Mikey sat staring at the screen, completely numb. He felt sick and didn’t realise there were tears streaming down his face. He was shaking. He was terrified.

“Police have confirmed that this is the work of a possible serial killer and are working on trying to discover a lead. They’re unsure of who could’ve have committed the murder, but have promised the Nestor family they will find whoever killed their daughter.

“On the same night that Jamia’s badly disfigured body was found, Frank Iero was reported missing. Polica have said Iero’s disappearance is linked to Jamia’s death, but have not released any further statements about Frank’s absence.”

That was the point when Mikey threw up, thick chunks of bile and undigested food splattering all over his mother’s spotless cream carpet.

“Shit,” Mikey mumbled, panicking.

He lurched to his feet, running to the kitchen and grabbing every cleaning utensil in sight and rushing back to the pile of vomit, scrubbing frantically and spraying whatever cleaning products he’d found on the foul smelling puddle of sick.

Once it was cleaned up as best as possible, Mikey switched the TV off and fled up the stairs to his room, throwing his bedroom door open and flinging himself over his bed to reach his mobile. His trembling hands scrolled through his contacts desperately for Frank, finding his number and stabbing the call button.

He paced back and forth nervously, tripping over the piles of dirty clothes, CDs and comics on floor.
He tried to breath normally, but found himself close to hyperventilating.

There was no answer from Frank. Mikey left him a voice mail.

“Frank, what the fuck is happening ?! Where the hell are you, why-Jesus, just call me, yeah? Fuck, please be OK Frank, please be OK,” Mikey spluttered in to the phone, hanging up.

The next thing he did was ring Gerard.

“Hey Mikes!” His brother chirped happily.

“Gerard! Gerard, oh God, it’s Frank, h-he’s gone, he’s missing Gerard, it-” Mikey cried in to the phone, breaking off in the middle of his sentence to burst in to sobs, sinking down on to his bed.

“Mikey? Mikey, slow down, just try and talk to me, it’s OK,” Gerard soothed him through the phone, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Frank,” Mikey gasped, choking on his sobbing breaths. “It was on the TV, he’s gone missing, they...fuck, they don’t know where he is and his girlfriend, Jamia, she’s been murdered Gerard!
Some sick freak fucked her up, they didn’t say exactly what they did, but it sounds like she was mutilated or something and then they killed her!”

There was nothing but quiet breathing from the other end of the line.

“G-Gerard?” Mikey sniffed, wiping his face furiously. “Gerard, are you still there?”

More silence and then, he spoke.

“I need to go. I’ll call you later.”

“What?!” Mikey screamed. “No, no Gerard, don’t go, I’m fucking scared! What if something bad happened to him Gerard?! What if the guy who killed Jamia took Frank, what if he’s dead?!”

“Good bye Mikey.”

Then the line went dead and Mikey was left alone in his dark bedroom, holding his mobile in his hand, scared and crying. He let out a desperate strangled cry of anger and fear, throwing his mobile violently at the wall, not caring if it was smashed. Mikey tried to calm himself, breathing heavily and closing his eyes before grabbing a hoodie that was slung over the chair in front of his desk and snatching up his house keys and bolting for the stairs.

His gangly, long limbs tripped him up a few times, but it didn’t matter, he just had to get to the front door and out of the house. His skin was crawling and he felt like he might throw up again.

As soon as the door was locked he took off down the street, not giving a single fuck, just sprinting towards Frank’s house. He skidded through the murky, dark puddles that had pooled up on the pavement, the dark sky filled with the dull glow of orange street lights and heavy, battering rain.

When he reached Frank’s house he dashed up the path and to the front door, slamming his fists against the door.

“Mrs Iero!” He yelled. “Linda, please, let me in! Open the door!”

The door swung inwards a few seconds later, revealing Frank’s mother.

She was stood there in a thin, battered night dress, an old ratty dressing gown slung over her thin frame, slipping down her shoulders, her slim bare legs appearing at the end of her night dress and her bare feet planted on the floor. Her complexion was sickly and her face was streaked with make-up and tears, her hair a messy dark pile on top of her head. Her eyes were bloodshot and completely empty of all emotion, thick purple circles sunk in to the skin under her eyes.

In her hand she held a half empty bottle of wine.

“Mrs. Iero, what happened?” Mikey demanded. “Where is he? Where’s Frank?!”

“Gone,” she whispered in a drunken slur. “Don’t know. Don’t know, just... not here, gone.”

“But you...why aren’t you out there looking for him?! That’s your son Linda! What if the guy who murdered Jamia kidnapped him?! He’s out there somewhere and nobody knows if he’s dead or alive!”

Linda made a choked kind of sobbing noise, shaking her head. “No! Just go away Mikey, get out of here! Go away!”

She shoved him drunkenly in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards in to a deep puddle, the
front door slamming shut. Mikey stared in disbelief at the door. How could she do this? How could she just sit inside of her house getting drunk whilst her only child was out there somewhere, scared and maybe hurt, maybe even dead?!

He strode back to the door, banging furiously against the wood. “Linda! Linda please!”

A muffled scream and crash came from inside of the house. Mikey swore, kicking the door and turning around, taking off.

He had to find Frank.