thirty six

2.4K 70 14
                                    

Rory was trying not to cry in front of Jerome. Her teeth were highly sunk into her tongue as she held back her tears. Every time the van hit a bump in the road, she flinched, her tears getting closer to spilling. Her chest was tight, the stress of Tetch's hypnosis felt like barbed wire around her brain. She couldn't see anything, only Jerome and his campaigns, who were sitting in silence as one of the goons drove the vehicle. Scarecrow hadn't said anything he didn't even acknowledge that Rory was in the van, he simply stared at his feet, his breathing was heavy through his mask. Rory thought back to when she had met him whilst she was saying goodbye to Lola. Had he told Jerome about that? 

Her stomach flipped as the van swayed. Jerome was sitting next to her, his arm resting over his shoulders. It seemed like he was aware that Rory's presence was affecting his companions and his closeness to Rory wasn't to show claim but for protection. The van was dark, Jerome's light green glow seemed to stick to her as he held her shoulders. Scarecrows honey-coloured aura seemed to swirl in with the pink that floated around Tetch's head.  She had gotten so used to seeing the auras of the insane that she barely even acknowledged it. In fact, she had forgotten what someone looked like without the dim ring of colour glowing from their silhouette. The only person she could think of who didn't have some kind of glow to them was Lola, and she was dead.

The van lurched to a stop, rocking Rory out of her head. 

"Right let's make this quick and easy, boys!" 

#

The air was sharp as Rory clambered out of the van. They were surrounded by trees and there seemed to be a low fog that coated the ground. It had been so long since she had breathed in the fresh air. Despite her timidness and her harsh company, she still managed to take a slow inhale. The breath was quickly stolen from her as Jerome placed a hand on her lower back and urged her forward. He was uncharacteristically serious as he looked out into the woodlands. This unnerved her and an icy shiver shot through Rory, centring itself at the point of his touch.

The villains were silent as they slowly trudged into the wilderness. Jerome had one hand on Rory's back, guiding her through the forest. They walked for what seemed like hours until they found a small concrete hut protruding uncharacteristically out of the soggy, brown forest floor. A wicked grin pulled at Jerome's lips. 

"This is it," he hummed, his hand slowly moving from Rory's lower back to the side of her hip. He pulled her closer to him and looked back at his companions. He pulled a small sheet of paper which was crumpled and handed it to Tetch. The Mad Hatter moved slyly over to the door, throwing his hat over the camera which was protruding from the side, he then jabbed in numbers and with a dull click, the metal doors of the strange concrete square opened. Rory expected alarms to be going off, some kind of show which detected their intrusion, but as she was brought to the entrance with Jerome, all she could hear was the eery moans of a draft. There were steps that led down to an unseeable bottom. 

"Don't tell me you're scared," Jerome whispered to her as he watched his companions crawl into the mysterious hole. 

"Only of you," she shot back. 

She felt him smirk at her response and took a reluctant step forward. She managed to separate herself from his touch as she did this and sucked in a quick breath as she continued her descent into the mysterious base. She could hear Jerome's footsteps echo after hers and for a moment the terror of his presence sunk in. She felt like his shadow was looming over her, tightening its grips around her chest. But this moment of fear seemed to be jolted out of her mind thanks to Tetch's little magic trick. Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter were waiting for them at the bottom, the two reminding Rory of circus acts in their strange, unnerving costumes. They were standing in a corridor that reminded Rory of a parking lot. The pale grey concrete walls had splotches of light running through, everything seemed so empty and cold. 

His Trophy | Jerome ValeskaWhere stories live. Discover now