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Kill Your Darlings

Chapter Eighteen

"Holy Father, give me guidance," Frank's voice drifted through Pete's unpleasant dreams. As of late, Pete's dreams had been filled with images of horrible things happening to Mikey— his Mikey. He thought that the quickly approaching Christmas would keep his mind off of it, but he was wrong; it made him miss Mikey even more than he thought possible.

"I'm worried about Pete," Frank whispered. Upon the mention of his name, Pete opened his eyes the smallest amount to see Frank crouched on the ground, his hands clasped in front of his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "I know that you put people in our lives for a reason, but Pete doesn't seem to really have a reason. If he's just keeping me company to help me forget about Cherry and Lily, then I guess he's doing his job.

"I just want Pete and Mikey to be happy," Frank sighed, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his hands together. "They're good people, and they deserve to be happy. Lord, all I'm asking is for you to give me a sign that Pete and Mikey will be happy again. Amen." He sighed once more and made a cross-motion over his chest, looking up to the dark sky.

Pete noticed that Frank said his concluding word the same way Mikey said it, yet differently than Pete had learned: "A-men."

Frank pulled his jacket closer around his body and whispered: "Pete, I know you heard me praying."

Pete silently sat up and crawled the short distance to Frank, hugging him tightly. "Who're Cherry and Lily?" He asked quietly and Frank sucked in a shaky breath.

"My secrets," he whispered. "Cherry Blossom and Lily Bloom were born right around the time I moved here in the summer. They're up in Belleville with my — I guess ex-wife, now— Jamia. Nobody knows about them; just me and Mia. And I'm fucking homeless and I... I haven't ever met my daughters, Pete. I don't know what they look like or anything. I helped Mia name them before I came down here, and she thinks I'm dead now."

"Why does she think that?" Pete asked.

"I haven't been able to say a word to her since July," Frank explained quietly. "My wife... My babies... I don't know anything about them."

Pete sighed. "If it helps, I'm a dad, too," he said. "Well, not for a few more months, but... Meg was my girlfriend for a long time, and Saint is coming in March. But that's not my secret.

"I mentioned it to Mikey, but he never asked about it— maybe he didn't catch it, I don't know— but it was two years ago. I went to Best Buy for God knows why and I had the complete breakdown and swallowed some pills... My friend, Patrick, found me before anything could happen and he made me throw them up and he took me to the hospital. Dude, when you wanna die, the hospital, with your best friend crying about how he doesn't want to lose you, fucking sucks." He chuckled, trying to keep the story as lighthearted as possible.

"Christ, Pete," Frank said quietly.

"Mikey was really the first person to silence those thoughts," Pete said. "And now I don't know where he is or if he's alive or—"

"He's in Jersey," Frank interjected. "And he's alive. Not for long, though."

"He is?" Pete exclaimed. "Oh my God, Mikey's alive! He's ali— Wait. 'Not for long'?"

"He was apprehended in Ohio," Frank began carefully. "He confessed to murdering twenty four people in the last two years, and he's on death row."

"But he can't die," Pete argued. "Not by electric chair or lethal injection or anything."

"Oh shit, you're right," Frank said. "Damn it, we need to get him out."

Pete was about to say more but the sound of a vehicle drove over their heads and the two exchanged a look. It was almost two in the morning; who was in this part of town now?

The sound of a car door slamming came and a voice called out: "Pete? Are you there?"

Pete cried out and shot up, running over to the man and throwing his arms around him. "Fuck, Pat," he murmured into Patrick's shoulder. "How did you find me?"

"I've driven around LA for the past week, trying to find you," Patrick explained. The streetlight cast a shadow from his hat, but his eyes gleamed. "God, I thought I'd never see you again."

"We need to get to Jersey," Pete said, pulling away. "Mikey's on death row."

Patrick was silent before whispering: "Fuck. This is bad. Okay, agency's got enough money—"

"Agency?" Pete asked.

"Part of trying to find you entailed having to kill a few of the bad guys," Patrick said. "We started a business. Sixteen Candles Hunting Agency. We got a lot of money, too."

"Well, c'mon!" Pete yelled. "We have to go now."

"Alright!" Patrick yelled back.

"Wait, Pete!" Frank called, making his way up to him. "Mia lives in Belleville. Will you tell her that Frankie's okay, and that he's sorry?"

"Of course, Frank," Pete said and hugged him tightly. "I'll tell her."

"God bless you," Frank murmured and went back underneath the overpass.

"Who was that?" Patrick asked as the two loaded up into the white van, emblazoned with the tattoo on Pete's hips.

Pete laughed slightly and said: "My pimp."

"What?"

"Nothing."