Gotham: Tales

A gray ray slipped through the sterile white curtains — they were the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. But what he truly recognized first was not the gloomy day outside the window, but the monstrous pain in his eyeballs. As if he had spent decades in impenetrable darkness and suddenly, without warning, had been dragged into bright light — like a sighted mole doomed to go blind under the very first weak, cutting ray of the sun. His lips stretched into a tense grimace; his own face seemed foreign to him. Somehow… not quite right. But when he opened his eyes again, the world swam before them, and his stomach seemed to twist itself into a knot. Reflexes and bodily reactions overwhelmed him at once — through a groan he lurched forward, freeing the vomit that rushed out of him in an intense wave, overpowering even the pain in his eyes. But, to his surprise, a slim hand gently caught him, supporting him, and he didn’t feel the wet eruption on his thin, rough blanket. Peeking one eye open, he saw through the throbbing ache a small iron bucket being set down on the floor. While he was coming to his senses, he barely realized that someone was wiping his face with a handkerchief. His name was Jerome — and that awareness felt more important than anything happening outside his head. Jerome… who called him that? An interesting name — not exactly a common one. Not like John or Mary. At least, that’s how it seemed to him. And what was his surname?.. If only someone could tell him. In his head — pain, nausea, a name, and nothing else. So, who’s holding him, anyway? He opened his eyes again and strained them, determined not to bend under this new hail of discomfort. The world still floated in a sea of sparks, but they obediently scattered under his stubbornness. Then he saw incredibly long red hair cascading over his shoulder in a wave. It smelled of cheap shampoo, whose chemical scent stirred his nausea again. But another minute passed, and all unpleasant sensations retreated, replaced by a sweet relief. “Shhh,” someone whispered almost in his ear. The sound stung, but not badly — whoever was beside him mercifully waited for him to fight through the painful assaults on all his senses. He blinked away the last weakness and stared at a pale woman’s face that had now taken clear shape before him. Thin lips curved in a small smile, and dark brown eyes where little sparks danced. So murky — it seemed the pupil blended into the iris. They looked like a night swamp, where faint torches burned along treacherous paths. He had no idea who she was. And he didn’t like that she was practically breathing in his face. “Finally,” she said in a thin, ringing voice. Jerome felt a tickle on his arm and lowered his gaze. The dry tips of the girl’s hair brushed lightly against his skin — covered with about the same reddish hair. “Sister?” Jerome’s voice was strained, as if his vocal cords had been tightly strung on a wire — he sounded like a hoarse little tiger cub, and he was surprised at his own voice. The girl drew back, blinking — far too theatrically, he thought. “Oh, not at all!” she exclaimed, pulling an exaggeratedly surprised face. “I’m your better half!” “Yeah?” Jerome responded skeptically and smirked. “Then it’s good you’re not my sister.” His own lips felt far too small… Meanwhile, the girl let out a short laugh at his words, but her smile quickly faded. “You don’t remember anything.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “The doctors warned me about that.” Her voice grew syrupy with sadness. “Oh, not nothing!” he protested. “Name’s Jerome. Pleased to meet you, my dear?..” He graciously allowed her the chance to introduce herself. “Annie,” she said, lowering her red lashes modestly, as though his tender address had made her blush like a shy girl. They were having a rather funny dialogue, but both their manners and tones felt oddly in sync. “Annie!” His hoarse voice rose an octave higher as he tasted her name. “Sounds cute. Tell me about yourself, Annie.” Not that he was particularly interested in listening. That was, of course, cold of him — considering she was supposedly his girlfriend — but he couldn’t help how he felt. Still, he needed an anchor, some ground to stand on while awareness wrestled with his situation, and this Annie could serve as one. Yet because of his callousness, he felt a faint and very unpleasant prick of guilt. He wanted to wriggle away from that feeling. “Well, I came to see you every day…” Logically, that should have cheered him up, but instead it filled him with a sense of gloom and boredom. “And how long I was?..” “A very long time.” Jerome looked at her again. If before her thin little voice had sounded full of loving innocence, now those two words came out almost as hoarsely as his own. And still, she had sharp eyes. So direct and resolute — when she didn’t hide them. “Damn, Annie,” he said in reluctant admiration. “Missed me that much?” “Of course.” He tilted his head. “I even feel guilty that I’ve got a gaping hole in my head, and whatever’s left — you didn’t fit in there.” He nodded confidently at his own words, pulling a serious face. “Guilt?” Strange that she caught on that particular word. “Well, you know…” Jerome thought hard. “I’m lacking some marbles, and I’ve no idea what’s going on or why,” he said lightly. “Hmm, why do I even talk like this? You, for one, sound different…” He frowned, actually concentrating. “Eh, well, just don’t take offense, okay?” “Oh, Jerome…” She moved closer to him, seemingly unaware of how he immediately tensed. “How could I ever be offended at you?” “That’s my girl!” he purred sarcastically. “Probably.” It felt like he was spitting out words faster than he could think them. Amid the chaos of sensations — where everything felt strange, from himself to Annie — he decided that what was happening wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But somewhere deep down, he already knew that for that very reason, things were only going to get worse — and stranger.