Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Recollection
The scene from night before, with my raging outburst, struck me hard as soon as I woke up. I prayed it was only a dream, and that I hadn’t acted that way, but as soon as I got to the family room, my fears were confirmed. I had become what I so dreaded of becoming. Looking down at myself and stepping over the still-scattered broken glass, I noticed that I had my nightshirt on. I was a little vague on what happened the night before, only remembering my attempted confrontation of Mrs. Watson and Lindsey practically dragging me inside afterwards. Lindsey must have changed me into the shirt. Avoiding the debris in the living room and shivering from the morning breeze, I called into the house,
“Lindsey?” No answer. I called again, and from the basement, I heard some muffled movement. I treaded down the stairs and found Lindsey in the laundry room. She stood with one hand over the washing machine and the other on her hip, facing away from me.
“Hi,” I said, putting my hand on her arm gently. She froze, and spun around, though when realizing it was me, did not relax, but stayed rigid and tense. “Hey,” I said weakly, “Lindsey… I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I have no idea what came over me. You were almost hurt so badly, and I had told Watson to cut down that thing for so long and I really think I need help. I really do.” Lindsey nodded in agreement while I said this, unmoving from her spot.
“I think that’d be best. It’s okay, Gerard, it’s not your fault… It’s not your fault,” she repeated the last word to herself, as if she were trying to convince herself of it.
“Did, uh, Mrs. Watson say anything? Call or…” I trailed off.
“No, I don’t think she did. I really do think we should talk to her. Maybe a little calmer this time.” I turned one corner of my mouth up and nodded. I probably scared her off the night before.
“Hey, uh—“ I cut myself off, realizing something I hadn’t before. I clamped my hands on the area of my pants where I usually kept the engagement ring, only finding that I wasn’t even wearing pants with pockets in them. I dove forward, causing Lindsey to move aside, and searched through the wet laundry in the machine, looking for the jeans I had worn from the night before. I patted down every inch of the jeans, searching for the little box, but only finding that disappointingly enough, nothing was there. I sprung up from the ground, leaving that wet jeans on the floor and sped upstairs. The ring could be anywhere. The ring passed from generations of Way’s, ended here, with me. I searched the destroyed family room first, checking every inch. I saw nothing. I ran outside barefoot to search for it on the ground, but as soon as I stepped outside, I was met by the clamor of police lights and frantic chatter. Surrounding Mrs. Watson’s house were several police cars and yellow caution tape with officers walking in and out of the grand house. Distracted by both the ring and the police, I wasn’t sure which to turn. Thankfully, though, merely by coincidence, I stepped directly on top of the little, velvety box as I neared the elderly lady’s house. Fortunately, it was not damaged, and I gripped the little, precious thing in my hand, vowing never to let it out of my sight again. As soon as I picked it up, Lindsey ran up beside me, staring at the great spectacle of blue and red lights.
“No…” she said, wrapping the sides of her robe around her.
“What?” I said absent-mindedly, wondering what could possibly have happened to Mrs. Watson.
“Mm… nothing,” she said dismissively. I glanced to her, catching a glimpse of fear on her face, and turned back at the house. Curious and a little worried as to what was going on, I took a few steps forward to catch a few words or ask a nearby officer.
“Hey!” someone called out to us. “Stay back from the lines, please. Go back home, there’s nothing to see here.” Both Lindsey and I turned our heads to see one of the officers shouting at us to back away. We reluctantly turned away and shuffled back to the house, but just as I pulled my gaze away from it, I saw the young housekeeper we usually saw clear Mrs. Watson’s house sitting on an old lawn chair, wrapped in a shock blanket, and blubbering to the police with frantic gestures. It was really no use trying to find out anything for the time being. Soon, the police would come to get any kind of testimonial of whatever had happened.
Just as I had predicted, not many minutes later, an officer came to our door and introduced himself as Officer Brook. He didn’t hesitate to start asking questions outright, and barely took a pause for me to ask,
“What happened?” The officer sighed, probably not wanting to disclose the information, and said,
“Mrs. Watson was found dead in her kitchen, stabbed eight times in the chest with a kitchen knife probably sometimes around seven last night.”
“Oh my god,” I gasped, unable to comprehend how two murders could happen to people I personally knew in such a short period of time. Behind me, Lindsey bit her robe sleeve nervously, not wanting to talk to officer. He peered inside our house for a moment, and saw the huge tree protruding through our ceiling and wall, nodding as he confirmed the sight.
“So her tree fell on your house. I saw that out there. What time did this happen?” I was about to answer, but was interrupted by Lindsey, who said,
“In the middle of the night, at about eleven, I think. The wind was strongest then.” I glanced back at Lindsey, giving her a questioning look. The tree had fallen just at dusk, not the middle of the night. She subtly shook her head, giving me a pleading look, and I nodded in agreement to her statement. Officer Brook thanked us and left, looking unsatisfied with the information we gave him and returned to the crime scene. As soon as the door shut, I locked it and turned around to face Lindsey, who stared at her feet.
“Why did you tell him it fell in the middle of the night? It fell long before that,” I said suspiciously. She wrapped her robe tighter around her.
“Well, if I told him it fell around the time she was murdered, what do you think that would mean for us?”
“Oh…” I said, understanding what she meant. My mind opened up and realized how close we were to being suspected of committing the crime. Lindsey stayed standing in the same place, now chewing on her sleeve, with her face scrunched in thought. I assumed she was probably thinking the same this I was: how could there be two murders in such a short period of time to people that were so closely linked with us? It created a state of paranoia in my mind, and I thought to myself whether this could have possibly meant there was someone coming after us. I had so much going on in my life already, I didn’t need to be constantly worried about a killer preying for us in the false security of our home. It wouldn’t be hard to break into our house now with the gaping hole in the side of our house, and I felt, more than ever, so exposed and defenseless. I felt that Lindsey’s mental shape was not up to par, and as surprised as I was that her situation was not mine, I had to accept that I was the one who was protecting now. Her general anxiousness and jumpiness caused me to be restless and though I didn’t understand her sudden extreme nervousness, I didn’t question it. I reminded myself that people coped in different ways, and perhaps her behavior was only a normal response to loss, so while I only experienced feelings of indifference or apathy, maybe that was strange.
A/N: Sorry for such a late update! I feel like my inspiration is just fading :/ Eh, we'll see. Anyway, rate and review please!
Also, completely irrelevant to the story, but I MET FRANK IERO. My friend and I went to the Skate and Surf Festival this past Saturday and saw Death Spells live and up close (also Fall Out Boy). After the set, Frank came off stage and signed stuff for us and gave hugs. I'M STILL IN A DAZE. I'M NOT SURE IF THIS IS REAL LIFE.
“Lindsey?” No answer. I called again, and from the basement, I heard some muffled movement. I treaded down the stairs and found Lindsey in the laundry room. She stood with one hand over the washing machine and the other on her hip, facing away from me.
“Hi,” I said, putting my hand on her arm gently. She froze, and spun around, though when realizing it was me, did not relax, but stayed rigid and tense. “Hey,” I said weakly, “Lindsey… I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I have no idea what came over me. You were almost hurt so badly, and I had told Watson to cut down that thing for so long and I really think I need help. I really do.” Lindsey nodded in agreement while I said this, unmoving from her spot.
“I think that’d be best. It’s okay, Gerard, it’s not your fault… It’s not your fault,” she repeated the last word to herself, as if she were trying to convince herself of it.
“Did, uh, Mrs. Watson say anything? Call or…” I trailed off.
“No, I don’t think she did. I really do think we should talk to her. Maybe a little calmer this time.” I turned one corner of my mouth up and nodded. I probably scared her off the night before.
“Hey, uh—“ I cut myself off, realizing something I hadn’t before. I clamped my hands on the area of my pants where I usually kept the engagement ring, only finding that I wasn’t even wearing pants with pockets in them. I dove forward, causing Lindsey to move aside, and searched through the wet laundry in the machine, looking for the jeans I had worn from the night before. I patted down every inch of the jeans, searching for the little box, but only finding that disappointingly enough, nothing was there. I sprung up from the ground, leaving that wet jeans on the floor and sped upstairs. The ring could be anywhere. The ring passed from generations of Way’s, ended here, with me. I searched the destroyed family room first, checking every inch. I saw nothing. I ran outside barefoot to search for it on the ground, but as soon as I stepped outside, I was met by the clamor of police lights and frantic chatter. Surrounding Mrs. Watson’s house were several police cars and yellow caution tape with officers walking in and out of the grand house. Distracted by both the ring and the police, I wasn’t sure which to turn. Thankfully, though, merely by coincidence, I stepped directly on top of the little, velvety box as I neared the elderly lady’s house. Fortunately, it was not damaged, and I gripped the little, precious thing in my hand, vowing never to let it out of my sight again. As soon as I picked it up, Lindsey ran up beside me, staring at the great spectacle of blue and red lights.
“No…” she said, wrapping the sides of her robe around her.
“What?” I said absent-mindedly, wondering what could possibly have happened to Mrs. Watson.
“Mm… nothing,” she said dismissively. I glanced to her, catching a glimpse of fear on her face, and turned back at the house. Curious and a little worried as to what was going on, I took a few steps forward to catch a few words or ask a nearby officer.
“Hey!” someone called out to us. “Stay back from the lines, please. Go back home, there’s nothing to see here.” Both Lindsey and I turned our heads to see one of the officers shouting at us to back away. We reluctantly turned away and shuffled back to the house, but just as I pulled my gaze away from it, I saw the young housekeeper we usually saw clear Mrs. Watson’s house sitting on an old lawn chair, wrapped in a shock blanket, and blubbering to the police with frantic gestures. It was really no use trying to find out anything for the time being. Soon, the police would come to get any kind of testimonial of whatever had happened.
Just as I had predicted, not many minutes later, an officer came to our door and introduced himself as Officer Brook. He didn’t hesitate to start asking questions outright, and barely took a pause for me to ask,
“What happened?” The officer sighed, probably not wanting to disclose the information, and said,
“Mrs. Watson was found dead in her kitchen, stabbed eight times in the chest with a kitchen knife probably sometimes around seven last night.”
“Oh my god,” I gasped, unable to comprehend how two murders could happen to people I personally knew in such a short period of time. Behind me, Lindsey bit her robe sleeve nervously, not wanting to talk to officer. He peered inside our house for a moment, and saw the huge tree protruding through our ceiling and wall, nodding as he confirmed the sight.
“So her tree fell on your house. I saw that out there. What time did this happen?” I was about to answer, but was interrupted by Lindsey, who said,
“In the middle of the night, at about eleven, I think. The wind was strongest then.” I glanced back at Lindsey, giving her a questioning look. The tree had fallen just at dusk, not the middle of the night. She subtly shook her head, giving me a pleading look, and I nodded in agreement to her statement. Officer Brook thanked us and left, looking unsatisfied with the information we gave him and returned to the crime scene. As soon as the door shut, I locked it and turned around to face Lindsey, who stared at her feet.
“Why did you tell him it fell in the middle of the night? It fell long before that,” I said suspiciously. She wrapped her robe tighter around her.
“Well, if I told him it fell around the time she was murdered, what do you think that would mean for us?”
“Oh…” I said, understanding what she meant. My mind opened up and realized how close we were to being suspected of committing the crime. Lindsey stayed standing in the same place, now chewing on her sleeve, with her face scrunched in thought. I assumed she was probably thinking the same this I was: how could there be two murders in such a short period of time to people that were so closely linked with us? It created a state of paranoia in my mind, and I thought to myself whether this could have possibly meant there was someone coming after us. I had so much going on in my life already, I didn’t need to be constantly worried about a killer preying for us in the false security of our home. It wouldn’t be hard to break into our house now with the gaping hole in the side of our house, and I felt, more than ever, so exposed and defenseless. I felt that Lindsey’s mental shape was not up to par, and as surprised as I was that her situation was not mine, I had to accept that I was the one who was protecting now. Her general anxiousness and jumpiness caused me to be restless and though I didn’t understand her sudden extreme nervousness, I didn’t question it. I reminded myself that people coped in different ways, and perhaps her behavior was only a normal response to loss, so while I only experienced feelings of indifference or apathy, maybe that was strange.
A/N: Sorry for such a late update! I feel like my inspiration is just fading :/ Eh, we'll see. Anyway, rate and review please!
Also, completely irrelevant to the story, but I MET FRANK IERO. My friend and I went to the Skate and Surf Festival this past Saturday and saw Death Spells live and up close (also Fall Out Boy). After the set, Frank came off stage and signed stuff for us and gave hugs. I'M STILL IN A DAZE. I'M NOT SURE IF THIS IS REAL LIFE.
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