There was blood splattered over the walls, the floor, the ceiling.
The post-it note was attached to the refrigerator, stained with red. The off-white background it had been place upon had red handprints scattered across it. There was blood splattered over the walls, the floor, the ceiling. When Frank had walked in, he instantly dialled 911, and, even with tears in his eyes, shuffled over to where his boyfriend lay. Afraid to touch the body that was sprawled in front of him, Frank, who was quivering now, walked away and read the note. A suicide note. He read it several times, tears falling, streaming from his eyes. The dam had burst, and the tears would not stop again. Not until his own final breath was breathed. He couldn’t believe that his boyfriend, his lover, his angel would take his own life, would destroy everything they’d created. After the blur of police, questions and panic attacks, Frank sat in a nearby hotel with pills in his hand. He swallowed them all, not wanting to live without Gerard, without his boyfriend who was now an angel.
Maybe, if he’d known the truth, he would’ve stayed and fought. He would’ve known the truth, what his own grief prevented him from noticing. The writing was not Gerard’s, but that of his brother, Michael. Michael, or ‘Mikey’, as he was known, was a jealous young man who detested both Frank and his own brother. It was Michael that beat Gerard to death, Gerard had never committed suicide.
Maybe, if Frank had known the truth, he would’ve fought for Gerard.
But, then again, maybe he would’ve blamed himself, or perhaps may have felt he still couldn’t continue without Gerard.
But who can say for sure.
After all, the dead don’t speak.