Kill Your Darlings

Fifteen years passed. Pete moved back to Chicago and back in with Meagan weeks after Saint was born. He grew to love Meagan again, but it was never the same as before. It was never as strong a love as he held for Mikey.

Pete kept the mugshot through all of the years, hiding it in a box in his storage unit. All of his things that reminded him of Mikey went in the box that was clearly labeled with his name, and it was put in the back, becoming hidden by Saint's belongings.

Finally, when Saint turned fifteen, he asked his father who Michael Way was, why his name kept popping up, and why they were learning about him in history class. He already knew a lot from what he learned in class. He knew that his father loved a serial killer, and he knew that his father was abused, but he wanted to know the story from his father's perspective. Of course, this meant that Pete would have to divulge a secret to Saint.

At first, Pete refused, mainly so that he wouldn't have to show his son what made him hate himself. Then, he slowly began to realize that he couldn't hide Saint from this forever. Saint requested that he see the contents of the box labeled with the serial killer's name. Even though Pete knew that opening that box would only result in heartbreak and that he didn't want his son to see him revert to the mess he was the morning of February 25th 2016, eventually, Pete changed his mind and pulled the box out of the storage unit.

Dust had collected on everything within the box, and Pete went through it carefully, explaining each and every item to his son. "This," he had said, pulling out the mugshot. "Is Mikey. He was the most beautiful man I had ever met, and I loved him before I knew what he was."

"Dad," Saint said quietly. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay."

"No," Pete said. "No. I have to do this. For me, at least."

Saint nodded, and sat back on the couch, watching as his father pulled out the scant contents of the box, arranging them on the coffee table. The mugshot, a folded, taped-up piece of paper, several newspaper clippings paperclipped together, a DVD labeled 'funeral', an envelope with Pete's name on the front, and a small box, no bigger than Saint's palm.

Pete started with the newspaper clippings, slowly pulling them out. The first one was from the Belleville Guardian, and was a clear picture of the last kiss that Mikey and Pete shared. "This was taken the day I lost Mikey. We were so in love, it was... It was heartbreaking to lose him."

The next picture was a print of Mikey's second mugshot, followed by a few lines of text. "Michael Way— escape artist, serial killer, lover," the text said and Pete bit his bottom lip hard to keep from crying.

The last clipping had no picture, just a paragraph with a headline. "Laid to rest," the headline said. "Notorious serial killer, Michael Way, put to death. 'He passed remembering the person he loved' recalled Head Officer Gabriel Saporta. 'He was saying only one thing on a loop until he couldn't speak anymore: Pete'."

"Dad..." Saint said quietly, unable to find anything else to say. He cleared his throat and asked: "What's the paper?"

"I think it's..." Pete started and broke the tape, unfolding the small piece of lined paper. He quickly scanned over the papers and let out a laugh. "Oh, I forgot about this," he said. "After Mikey was captured, I was so heartbroken that I made this set of rules that I lived by for a good three months. 'Rule one: never fall in love. Rule two: make money however you can. Rule three: never answer the phone unless you know who's calling. Rule four: Never talk about... Ray'."

"Who's Ray?" Saint asked.

"He is..." Pete started and sighed. "He was the main detective on Mikey's case, and he was always on our side. He got rid of evidence that would make Mikey seem like the perpetrator. He was a good man."
"What happened to him?" Saint asked, afraid of the answer.

Pete gently took Saint's hand in his and said: "Saint, you have to understand that, when all of this was going on, I never really was okay, like, mentally. This kinda stuff really changes you and makes you do things you would never normally do."

"Dad, you're scaring me," Saint said with a breathy laugh. "You're making it sound like you killed him."

Pete said nothing, and the realization slowly came over Saint, making him inch away slightly. "You didn't," Saint whispered. "Dad, you didn't kill Ray, did you?"

"I did," Pete said quietly. "But I have a reason for why there aren't more victims on my list."

"You killed someone," Saint muttered. "Dad, I... I'm starting to get really scared of you."

"Baby boy, I would never hurt you," Pete said, squeezing Saint's hand. "If anything ever happened to you, I-I wouldn't be able to deal with it. But I have a reason for why I haven't killed more people."

"It's wrong and it's a sin?" Saint asked hopefully.

"Sadly, no," Pete answered. "Before I was turned, Mikey would go through these horrible bouts of bloodlust, where he would really feed on anything that got close enough to him." Saint shivered at the term 'feed', but Pete pretended not to notice. "It was August or September... I don't remember exactly. I don't remember this night too well, so bare with me. I offered to let Mikey feed on me, and he refused at first, telling me it was the worst pain imaginable and that he might not be able to control himself and that he might kill me. But then, something happened to him and he..." Pete took a shuddering breath and lowered his voice to a grave whisper. "It felt like thousands of heated-up needles were being pushed into my vein and I so nearly passed out just from the pain. The part that really scared me, though, is that he... He wouldn't stop. I had to beg, plead for him to stop; I was crying because I was so afraid that I might die.
"Then, when I was turned, I had to endure the same thing, except there was a horrible burning that filled my body and paralyzed me. I died; plain and simple."

Saint jolted at his father's bluntness, banging his knee on the coffee table. "What does this have to do with Ray?" He asked.

"I'm getting there," Pete said gently. "But, after I died, I woke up. At first, I thought I was one of the people you see on TLC that saw heaven and came back to tell the tale, but then I noticed this... Burning in the back of my throat, like when you're thirsty. I felt my teeth elongate and sharpen, and my eyes burned as they changed color. When I realized what I was, what I had become... I was so terrified.

"So, because of the pain I felt while being fed on, I vowed to never feed on any living creature. I did pretty good with that, too: no bloodlust or anything like that. I was a special case where I had tremendous self control. But then the day of Mikey's funeral came, and I... Simply put, I lost my damn mind," he laughed to lighten the mood, but it did nothing to the thick silence that laid over the two. "I won't go into details but... I fed on Ray. It was the first and only time I've ever done that, and... God, I shouldn't tell you this part, but I... I liked it. Loved it, in fact."

"Dad?" Saint asked hesitantly.

"Like I said, I would never hurt you or your mom, but this whole part of my life was really dark," Pete said. "I did a lot of things that I shouldn't have that still keep me awake at nights."

"Are you trying to tell me that you're a... A vampire?" Saint asked, and Pete nodded.

"Mikey was, too," Pete said. "And his brother, and a few other people that don't really matter anymore."

Saint didn't want to believe it, but everything he had heard that day sounded completely untrue, despite the obviousness of the fact that all of it really did happen. After a bit of silence, Saint asked: "What's the DVD?"

"Oh," Pete said and picked up the clear case, popping it open and pulling out the disc. "Because Mikey was so well-known, when he died, his funeral was broadcast on television, and I spoke. I couldn't tell the real story of what happened because, let's be honest, how many people would believe me? Do you want to watch it?"

"Will I cry?"

"I did."

"Put it in."

After a moment of internal debate, Pete got up and went to the television, sliding in the disc and making his way back to the couch. The DVD started to play almost immediately, and it showed Pete dressed in a black suit with a red tie, curtesy of Gerard. "You look exactly the same," Saint noted.

"Immortality," Pete said as an answer. "I'll never die. And eternal youth. Forever 28."

"You're playing with me," Saint said, pausing the video. "What if I told you that I don't believe a word of this?"

"What, do you want me to show you?" Pete asked. "Show you what makes me a monster, why I can barely live with myself, why I tried to kill myself years ago? Is that you want?"

"Actually, yes," Saint said quietly.

Pete nodded and cleared his throat. "Alright," he said quietly and, after a few seconds, his hazel eyes flashed over bright red and his canines grew to push at his bottom lip. He looked over at Saint, who jumped up from the couch and backed away slightly.

"Dad, what..." He started, his heart falling into his stomach. "That's scary as crap, Dad. I don't like that."

"I don't either," Pete said and drew his fangs back in, letting the red run out of his eyes. "Come on, sit back down."

"No," Saint said. "No. That was... Horrifying. I... I'm really scared of you now."

"Saint, I would never hurt you," Pete promised. "I swear to you, I never could hurt you. I haven't had to do that for years, and I hope that I won't have to ever again. Please, sit down."

Saint warily sat down next to his father again, placing himself a few inches further away this time. Pete nodded and hit 'play' on the remote, starting the video back.

"Hello," Pete's voice came from the television. "I'm Pete Wentz, and I... Umm... This is going to be really difficult for me.

"I moved here in July, with the promise of a new life ahead of me," he started. "I moved into an apartment building and, that night, the murder of George Ryan Ross occurred three stories above me. The next day, I met my upstairs neighbor, the man whose apartment was broken in to, and had a boy killed in his living room— or, at least, that's what Michael James Way told me.

"I quickly fell in love, because he was beautiful and intelligent and he had read Gray and loved every word of it, and one night, we... We—" Pete paused the video and took his son's hand in his again.

"From about here on, it gets really bad," Pete warned Saint. "Are you sure?"

"'Bad' like how?"

"'Bad' like I start talking about how Mikey and I slept together, and how he hurt me and tore me away from the mother of my unborn child."

"I was a part of this?"

"From the very start. You were the reason I moved to New Jersey."

"I what?"

"When your mom told me that she was pregnant, it was about a month before I moved," Pete started. "It scared the shit out of me, the thought of being a dad, and I skipped town on her. I came back eventually— obviously— but I moved with no warning. I just had to work through some stuff and I thought it was best if I go-ed it alone."

"Dad..." Saint gasped. He looked hopelessly at the television and swallowed hard. "I want to finish the video."

Pete nodded and pressed play on the remote.

"— Slept together. Even to this day, I don't regret it at all. Then, afterwards, I was asleep, but awake enough to sense Mikey come into the room. I mumbled something about wanting him to come back to bed, but I was jolted awake when he pressed a knife to my throat. He told me that he wished it didn't have to end this way, and that he would remember me for what I was: 'just another little victim'.

"Now, obviously, this scared me, and my fight-or-flight instincts came up, making me fight for my life. It surprised him, but not enough. He overpowered me, knocked me to the floor, and..." The Pete on the screen cleared his throat and continued. "He raped me. He told me that he loved me, that he was trying to protect me, but I knew that was a lie. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to leave him.

"After that night, he forced me to be a prisoner in my own house. I would dread the night, because I knew what he would do. And, without fail, each night he forcibly took me as his own. This only lasted about a week before people started to wonder why I wasn't ever leaving the apartment and why I cried every night. Before the police could be called, though, Mikey took me someplace that I still have no idea where it was. Hell, it could have been in Canada for all I know.

"We were there for a month before people started asking where I went. Mikey was clever and reported me missing, sounding heartbroken that I was taken. That threw the public off his scent, and he was able to keep me captive longer.

"Then, he did something I didn't expect him to: he offered to take me to Chicago and meet up with Meagan, the mother of my yet-to-be-born son. Of course, I said yes, but I had a plan already in my head. I tried to follow through with it— to escape— when we were in New Castle, Pennsylvania, where the picture was taken."

"Picture?" Saint asked.

"Don't worry about it," Pete said.

"Mikey figured out what I was trying to do, and he pinned me up against the wall," Television-Pete said, biting his bottom lip. "As he kissed me, he told me that he loved me, and that this was for the best. And, like a fool, I believed him.

"When we got to Chicago, he made me promise not to tell a soul about what he had been doing to me, and I agreed only because I was so scared of what he would do if I told anyone.

"Almost as if God had suddenly grown tired of watching me suffer, Mikey decided to let me stay with Meagan. Almost the moment he left, I told Meagan everything, why I moved and how I met Mikey and what he had been doing, and she promised to keep it a secret.

"And then Mikey let himself be caught. I would never say this under normal circumstances, but I'm glad he's dead. He killed many people for his own selfish purposes. He tried to kill me. He kidnapped me, raped me, hurt me, did things that no loving boyfriend should do, all so that nobody would know what he really was...

"Michael Way was hateful, manipulative, vengeful, psychotic, and still I loved him. He was my everything; and all he saw me as was a target, just another name on his list."

The video came to an end, and Pete watched his son. "None of that actually happened, right?" Saint asked, wiping his eyes dry.

"Parts of it were true," Pete said.

"Like?"

"Like how Mikey loved me. How he took me somewhere— I did eventually find out that it was his brother's house. He didn't keep me captive there; I was safe with him," Pete started. "There were these people that were like Mikey, and they didn't like that he was in love with a mortal. We escaped to here, and I was able to patch things up with your mom. She actually really liked Mikey. Then, those people found us and made us flee to Los Angeles. There, Mikey was forced to bite me, turn me into a monster like him. He thought I died, and allowed himself to be caught in Ohio."

Saint sat silent as he absorbed what Pete had told him. Finally, he asked: "So, what's in the box?" He picked it up and ran his finger along the velveteen surface, almost sure if its contents.

"Oh," Pete said. "Well, this..." He took the box out of Saint's hand, opening the lid to show a simple gold band. "I bought this about a week before you were born in the event that I was ever able to see Mikey again. Your mom and I aren't married, and there's a very good reason for that: I wanted to marry Mikey. Mom knows this, and she said that it was okay."

"Wow," Saint whispered, riffling through the newspaper clippings until he came across the picture of Pete and Mikey's kiss. "You two really love each other."

"Past tense, baby boy," Pete corrected him.

"What about the letter?" Saint asked, picking it up. The envelope had been split open by a letter opener, and he carefully pulled the paper out. It was made of thick, cream-colored paper, almost like sketch paper. Small, spiky handwriting filled every inch of the front of the page, smudged in some places with red strikes through certain words.

"You can read it," Pete said.

Saint studied the paper, pushing his wispy, dark brown hair out of his eyes. Finally, he looked up, tears sliding down his cheeks. "God, Dad," he said quietly and put the letter on the coffee table, moving to hug his father tightly. "Mikey loves you, Dad. Like... Really loves you."

It broke Pete's heart to hear Mikey being spoken about in the present tense, despite him correcting Saint minutes earlier. "Baby boy, do you know what happened to Mikey after he was caught in February?" He asked, steeling himself for what he had to say.

"No," Saint answered.

"He was put in front of a firing squad. Silver made its way into some of the bullets. Nobody knows how, though, but Mikey is dead. He wrote the letter the day before he died, and I got it the day after. I learned that he didn't know what was happening until he was in front of the guns, and that his apparent last word was my name."

Both were silent, until Saint asked: "Do you remember the last thing Mikey said to you?"

Pete nodded. "I was telling him how I wanted to quit running from the police but that would mean losing him if I did. His last words to me were 'I love you so much, Pete Wentz. Keep running'."

Notes

And I'm an asshole. I'm so sorry.

But I wonder what Mikey wrote...