"Well, Frank," he said softly, and I could see the gleam of his teeth. He was [/smiling/], the sick fuck. "Having fun?"
It's dark here.
'Brilliant deduction, Watson,' I thought, pulling again with my teeth at the ropes around my hands. They didn't budge. Of course not. They hadn't been loosened in the first four hours I've been doing this; why give in now?
It was dark, though. Even with most of my teenage years spent in dim rooms and shadowed corners, I still couldn't see my own hands in front of my face. The damp air pressed against my lungs, making each breath a grimy struggle. I wanted to scream, but he'd made it clear that no one would hear me. That's exactly why I hadn't been gagged; he's the only one who could hear me beg.
In the short hours I'd been trapped in his basement, I'd learned quite a bit about the man who lived across the street.
1. He was strong. Strong enough to knock out a teenage boy (me) and drag the body across the yard and down a flight of stairs.
2. He was smart. He'd have to be; he'd been avoiding suspicion for over three years, even with a police officer living next door. Come to think of it, I doubt that he'd ever actually been seen by anyone in the neighbourhood. In the two years that I'd lived here, this was the first time I'd met him.
3. He was a killer. I knew this, because I was his next victim.
A door creaked, causing my neck to snap painfully as I turned my head. It was difficult; I'd knocked myself onto my face soon after waking up, and with the ropes bound so tightly around my limbs, it was impossible to get back into a sitting position. Light penetrated the darkness, so bright that my eyes watered and burned. The skin around them was still raw from crying, and the new tears just caused the pain to flare up again.
My kidnapper was actually good-looking, despite what everyone told me about murderers being ugly. I didn't know his name, I've never had to learn it, but I'm pretty sure it started with R.
He bended over me, and although the light from the door illuminated his outline, his front was left pitch-black. That's good. I didn't want to see those piercing blue eyes staring at me again, as if I'm a new species he'd found in his yard.
"Well, Frank," he said softly, and I could see the gleam of his teeth. He was smiling, the sick fuck. "Having fun?"
I tied to spit, but fear made my mouth dry. I wanted to be one of the hostages on TV, the ones that fight with everything they have until help comes. I wanted to kick him, knock him over, bite his hand- SOMETHING!
I was too scared.
He clucked his tongue, reaching out a hand to stroke my sweat-soaked hair. I shivered as his palm touched my cheek, the rough skin making my blood run cold. "Poor baby," he crooned. "Are you chilly? Don't worry; it's almost over. I'm not one for torture."
I was crying again, salt water streaming from my eyes and onto the dusty floor beneath me. As much as I was looking forward to this being over, I wasn't ready to die.
It was crazy how fast the day had changed. I woke up that morning as Frank Iero, misunderstood punk kid who was about to turn eighteen in three weeks. I had waved to my mom, her faint call of 'have a nice day at school' being dismissed as soon as she'd said it.
I wish I had made it that far. I wish I hadn't noticed the man across the street calling for his dog. I wish I hadn't offered to help. I wish I had seen the fist coming at my head, the one that would keep me in a dreamless sleep just long enough for him to tie me up.
He was moving away, and I almost sighed in relief. Then he came back, and I saw the light bouncing off the blade in his hand.
For the first time in what felt like years, I spoke.
"Please." My voice was rough and cracked, a thousand times weaker than it'd been when I'd said goodbye to my mother that morning. "Please don't."
He paused, his head tilted to one side as he studied me. Then he crouched and tilted my chin upward with one thick finger. "I have to," he said quietly, touching the knife to my cheek before whisking it away.
"Why?" I sobbed, knowing what was coming. I'd seen enough crime dramas to know where this was going. No matter what I said, this man was going to kill me. News reports were flashing through my mind; half-heard stories of the serial killer that's been plaguing Belleville for the better part of three years, the bodies twisted into grotesque positions and left on the family's doorstep. He'd gotten my friend Ray last January, even though Ray had a black-belt in jujitsu and could snap a grown man's arm like a twig.
I should've been more careful.
He was still considering my question, mulling it over in his mind before answering.
"Because if I don't, then who will?"
Then he plunged the knife into my eye, and I fell back into darkness.
AN: Well? Alright? Total waste of time? Sorry if this is craptastic; I wrote it on my iPod at like, 1 am. See that review button down there? It's lonely. Maybe you should click it.
OH OH! I almost forgot! Do any of you want a specific pairing? Something other than Frerard? (Because, yes, I'm putting TONS of that shit in here). Any cameos from other bands? Don't be shy, I don't bite! ... Unless you're into that...
Ben: Right. Signing off.