His jaw was broken and he “needed” quite a few blood transfusions.
Days went by in a blur. Gerard woke up in a hospital. The bullet had gone downward instead of up into his brain. His jaw was broken and he “needed” quite a few blood transfusions.
Weeks later when he was released, a bandage around his face, he gave them a fake ID, tried his best to come up with a believable story, and stuck around for questioning. The police confirmed Frank was dead and was taken away.
As soon as they were done, he put on the same blood soaked clothing and ran, his feet flying under him, thudding against the cement.
The streets were filled with people so getting around on foot was hard without knocking someone over. He ripped the bandage off as he ran, the tendons in his neck creeping upward to join onto the bone, blood seeping back inside the wound until his skin was as pale and smooth as it ever had been.
He skidded to a halt outside a warehouse. The inside was dusty and grimy. He collapsed in a corner and buried his face in his hands and rocking on his heels. He stayed in that position for days, not moving an inch.
He could smell Frank on his clothing, the red, crusty, metallic scented stains on his sleeves and stomach.
It had been 2 years since he’d seen Frank last. The younger man had gone off shortly after his mom died, leaving Gerard, his brother Mikey, and Frank’s friend Cody to wander New York while hanging on to the hope Frank was still alive.
But Frank found out more than he wanted to know while he was gone. Gerard had a secret, Frank had a problem. He knew only one way to solve it.
Now he was dead, and Gerard was the one who killed him.