Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Tragic Tale of The Black Parade

The Escape Artist

by horsie890 2 reviews

Chapter 7 For the record, the character of the Escape Artist was Gerard's idea. I have the special edition of The Black Parade, and in the booklet he talks about a few different characters the Pat...

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG - Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama - Characters: Bob Bryar, Gerard Way, Mikey Way, Ray Toro, Other - Warnings: [?] - Published: 2007-04-20 - Updated: 2007-04-20 - 1968 words

Red light penetrated his vision. He held up one hand to block it out so he could look around. It was a definitely a high-class place, with tables and chairs set up. There was a bar in the back with dark figures gathered around it, all carefully scrutinizing him. Trying to ignore their stares, he followed the curly-haired man to a booth on one wall and sat down, noting the red tones of the leather and décor.
The man snapped two fingers together, and one of the figures approached them. The patient was apprehensive, but said nothing as the uniformed man next to him ordered drinks for them. As it was, he was still a teenager, but no one said anything and he wasn't complaining. The almost black figure nodded once and walked away.
"Where are we?" asked the patient. The black-clad man gestured at the room around them with a sweeping motion.
"This is the House of Wolves. A favorite location of ours." He placed one elbow on the table and leaned on his hand thoughtfully. "Here, drink this," he said, gesturing at the two glasses placed on the table. Both were filled with a dark liquid, almost appearing red. The patient sincerely hoped it was only the lighting. "It will help calm your nerves." As if to prove it, the man took one glass and easily drained half of it. The patient remained unconvinced.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked suspiciously, sitting completely still and only moving his eyes to look around. The curly-haired man shrugged.
"I think we all need a distraction. Obviously those two weren't doing so well; I couldn't even imagine how you were feeling." The patient almost managed a smile. Finally it seemed like someone cared about him.
No sooner did this thought enter his mind than the uniformed man stood up.
"If you'll excuse me, I must leave for a moment. But I can promise you'll see me very soon." He walked away while trying to hide a smirk on his face. The patient stared after him, mouth slightly agape, all the time wondering why this place was so strange. In a split second his best friend could become his worst enemy.
"You might want to watch the stage," said a gruff voice close to him. He twisted around suddenly to see one of the dark figures sitting at a table nearby and staring it him menacingly. He nodded toward the stage at the opposite end of the room, and the patient obligingly turned and looked at it. It had been dark and out of sight before, but now it was lit with a single white spotlight. There was a blood red curtain concealing the stage itself. The already low house lights dimmed even further, eventually plunging everything into total darkness. The patient kept his eyes locked on the white circle of light as if expecting something to happen. Finally something did.
The wall of red velvet was interrupted by a black figure stepping through it. The sense of anticipation seemed to heighten in the room with his presence. All eyes were riveted on his black uniform and snow-white hair. His hazel eyes, normally clear and sharp, were slightly glazed and clouded. They were the only thing out of place about his appearance. The patient noticed it; he wondered if anyone else did.
"Hello again, everyone. Sorry I've been gone for so long, but I've had some business to attend to," he said, eyes falling on the patient. The teen gulped nervously, and his breathing almost stopped. He had thought for sure that he was invisible in this darkness.
"Now, I wrote this just recently. For a...friend of mine." He stood still as the curtain was swept off to both sides of the stage, revealing complete darkness around him. He took a few steps backwards into the darkness, and the stage was suddenly lit up with red lights. The patient saw the other black-uniformed men around him, all holding instruments. The room was silent, as if holding its breath in expectation.
When the music began, the atmosphere changed instantaneously. Red lights near the top of the walls turned on and cast an eerie glow over everything. The patient even noticed that his usually pale skin became crimson in their light. The dark figures began to near the stage, though some hung back as if not wanting to leave the shadows. The patient felt himself shaking from fear, and finally gave in and took a sip of the drink. He nearly dropped it on the table when he recognized its metallic, almost salty taste on his tongue. He slid it away from himself and held his stomach as though he felt sick. These people really were sick. He desperately tried to ignore it and listen to the song.
"I know a thing about contrition, because I got enough to spare, and I'll be granting your permission 'cause you haven't got a prayer." His eyes widened as he realized the song had to be about him. Had he heard correctly? He didn't have a prayer? This was serious.
The patient studied the lead singer thoughtfully. The white spotlight still focused on him, while everything else in the room was bathed in red. His white hair made him seem like an angel. An angel among devils. An angel with a death wish.
The song continued, all the while growing darker. When the band reached the chorus, the patient's fear escalated. His thoughts of the singer seemed to take form in the song.
"Say what I wanna say. Tell me I'm an angel. Take this to my grave," came the words. The space had become unbearably hot, and the patient wondered if it was the lights' electricity or the song's raw power. He felt like he was burning up, that he would be nothing but a pile of ash by the time it was all over. He had to leave. He had to get out of there.
A strange calming sensation suddenly came over him, though it lasted only a second before vanishing. He blinked a few times, feeling normal in that second. He could see no explanation until his eyes fell on the nearly full glass before him.
'It'll help calm your nerves, he says,' the patient thought to himself as he eyed it carefully. 'Maybe he was actually right...' He tentatively picked up the glass and closed his eyes, drinking about a third of it all at once. He forced himself to ignore the taste, but that quickly became the least of his worries as he felt sharp pains throughout his stomach. He wasn't used to it yet. He hoped he never would be.
The calming sensation overcame him again, and he immediately relaxed. He continued to listen to the song, still aware that there were many watching him. Despite this he propped his feet up on the red leather seat and leaned back against the wall.
Something warm suddenly dropped onto the back of his hand, almost like water. It was some color he couldn't identify, but at the moment it was unimportant. He lazily glanced up to see what it was, letting the drink-induced euphoria overtake him.
Liquid was running down the walls at an alarming rate. It looked like water, but in the strange colored lights and darkness the patient couldn't be certain.
"Ashes to ashes, we all fall down, I wanna hear you sing the praise. Ashes to ashes, we all fall down. We got innocence for days!" There it was again. The patient struggled to keep his eyes open, even though this was a startling line. 'I bet he's just improvising. He's good at it,' the black-haired teen tried to rationalize to himself, placing one hand behind his head. His eyes finally slid closed.
"You better run like the devil, 'cause they're never gonna leave you alone! You better hide up in the alley, 'cause they're never gonna find you a home! And as the blood runs down the walls-"
The patient's eyes shot open. Blood? That's what it was? Oh no. He had to get out of here. He jumped to his feet and tried to run, but stumbled helplessly and collapsed to the floor in a heap. The dark figures quickly gathered around him, and he was able to more readily see what they looked like.
They weren't human at all. All had long, drawn faces covered in dark hair, with gleaming eyes of different colors, gold and red among them. Their ears were long and triangular, and at the moment swiveled towards the patient. He was terrified at their presence and wanted to get away, but the drink had numbed his senses completely. He couldn't even begin to stand.
One of the creatures gave a low growl. It easily overpowered the music at such close range. The patient closed his eyes. Maybe they wouldn't attack him. Maybe it wouldn't hurt. Maybe someone would notice his plight. Or maybe not.
The music continued on as if no one had noticed his absence. It pounded in his ears and mind, bringing fear along with it. He could feel the creatures getting closer, and he wondered what was staying their actions. He wondered why they hadn't attacked yet.
I'll get you out of here.
There was the sound of a single clap, and the patient's world went silent. He felt cold suddenly, but much better than he had previously. At least he was away from those things. He cautiously opened his eyes, but saw nothing. He sighed deeply in relief and stood.
"Who are you?" he asked the empty air. He could feel another presence nearby, but couldn't see what it was.
"I am the Escape Artist," said the flamboyant voice. The patient smiled. Whoever it was, he was certainly proud of his title. A white-masked figure suddenly appeared in front of him.
"Well?" he said expectantly. "Aren't you going to thank me?" The patient nodded.
"I can't thank you enough. I didn't think I would make it out of there alive." The man nodded animatedly.
"Normally I'm not supposed to do anything, because it makes him mad, but I couldn't help it. I never get to have any fun!" The patient could almost hear the pout in his voice. He frowned.
"I didn't consider that to be fun."
"No, no, no, you don't understand. He never lets me do anything. You see, I am a great magician!" he said proudly. "But if there is no way for me to perform my tricks, then what good am I? I had to do something. I'll get in trouble when he finds out, though...big trouble..." He let his voice trail off.
"Who are you talking about?" the patient asked. The Escape Artist looked at him blankly.
"Why, the leader of course. He decides how everything happens. When someone is out of line, well...let's just say it doesn't happen often," he said timidly, glancing around nervously. Satisfied that he would not be discovered speaking to the patient, he relaxed and began walking in aimless circles.
"I'm afraid you can't stay here for very long, though," he said after a while. "I have to send you back." The patient's face went whiter than usual. He couldn't go back. He would be ripped to shreds by those creatures, those wolves! He slowly shook his head.
"Nothing's going to happen to you." A sandy-haired man suddenly appeared before him. The patient felt his fear increase yet again upon seeing his black, militaristic uniform.
"You'll have to trust me," he said almost kindly. The patient glanced at the Escape Artist, who took a flourished bow before vanishing, then back at the man's offered hand. He knew he had no choice.
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