Evening turns into endless night and the moon rises over the city of angels. Stacey goes to bed early but is awoken sometime after eleven when the musical ringtone of her phone interrupts her dreams. Groping sleepily across the nightstand, her fingers find the cold plastic object and she lifts it to her face, drowsily checking the caller ID. Gerard Way. Sighing softly she pushes the answer button. “Hey hun. Is everything okay?”
‘Hey Stacey. Sorry to call so late but, er, is Frank around? He's not answering his cell phone.'
Stacey yawns and sits up, switching on the bedside lamp. Rain is hammering on the windowpane outside. “I think he's in his room Gee. He came home drunk and pretty much went straight to bed. When I knocked on his door to see if he was hungry he didn't answer so I guess he's sleeping. Why?”
'I dunno, I've been so worried about him with all the crazy shit he's been seeing and the last time we talked I got this bad feeling in my gut,’ Gerard rambles anxiously, ‘Today we got a break from tour and, uh, I sorta got on a plane to L.A before I knew what I was doing. I’m actually outside your house right now and I was kinda hoping you and Frankie would like some company? But if you don’t that’s cool. I can go find a hotel or something, I just…’
“You really want to see Frank,” Stacey translates, smiling to herself.
‘Yeah,’ Gerard admits, ‘And I wanna see you too, obviously. I mean_’
“It’s okay, Gee.”
‘I love you both you know that.’
“I know. I love you guys too. I'd do pretty much anything for you little idiots. Hang on a minute and I'll come and let you in.”

***
Wiping raindrops and smears of last night's eyeliner from his face, Gerard sighs and hangs up, leaning against Stacey's porch wall to check his missed calls and inbox for the hundredth time tonight. There’s still no word from Frank. Banging the back of his head against the bricks until it hurts helps relieve some of his frustration but doesn’t make him feel any less worried. It isn’t like Frankie to be acting so frightened and paranoid and aggressive. There must be something making him do this. Something that’s got him so scared he can’t even think straight. Maybe the poor guy's become hooked on prescription pills or even heroin somehow. It might explain a few things. Pushing ugly thoughts aside, Gerard curses himself for not trying harder to talk to Frank about all of this sooner… and for not listening when he did try to explain, no matter how crazy he sounded.Redialling his friend’s number again as a light flickers on in the house, Gerard expects to hear the same unanswered dial tone he’s been getting all night but instead there's an automated voice recording telling him the line is no longer in service. What the fuck?
Frowning, he redials but the message is the same: Frank’s phone is no longer in service. Something's wrong. Very wrong! He can feel it now.

“Stace, come on,” he yells, banging impatiently on the door until it opens to reveal Stacey in her dressing gown with a bemused look on her face, “Calm down, Gee. Give me a chance to_”
“Are you sure Frank's in his room?” Gerard asks urgently, moving into the house and dumping his small suitcase in the hallway, “Have you checked?”
“No, I'm not a prison warden,” Stacey mutters, frowning as she shuts the door behind him, “His keys are still here though.”
Pushing past her, Gerard runs up the stairs and she follows reluctantly, pointing him in the direction of Frank's room as butterflies flutter in her stomach. Gerard turns the door handle but it won't open. “It's locked,” he whispers and knocks frantically on the smooth wood veneer, “Frankie! Are you in there? Are you okay?”
Grimly pressing her lips together, Stacey fetches a spare key and unlocks the door, swinging it open and flicking on the light. The room is deserted and the unmade bed is empty. The window is wide open and Frank is gone. “Oh... shit.”
“Why would he sneak out like this? Where the fuck is he?” Gerard cries, his hazel eyes shining and scared, “Has he called you?”
Shrugging edgily and wishing she was still sound asleep in bed, Stacey checks her phone and realizes that she did in fact receive a text message from Frank a little while ago. “Hmm. Apparently he sent me a text. Hang on... It's just some random street address. I don't think I know it. Maybe he sent it to me by mistake or something? He's probably still wasted.”
Gerard spins to face her, holding his own phone in a white-knuckled grip.“He sent you a text from his cell? When? All I'm getting is an out of service message.”
“It says two hours ago. I was sleeping. Gerard, you’re scaring me. What do you think is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Gerard groans, pacing anxiously around the bedroom, “But we have to find him!”
“Okay, okay, calm down. I'm sure he's fine. Let me get dressed and we'll go look for him.”

***
Floating in sweet unconscious oblivion, Frank finds himself soaring higher and higher, drifting upwards to a place of soft, cool, calm white. Everything is quiet up here and nothing hurts anymore. There’s no more blood or pain. No knives and shadows. He’s safe here, he‘s alright. Numb and unfeeling. Floating forever. The cruel awful world fell away from him and it seems so distant now, fading and blurring and dimming into nothingness. He is nothing and nowhere at all...

“Wake up!” an angry voice barks through the void, shattering Frank’s fragile serenity as something hard slams like a dead weight into his face. A searing flash of red explodes across his soothing white vision and rips it away as a hurricane of fire and darkness seizes and drags him back down into the world... back into the basement... back into agony and dirt...

Another crushing blow hits his face and hot, bitter blood floods his mouth and dribbles down his throat. Coughing and choking, he hears himself cry out like a wounded animal as needles of pain stab him in the chest, arms and legs – especially his legs - and it hurts so much he wants to die! The floor under his battered body is slimy and cold and his skin is caked in sticky crusts of drying blood. The sharp pressure of bruised ribs cripples his lungs and smothers his voice and he can hardly fucking breathe. His eyes are closed or swollen shut and he can't get them open. Why can’t he see? Knives and monsters live in the dark and if he can’t find a light they'll come and slash him to shreds!
“WAKE UP!” the voice bellows again, “I’m not finished with you yet!”
With a focused effort that makes his eyes water, Frank manages to crack open his heavy eyelids and a whimper of pain escapes his throat as he rolls onto his side and coughs up a glob of crimson saliva. Stale dusty air wheezes in and out of his aching lungs as broken sobs shake his injured body. He must have blacked out after that last beating. Ohgod, it hurts so much!
“Good boy,” the cruel voice mutters, “For a minute there I thought you were going to miss the best part of the show.”

Shutting his eyes against the faceless black helmet glaring down at him, Frank grits his teeth against the pain in his chest and begs through split, bloody lips, “If you’re gonna kill m-me just kill me. Please...just m-make it stop!”
“All in good time,” the masked biker snarls, “If you don’t open your fucking eyes right now I will GUT your girlfriend!”
“No!” Frank wails, opening his eyes and looking around for Lorna in panic. Through dazed double vision he sees her sitting wide-awake against the fridge across the room crying silent tears into her cupped hands. Her wrists and ankles are bound tightly together with cord but there's not a scratch or bruise on her.
“Leave him alone,” she begs in a hoarse, trembling voice, “Please, PLEASE stop hurting Frank, he hasn't fucking done anything wrong! Whoever you are, you don't have to do this and you know it. You could just walk away and let us go. We haven't seen your face and we won't tell anyone, I swear to God!”
The biker snickers and rubs his hands together, scraping dried flakes of Frank's blood from his gloves. “Sorry girlie,” he grunts behind his visor, “It's either your heads or mine.” Pacing lazily back and forth between his two victims, he raises the stained knife he's been using to cut Frank's arms and points it at their frightened faces in turn, moving it back and forth, back and forth. “Eenie...meenie...minie...mo!” he growls, thrusting the blade towards Lorna. “Say goodbye to your boyfriend because it’s time for your final bow!”
Speechless in terror, Lorna cowers open-mouthed and weeping as the killer grabs her by the neck and drags her to her feet in the middle of the room with his butcher knife poised to strike.
“NO! DON’T!” Frank cries, struggling to get up and failing, held down by his injuries and blood-loss as the room grows darker and the stench of blood and fear becomes unbearable. “Don't hurt her! PLEASE!”

This can’t be happening! This was just a fucking bad dream, a nightmare, it was never meant to be real! But it is and there’s nowhere to hide when bad dreams come true. There's nothing to wake up to. No escape. No chance.

All the hope and bravery drains from Lorna’s face as the last seconds of her life count down to zero and she starts to scream, clawing desperately at the gloved hand around her throat, “Frank! HELP ME!”

Crippled by trauma, Frank can only stare helplessly at the horror unfolding before him as a wave of paralysing fear overwhelms his frail body and plunges his mind into a frozen state of shock. Cold sweat drenches his skin and his chest tightens like a vice as his legs turn to lead and his hands shake. He can’t move or speak or do anything at all.
“Frank!” Lorna shrieks, “Help me!…Somebody help! HELP US!”
Raising the knife over his head, the murderer tightens his grip on Lorna’s neck and chokes off her strangled cries as her eyes drip tears and she casts one last glance at Frank. Their gazes lock across the room as the blade plunges towards her heart and in this awful moment they realize there was never anything they could do to stop this. The visions don’t lie. This was always going to happen.

With a chilling wet thump the knife pierces her chest.

A small hiccupped gasp escapes her lips, nothing more. Then her face turns papery-white as a crimson stain seeps through her cotton nightgown and her heart stops beating. Pulling the blade free, the killer ruthlessly brings it down again and again and streams of blood spray the walls and splatter the floor, splashing his helmet and filling the air with crimson rain. The girl is dead before her body hits the ground.

Trembling all over and gasping out throat-ripping sobs, Frank vomits a gutful of bile and bursts into tears as the sights and sounds of death flood his senses and push his mind far beyond what it can take. Fresh piss seeps through his blood-soaked jeans and his heart pounds so hard and fast his battered chest feels like a drum. Lorna's dead. She's fucking DEAD! She died right in front of him and he couldn't do a single thing to stop it!

Her blood oozes over the floor and he shrinks away from the growing puddle, curling up as small as he can, but it's not enough and in his head he's already drowning. Her hollow lifeless eyes stare up at him, frozen in fear forever now, and his head is spinning as his vision grays out at the edges. He can't breathe!

Heavy footsteps approach through the gore and two slippery gloved hands clamp around his narrow shoulders and haul him upright. Dizzy and breathless, he shivers weakly in the killer’s grip, soaked in blood, sweat and puke. He’s going to die here! He’s going to die NOW! “One down,” the masked killer whispers, “One to go...”

***
When Gerard and Stacey arrive at the address in Frank's text it isn’t a motel or a bar like they were expecting. It’s a residential house in a bad part of town and Stacey bristles with anxiety as they stare through her car's windshield at the scruffy dank building. “So this must be a friend's house right?” she blurts nervously, “Does Frankie have any friends in LA? Or maybe a lady?”
“I'm not sure,” Gerard admits, “He might. Why aren't there any lights on? Do you think they're all asleep?”
“I guess so. But I don't understand why Frank would sneak out of a window to come here without me knowing and then text me the address. Dammit. Y'know Gee, I really thought he might be getting better this week but now... this just makes me afraid he's actually getting worse. I don't know what to do.”
“Me neither,” Gerard sighs, tugging anxiously at his hair, “Come on. Let's see if anyone's home.”

As quietly as possible they both exit the vehicle and Stacey immediately locks the doors behind them. The nearest streetlights have been smashed to bits and down the block an Alsation dog is barking its head off behind a rusty chain-link fence. “Wait a second,” Gerard whispers, peering into the house's messy front yard, “I've seen that red bicycle before.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. There was this blond girl hanging around after the car accident last week riding that bike and when Frank saw her he went fucking crazy, like he’d seen a ghost or something. I’ve never seen him so freaked out.”

Glancing warily at the silent shadowy house, Stacey frowns and shoves open the front gate, striding up the path to the front steps with Gerard right behind her. Taking a deep breath, she raises her hand to knock on the closed door but before she can touch it she hears a faint cry echoing through the rain.
“What was that?” she gasps, pulling her hand away, heart racing.
“What was what?” Gerard whispers.
“I heard a voice, like someone screaming. I think it was Frankie!”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so. It was really quiet and sort of muffled like it was coming from somewhere underground or…”
Like a distant siren another scream sounds in the night and this time they both hear it.
“Shit!” Gerard gasps.
“Where’s it coming from?” Stacey cries as the muffled screaming continues - a woman’s voice, hysterical with fear crying “Frank! HELP ME!”
Looking the shabby house up and down, Gerard grabs Stacey’s hand and pulls her around the side of the building, keeping close to the grimy wall. When he finds what he’s looking for he crouches down in the shadows beside it: a tiny window set into the wall at ground level. “They're in the basement.” A pile of oily rags inside the window blocks their view of whatever's inside but the screaming continues, louder now, hoarse and desperate, sending chills through their bones: 'Somebody help! HELP US!’

Then suddenly, horribly, the voice is silenced.

“Oh god,” Stacey gasps, her hands flying to her mouth in horror, “Ohmigod!”
Gerard jumps to his feet and moves away from the window, “I’m going in.”
“No! Are you crazy?” Stacey hisses, grabbing uselessly at his arm as he brushes past her and dashes back around to the front of the house, “We have to call the police!”
“There isn't time!” Gerard cries, “Frankie’s down there and he’s in trouble. I let him run away in Chicago and I let him run away after that car crash and both times he got hurt because he was alone so there's no fucking way I’m gonna leave him alone this time. Wait for me out here and if I’m not back in five minutes call 911.”

Turning away, he grabs a metal pipe from the piles of junk in the yard and uses it to smash in one of the ground floor windows, hidden from the street. With a final glance at Stacey, he disappears into the gloom of the house and leaves her standing there alone.

Notes

((Agh, sorry for the delay in updating and sorry if this is full of typos.
Lot of shit happening in my life right now.
I hope you're still reading and liking. If you are then i LOVE you!
Please comment if you have time <3
Comments make us all want to write more (let's be honest, it's true)
xx))