Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > I Never Told You What I Do For A Living
Chapter 1
Frank watched the news with interest. Something about the news had always fascinated him. Like most people his age, he wasn't interested in business, the economy, the weather or the other usual features of a news report. In that aspect, the news was as tedious to him as it was to anyone else the same age. What made Frank different was his obsession with murder. When he heard a new report on the news of a killing, he would turn up the volume and sit slightly further forward on his chair, and if a picture of the suspect was shown he would eagerly rake in the details of their face, every wrinkle, line and curve, and file them away somewhere in his head. The knowlege that each time a picture flashed on screen he could be staring at a murderer fascinated and disgusted him in equal measure.
Frank always wanted to know everything. He wanted to know all of the details the news couldn't give him- the weapon used, the cause of death, anything he could get his hands on. The mix of horror and intruige held a strange and morbid interest for him, and he often stayed up nights reading into past cases to fuel his off-centre addiction. This borderline obsession was what had Frank so firmly glued to his television screen tonight. Another body had been found - the third in the last week. Richard Simpson, 24, found dead in his flat. Knife wounds to the head and chest. Possible revenge attack. Similar to those found on the body of Tom Miles, pulled from a river just yesterday. Believed to be the work of a serial killer. At this, Frank felt his heart rate increase slightly. A serial killer, in New Jersey? No picture was shown, but Frank didn't need one. He could imagine enough already. Frank had found his newest infatuation.
***
On the other side of Belleville, a tall, black haired man watched the same news report, laughing as he did so. 'Police believe a serial killer may be loose in Belleville...'
Chuckling to himself, the man sat his now empty coffee cup onto the cluttered kitchen counter, knocking a few bills and letters from the table, addressed to a Mr Gerard Way. Sighing and running his hands through his shaggy hair, Gerard tidied the letters into a bundle on the worktop to go back to later. A line he had read once in a book jumped out at him then; 'the organised mind of a killer'. Gerard laughed softly to himself again. For a killer, he was indeed very organised. His killings were not random and spontaneous; he wasn't a bloodthirsty, black hearted maniac, hard though it was to believe. Gerard kept a back catologue of everyone who had caused him harm in his life locked neatly away in the back of his head. He had always been good with names and faces. Gerard worked by a 'three strikes and you're out' policy; each black tally against a persons name brought them a step closer to their death. He did not kill for the sake of killing- he killed for revenge. He was sure he would not derive the same pleasure from hearing a persons last breath, or a gargle as they choked on blood or bile, unless they had wronged him beforehand.
When Gerard was alone, he systomatically picked through each persons 'dossier' from his life, checking the number of tallies against each name. If a person had only one tally mark, he would leave them alone. For now. If they had two, he would pay them a visit; if they played their cards right, he would allow them to live. If not... well, he treated them as a person with 3 tallies. And as they say, 3 is the magic number...
Belleville; French, meaning 'beautiful town.'
Frank watched the news with interest. Something about the news had always fascinated him. Like most people his age, he wasn't interested in business, the economy, the weather or the other usual features of a news report. In that aspect, the news was as tedious to him as it was to anyone else the same age. What made Frank different was his obsession with murder. When he heard a new report on the news of a killing, he would turn up the volume and sit slightly further forward on his chair, and if a picture of the suspect was shown he would eagerly rake in the details of their face, every wrinkle, line and curve, and file them away somewhere in his head. The knowlege that each time a picture flashed on screen he could be staring at a murderer fascinated and disgusted him in equal measure.
Frank always wanted to know everything. He wanted to know all of the details the news couldn't give him- the weapon used, the cause of death, anything he could get his hands on. The mix of horror and intruige held a strange and morbid interest for him, and he often stayed up nights reading into past cases to fuel his off-centre addiction. This borderline obsession was what had Frank so firmly glued to his television screen tonight. Another body had been found - the third in the last week. Richard Simpson, 24, found dead in his flat. Knife wounds to the head and chest. Possible revenge attack. Similar to those found on the body of Tom Miles, pulled from a river just yesterday. Believed to be the work of a serial killer. At this, Frank felt his heart rate increase slightly. A serial killer, in New Jersey? No picture was shown, but Frank didn't need one. He could imagine enough already. Frank had found his newest infatuation.
***
On the other side of Belleville, a tall, black haired man watched the same news report, laughing as he did so. 'Police believe a serial killer may be loose in Belleville...'
Chuckling to himself, the man sat his now empty coffee cup onto the cluttered kitchen counter, knocking a few bills and letters from the table, addressed to a Mr Gerard Way. Sighing and running his hands through his shaggy hair, Gerard tidied the letters into a bundle on the worktop to go back to later. A line he had read once in a book jumped out at him then; 'the organised mind of a killer'. Gerard laughed softly to himself again. For a killer, he was indeed very organised. His killings were not random and spontaneous; he wasn't a bloodthirsty, black hearted maniac, hard though it was to believe. Gerard kept a back catologue of everyone who had caused him harm in his life locked neatly away in the back of his head. He had always been good with names and faces. Gerard worked by a 'three strikes and you're out' policy; each black tally against a persons name brought them a step closer to their death. He did not kill for the sake of killing- he killed for revenge. He was sure he would not derive the same pleasure from hearing a persons last breath, or a gargle as they choked on blood or bile, unless they had wronged him beforehand.
When Gerard was alone, he systomatically picked through each persons 'dossier' from his life, checking the number of tallies against each name. If a person had only one tally mark, he would leave them alone. For now. If they had two, he would pay them a visit; if they played their cards right, he would allow them to live. If not... well, he treated them as a person with 3 tallies. And as they say, 3 is the magic number...
Belleville; French, meaning 'beautiful town.'
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