It was 8 months before they found Frank. He often disappeared for a few days at a time here and there and would then return home a few days later with no words to explain where he had been. No one could blame him for his trips from home, who would want to live with such foul and rancid parents anyway?

But this time it was different, his mother didn't notice that he hadn't returned after a month, a needle spiked with heroin constantly lodged itself into her arm seemed like a suitable excuse. Frank's dad didn't notice his sons absence until it had passed the 2 month mark, too obsessed with alcohol and going on his own disappearing adventures to other women's houses' to care. It seemed fair that Frank should sometimes be able to run off every now and again and return. This time he didn't.

Not one teacher or one neighbour or one friend noticed until 4 months had passed and the neighbours heard no sound of the blaring of a guitar amp through the cardboard thin walls and there was always an empty chair at the back of the classroom. It seemed like the entire world had forgotten his existence. Or perhaps they never even noticed him in the first place.

His body washed ashore 2 months later, found by a dog as it chased the seagulls and other scavenging birds that were beginning to circle around it. The face was unrecognisable and the clothes torn and shredded. The jet black hair was damp and stuck across the flesh that emerged from the blood drained face. Jeans were stained with mud and the eyes were hollowed out and missing, leaving only empty caverns to the soul. The bones were brittle and breaking under the burden of death as it casually floated downstream before coming to rest on a mucky-pebble beach.

His funeral was arranged, without a single person stood at his grave side, nor a single flower placed upon the upturned earth. Then every person that was ever associated with Frank went back to their usual lives as though he never existed. The newspaper didn't print an article about the 17 year old boy, finding that there was nothing to find; barely able to scrape together a paragraph about how much of 'a loved sparkling child' he was and how he would 'be sorely missed'. Life for the students continued as though nothing had happened and his parents drunk until they forgot that they ever had a son.

Suicide. Or at least that’s what the newspapers said, an apparent note found in the pocket of the corpse; ink running just a little down the page. A note laced with blood, sorrow, ink and lies?

Gerard believed so. He believed that something very different happened on that fateful night of the 7th of March. Perhaps it was an accident or murder, his gut just told him that it wasn't quite right and suicide just didn't seem to match up to the boy that he once knew…

Little did he know that he was right.

Notes

Hiya. I hope you liked the first chapter of this new story. If you like then comment, subscribe and rate and all that fun stuff. Thank you for reading and hope you have a nice day. :)
-lou