Mikey finds new ways to hurt Gerard
“Ray?” Bob turned shocked by the rapid change in the guitarist’s demeanour. It was a few seconds before he realised what the problem was. “Oh, God! You ran! On your sprained foot! You ran!”
Ray shook his head.
“I didn’t think. I thought… Frank…” he gasped through the pain. “It’s just hit me.”
In moments a doctor was at Ray’s side, examining his now very swollen ankle. Frowning, he shook his head.
“I’m amazed you can even stand on that!” he announced. “Running?”
“It wasn’t my first choice.”
Paging a nurse, and an orderly, the doctor continued:
“I’m afraid, I’m going to have to admit you. Nurse Klein will see you settled in a room and I’ll be checking on you later.”
“But what about Frank?” Ray protested.
Bob crouched at Ray’s side and gave a friendly punch on his left arm.
“Keep your ‘fro on! We’ll let you know everything!”
Ray pouted. “You know I hate it when you say that.”
“Yeah,” Bob nodded, a broad grin spreading across his face, “I believe you’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“Well…” Ray’s face screwed up with a sudden sharp pain coursing up his leg. Taking a deep breath as the pain subsided, he continued: “… you better had tell me everything.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ll hide my drumsticks. I live in fear of that day.”
“Oh, shut up, Bob!” Ray grumbled as he was helped into a wheelchair by the orderly.
Bob turned to Gerard briefly.
“I’ll see Ray into his room. Find out what you can from Alan, I’ll meet you back at the café?”
Gerard nodded as he Mikey and Alan headed back along the corridor.
Alan Frey, the director of My Chemical Romance’s latest video shoot, had done nothing right. None of his errors had been intentional, but all of them had been significant. The biggest three thus far had been inadequate location management, resulting in Ray falling into a pit loaded with long wooden spikes that nearly cost him his life; not appearing to register or even care that Ray had been badly hurt in the fall and finally entering Frank’s hospital room, oblivious to the fact that the outcome of his dream while comatose could threaten his life.
On the way to the café, Mikey explained the strange and rare condition Frank appeared to be suffering and the possible effects of Frey’s words and actions. As much as they wanted to know more, there was little they could do to even understand what effect they would have, if any, never mind rectify any of those issues.
Once all three were seated at a table, Gerard looked expectantly at Alan. Despite it not being his fault that he had been unaware of Frank’s situation, he felt waves of guilt crashing over him and he prayed that his actions would not prove detrimental.
“I went in and sat down,” Frey explained. “I touched his shoulder just to let him know I was there.”
“Did you say anything?” Gerard asked.
Frey nodded. “I said that he shouldn’t be there and…”
“And what?” Gerard pushed. “We have to know.”
Frey sighed. “Remember, I was just talking, saying anything that came into my head for the sake of something to say more than actually thinking it.”
“What did you say?” Gerard replied, now deeply concerned.
“I said that I was in a difficult position, that you wouldn’t stand for it.”
Gerard raised his eyebrows. The words sounded pretty selfish, but he now knew from what Frey had said that he had merely been rambling; saying anything just to say something.
“Then I just said I was dying for a smoke.”
Both brothers laughed at that comment. It seemed like nothing. There was no way they could know the sinister way such an innocuous remark had seeped into Frank’s dream.
“How will it affect him?”
Gerard shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“We don’t know,” he admitted. “It may do nothing, it may save his life, it may kill him. We…”
Gerard turned his head sharply away as his eyes stung with sudden burning tears. He had not truly considered it before, but now as he said the words out loud, he realised the possibility that Frank may not recover and it was more than he could bear.
Mikey’s eyes widened as he took in his brother’s sudden crushing pain and felt it all with him. Resting his forehead on Gerard’s shoulder, Mikey drew him in to a supportive hug that Gerard readily accepted. Frank mustn’t die. In his mind, it simply wasn’t an option.
Frank didn’t go easily, but there was little he could do to prevent it. Even the additional strength garnered from his anger at Mikey’s mocking laughter as he was dragged away wasn’t enough. The smoke house was a long way from the stables and even further from the main house; even without the gag it was unlikely anyone would hear him shout for help. Struggling violently in the four handed grip, Frank felt he was gaining on them until a fist slammed into his back between his shoulder blades. The air in his lungs was instantly driven out and a sharp debilitating pain ran up his spine into his neck. Momentarily, he felt as weak as a kitten as he dropped to his knees. Pushing him face down into the grass, Frey straddled Frank’s hips as his assistant held his arms. Unable to move, Frank felt a long strip of leather, taken from the tack store, wrapped tightly around his wrists and tied in a firm double knot. Pulled to his feet once more and secure in their grip, Frank knew there was now very little he could do to resist and as the smoke house loomed into view, his eyes displayed the fear he felt.
Returning to the house, Mikey chuckled to himself; all this would soon be his, to run and dispose of as he saw fit. Gerard was a drunk, but the townspeople loved him. He treated them fairly, even kindly, frequently allowing the rent to slip if there had been a poor harvest or damage to crops or livestock by the local wolves. All that would change when he was master of the Estate. Oh, yes, he, Mikey Way, would not be taken advantage of and he would teach them all respect. But first, to dispose of Gerard and make it appear an accident.
Rounding the front of the house, Mikey frowned to see Frank’s grey tethered near the door. Loosening the reigns, Mikey lifted his left foot into the stirrup and hoisted himself up, swinging his right leg over the saddle. Gripping the reigns tightly as the horse reared, as she recognised the different rider. Cruelly pulling down firmly on the reigns and driving the bit deeper into the horse’s mouth was enough to bring her back under his control and with a satisfied smirk, he kicked his legs guiding her towards the stables. Looking up as he swung off the horse at the stall entrance, Mikey could see Gerard in the distance leading his horse. He laughed to himself as he noticed his brother was limping. Without even removing the bit, bridle or saddle, Mikey, pulled Frank’s horse into the stall with one of his own horses then left, closing both upper and lower stall doors. He hoped that Gerard wouldn’t notice the closed doors, but it looked from this distance as if he had been thrown; he would have more on his mind than a closed stall door.
“What happened to you, dear brother?” Mikey smirked as Gerard finally limped into the stable yard.
“Where’s Frey?” Gerard asked ignoring the question.
“He’s running an errand for me,” Mikey replied casually.
“And Roberts?” he asked, referring to Frey’s assistant.
“It’s a two man job.” Mikey smiled innocently as Gerard sighed his annoyance. “You still haven’t told me what happened to you.”
“My horse threw a shoe,” Gerard grumbled.
“And you too by the looks of it,” Mikey laughed. “What was the matter? Mind on someone else?”
Gerard raised his eyes and glared at his brother.
“Oh!” Mikey grinned. “I know! You’re still drunk!”
“What’s Frey doing for you?” Gerard asked angrily.
“He’s helping me get rid of a few things I don’t need any more.”
“Just clutter,” Mikey smiled innocently.
Gerard rolled his eyes; Mikey had become so secretive in the last few years that he often talked in riddles, even over the smallest of things. Gerard found it best to ignore him.
“Have you seen Frank?” Gerard asked as he led his horse to the water trough and started to remove his saddle. “I was on my way to meet him when the horse threw a shoe.”
“He was here, but he left pretty soon after.”
“Where did he go?”
Gerard felt Mikey’s hand brush his cheek. Reaching up, he grabbed Mikey’s wrist and pulled it away, turning to face his brother, Gerard glared.
Mikey pouted theatrically and nursed his sore wrist.
“You’ve got quite a grip on you there, Gerard,” Mikey smiled suggestively. “Seems such a shame to waste it.”
“What’s your game, Mikey?”
“My game?” Mikey approached his brother, standing just a little too close. Cocking his head to the right he smiled, crinkling his nose teasingly. “Why? Want to play?”
Gerard steadied his breathing as he eyed Mikey, trying to gauge his intentions.
“What are you trying to do?”
Mikey leaned in, pulling Gerard’s head forcefully towards him and pressing his lips against his, fiercely at first then softer as he felt Gerard yield to him. Pulling back, Mikey now offered only a cruel sneer as his brother stared back, open-mouthed in bewilderment.
“What am I trying to do?” Mikey repeated. “Confuse you? Upset you?”
He shrugged indifferently as Gerard’s expression changed to one of humiliation and anger.
“How about hurt you?” the younger brother asked as he swung an unexpected right hook across Gerard’s jaw. Spinning to the floor, Gerard landed heavily and continued to lie there unmoving.
Mikey laughed as he walked back toward the house. “You’re such a fool, Gerard. You don’t deserve to live.”