In the morning MCR's young tour manager, Brian, knocks on Frank’s door to fetch him for an interview and photoshoot the band have scheduled with a new music magazine across town. Frank is already awake, aching and edgy from a long night spent shivering in the bathroom trying to forget his dreams, and when Brian calls he has to force himself to get moving, dragging on warm winter clothes and a pair of sunglasses to hide his tired, puffy eyes before reluctantly emerging into the corridor with his suitcase ready to go.

During the ride to the magazine's office, Frank sits silently in the back of the bus with his headphones on listening to old punk music he liked as a kid but the familiar songs do nothing to comfort him now. He's so tired he feels physically sick. During the interview he barely says a word and lets the rest of the band talk while he stares blindly into a cup of lukewarm black coffee, and when it's time for the photoshoot he’s so obviously dead on his feet that the photographer takes pity on him and poses the band on a sofa so he can sit down.

After grabbing some lunch at a diner nearby, the guys sign a couple of autographs for a few fans waiting eagerly around the bus and then drive back to the concert venue for a sound check. Frank gives his guitar to a technician and sits down in the empty audience stands by himself to watch his band mates rehearse, not wanting to step onto the stage until he absolutely has to: it looks too much like the one from last night's dream.

While Mikey's low bass notes throb through the empty theater, Frank puts his feet up on the chair in front of him and swallows a double dose of painkillers with his sixth coffee of the day. A dull pounding headache has been burning behind his eyes all afternoon and his mind is blurry and unable to focus on any particular thing. He wants to perform in the show tonight but he's not sure if he has the energy and this depresses him so much he starts to cry a little behind his sunglasses. His nightmares are only getting worse and the gruesome images and sensations are there waiting for him every time he shuts his eyes. What do they mean? Why won’t they fucking go away?!
Slumping miserably in his seat, Frank cradles his aching head in his hands and stares at the stage as disjointed chords rattle off the venue walls. Images of flames and torn skin flicker and dance in his head, cutting him off from everything else, and when he drifts back to reality he notices his right hand has slipped inside his jacket pocket and is playing with the switch on his lighter.

Someone sits down next to him and he knows who it is without looking. They smell like grapefruit juice and cigarettes. “Hey, Gee.”
“Hey,” Gerard replies, “Are you okay?”
“I’m sick of people asking me that,” Frank snaps quickly, leaning forwards over the chair in front of him and gazing straight ahead at the stage. He hopes Gerard can’t tell he’s been crying.
“Look, Frankie, the guys and I are all really worried about you,” Gerard says hesitantly, “We've been thinking that, er, maybe you should take a couple of days off from the tour, y'know, to clear your head? Maybe go home for a while, get some rest.”

Frank turns to look at his friend in shock. He was expecting this but somehow it still hits him like a punch to the gut. “You want to kick me off the tour?”
“What? No! Don’t make it sound so sinister,” Gerard says nervously, “You know that’s not what this is. None of us want you to go but realistically you’re exhausted and you can’t keep this up without getting sick. It’s just a few days, man. Go home and get some R&R and then you'll come back and feel better. That’s all.”
Frank tries to swallow the warm lump rising in his throat. “But...what about the fans?” he mumbles pitifully.
“We’ll just tell them you’re sick. They’ll understand. You’ll probably get a thousand get well messages on MySpace.”
Frank nods tearfully and gets to his feet, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve. His legs feel like rubber and his eyes are burning behind his shades. He can‘t be here right now, not feeling like this. “I don't know, Gee,” he mutters, choking back tears, “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this now. I’ll see you later.”

It’s a cold and windy winter's day in the city and Frank runs away from the venue as fast as he can, pushing through the early evening crowds and growling traffic, down long dark streets he doesn’t know into the smoky twilight. He isn’t sure why he’s running or what he’s running from but every impulse in his body is screaming at him to move, to get away, to run forever and he can’t stop. Eventually, he finds himself at an elevated train station and jumps on the first one to pull in, not caring where he ends up.
The train stops near one of the big lakes and Frank jumps the security gate at the platform and bolts into the street, running all the way down to the frost-covered railings bordering the cold, green water. Slipping his shades up into his tangled hair, he stands over the lake's choppy surface, panting for breath and starts crying again, tears freezing on his face as the metal railings stick to his clammy fingers. The icy wind numbs his skin and chills his body and it’s actually a relief being this cold because it's the furthest thing away from feeling like he's on fire. He feels safe here now. He can stop running.

For a long time, Frank stands by the endless water lost in empty thoughts and when a craving for a cigarette finally brings him around, he’s surprised to see that the moon has risen high in the dark sky and it's starting to snow. He’s never stood still for so long before - he must be getting sick or something. Shaking sleet from his hair, he begins to walk back towards the train station but cant remember the way. The orange street-lamps shine eerily on the cars flashing past and the wind blows harder and icier as the snow thickens, stinging his face with a million tiny ice crystals. He walks blindly through the harsh weather for nearly an hour, turning down one random street after another, getting colder and colder, but he can’t find his way back to the station or to any place that’s familiar. He’s completely and hopelessly lost.

Stopping at a Starbucks to warm up and get some coffee, Frank tries calling Brian on his cell but all he gets is a voicemail. The concert must have started and Brian will be standing too close to the stage to hear his phone. “Fuck,” Frank whispers, wandering out of the coffee shop and leaning heavily against the wall of the convenience store next door, suddenly feeling very alone. He isn’t used to feeling this disconnected from people. Usually when he tours with the band they are always together and when he’s back home in New Jersey, he’s surrounded by his family and friends but this is a strange city and he doesn’t know people here. Sighing miserably, he softly bangs his aching head against the wall, his mind fuzzy with exhaustion and cold. He considers calling Information to get the number of a local cab company but he doesn’t have enough money left for a fare to get him half-way across town and he left his wallet back at the venue. Checking his pockets for cigarettes he remembers he’s run out and walks into the store behind him to buy some more. He should have enough money for that at least. When he sees who’s standing behind the counter, he almost turns around and walks straight back out again.

“Hi there,” says the pretty shop girl with dyed white hair and dramatic eye makeup, smiling at Frank from behind her pink-framed glasses. A shiver runs down his spine. This is the girl from his dream last night, the girl in the metal room. This is exactly her, down to the last detail! But how could she be here, now? He's never even been to this store before. Wondering if he's asleep or hallucinating, Frank stands there staring open-mouthed at the girl until she begins to look uncomfortable and he bites down hard on his tongue, realising that he is in fact awake. The girl is real.
“Um, hi,” he finally manages to say. She’s wearing a purple shirt and bright red fingerless gloves. Exactly like in the dream.
“Can I help you, sir?” the girl asks impatiently.
Frank looks at her again, searching her eyes for any trace of recognition but he finds none at all. She doesn’t know his face so why does he know hers?
“No. Thanks,” he answers hoarsely, “I just need some... uh, some soda.” Shaking his head, he picks an aisle at random and starts to walk down it.
“That’s not the right way,” the girl calls after him. Déjà vu rockets through Frank’s brain and he stops in his tracks, cold sweat on his skin. “W-What?” he stammers, turning back.
“For soda. That’s not the right way,” the girl says and then she laughs shyly. Deja vu, deja vu. “Are you alright, sir?”
“I…No!” Frank gasps, rushing out of the store into the dark and falling snow.

***
“Where the hell is he?” Gerard sighs, hanging up on Frank’s voicemail for the seventh time. Brian shakes his head and shrugs, “I’ve asked the crew and everyone else I could think of. No one’s seen Frank since sound check.”
“That was seven hours ago,” Mikey reminds them.
“That’s a really long time not to answer your phone,” Ray adds nervously.
“He should have checked in with somebody,” Gerard agrees, “Or at least come back here for his stuff. This isn’t like him, Brian. He would never bail on us before a show unless something was really wrong.”

The guys are assembled in the small tour bus lounge, dressed in after-show clothes with their ears still ringing from the concert. The guitarist from their support band managed to stand in for Frank onstage after he disappeared but the dynamic of the band was shaken up and the performance hadn't been one of their best. After the show when Frank still hadn't turned up, Ray went back to the motel they stayed in last night to look for him but the runaway guitarist hadn’t checked back in and seemed to have disappeared without a trace into the city. After gathering everyone together, Brian realized that he’d missed a call from Frank's phone during the concert but there’d been no word from him since.

Now it's after midnight and everyone is worried.
“He’s been sleeping so badly,” Ray says, “Maybe he fell asleep somewhere?”
“He could've been mugged,” Mikey frets, “I mean, Frank’s small, he’s an easy target.”
Brian sighs and reaches for his phone. “I'll start calling the hospitals.”

“County General Emergency Room.”
“Yes, hi. I need to know if you have a patient there by the name of Frank Iero. I-e-r-o.”
“Are you a relative, sir?”
“No, I’m his tour manager, technically his boss. He doesn’t have family in Chicago. I'm responsible for him.”
“I see.”
“Please, I just need to know if he’s there or not. He would have come in tonight.”
“Okay, sir. Let me check our admissions…Yes, he’s here. Arrived about three hours ago.”

They find Frank in a chaotic curtained section of the ER, sitting alone on a hospital bed with his legs dangling over the edge, wearing a short-sleeved white gown with his jeans and muddy sneakers.
“Thank God. Frank, are you okay?” Brian asks, rushing over to him.
Frank shakes his head, biting his lip like he doesn't trust himself to speak, and holds up his left arm for his friends to see. Sterile medical dressings and white bandages are covering his tattooed skin from his fingers all the way up to a few inches above his elbow and the guys stare at it in horror. “What happened?” Ray gasps.
Frank lowers his injured arm into his lap and starts running his other hand anxiously through his hair, his bloodshot green eyes flooding with tears. “I think I'm going crazy!” he blurts, “I mean seriously losing it or something. Fuck, I don't know how but these things I dreamed about... This stuff is h-happening in real life now, I swear, but that's not possible right? It can't be real s-so I must be crazy!”
“Dude, what are you talking about?” Gerard asks, looking a little scared.
“Tell us what happened to your arm,” Brian says softly, sitting beside Frank on the bed, “You can talk to us, buddy, it’s okay. We won't think you’re crazy.”
Frank closes his eyes and tugs hard at his hair in agitation as tears spill down his cheeks. “My arm got burned,” he sobs weakly, “I caught on fire...”

Notes

((sorry for any typos, I'm tired and bit under the weather atm. hope you like, will update ASAP. xx))