turned away, shaking off the bad memory.
Some of them kept their conversations alive on the walk back, breaking off when their caravans came up. Bessie ended up being the third to last. She turned to Hannah and Junie Paisley to wave goodbye with a smile for their enjoyable afternoon out when they were approached. Clarence Humboldt, the ringmaster, a normally jolly man with a rich, decadent voice, wasn't looking so jolly right now.
"Hey girls," he greeted.
"Hey, Mr. Humboldt," said Hannah. Her smile faded. "Something wrong?"
"It's the darndest thing, I've been trying to find Gideon all day. It's his turn for night patrol tonight. Have any of you girls seen him?"
"No," said Hannah.
"I haven't," added Junie.
Bessie shook her head.
Clarence put his hands on his hips and looked out at the clustered caravans, as if Gideon could walk out from any of them at any minute. "Well, if any of you see him, tell him that I'm looking for him."
"Sure thing," said Junie with a nod. "I'm sure he's here somewhere."
"Good night, girls. Thanks." Clarence waved and left the way he came.
Bessie said goodbye to the Paisley twins and pulled her key out of her pocket, opening her door. The windows were pitch black from the outside, meaning her parents must have still been out. She shut the door behind her, the single-lane interior lit across the center from light coming through the kitchen sink window. Her key clacked on the counter as she set it down, and shrugged off her coat. She noticed the piece of paper on the counter as she hung her coat on the hook. She leaned over to read it.
Elisabeta,
Will come back later. The Rossetti's invited us over to dinner. Hope you had fun.
Love you
So her parents weren't home, which explained the lights. Bessie straightened her rumpled black t-shirt where the coat caused it to twist. It wasn't late enough to go to bed yet, she could probably get some TV in.
Bessie's loose arm at her side was suddenly wrenched behind her back and her heart lurched. A hand already clapped her mouth shut before her instinctive scream escaped, muffling the sound into flesh. Bessie struggled wildly, hollering against the hand for someone outside to hear her, but whoever invaded her home was too strong. She whimpered, using her feet to gain traction to run, but she could not break the iron grip. Her panicked, staccato breaths scraped through her nose. Her assailant forced her against themself, squeezing her like a boa constrictor.
"Honey, I'm home," a voice greeted darkly in her ear. "Have the nightmares gone away yet?"