Black Mirror Jerome Flynn Novels & Stories

He still had more sleep reflexes, occasionally opening his eyes just to blink briefly, then falling back into a deep sleep. Once again I muttered, "Your eyes are just like mine." But this time with pride and love. The prophecy must be wrong. The two wings could be Antares and Lyra, the three men could be Ben, Kyle, and Jeremiah. But rogues... I've never dealt with them, let alone joined a colony. I turned to the window. Jeremiah seemed to be talking to someone. His face looked serious, but I couldn't tell who he was talking to. It could be Feride.

He grounded himself, knowing full well that his anchor was no longer with him; he no longer had the luxury of being wilful. “He was only a tool.... and he got the ending a tool deserved.” Jerome slowly opened his mouth, his tone heavy and measured. “The ones who deserve to burn in hell are the masterminds and the co-conspirators.” His eyes narrowed as his fists clenched “and they will get every ounce of what they are owed.” “Jerome…” “How are you feeling?” Both Harry and Matthew spoke in unison as they rushed to his side. “Your short few weeks had me turning fully grey…” Bari chuckled as he too stepped forward to examine his dear friend and benefactor.

the cops said. “Why would you say sorry to him? You have done nothing wrong to him?” he said. Jeremy watched to us while he was being taken away. His eyes were dangerously infuriated and they seemed to be mad, like they could kill a person just with the sight itself. My eyes were confused. That sight was given to me or Mr. Black cause it was both of us who ruined his plans and future at the same time but unknowingly. After he was dragged out of the café it was me and only Mr. Black who was left behind over there. I was quite speechless and short of words for his gratifying act. I didn’t know how should I put forward my gratefulness to him?

He told her, laying it on thick because he could see that she was the type to be swayed easily. She seemed to have the brains of a bird. Personally, he didn’t give a flying fuck that Blair was dead, but this woman didn’t need to know that. “Jerome. His name is Jerome, and you’re very correct. I never liked him one bit. As soon as I see the receipts you're talking about and I verify that they’re authentic, then I’ll be ready to continue from where my mother left off.” Amanda told him, a murderous look in her small eyes. They’d all get what was coming to them.

“Select only those you trust with your life.” He tilted his head. “And the Phoenix?” I looked toward the window, where dusk was turning into night. And the darkness approaching faster than whirlwind. “I’ll find it,” I said. “Or it will find me.” Jerome watched me for a moment longer, then turned to leave. I knew he knew I had a plan but I wouldn't tell him what it was. He knew something was up. At the door, he paused. “Astra,” he said. “Yes?”

He realized that he cared about Abbey's feelings, that he didn't want to hurt her or see the disappointment in her eyes. As he imagined her reaction, Jeremy's heart raced with a mix of anxiety and guilt. He saw her tears, her sorrow, and her anger. He heard her whispered words, "How could you, Jeremy? How could you take a life without mercy?" Jeremy's gaze dropped, his eyes fixed on the floor, as he felt the weight of his actions for the first time. He knew he couldn't undo what was done, but he wanted to spare Abbey the pain of knowing. He wanted to protect her from the darkness within him, to shield her from the harsh realities of his world.

Minutes turned into an hour. And then, finally,Jerome stirred. A faint groan escaped his lips. His fingers twitched against the sheets. Slowly, painfully, his eyes opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as he recognized the room around him. Miranda leaned forward just slightly. Just enough to be a mother. But not enough to look vulnerable. Jerome blinked again, confusion clouding his gaze. “Mother…?” His voice was hoarse, fragile, barely there. Whatever softness flickered in Miranda’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by her usual steel.

It didn’t look like Ellen’s style at all. Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. The other man began to search, opening drawers, checking under the bed, behind the curtains. Jeremiah walked to the vanity and traced his fingers across the surface, his reflection faint in the mirror. For a brief second, he saw Ellen’s face instead of his own the same dark hair, the same accusing eyes, whispering You can’t bury the truth forever. He flinched. “Enough,” he said sharply. “Just plant it.”

"Those are the only ones I know." "Alright. One moment, please." The police officer leaves the room, and I'm left alone. From movies, I know that the huge mirror in front of me is a window to another room where they are also watching me. I can't believe Jeremiah is dead, oh my God, what happened to him? My hands are shaking, I feel very anxious. I don't like this place. The officer returns minutes later. "We've called Theo White, and he's on his way. You need to give us the names of at least two more people. We need proof, not just words."

His voice trembled with a mix of anger and curiosity as he shouted into the phone, "How do you know that name?!" Drake Lockman's laughter resounded one last time, filled with malicious satisfaction. "You buried your past quite well, but how can you hide something from someone who lived in your past?" With those cryptic words, he abruptly ended the call. Jeremy's heart raced as a surge of emotions washed over him. He had believed he could handle Drake Lockman, dismiss him as another fool, but he had underestimated his adversary. The realization struck him like a thunderbolt—Drake Lockman possessed knowledge from his darkest days, threatening to unearth the secrets Jeremy had fought so hard to