ITALY and murder!
I pull Frankie through the airport, threatening him the whole way. I've only had him a day, and I know some of his weak spots. His parents are dead, died seven years ago. Well, they were murdered. Brutally. He was hired help at the bar, in Foster Care with that family. I killed him, so he is my problem now. At least he's a cute problem. The way he looks when he's scared, almost makes me just want to eat him, one big, scared Frankie sandwich. I've never eaten a person before. I wonder how he would taste...
We board the airplane, first class seats right next to each other. Italy. Because I speak decent Italian and he doesn't. We'll be on the country side, that's where the man I'm supposed to kill lives. I haven't killed anyone since yesterday, and I'm hoping this 9 hour flight will land soon. I don't want to kill anyone on this plane. That might be suspicious.
I sigh, resting my head back, looking up at the buff colored smooth ceiling.
"Um...Gerard?" Frankie asks.
"Yeah?" I sigh. We're alone in first class it's such a small plane, so he can, sadly, ask whatever he'd like.
"What first got you into killing people for money?" He asks. I sigh again. I can't really share the whole story. Hell, I probably shouldn't tell him any of the story! But for some reason, I really want to. I haven't felt this way since...No, I'm not going to think about that.
"Well, I started four years ago. I took my first kill seven years ago." I start, only to be rudely interrupted by Frankie.
"How old are you?" He asks, eyebrows scrunched together.
"I'm 18." I say. He gasps.
"But you seem so much older!" He exclaims. "You're only two years older than me!"
"I seem older because of the mystery I surround myself in, and I'm usually around adults. I stopped hanging out with others my age after I first killed some one." I admit. I was 11 when that happened.
"What happened with your first kill?" He asks. I bite my lip. I can't tell him the truth about this. I can't tell any human the truth about this.
"My first kill?...I...didn't even know it was happening. I killed a man and a woman, and a child. I didn't do it on purpose, but I still did it." I tell him.
"How do you accidentally kill three people?" He asks, clearly confused. What can I say? I'm a confusing person.
"There are ways." I say cryptically, just to irk him. he's cute when he's trying to figure things out, and what can I say? There are only two years between us. If I wasn't a cruel, unhinged and emotionless serial killer things might work out. But I am, so they won't.
"But...Urgh. Fine. Do you name all of your guns? Yesterday you called that empty one Lucy." He asks.
"No, I've named two. Lucy, I named because she was the first gun I'd ever shot someone with. I named another one, too. Micheal."
"Why did you name it that?" He asks innocently.
"Because it's the gun I killed my brother with." I miss Mikey. I'll always miss Mikey. It's not his fault I lost control. He didn't know the truth behind the reason I kill.
We get off the plane, and I'm hungry as Hell. In multiple ways. I buy Frank and I sandwiches, him a cheese and me a turkey. Did you know he's a vegetarian? That surprised me.
We get a taxi to the place where we're staying, a little cottage overlooking the sea. It's right next to our target's.
"Frankie, I need you to stay here." I tell him. "I'm going out."
I leave the house, and hide behind some foliage across the road. Ten minutes after I've left, I see Frankie attempt to escape. Idiot boy.
I, of course, grab him, and bring him back into the house.
"Idiot." I say, locking him to one of the beds with some spare chain I happen to have. "Now I have to lock you up."
He's crying again, but it's his fault. He tried to leave. He's good company, I don't want him gone yet. I leave again, confident that Frankie won't be able to get away. I am, after all, excellent at locking people up.
I go into town, searching for a victim. I need to kill, and I need to do it soon. If I don't, things will get very ugly.
I find someone, a young girl, walking down the dark alleyway alone. Not a good idea in any part of the world. I quickly overtake her, throwing her harshly to the ground. She pleads for her life, but I don't care. I need this, this is my real nutrients. It's what I desire. It's what keeps me going, it's what keeps me from massacring everyone. Just one death for now, and I'll be fine tomorrow. Then I'll have to hunt again. A sport it is, a hunt, but it's filled with hate, and revenge. The girl screams as I drive a wooden stake through her heart. I made one earlier today. I know she's not a vampire, but I always thought it would be nice to practice with a stake in case I ever needed one.
I hum softly while I pull the stake from her body, throwing it into a nearby trash bin. It will be found, no doubt, but they won't be able to trace it to me. They never can.
I return home to Frankie, untying him.
"Why are you covered in blood?" He asks as soon as I pull the gag from his mouth.
I look down, realizing for the first time I'm covered in blood. "Nothing much." I say nonchalantly.
"Did you finish the job?" He asks, a bit sadly and hopeful. He's conflicted about me. But then, who wouldn't be?
"No." I say. His eyes slowly look sadder than they already do.
"Then why is there blood on your clothes?" He asks, frowning.
"Just some local girl." I shrug.
"Gerard! You shouldn't kill people you don't have to." He says, anger flashing across his face.
"You're right. But I don't kill people I don't have to. Don't think about it though, it's a secret you're never going to learn." And with that I smile, and exit stage left.
X FRANK'S P.O.V. X
What did Gerard mean, he doesn't kill people he doesn't have to? He killed an innocent girl tonight. And now he's cleaning himself up, without a care in the world. I'm amazed, with the amount of ignorance towards his clothes that he's never een caught. And he was only gone for less than an hour. What's his deal? I know he's insane, but how has he tricked himself into believing killing is okay? And that he has to do it regularly. Could he be schizophrenic? You'd think he would have let something slip if he was schizophrenic though, wouldn't you? And he's been killing for seven years. That's a long time to be killing people. He was, what, 11 when he first killed. And 14 when he started making money off it. What happened when he was 11, though? What made him tip over the edge, and "accidentally" kill three people? The more I know about him, the more it confuses me.
I'll just have to figure it out, then. Because there has got to be some, deep, dark, and possibly dangerous secret he's keeping. Something he doesn't want anyone to find out about. Something...catastrophic, that will destroy everything anyone believes of him.
Because Gerard Way is a mystery I will solve. No matter what, I will know what tortures his mind, makes him what he is. And that's a promise.