Gerard Way: Serial Killer
After a bit of light conversation, which consisted of mostly Frank telling me about himself and me making up a rather large weave of lies about myself, it was time for me to close up shop. Frank said goodbye, and that it was nice meeting me, and that we should meet again tomorrow. A warm sensation licked at my heart. I felt.... cared for. But I knew it was a hoax; my motto is don't trust anyone. Those you trust may turn on you. I agreed to meet him again, nevertheless. I did not have to work tomorrow anyway, so we could have more time to be together. Oh, if he knew the things I'd do to him.
Frank waved to me and finally left, grabbing up a black umbrella and opening it while he was till inside. I winced; opening an umbrella inside is bad luck. It's a good thing I don't believe in luck. I turned off the fluorescent white lights in the cafè, set the alarms, and locked the doors. I stepped out into a rainstor, wind blowing my hair into my face, temporarily blinding me. Splendid. I was going to have to walk to the store and then home in the rain. It was just beginning to get darker outside; the black-grey clouds doing nothing to lighten the sky. I started out into the downpour, speed-walking to the point of almost sprinting. This rain was a cold and penetrating hail of raindrops, not a soft and warm summer drizzle. I shivered and crossed my arms, weakly trying to trap my body heat. I came up to a crossroad, dripping and shivering like a stray, and there was a man standing underneath a black umbrella, waiting for the signal to cross the street. He must have heard my splashing footsteps, because he turned to me and said: "Dude, you look like you could use some shelter." Wait. I knew that voice.
He lifted the umbrella, allowing me to go under it. I shifted under and glanced at the guy's face. Of course. It was Frank. Making eye contact with him gave me butterflies galore in my gut. He smiled and said: "Hey Winston!"
I grinned. I was- happy- to see him. "H-hello Frank." I greeted timidly. I brushed my sopping red hair out of my eyes and shivered.
"Where're you off to on this lovely day?" He joked.
"Oh, uh, to the, er, store on Lewis Avenue.. a few blocks away.." I mumbled. Why the hell can't I say a straight sentence to him? I can talk flawlessly to my boss and the receptionist in my apartment, despite my spitting attitude towards others, but Frank.. Frank was different. He gave me the fucking weirdest sensation in my stomach area. Around everyone else, I want to choke, but Frank..
I don't know. I sincerely do not know what sorcery this boy has casted upon me. Maybe it's friendship? Hah, never had a friend before, so that might be it.
He was gazing at me expectantly, as if he had asked me something. "What?" I questioned.
"I said, I'm headed there too." He pointed out.
Of fucking course he was.
"You cold, man?"
I flashed him a self-esteem lowering look. "Do I fucking look cold?" My teeth chattered, further emphasizing my point of being obviously cold.
He just chuckled. I hope he took that snap lightly. We both sort of zoned out; I stared at the water splashing up from the pavement.
The "walk" signal flashed and I started crossing the road. Frank was confused at first, because he didn't see the signal go off. He was busy staring. At me. I looked back at him and caught him observing me intently.
"There's something.. off about you," he muttered, still looking at me. I caught his gaze.
"What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"You just, talk differently. Y'know?"
No, I did not.
He continued. "Like, you're choosing your words carefully, or something, or you don't talk much.. or you're thinking about multiple things at once. You don't use popular slang, conjuctions or contractions. It's weird, man."
"I don't talk much at all," I confirmed, "I have no family, no friends, and I live alone. I have no reason to talk. And when I do talk, it's either to myself, or, as of recent, you. Do my speech habits bother you?"
He giggled. "It's like talking to an alien, but at the same time, he's a professor in the English language."
I cracked up laughing. For, like the first time in 15 years. It was a loud, rambling cackling. It sounded sort of mainical. My laugh even startled me, so when Frank looked at me strangely with his eyebrows raised, I laughed even harder, gasping for air like a fish out of water. After forty-two seconds of laughing, I started weezing, sides and abdominal muscles sore. I was panting. Why had that struck me so hilarious?
Frank was still looking at me edgily. "Uh, Winston? You cool?"
Who the hell's Winston? Oh. "Huh? Oh, uh, yeah... yeahh.." I was still breathing heavily.
We arrived at the store after fourteen seconds of silence. He closed the umbrella and shook it off, some droplets landing on me.
The doors slid open and we walked in, greeted by a rush of warm air. I silently thanked modern heating systems.
"Okay, I need to get coffee and a few other things. We can meet back here in two minutes," I said promptly, and he nodded. We split, me headed for the coffee and him towards the paper products.
I snatched the cheapest container, shitty or not, and quickly made my way to the cosmetics. I grabbed some eyeliner and finished my incredibly small shopping list with food products.
In exactly two minutes, I stood at the front of the store, already having checked out my small selection of products.
After waiting for thirty seconds, Frank appeared in the line holding plastic cups, plates, eating utensils and a few two liters of soda. He quickly checked out his stuff and walked up to me, fumbling with the bag of two-liters.
"What is with all the plastic houseware?" I asked, completely confused. Then it hit me; either he's poor or he's throwing a party. Hm. Never been to a party.
"Oh, uh, my birthday is in two days," he stated casually. "I'm going to have a party with a few friends."
"Wait. Your birthday is on Halloween?" That's spontaneous! Not really, but Halloween is my favorite holiday. I ALWAYS kill on Halloween. And it turns out my next victim's birthday is also on the day he dies. Well, my deadline (no pun intended) has just been cut short; usually it takes me a week or two to plan a kill. Oh well.
He shrugged humbly. "Yeah. Oh, uh, if you want to come to my party, then, uh, you can.."
My eyes widened. The thought of a party terrified me. Oh, no. I am NOT the party type. But how could I say no to those eyes? Plus, I could murder him after the party.
"Yeah, that sounds...... fun." I internally screamed "HELL NO!"
"Cool! I live in a small apartment complex called Hidden Lakes. Building C. I'm on the top floor, first door on the left."
I lived in Hidden Lakes, too. I'm in Building A, though. I did not want to tell him that however. He'd find out in five minutes and twenty three seconds anyway.
"Oh, thanks Frank," I grinned. Again, full of the anxiety of socializing.
He just chuckled and opened the umbrella as we stepped outside togther. We walked all the way to the apartment complex, me imagining stabbing him to death while we were both dressed in costumes.
It felt weird, thinking about killing him now. He was so friendly... but I had to kill him. That strange new feeling means he will be the perfect murder. Right? I mean, Number One, it's on Halloween, Number Two, it's on my victim's birthday.
I waved goodbye, confirming that I'd meet him tomorrow at the cafè, and walked into the rag-tag living complex. I jogged one flight of stairs and sidled down the corridor until I reached my room.
I unlocked the door and stepped in, kicking off my wet shoes, socks, and other articles of clothing that happened to get damp which was, oh, all of them. I tossed the bag of groceries on the counter to put away later.
I picked up the pile of discarded adornments and waddled to the laundry room, opening the battered washer and dropping them in. I glared at the washer, deciding whether to start the laundry or not. I decided against, because I was feeling lazy. Plus, I had a knot of information I needed to straighten out in my brain.
I hobbled into the bathroom and took a much-hotter-than-necessary shower. I dried off and got into pajamas, which consisted of a red pair of boxers.
Once in my room, I collapsed onto my bed. Oh, what a nerve-racking day. I had made a friend, that I am planning to kill. I have to meet said friend in the càfe tomorrow at 8:30. I have a party to attend in fourty-eight hours with said friend and others, after which I was going to kill my friend. Shit, I've gotta plan how I'm going to murder him. I sat upright on the bed, knees drawn up to my chest, chin resting on them, and pondered how I could pull this one off.
I could drug him and hang him in his sleep then bury his corpse in his front yard? No, I did that to Kill #12. I could slit his throat and burn his body? No, I did that to #1, #2, & #3. My family. I could poison him and bury his remains in a graveyard? No, I did that to #5. I could bludgeon him to death, cut him open and fill him with sand so he'll sink to the bottom of a lake? No, I did that to #17, my latest one.
Imagining a method of killing and burying Frank felt so wrong. It felt disgusting now, thinking about taking his life, yet twelve hours and nine minutes ago, I'd've deemed it perfectly okay. I also feel reluctant about telling him my fake name, Winston. It would be perfectly acceptable if Frank started calling me Gerard. Nobody has called me that name for six years.
Is this what friendship is? A sense of warmth and security around the significant
other, sharing the occasional laugh and cheeks blushing every-so-often? Is that fluttery sensation that burns up in my stomach when we make eye contact just friendship, or is it something more? I think that if Frank is the only human I can tolerate being with, it is a sign that he means something to me. I have not known anyone in so long that cared about me.
And who in their right might would want to destroy something so beautiful? Something so perfect?