Gloves

The notes just kept on coming. Every time a body turned up, a note would come with it. The killer -- now a serial killer -- would never hint to their gender nor location. Rather, they would mock Gerard and the police, asking why they had not caught -- let us say "him" for hypothetical's sake -- him yet.
Note 3: I'm joining some of the greats, huh? Zodiac, Gacy, Scripps, Manson. I've never felt so wonderful. But that means the stakes are higher for you, my little friend.
Note 4: Whoo, this one pretty tough to take down. She actually bit me. But not to worry, I made sure there would be no evidence, in case you were wondering why I took out her teeth and tongue. I may or may not have gutted her too.
Note 5: I saw my case on the news today; a country-wide search for me? Aw, you shouldn't have. I feel so loved.
Note 6: Can you believe it's been a month since I started? And you're not any closer to me, are you Gerard? None of my victims have been able to tell you anything, huh? Except for Freid; he woke up in the middle of the car ride to my lair. Stupid fucker almost ruined me.
Note 7: I'm getting tired of this game, Gerard. I think I'll be ending it soon.
The seventh note was one of the most frightening things about the case. It was all just a game for him. He was just playing with them, like a cat does with it's food. And he was going to end it soon. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out how the game would end.
Ever since the last letter four days previous, Frank had been forbidden from leaving Gerard's side. He had even been threatened with imprisonment by duct tape if he so much as went to the bathroom without Gerard near him.
Neither boy had gotten much sleep; Gerard would lie awake at night, holding Frank close to him in reassurance and thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. His thoughts were scrambled in his head, much like the eggs Juliet had offered to make the boys on the first day of self-induced house arrest. Frank was plagued with stress dreams that awoke him in a cold sweat and heavy breaths, sending him into a panicked trance that Gerard had to calm.
On the fifth day, Frank got restless.
"Gerard," he pleaded, "can we just go outside for a little bit? To the park down the street or-- we could just walk to your house! You know, for a change of scenery? I'm dying in here!"
Gerard grimaced and glanced over at Frank. He was gazing at him with large, innocent hazel eyes and a trembling lower lip. He sighed. "I don't know, hun;--" he had started calling Frank that somewhere around letter number four "--I don't really want to risk it. What happens if he's out there, waiting?"
"Gerard!" cried Frank, grabbing his arms and shaking him slightly. "What are we going to do? Stay inside for the rest of our lives? That's ridiculous! We need to face our fears at some point. Please?"
The taller boy sighed heavily, sounding much older than he really was. He suddenly looked so much older than he was; his eyes were tired and ringed with dark shadows, his forehead was marred with worry lines, his frown turned farther down than it should have been, shoulders hunched in fatigue. He reached forward and pulled Frank closer, pressing his lips to the smooth forehead and keeping them there as he spoke. "Okay, we can go to my house. Just-- stay close to me, alright? I just want to keep you safe."
It seemed the two boys had switched roles, Frank being the fearless, impulsive one and Gerard being the overly-cautious mother.
They left the house, bidding a farewell to Juliet and the dog's grave. Frank hopped a few feet ahead of Gerard, grinning and breathing in the New Jersey smog. The former trailed along slowly, trying his best to keep one red eye on Frank and the other watching for danger. But alas, he was not a chameleon.
He resolved to watch Frank instead, smiling at his abrupt and blatant happiness. He was so enraptured with his charming undefined-relationship-partner that he did not notice the figure creep up behind him and smash a sickly-sweet smelling clothe against his mouth and nose. He was not fast enough to pull off his glove before he had fallen unconscious.
They never made it to the Way residence.

Notes

I assure you now that they are not dead yet. There will be a resolution to this. I promise.
I'm sorry if this was a little shitty; I don't really have an excuse, this just doesn't sit right with me. Tell me your opinion of it. And remember, if you guys like this, spread the word; that's how things get around this site: word-of-mouth.
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-Stitches