Alleyways ⇀ Jerome Valeska Imagine

01: alleyways

If you lived in Gotham City, it was just mandatory that you didn't walk alone at night. If you did, you were basically insane.

Luckily for you, walking in the dark had become a common routine of yours; you'd finish your shift at the cinema, then make your way home. There was no point in calling a cab, since your home was within walking distance. Plus, you kind of enjoyed walking at night. The neon lights would illuminate the puddles on the ground, and if you were lucky enough, you'd be able to see the moon shining in the reflection.

You were just nearing the corner, the corner where the alley opened up.

Some part of you had always dreaded the alley. It's not that anything bad had happened during your little walk through there. (If you didn't count the time that drunk guy came up to you, poorly impersonating the mayor. After trying to convince you he was taking donations for 'city funds', he promptly vomited on your shoes.) Unfortunately, if you didn't go through the alley, it would add another six minutes onto how long it took you to get home.

You braced yourself, stuffing your hands into your pockets as you entered the crevice in the two buildings; a Chinese restaurant and an old thrift shop.

You heard police sirens in the distance, but you weren't alarmed. It was a customary thing in Gotham - you'd gotten used to it after growing up with stories of bank robberies, burglaries and murders. It was almost as if your life was in black and white, until the flashes of red and blue came along, followed by sirens. In fact, that was like what most people lives were like in Gotham City.

There were dumpsters lining the alley, with trash littering the ground. It was dark, save for the moon light that was almost directly above your head and the lamps at either end of the passageway.

You were almost directly in the middle of the dark alley, and you could see the street lamp lighting up your destination at the end. You heard a car screech in the distance, which made you freeze on the spot.

Footsteps accompanied a low sizzling noise. It seemed like there was faint laughter.

God, what if they were coming your way?

You heard the sirens again, louder this time. The footsteps were drawing closer. Tires screeching and police sirens were never a good combination.

Shit, shit, shit! Is there a handbook for this?

At the end of the alleyway, you saw a man. Or a boy. He was young, and you left it at that. His features were hidden by shadows. He swiftly edged around the corner, into the alley. He stayed near the wall. There was something metal in his hand that glistened in the dim moonlight.

Had he seen you yet? If he hadn't, he sure would soon, seeing that you were standing frozen, bang in the middle of the narrow passageway. Every nerve in your body was telling you to run or hide, but even moving an inch would bring attention to yourself. Staying still would also bring attention to yourself. Either way, attention was inevitable.

"What's a girl like you doing out so late in a city like Gotham?" You heard a voice say casually, and you came to the sudden realization that it was his voice.

You swallowed, blinking as if waking from a trance. "A girl like me?" You repeated weakly, mentally scolding yourself at the way your words came out so feebly. You looked at him, but he was still concealed in the shadows, near the wall.

He appeared to shrug nonchalantly. The sirens continued wailing, but were getting further away. He stepped out from the darkness, and you breathed in a sharp intake of air.

God, you were so screwed.

Everyone had heard about the group of criminally insane inmates that were broken out of Arkham. Everyone had heard about their little fiasco recently, which involved spray paint and dead bodies being flung from buildings. It didn't take you long to see the ginger hair and the gun to connect the dots. He was Jerome Valeska. A wanted criminal.

"I'd better be going." You immediately blurted out, taking off with hurried foot steps, past the ginger boy who had a faint smile on his lips.

"No," He said, extending out his arm and aiming the gun directly at your head. "you'd better not." You spun around, and saw that he now had a devilish grin, and his crazed look made you want to squirm, but you held his stare determinedly.

"Look, I don't have anything I can gi-"

"No, no, no. All I want is directions." Jerome reassured, still smiling. "You see, I haven't been out a lot in Gotham for a while now."

You gulped.

"Do you know who I am?"

Yes. "No." Great, you thought. Act stupid. Maybe he'll let you go if you j-

He narrowed his eyes. You hoped you hadn't pissed him off. Note to self: Don't make people who are holding guns at you angry. He twisted his lips to the side, as if he was considering something. "I really need to make a name for myself." Jerome muttered under his breath, sighing dramatically in irritation.

"I really need to go." You told him, eyeing the gun pointing at your face cautiously. Jerome steadied his aim once again, shaking his head. You heard the sirens again. Looks like they were circling the area.

"Nuh-uh." He said. "You'd just go to the GCPD."

"They'd still look for you anyway, wouldn't they? You're a fugitive." You argued.

"So you do know who I am." Jerome exclaimed, a short, giddy giggle leaving his lips. He raised his eyebrows, as if he was daring you to deny it.

You opened your mouth, but snapped it shut as you heard a door opening. You cast a glance over your shoulder, and saw that a chef wearing a white apron was carrying a trash bag. He was whistling softly, but abruptly stopped when he saw the scene before him. He dropped the trash bag, which rolled to his feet.

You saw Jerome aim his gun at the man, and you widened your eyes in alarm. Before you could prepare to shove the criminal away so his aim was off, the pistol fired, and then there was a ringing in your ears. A dull thump sounded as you looked to the man who was once standing by the dumpster. He was now lying in a puddle in a heap of limbs.

You covered your mouth in shock, feeling the need to vomit. You heard your heart thud in your ears. Breathing heavily, you looked back at Jerome, who was smiling at the corpse on the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You heaved, backing away from the crazed ginger. You heard sirens, a lot of sirens.

"They heard the gun shot," You whispered, faintly smiling in relief.

"Oh yeah," Jerome said, pursing his lips. "Probably should've thought about that before I took the shot." He added, shrugging as if to say, "What can you do?"

You started backing away, an uneasy knot forming in your stomach. You just witnessed a murder. Your eyes kept darting to the crumpled man on the floor, grimacing each time. You were just making your way down the alley. God, you needed to get to the police.

"Not so fast." Jerome laughed, pointing his gun back at your face. "Where do you think you're going?" He sang, grinning.

"I'm getting the fuck away from you!" You declared through gritted teeth, staring directly at the pistol's muzzle.

"I can't let you do that." Jerome said, almost sympathetically whilst shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

You were almost hyperventilating, and a hand sprung to your heaving chest.

"If I let you go, you'll just tell the GCPD where I went." He said. Jerome glanced behind your head, presumably watching for any approaching officers.

"I wouldn't." You reassured, clamping your mouth shut to stop yourself from panting. "You can trust me."

"I'm not taking any chances." Jerome deadpanned, lunging for your arm. He dragged you towards him, and you lurched forward. Jerome began forcing you down the passageway, and you could feel the muzzle of his gun hovering above your ribs. "You have to give me directions, remember?"