NIGHTMARES

The rain is easing off into a cold sticky drizzle by the time Frank reaches Belleville. Electrical power has returned to the town but thunder and lightning still lurk menacingly beyond the dirty street-lights and clouds are hiding the moon. Pulling up by the Way house, he rushes out of the car so fast he trips on the wet curb and skins his knee and all he can think about is fire and corpses and boiling blood and he wants to scream. The building's windows are dark but muffled metal music booms from somewhere deep inside. Maybe he isn't too late after all. Knocking loudly on the front door, he bounces nervously up and down waiting for someone to answer it but nobody does. Anxious shivers skitter down his spine and he tries peeking through the living room window but he can't see a thing. Stepping back, he sniffles in the wintry air, his nose running, and smells something that chills him to the bone: the faint reek of smoke.

Groaning with panic, he dashes behind the house to the back yard and scrambles over the fence, scraping his palms and ripping his sweater on the splintering wood. Racing to the back door with his aching head full of death, he crouches in the dark and gropes blindly under the pile of damp flowerpots until he finds Mr Way's poorly-hidden spare key. Slipping inside the warm home, he whimpers with fear as the stink of burning gets stronger and his heart is pounding so hard it;s hurting his chest. He can't believe he's doing this again: sneaking into a dark sinister house where someone he cares about is almost certainly going to die. The thin barrier between his nightmares and reality is blurring and dissolving into a useless speck of nothing and there's jackshit he can do about it.

Trying to calm his rapid breathing, Frank listens to the space around him and realizes that he can't hear any smoke detectors or alarms going off. Why aren't they beeping or ringing or whatever if Mikey said they were here? Maybe he's just imagining the smell of smoke and there is no fire. It could just be another hallucination or maybe he's finally gone completely insane...

Flipping on the kitchen light with trembling fingers he's relieved to see that everything actually looks pretty normal. The sink is half-full of dirty dishes and there's an empty pizza box and a box of Frankenberry cereal sitting on the counter. There's no sign of fire anywhere but still the sharp stink of smoke and ash remains in his nostrils and stings his eyes. “Gerard?” he calls nervously, creeping into a dim quiet hallway, “Mikey? Yo, is anybody home?” No reply. It's too hot and stuffy in here and the hazy air throbs with smothered music as sweat prickles his scalp and forehead and his stomach churns with nervous tension. Tip-toeing tensely past the spare room, he jumps as the glass eyes of Mrs Way's freaky china dolls glint at him through the open door. Why does she still collect those things?
Booming thunder suddenly rumbles outside and he glances up at the ceiling and finally spots a smoke detector above his head but someone has wrapped it in a plastic bag sealed with tape, making it totally useless. What the fuck? Ohhhhh shit, now he remembers. When Gee and Mikey's parents are away the two brothers smoke a lot in the house and burn most of the food they try to cook for themselves so sometimes they cover the smoke detectors or remove the batteries for days on end. They might have signed their own death warrants!

Running scared through the empty house, Frank reaches the top of the basement steps and gags as the air around him turns thick and dark and clouds of smoke start to billow around his head. He knew it! Gerard's room is on fire just like he fucking knew it would be... “Gerard!” he yells, charging down the steps, “Gee, are you down here? What the fuck's going on?”
Metal music continues to howl from behind the door but Gerard doesn't respond so Frank turns the handle and finds out it's locked. “Mikey?” he shouts desperately, coughing as smoke pours out from under Gerard's door in noxious streams, “Gee? Are either of you here?! Someone open this fucking door!” Hammering on the painted wood until his knuckles hurt, he still can't get an answer and the door is starting to feel hot under his shaking hands. Panic and smoke clot together in a heavy lump in his throat and he frantically pulls the cell phone Brian bought him out of his pocket and dials 911. This can't be happening! Not again, not another death, not one of his best friends...

'911, what is your emergency?'
Breathless and terrified, Frank blurts out that he needs a fire truck and recites Gerard's address, begging the operator to hurry.
'Ok sir, a fire crew is on their way to you now. They should be there in ten minutes. I need you and anyone else at the scene to leave the building right away for your own safety and retreat to a safe distance?... Sir?'
“No no no, ten minutes is too late!” Frank gasps, hanging up and stepping back far enough to land a good solid kick on the door, right near the handle. “Oww, fuck!” That really hurt and the door didn't even budge. Why do they make this look so easy on TV? He tries again and the impact shoots pain through his leg but the old, thin door bows slightly under the force of his foot so he kicks it again and again, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve as smoky fumes coil deep into his lungs and burn his watering eyes.

After five kicks the lock finally cracks and the door bursts open in a scalding blaze of heat and light that hits him like a two-ton truck. Falling to his knees as dizziness warps his brain, he ignores the ghosts and terror screaming in his head and stubbornly crawls into the burning room. Walls of flame roar out of the alcohol-soaked floorboards on every side and piles of old comics erupt into volcanoes of red-hot cinders, turning the basement into a fiery furnace just like the one in his worst dreams. Squinting helplessly at the dazzling glare and boiling smoke as his head swims with noise and pain, he finally spies Gerard's body lying motionless on a smouldering bed and the sight of his friend returns him to his senses. Coughing his lungs raw as sweat drenches his scorched skin, he forces himself to stagger over there and tries to shake Gee awake but it's no use. The singer's eyes are closed and he's barely breathing. The pillow under his pale face is soggy with beery puke and on the grubby sheets near his limp hands are half a dozen very familiar-looking pills.

“Oh, you fucking moron!” Frank sobs, sooty tears staining his cheeks as he grabs his taller heavier friend under the arms and hauls Gerard's dead weight off the bed with every ounce of strength he has left in his frail body. Gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts as the flames burn higher, he manages to drag the unconscious singer halfway to the door before his quivering legs give out and he collapses wheezing and coughing on the smoking floor, close to fainting. He can't breathe in this merciless heat and his nose is bleeding again, splattering his blistered lips and hands with warm red goo. Propping himself up on trembling arms, he only makes it halfway to his feet again before exhaustion drops him back onto the burning floorboards and his limbs turn to lead, too heavy to move.

Fuck this, he's too fucking TIRED for this shit. God, if only he could sleep. Just for a little while, just until he finds the strength to get up. Maybe he could sleep now. It does seem like he's lying down... and it's getting sorta dark... and so hot... maybe the nightmares won't come this time... maybe he'll finally get to rest in peace...

Darkness floods Frank's woozy vision and the back of his head hits the ashy floor with a quiet thud as the last few gasps of oxygen leave his tortured lungs. One of his sleeves catches fire but he can't feel the pain. Burning doesn't hurt if the smoke takes you first.
Somewhere in the distance a scarlet siren wails and in the stormy night ghosts are weeping.

**

When Gerard regains consciousness a hard plastic tube is being forced down his throat. Gagging and snorting he tries to cough it out, squinting through sore eyes at a blinding fluorescent light, feeling sicker and more scared than he's ever felt in his life. Harsh voices hiss from the fuzzy edges of his vision and then hard quick hands grab his arms and legs and hold him down and he tries to scream but the thing in his throat won't let him. Then a tiny stab of pain pierces his neck and everything goes black and becomes nothing at all.

The second time he wakes up his eyelids are stuck together with sleepy goop and dried tears and all he can hear is a gentle beeping and somebody crying softly. His mouth is dry and gritty and his whole body itches and aches. Rough unfamiliar bedding smothers his chest and limbs and he can't feel his hands but his head is throbbing. Hungover doesn't even begin to describe it. What the hell is going on? Where is he?
Oh crap, is he in a hospital? Shit, it must've been those weird pills he stole from Frank. He shouldn't have taken them on top of all that other stuff... Wait, if he OD'd then who found him and called the ambulance? And did they find all his drugs too and take them away? He still had hundreds of dollars worth of shit in his room. Dammit! Oh god, what if his parents find out about this and force him into rehab? Is THIS rehab?! Fuck, fuck, fuck! How the hell is he going to explain himself to...

“Mikey?” he whispers in a hoarse croak, finally recognising the person sobbing next to his body as he opens his eyes and sees his baby brother sitting just a few inches away. The poor kid looks wrecked: deep shadows under his eyes and his greasy hair is a mess. The thick lenses of his glasses are all smudged and splashed with tears. “G-Gee?” he stammers, swallowing hard and jumping to his feet, “Are you really awake? I mean, like, c-can you hear me?”
“Er...Yeah?”
“Oh thank god. You had me so worried, you dumb bastard! What the fuck were you thinking this time, huh? Do you even know how much damage you've caused?! Do you even CARE? Christ!” Angrily wiping his face, Mikey storms out of the tiny hospital room just as a tall male nurse and a petite blond doctor arrive. After introducing themselves as Nurse Kenny and Dr Ruby Davies, they fuss over the equipment around Gerard's bed and shine small lights in his eyes and mouth, poking his arms and chest and asking him what year it is and who is president and can he remember what County he lives in? Still rattled by his little brother's outburst, Gerard answers their questions as well as he can and his queasy stomach is tight with fear at the thought of saying the wrong thing and finding out that he has brain damage or memory loss. What the hell did he do to end up in here? The last thing he remembers is watching Scream and chugging those stupid pills...

The doctor scribbles some notes on a clipboard while the nurse gently lifts Gerard's right arm out from under the sheets and starts adjusting an IV needle that's taped into a thick blue vein near his elbow. Shivering at the sight, Gerard turns his head away, his heart hammering as he fights down the urge to cry or vomit. He HATES needles, always has. They really freak him out and right now there's nobody here who knows that and can help him calm down. Tears swamp his vision and he starts to cough, feeling sweaty and sick. His throat is parched and raw and it hurts to swallow. He remembers the horrible plastic tube from before and again finds himself trying not to cry. Lifting his other arm to his wipe his eyes, he's confused and frightened to see that his left hand is covered in bandages and is so stiff he can't move his fingers. Breathing faster as panic trickles down his neck, he tastes soot and melting plastic on his tongue and in the back of his snotty nose. “I... Is s-something burning?” he asks in a scared croak. The nurse raises an eyebrow in quiet amusement and the doctor steps forward with a frown and shines her little pen-light into her patient's nose and mouth, making him even more anxious.

Finally she moves off with a sigh and fixes Gerard with a serious stare. “You were in a fire last night, Mr Way. Do you remember any of it?”
“What? No!”
“Yes and you're very lucky to be alive. If your brother hadn't come home before the fire fighters arrived and pulled you and your friend out of that room you'd probably be dead, and I feel it's my duty to remind you that smoking in bed is incredibly dangerous, especially when you're under the influence of illegal substances.”
Gerard cowers guiltily under her disapproving eyes. How could he have messed up so badly? No wonder Mikey is pissed off. Their folks are probably going to murder them!
“I need to go and update your family now,” Dr Davies sighs, her frown lifting slightly, “And I'll let them know they are free to come in and sit with you. Your injuries are mostly superficial but you'll continue to feel some dizziness and nausea over the next couple of days. We had to pump your stomach and flush some fire debris out of your airway so your throat will be quite sore as well, try not to talk too much. Also the amount of drugs you took caused some minor liver damage that we'll need to keep an eye on. Kenny will be here to check your vital signs and manage your medication until we can move you to another ward.” With a nod goodbye, the doctor hangs her clipboard on a hook at the end of the bed and exits.

Gerard shudders miserably, salty tears spilling over and painting his cheeks as he burrows the side of his face into a pillow and lets his oily black hair fall into his eyes. Kenny shoots him a sympathetic smile and starts straightening the bedsheets, “Don't mind the doc,” he says gently, “She just can't stand to see kids like you throwing your lives away on chemicals, y'know?”
Gerard nods faintly, his aching head spinning with self-hatred.
“Are you in any pain?” Kenny asks, “Cos I can request more medication.”
“No. I mean, not really. Can I h-have some water?”
“Sure thing.”
Fetching a full cup with a straw in it from the bedside table, the nurse holds it to his patient's lips and Gerard gratefully sips the cold thirst-quenching liquid until he suddenly remembers something the doctor mentioned and looks up in confusion. “Wait a minute, why did Dr Davies say there was a friend with me in the fire? I was alone, n-no one else should've been in my room.”
Kenny's smile fades into a worried frown and he sits down solemnly in a chair beside the bed, resting his hands on his knees. “There was another guy there, about your age, and he, er... well the ID we found in his clothes said Frank Iero Jr.”
“FRANK was there?! How the hell did he get to Belleville? Was he hurt? Is he okay?”
“I'm afraid not. Look man, I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, but...”

Notes

((But... WHAT???
Should Frank live or die, my dears?
Who knows? *evil laugh*
Sorry for the wait again xxx))