I meet up with Gerard the next afternoon. We go up to his rooma nd watch the Lion King on his lap top, snuggling close together underneath the covers.
Gerard is acting weird though. I keep catching him stealing glances over at me, and he continually bites his lip.
Gerard gets all teary-eyed when Simba lays with his dead father, which is pretty sweet of him. He wipes his eyes, trying to disguise his crying by suggesting,
“Do you want something to drink?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You look thirsty,” Gerard isnists, leaving the room. He retruns with two glasses, handing me one.
I have the water finished by the end of the movie. It tasted sort of strange, but I figure that something’s probably going on with the tap water, that’s all.
Gerard keeps checking the clock, and then peeking over at me. I wonder what’s up with him.
As we’re watching the ending credits, I ask,
“Can we do some of that stuff you’ve shown me?”
Gerard grins and nods. “Yeah, we ca do that.”
I begin unbuttoning my shirt when Gerard places a hand over mine, stopping me. He leans in close and whispers,
“Actually, I want to try some bondage.”
“What’s bondage?” I ask.
Gerard strips me to my pink Amercian Eagles and lies me down on the bed. He makes me spread my legs nad hold my arms up above my head. He ties my wrist to the bed posts at the headboard and then my ankles to the posts at the foot of the bed. He brings a long rope over my waist, crawling under the bed with it. He emerges from beneath and wraps it around once more before fastening it securely.
Gerard straddles my torso, licking the center of my chest. He slithers out of his shirt, whipping it clear across the room.
He suddenly stops, and smirks down at me. My stomach does an uneasy flip as he abrubptly rises, crossing the room and going to his dresser. I see him pull something out, and when he turns and starts back towards the bed and I realize that the thing he got out is a fucking box cutter, I immediatley recoil.
“Wh-wh-what are you d-doing?” I stutter. I’m not sure why I’m so scared; I’m already dead. What’s he going to do, kill me again? But at the same time, I’ve never expereinced pain since I died, so it may hurt.
“What am I doing?” Gerard repeats. He comes closer, standing next to me. He presses the blade against my chest and begins,
“So, Frank. I thought that the name ‘Frank Iero’ sounded familiar, too.” Gerard apces around the room as he continues, “So, I type it into Google, along with this city’s name.” Gerard suddenly stops and pivots to face me. “Guess what I found?”
I’m too scared to reply, so Gerard answers for me.
“Oh, Frankie, it really is more fun for me if you play along. Anyhoo, I saw a murder case. In 1964, a 14 year old boy named Frank Iero was murdered in this very house. Shot, by a gang. It’s unsolved.”
“Weird,” I chuckle anxiously.
“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. “Wanna know the weirdest part?”
Gerard again presses the point of the box cutter to my skin, and I wince. He concludes softly, “The boy, Frank Iero? There was a photo of him included in the article. And he looked just… like… you.” With each of the last three words, Gerard taps the blade against my chest. He pushes it harder and demands, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“I-I can e-explain, honest,” I stammer.
“Then talk,” Gerard growls.
“I will, if you get that box cutter away from me!” I retort.
Gerard drops it, holding up his empty hands to show that it’s gone. “Go ahead, Frank. It’s gone.”
“Now untie me,” I order.
Gerard chortles, “No, I’m not going to do that. See, the thing is, I don’t know if you’re a doppleganger of a murderer or just some poor, mixed up little boy.” He grabs me by a lock of my hair and pulls my face close to his, hissing, “But I’m not willing to take any chances.”
He releases me, and I sigh. “Fine. Do you want to know the truth?”
I make myself disappear and then slip through the ropes, just like I do through the walls. Gerard jumps and grabs the boxcutter, so I snatch it from his hands and then appear on the other side of the room.
Gerard is shaking now, but he shouts, “How did you do that?!”
“Easy,” I respond. I toss the box cutter under his closet door, telling, “I’m dead.”
Gerard blinks. “You’re… you’re dead?”
I nod. “There’s a reason I look just like that boy. I am him. Well, technically, I’m his ghost. But his soul, his looks, everything, that’s me.”
“I… don’t believe you!” Gerard sputters.
“Sure you do,” I reply. “I’ve seen you glance around your room all nervous, because you can feel me here with you. I’ve seen you react to my voice by bolting out. A boy who doesn’t believe in the paranomral wouldn’t react so extremely.”
Gerard shivers, and asks, “Is that why it’s so fucking cold in here all the time? Cause you’re here?”
“Well, yeah,” I answer. “I’m dead, cold as clay.”
Gerard sits heavily on his bed, and then says in this real quiet voice, “So you got murdered?”
I sit next to him, taking his hand. “Yeah, but it wasn’t all that bad. Didn’t really hurt. My parents were pretty bummed though.”
“Your parents?” Gerard questions.
“Yeah,” I breathe. My voice catches in my throat as I explain, “My mom she…. She held my body and was bawling. And they visisted… they visisted every now and then, and left flowers on the spot that I died every time.”
Gerard is crying, and he wipes his eyes, sobbing, “Fuck, sorry. Emotional Gerard over here.”
I hug him, kissing him on the cheek and tucking a strand of ebony hair behind one of his ears. “Nothing wrong with that.”
He crawls into my lap, wrapping his arms around around my neck and resting his bare chest against mine. We stay there for a while, Gerard crying, and I just let him, because even though I haven’t been one for over fifty years, I know that sometimes, all humans need is a good cry.

Notes

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