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Kill Your Darlings

Chapter Seven

Something monumental happened on the night of October 6th: the news that Pete Wentz disappeared finally died away in Belleville... Only to be replaced by FOX News running the same exact story.

It just so happened that Patrick Stump was watching FOX News that night. His wife had gone out, leaving Patrick with baby Declan. Declan was usually very well behaved: almost never cried, and slept through the night. That night, however, Declan refused to sleep.

Patrick tried everything he could think of, until he finally had to call Elise. "Just turn on the news," she suggested. "FOX is like ZzzQuil for Dec."

So the men of the house of Stump watched the news. It was the 10:00 news, where they could show the stories that made America quiver with fear and simultaneously be glad that it wasn't them in that situation.

"You asleep, little dude?" Patrick asked, peering down at the small child in his arms; Declan had his father's shirt clenched in his little fists and his small eyes were closed— asleep. "Alright, let's turn off the TV..." Patrick started, then stopped when the red "Breaking News" banner flashed across the screen.

"Breaking news out of New Jersey, 28 year old Peter Wentz was abducted from his home early in the morning on July 15th. Wentz is the latest, and seemingly the last, victim in a string of disappearances in the town of Belleville; the kidnappings have ceased with the abduction of Wentz."

Pete Wentz... 28 year old Pete Wentz... 28 year old Pete Wentz kidnapped. The words circled in Patrick's head but he didn't have the willpower to turn off the television. He had to know.

But something didn't add up. When Patrick had called the morning of his birthday, Pete said that he was at someone's house. Patrick had assumed that it was a random hookup, as Pete was somewhat known for, but he hadn't mentioned being kidnapped. Why was he lying?

"... So nice, no one would ever have any reason to hate him," a voice said, coming from the television, breaking Patrick out of his thoughts. The man onscreen was identified as Mikey Way- Wentz's partner, and the name clicked as the man whose house Pete was at that morning. Quite obviously, this Mikey Way knew more than he was letting on. "Who would do something like this?" Mikey whimpered, tears leaking out of his hazel eyes. Even Patrick had to admit that Mikey looked attractive— he could see the appeal, and he wasn't even gay.

Then, Mikey seemed to break down, burying his face in his hands. The microphone barely caught his next words: "Baby, come home."

That at was the end of it for Patrick. He turned off the television, and clutched his son to his chest, sobs shaking his body.

Then, in a crestfallen frenzy, Patrick snatched his phone from off of the end table and scrolled in his contacts until he reached Pete. He looked at the picture he had for his best friend, at the way he bashfully looked at the camera, half hiding behind his arms. Before he realized what he was doing, the phone was next to his ear and Patrick was praying to any god that ever was, that is, that ever will be that Pete answered the phone.

"Pat?" Pete's sleep-drunk voice mumbled. Patrick cried out, too relieved to reprimand Pete for the use of the much-hated nickname.

"Pete! God, you're alive!" Patrick yelped.

"Why would I not be?" Pete asked.

"FOX just ran a story on you?" Patrick asked. "Mikey asked you to come home? You're a victim of a string of kidnappings in New Jersey?"

"Oh, shit," Pete murmured. "This is, uh, difficult to explain. The short version, I guess, would be that I'm safe where I am. Nobody's hurting me and I willing came with him. Well, once he explained it to me, I was all for it."

"Explained what?" Patrick roared. "Who is he?"

"Like I said, it's hard to explain," Pete said once more. "There're these people that want me dead and I'm safer in hiding and-and—"

"Pete, answer me honestly," Patrick started. "Are you drunk?"

"No."

"High?"

"No."

"Maybe a little stoned?"

"Patrick Martin Stump, it's midnight, why're you calling?"

"I though you were dead!"

"Well, I'm obviously not! Can I sleep— shit, sorry, baby." Faintly, Patrick could hear another voice on Pete's end ask who was calling. The same voice that implored Pete go come home.

"Patrick," Mikey said into the phone. "Pete is safe with me, I promise."

"How can I be sure?" Patrick asked, standing up and repositioning his son on his hip. He paced the living room as he spoke to Mikey. "You aren't very truthful, based on your whole 'baby, come home' shit from the news. So, I have to ask: who are you really?"

"That was just for Pete's safety," Mikey said. "It would take too long to explain it all, but there are people who don't like Pete and want him dead. The story from FOX will spread, and they'll see that Pete's 'missing', and they'll stop looking for him."

"They want him dead?" Patrick repeated and Declan stirred. "Who are they?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't tell you," Mikey told him. "I'm not a hundred percent certain myself, and I don't want to give you false information."

"Who do you suspect?" Patrick asked.

"I... I can't tell you. I'm sorry, Patrick."

"You can't or you won't?"

There was a long moment of silence before Mikey whispered: "I won't. I don't want you to become any more involved that you already are. It's dangerous for a morta— outsider to know."

"What did you just start to call me?" Patrick asked. He heard Pete mumble something about how Mikey should just "tell him and get it over with, for God's sake", and Mikey sighed loudly.

"I started to call you a... A mortal," he said. "Because the people who want to kill Pete are like me."

"I'm confused."

"I'm a monster," Mikey began. "I'm a creature of the night who thrives on the blood of others and can lift three times my body weight— Pete, stop laughing. I have no reflection, and I burn in the sunlight. I am 139 years old, yet I will never die, unless a wooden stake is driven through my heart or I am cut by a silver knife. Who am I?"

"There is no way in heaven or hell that you are a vampire."

"You don't believe me, I understand," Mikey said. "And I suppose I can't prove it to you in any way. But I swear to that Pete is safe here."

"Okay, let me get this straight," Patrick started. "You and some people are vampires..."

"Yes."

"And these same people want Pete dead."

"Yes."

"And Pete is safest with you, a fellow vampire."

"Yes."

"This is complete crap. I don't believe a word of it."

"Pat," Pete said, taking his phone back. "Please trust us. I know this sounds ridiculous but—"

"Oh my God, he bit you, didn't he?" Patrick asked. "He turned into a vampire and now you want to stay with him!"

"What? No!" Pete cried. "No, I'm still a mortal. That's why these people want me to die— because I'm not like them or Mikey."

"Why you, though?" Patrick asked.

"Mikey says it's because I'm a mortal and he's not and these people— whomever they are— want the vampires to be the superior race or whatever. I'm not sure; he won't tell me."

Declan whined in Patrick's arms and squirmed, making his father sigh. "Dec's being weird," he said. "Don't think this is the end of this conversation, though."

"Okay. But you can't tell anyone," Pete said. "While it was accidental, I've see how aggressive vampires can be, and I don't want them to target you or Elise or Dec. Okay?"

"Don't tell anyone you're Bella Swan, got it," Patrick responded.

"How do you know her name?"

"How do you know I'm right?"

"Touchè. Alright, 'night, Pat."

"Don't call me Pat." Patrick hung up the phone and quickly made his way to his son's room, setting him in his crib and making sure that he was, in fact, still asleep.

Patrick slumped back down on the couch, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. Jesus, he thought.

"Jesus cannot help you now, Mister Stump," a voice said from near the front door and Patrick let out a scream. They moved into the light and Patrick saw a man about the same height as him, with dark brown hair that went to his chin and eyes the same hue. He was dressed strangely— a dark gray suit with a fox-fur shrug draped around one shoulder, a dark gray hat held delicately in his gloved hand.

"Who are you, and why're you in my house?" Patrick asked, his hands groping in the darkness of the room for any sort of weapon. His fingers grazed a letter opener on the table, and he brandished it in front of him like a sword.

"You need not worry why I am here," the man said. "But let us say that I am in union with the brothers Way."

"Please don't hurt my family," Patrick whimpered. His grip on his weapon was as tight as ever, though. "I'll do anything, please."

"I do suppose there is a way to spare your son and wife," the man said. He reached out a hand to Patrick and said: "My name is William. That is all you shall know about me. My colleagues, Brendon and Spencer, are waiting outside for us; that is all you shall know about them. Now, Mister Stump— Patrick— let us go visit the brothers, and give them our condolences on the abduction of Peter. Poor Michael is heartbroken, you are aware."

"How did you... How did you get into my house?" Patrick asked, eyeing William's hand with a careful glance.

"A small matter you should not worry yourself with," William said flippantly. Patrick said nothing, which seemed to infuriate William because, suddenly Patrick was being held against the wall by his throat and William was baring razor-sharp fangs closer to his face than Patrick would have preferred.

"Think about your dear Elise and Declan," William said, locking eyes with Patrick. "You would not want any tragedy to befall them, would you?" Patrick shook his head vigorously, unable to speak. "In that case, let us be getting to New Jersey."

Pete sighed and dropped the phone back on the end table, raking his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry 'bout that, Mikes," he said quietly, looking down at Mikey, laying with his head on Pete's chest.

"It's okay," Mikey said, his finger tracing the tattoo on Pete's stomach. "Patrick has a right to know."

"Yeah..." Pete agreed hesitantly. "You don't really think that these people would go after Patrick, would you?"

"I doubt it," Mikey whispered.

"Do you know who they are? The people that... Want to kill me?"

"I can really only speculate at this point," Mikey lamented. "There's this group of vampires that live in Los Angeles— they have a name, but I forget what it is— and the leader, William, is batty about the mortal thing. He's one of those extremists who believes that only our race should exist, and he's gained a following pretty much everywhere. There's no doubt he know about us, but whether or not he'll find us is pretty slim."

"So, I'm still safe?" Pete asked.

"Very," Mikey said. He kissed Pete's chest, then moving up slightly to catch his jaw, then his cheek, then finally, Pete's lips. "You're completely safe, baby. You have nothing to worry about."