Just when he thinks he can move on, Gerard's life falls apart around him again.
It's been years since that day when Gerard saw his own brother died. He tried insisting that it was his fault, that he was a murderer. Even when the commanding officer heard him, he could only offer his condolences and insisted that he was not responsible for what happened, because the odds of surviving war on the front lines was very slim.
Even though he hadn't been wounded, the strain hadn't left Gerard. He show up from his dreams at night often, screaming bloody murder. He had deep circles and huge bags below his eyes, which bore a haunted look. Every time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by death. That of his mother and brother, his brothers in arms and enemies alike.
After the war, Gerard married a woman named Lindsey, and they had a single child together, a girl they named Bandit Lee Way. While she was a good mother, Lindsey was outspoken, and while she had worked a position in one of the factories during the war, she was loathe to leave it, glad of the somewhat equality that she had enjoyed there in comparison to men. It was easy to assume that in the 60's, she would be a part of the feminist movement.
Gerard's new job wasn't nearly as dangerous as being a soldier, but was certainly more exciting than a desk job. He was now a singer in a blues band that was located in his own home town.
June 27, 1959
Today, there was going to be a small concert, held in the park just down the street from his house. He asked Lindsey to join him. She said that while she couldn't attend the whole thing, she'd join them about halfway through the set.
He was onstage now, making his way through the second or third song. High on adrenaline, he seemed to be able to forget all those terrible memories that had haunted him beginning about 30 years beforehand. This high above everything, it seemed like nothing could touch him. He was part of something larger than himself once again, and he no longer had to depend on himself solely.
Just as that thought passed through his head, the guitar chords were shattered by gunshots. They popped off from somewhere down the street, the very same street that Gerard lived on.
Since it was so near, everyone began to scream, diving for cover, hands over heads. There was squealing feedback as the guitars and microphones toppled over, following the musicians who used them. Gerard was face down on the stage like the rest of them. After a few minutes of slight commotion and fear, the first people began to pick themselves off the ground.
Upon seeing this, Gerard got up, pelting down the street as fast as his legs would take him. The wind whipped through his hair, stinging his eyes. Not even halfway down the street, his lungs were on fire, he had a stitch in his side, and his legs were killing him. But he didn't care. The only thing that mattered to him was getting home, and making sure his wife and kid were aright.
In front of his house, he paused to take a breath, surveying the damage around him. Several houses had been hit, including his. The black bullet holes and shattered windows hinted at the damages inside. He noticed his own kitchen window was nearly gone as he opened the front door, hands shaking.
"Lindsey? Bandit?" He asked, his voice faltering just like his hands. He'd already lost most of the people that he cared about. These were the last 2 he had. he couldn't lose them too. He heard nothing reply. In the kitchen, he saw the shards of glass scattered in the floor from the window, with Lindsey laying on the floor.
The gray housedress she wore was soaked in blood, most of it concentrated on the chest area. If she was breathing, the movement was so slight that Gerard didn't even notice it. He shook her lightly, noticing that her skin was still warm. The tears began to fall, slowly and silently at first. "Were you scared when the metal hit the glass?" He choked out. But it wouldn't stop there.
"Did you hear your favorite song one last time? I was playing a show down the road when your spirit l-le-left your body!" he practically howled out. The noise brought Bandit down to the kitchen, just in time to see her mother's lifeless body, her father wailing like he'd lost his mind, and everything covered in bright red.
Outside, several ambulances and what looked like the entire fleet of police cars were pulling up onto the street. The cops began to canvas the area, looked for the injured or culprits. A police officer, seeing the door ajar, entered the house. In the kitchen, he saw Lindsey bloody on the floor, and immediately yelled for a medic.
He pulled Gerard away from his wife's corpse, shooing Bandit out of the room. The medics thundered in with a stretcher, checking her body for it's non-existent pulse. Not finding it, they hoisted her onto a stretcher, carting her away, not even bothering to cover her body with a sheet. Gerard followed them, on shaking legs.
They'd already loaded her into the ambulance, and Gerard was about to follow her, when one of the medics told him, "I'm sorry sir, but she didn't make it." Then, they closed the door and peeled off. " 'm sorry I couldn't go with you." He whispered. He fell to his knees, wailing loudly. A passing EMT turned to him and asked, "Sir? Are you injured?", stooping down to Gerard's level to look the distraught man in the eyes. Those green eyes seemed to look right through him. "Sir?"
"My wife, they killed her, they killed my Lindsey!"
Thanks for the love, Claire!