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“Mikey? The door was open so… fuck!”

Frank Iero dropped to his knees at the bassist’s side. Mikey lay in an uncomfortable looking twisted position on the floor almost as he had been when his attacker had dropped him; not quite on his back, not quite on his side with his legs bent to the left and his right arm draped across his waist. Frank laid his fingers gently on Mikey’s neck and felt for a pulse, his own racing so fast, at first he could feel nothing. It was only when Mikey eyelids parted slightly that he sat back on his heels and heaved a deep sigh.

“Frank, can you not shut doors?” The words had already left Ray’s mouth before he spotted the reason Frank had neglected to close the door behind him. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”
“He’s alive,” Frank uttered not taking his eyes from his pale friend.
“The place is a mess!” Ray’s eyes opened wide as he looked around. “This could only just have happened.”

With a soft groan, Mikey pushed his legs out and he rolled flat onto his back. Raising his hand to his head he opened his eyes. As he did they widened at the figures leaning over him.

“No!” he screamed as he scrambled backwards, desperate to get away from some unknown terror.
“Mikey!” Frank cried equally as shocked by his reaction. “It’s okay, it’s us!”

Mikey stared for a few moments, his mouth slightly open, his chest heaving as he took in the situation. It was possibly the distraction of Bob Bryar appearing at the door, forcing him to truly see who was in the room with him.

“Who did this to you?” Ray asked sympathetically reaching down to help Mikey to his feet.
“S… some…” Unable to reply, Mikey reached for his inhaler again and took another two deep breaths.
“Take your time,” Frank encouraged. “You’re safe now.”
He shook his head, wishing he could get the words out to explain.
“What’s that?” Ray asked as he bent down. Reaching behind Mikey’s foot he picked up the envelope left by the man masquerading as a courier.
It was as much a surprise to Mikey that the envelope he had seen him bring had actually been left, that was until he realised what it must be.
“Someone’s taken Gerard!” he finally blurted.
All eyes fell on him and for a brief moment he felt very self-conscious, nervous and very much to blame. It wasn’t until Frank pulled him close for a reassuring hug, that Mikey really took in the situation and how he felt. Returning the hug, his hands gripped tightly onto Frank’s shoulders and he fought back terrified tears.
“I don’t understand,” Bob questioned, confused by the apparent problem with the sequence of events. “If they took Gerard and knocked you out, how did you call us?”
Mikey pulled back from Frank and shook his head but before he could explain, a pale and clearly shocked Ray read the letter out loud.
“Gerard is safe and unhurt and will remain so if you do exactly as you’re told and remember, you know from personal experience that we’re not bluffing. We want three million dollars in small, unmarked bills. You have three days and remember, no police, no press.”

The room fell silent as the four friends took in the horrible news. Moving together for a group hug, one pair of shoulders suddenly shuddered uncontrollably.
“We’ll get him back, Mikey, he’ll be okay,” Frank tried his best to reassure him, hoping beyond all hope that he could keep his promise.

*

It was late afternoon by the time Gerard finally woke from his enforced sleep. Moving his hands to his face he placed his hands flat over his cheeks and dragged his fingers across his forehead. Pushing his shoulders back into the mattress he stretched, quite forgetting where he was.

“Good afternoon,” came a man’s voice to Gerard’s left.
“Wha…” Gerard’s head spun to the left. “Who…” he took in the hospital room and the vague memories of waking up the last time came drifting back. “Who are you?” he asked with a great deal of uncertainty in his voice.
“My name is Doctor Phillips,” his kidnapper lied, “I’m going to be looking after you during your stay.”
“That’ll be a very short stay then,” Gerard replied defiantly. “There’s no reason for me to be here.”
“You’ll be here at least a few more days, Mister Way, you have to accept that.”
“Days? In rehab? I don’t think so!” Gerard shook his head. “Where am I?”
“Personally, I would say you were in denial.”
“Very funny!” Gerard snapped. “I…”
He stopped short realising that his hands were free of the restraints. A brief check revealed that his ankles too were free. Swinging his legs out of the bed, Gerard bolted for the door, only to smash a fist against it in frustration as it refused to open.
“Where am I and what am I doing here?” he snapped angrily turning back to the doctor.
“You’re in rehab, but not for the reasons you think,” the doctor turned in his chair to face him.
“Why then?” Gerard’s voice fell almost to a whisper.
“For psychiatric assessment.”
“What!”
“You turned violent on your band mates, you were considered a potential danger to yourself and others. It’s my job to assess that risk.”
Gerard paled and glanced down nervously. It was true; there were a few entire days that he couldn’t remember with any degree of clarity. Had he turned on his friends? His brother?
The man posing as a doctor smiled to himself. The drug used to wipe Gerard’s memory of the kidnapping had successfully blurred enough of his memory to render this whole scenario plausible.
“Take a seat, Mister Way, we have a lot to discuss.”
Reluctantly, Gerard returned to the bed and sat in the chair alongside it.
“I don’t remember,” he replied in barely a whisper.
“Don’t worry,” Marty nodded, “this’ll soon be over.”

He smiled again. Gerard had finally accepted the explanation of where he was. He would be so much easier to handle.