CAMERON MONAGHAN IMAGINES

No Answers. (Jerome)

You stumble into the club, trying to keep your balance through the immense number of mashing bodies. They're bobbing their heads and violently tossing their limbs as to impersonate a doll.

Feeling unsafe, you have your fingertips rested on your chilled metal GCPD badge on the inside of your jacket.

Entering the moshpit, the screaming music evades your delicate eardrums, but you don't flinch. That would call attention to you, possibly causing you to be thrown in the pit.

The heavy metal rockers in this club have evolved into another spirit of rebellion. It represents some kind of clown. Instead of screaming at the world, they admire a deceased idol. They're own martyr. Their idol defies Arkham and the GCPD through laughter, mainly. This laughter will never leave the citizen's ears. Now, this genre of rebels paint their faces to represent one of a clown, hoping to resawn the spirit of Jerome Valeska.

Squishing between the thrashing bodies, you travel to the side of the club, where an antique door glows beneath a royal blue light. Judging by the cracks in the wood and peeling green paint, this is the boss's room.

Your rival in the office, Jim Gordon, advised that you never search this case alone, but new evidence allows curiosity to claim the logical piece of you.

At this rebellious club, a leader emerged, publishing Jerome's face across town in numerous clubs, and spreading graffiti art. Profiting from advertising, he uses the money to buy exotic weapons and dispenses them to his following. The goal is to arrest him and interrogate him into finding out who is paying him to advertise Jerome. 

Extending your hand to the doorknob, you tense your muscles to suppress the intense trembling. You know this is wrong, but you can't help notice your gut feeling that something would arise from this. With one hand on your gun, you twist the wet doorknob and enter.

"What are you doing in here?" A gruff man approaches you.

The room isn't bright, nor is it dim. It's something your eyes comfortably adjusted to.

"I'm here to see the man you work for." You tighten your lips.

He is taken aback by your demand, as if it startled him. "Nobody sees him, doll." He patronizes you.

"There's a first to everything." The tension in the room can be sliced with a knife.

You unhook your finger from the gun and cross your arms around your long sleeve shirted chest. "Well?"

"Well, young lady, I believe it's best you'd be leaving." His sweaty brow rushes toward you as he bends down to meet your petite stance.

"I really don't think you want to kick me out." You slide your fingers back down to the gun.

The guard watches but is not phased. Behind him, you catch a glimpse of a figure shifting as a sillouette before a curtain.

In a burst of adrenaline and paranoia, you shove past the guard and sprint to the curtain. "Who's that?!"

Your cliche damsel in a horror movie personality is both a good and bad quality of you.

Swinging the curtain back, you spy a blond kid, dopily looking up at you from a couch. His face is pale with black eyeshadow smeared horridly about his eyes.

"You shouldn't be in here, you know." His voice is higher than you'd imagined.

You look over your shoulder at the guard, who is now exiting the room, back into the club.

Feeling uncomfortable, you yank out your gun and point it at the boy. "Where is the man who runs this place."

"He's out." The boy answers blankly.

"I'm not messing around, kid. I need answers now."

He keeps his eyes on only you, instead of the gun. "Probably doing stuff around town. How should I know?"

This boy isn't going to give you any vital information. Without a team here to interrogate him, you'll get nothing done.

You drop your fun in defeat and drag your feet out of the curtained area.

Grunting, you trudge toward the door back into the club, knowing you'd get chastised for putting yourself In danger and getting no answers.

You reach for the knob, when a lean body swoops in front of the door, swiftly.

"Where are you going, sweet cheeks?"

The sinister voice runs a chill through your chest, down to your feet. From the few recordings you've seen, you recognize that voice to be none other than the deceased Jerome Valeska.

You hold your breath at your throat, knowing you're about to confirm an unbelievable reality in seeing his face.

"What's the matter? GCPD got your panties in a wad?"

You glance down at your apparel to make sure your badge wasn't showing. How could he have known? Staying at eye level with his chest, you can't conjure any words to pronounce to the notorious psychopath.

"Cmon, cheeks, I've seen you act better on your feet. Nervous?" His voice is more raspy in person.

When you see Jerome move his hand near your chest, you freeze up, tightening every muscle you have.

"I-sto-sto-Jer-" JUST SAY WHAT'S ON YOUR MIND, you curse yourself for a lack of words.

His hand rests on the left side of your chest. An dead mans hand is warming your ribcage. Your heart beats against his fingertips.

"You must be scared." He claims in a condescending manner. "Your heart beats like a rodent. Look at me in the eyes. I know you're afraid to. But do it. Everything we be better".

Under his control, you lift your eyes to finally meet his gaze.

You knit your eyebrows and swallow hard. What you wanted to see was an average human with warm, pink skin. He'd be scanning you, corners of his mouth pulled up in a smug smirk. It was much worse than you'd predicted. Behind his eyes is a cold, dark place. Craze ridden slaughters twisting through his head, released in the oversized clown smile.  Maybe his wide grin shows joy, but you see straight into his mind; murderous, malevolent thoughts.

"See? Not so bad." He grazes the back of his hand across your jawline, like a blanket on freshly showered skin. You flinch, shutting you eyes to pretend a decent man is coddling you. "Let's get down to that case, yeah? I know you want some answers." 

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OH MY LORD LADIES AND MAYBE ONE GENTLEMAN. I am so so so so so so so so s os so...Is it too late now to say s o r r y ? ? ? 

3 years ago I had a One Direction fan account that had quite a decent following (sorry) and I met this fan from Australia. We became really close and skyped a ton over the years. Well March 4th she surprised me and was waiting for me in my room when I got home and has been staying here the whole month. I didn't want to bore her with writing so I took a break and IM SO SORRY mATEs. 

She's sadly leaving a week from now and I'll be posting more after that (Except I have a cruise to Mexico and Coachella whoops). 

How have you all been? What do want to see be written? Comment below! 

I love and miss all of you. Especially those who comment because if you've ever commented, I SEE YOU SISTA. I REMEMBER YOU. I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. *backs away slowly* 

Goodnight bbies

12:35 p.m.

-Bambi ;)