Touched by Demons, though I fall into grace.

In the first 22 years that I've lived on this planet, I've never walked in my sleep. Sure, I've thrashed around, perhaps woken up in a cold sweat, but I never sleepwalk. My younger brother, Mikey, sleepwalked. Every once in a while I would wake up to a slamming door. We shared a room, so I was always trying to sleep while he did various things in our bedroom. Even less, there would be screams. I had to wake him from those, as it would be cruel to do otherwise. Watching him writhe around in bed, trapped in a state of inescapable slumber, is one of my worst memories. I could only imagine what it felt like for him.

I'm 23 now. I've been on this dreadful job for almost three weeks, and I've killed over 60 people. Under the Devil's schedule, it would have been almost 300. As you can tell, I'm running behind. At this rate, it will take over a year to get to 1,000. I've been regretting taking the deal ever since day two. I've stopped loving LynZ anyways. I don't know why, but I feel like this wormhole is all her fault. Killing people takes a toll on you, you see. I've begun to have nightmares. I scream in my sleep, which is inconvenient, considering that I stay at motels overnight. With no one to wake me, I'm forced to watch severed body parts crawl towards me at night, picking at my skin and making me bleed. I barely remember what happened when I wake up; all I know is that I'm terrified.

Today is one of the bad ones. The first kill of the day is a boy my age. His name is Frank Iero, and when I first saw his picture, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. His hair is what I first notice. How it falls away from his forehead, though covering it at the same time. How it shoots up, the flops away from his face. How his face is the prettiest I've ever seen, but I can spot a tattoo peeking out from his jacket and a hole from an old lip-ring. How everything about him is a polar opposite, and somehow to manages to make it look attractive.

Underneath the picture, it lists his sin. Unlike others, where they killed a man, stole, or committed adultery, his description simply says athiest. As a child, I was told that being athiest wasn't a sin. Well, the Church lies sometimes.

The hardest part of this job is finding the person. I learned that the hard way. Once there's a bullet in their brain, I get taken to a different place. Whether it be ancient Greece or the 2010's, I gotta kill someone. From various crime shows and podcasts that I've watched and listened too, I've committed a good number of the unsolved murders known as of 2010. More than it should be.

I walk out of the motel after making sure that I have my wallet with me. My phone has already died, so I discarded it in the ocean last week. I couldn't use it anyways; there is no service anywhere.

Maybe I'll ask around and see if he owns a shop. I'm guessing that it's around the '70s, so it shouldn't be too hard to find him. Sometime's, people's names are on the front of stores. It makes my job a hell of a lot easier. Just walk in, shoot a gun, and get time traveled to 20 years in the past. Simple.

Through a crowd of people, I spot a lineup of stores across the street. Iero. I'm looking for the name Iero. Nothing catches my eye until a more mundane looking shop appears. The bolded black letters wave at me from across the street, and I start towards Iero's Records. It's unfortunate that a record store owner will have to die. I wouldn't have preferred it.

I cross the street, waving at a car that nearly ran into me. The driver flips me off, and I smile. The first time I have in weeks.

The door jingles as I open it, stepping into the shop. My field of vision is immediately flooded with memories, taking me back to the days in my basement, listening to Queen. Though, in this timeline, it's 1972. Queen releases their first album next year.

A short girl walks up to me, several strands of hair straying away from her ponytail, and obscuring her forehead. I notice her nametag, Marisa, and make a point to address her as such in our conversation. She smiles at me, showing off a set of off-white teeth, before speaking.

"Hi, how may I help you?" She says, tapping her foot.

"I'm looking for Frank Iero," I reply, sticking my left hand in my back pocket.

Marisa tells me that she will go get him, or begins to, because someone interrupts her halfway through.

"That would be me," Iero says, walking over to us. He waves his heavily tattooed hand, signaling that he's coming. All I have to do is shoot him. The gun is in my waistband. I could pull it out and shoot him right in the forehead. I even stroke the barrel of the gun with my index finger, but pull it away.

What is wrong with me?

He just looks like he's oblivious to all the bad things in the world. He wouldn't be mad if someone shot him. Just disappointed that I made the choice to. Sad, that he couldn't continue to bring joy to the world like he must be doing right now. Hell, he is bringing me joy at the moment. The guy is cute!

I stutter on my words, deciding if I want a job or a Bowie album. I decide on the job, considering how I might run out of money sometime soon. I only have so much money stowed away in my wallet.

"Hello?" He smiles, waving his hand in front of my eyes. My eyes snap to him, noticing that Marisa is long gone.

"Uh, are you hiring?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Funny of you to ask that. I just had to fire Griffin. Dumbass wouldn't stop putting Black Sabbath records into the Christian Rock section. So, yes, if you are interested in stocking?" He replies, and I forget to respond. Never have I heard a figure of authority curse within the first five minutes of meeting. I'm guessing that he's about my age.

"Er... Yeah! That sounds great." I say, beginning to go over the logistics of this job.

"The job pays 2.75$ an hour. I'll need your email or maybe a phone number, your name, and that's it. We're pretty laid back about hiring in New Jersey." He says, pulling a notepad and pen out of his pocket. Just $2.75? Wait... It's 1972. That's gotta be about 14 bucks. This job is really high paying, for something that a high schooler would try.

"Actually, could I talk to you in private about that part? It's complicated."

He nods, gesturing for me to follow him into the back room. A gust of air flows by my skin as he throws open the curtains that conceal countless records. "Now, what is it? And, what is your name?"

I think up a fib in my head, faster than before. "I'm Gerard Way, and I don't exactly have an email or phone number. After I went to college in Wisconsin, I moved here. No jobs have popped up, and I've been staying in motels for about a year."

The room falls silent after that, aside from the fan that keeps blowing open the curtains. I may or may not have taken it too far.

"Geez, Gerard. Uh... I don't exactly know how to help you aside from giving you the job." He says, scratching his head. "How about this. I'll take you out for dinner tonight. My treat. Then, I want you to go to your place and get a good nights rest. You start tomorrow, so you're gonna need it."

My jaw almost falls to the floor.

"No, you don't have to do that. I can afford one more night-"

"Plus, your paycheck won't come for another week-"

"I can handle-"

"I want to do this. Not entirely for you. For me, too." He says, and I argue no more.

- - -

I spent the rest of the day at his shop, after I went back to my motel to drop off the gun. Considering that I'm not sure of my address, we decided that it would be best for me to not go home until after dinner. He's been showing me around, and I noticed that the Q section of Rock is empty. That'll change in a matter of time.

Frank looks at the clock, showing 7 o'clock. He claps his hands, noticing how the store has emptied in the past few minutes. It's just us and the employees.

"Alright, everyone. Go home and watch some Gunsmoke, or whatever the Hell you guys watch." He says, and the teens begin crowding into the back room. "Make sure you lock up, Jordan!" He yells, tossing keys to her. "Now, where shall we go?"

Frank opens the door, holding it open for me, then locking it. He pulls out another set of keys, unlocking the red Barracuda parked outside. With some hesitation, I get into the passenger seat.
"You know what? We're just gonna drive around until I see something that I like. Maybe we'll end up eating at The Frog and The Peach, maybe we'll pull some veggie burgers out of the nearest Houlihans' dumpster. Who knows."

I laugh, and he turns out of the lot. Immediately spotting The Avenue, he squints. Seeing that the parking lot is full, he groans and continues driving down the freeway. It isn't long before spotting Cafe 2825. "I heard that they have the best Italian food!" I smile, before seeing that the parking lot is once again full.

Farther down the freeway. He spots a Pizza Hut. "Yes! That place started out somewhere in Kansas, and I've been waiting for it to come to New Jersey for years. We're going."

I smile as he pulls into the almost-full parking lot, finding a spot in the front. "Lucky bastard," He mumbles under his breath.

I get out of the car, waiting for him at the door of the restaurant. After fiddling with his keys for a hot second, he walks over and I step through the door.

The Pizza Hut is filled with people, and I can't spot any open seats. I'm about to tell Frank that we need to go somewhere else, but he shakes his head. "We're getting it to go." He says, leading me up to the counter. There's no line, so he just stands there, hands in his jacket pockets and looking at the menu.

"Do you have any allergies, or are you vegan?" He asks, taking out his wallet. I shake my head, walking up behind him. An employee, Kelsey, walks up to us. The standard, Hi! How may I help you?

Frank asks for a large cheese with stuffed crust to go, then asks what I want to drink. I tell him that water is fine, and he adds on two glasses of water to the order. He hands over 4 dollars and is then told that our order will be out in five minutes.

He nods, thanking her.

Five minutes full of silence later, Kelsey calls us up and hands me the Pizza. Frank takes the two water bottles, holding them against his chest. We begin walking from the store and unlocking the car.

"I just got this car cleaned, so we're taking it back to my place. And! Before you can say anything, you don't have an option in this. I'm doing it because I want to. And because I think you're pretty."

My eyes dart to him, and he realizes what he said.

"What? I couldn't hear that! I didn't say anything." He says, laughing. I've got to admit, I think he's very pretty as well. But the point of right now is to... I don't even know what. I've pretty much dropped the whole resurrecting LynZ idea. Maybe I should settle down. Get together with Frank-

Get it together, Mr. Romance.

"I'll probably put on this new movie I got; Pink Flamingo. Do you like horror movies?" He asks, pulling into a well-sized house on the corner of a block. I nod, leaving out the part about how I always get scared and need a neck to bury my eyes in. I'm not sure how well I'll fare on that part.

"Here is our stop."

I get out of the car, slamming the door. I don't have time to appreciate how he bought this house, as he opens the front door almost immediately, and I follow him inside. "Go ahead and take a seat on the couch. Or on the floor. I really don't care. It's not like my family is gonna come to visit my gay ass anytime soon." He says, and I almost choke on my spit.

He looks at me, confused, then realizes what I'm on about. "Oh, come on! It's not like you didn't know. Plus, I have a feeling you might be a little gay too, if-ya-know-what-I'm-sayin'". I laugh, sitting on the couch. He picks up a movie from his coffee table, inserting it into the player and turning on the TV.

"You got that right. I mentioned how I moved here from Wisconsin, right? More like was forced to leave the house after I showed up at home with a guy instead of a girl."

We both laugh, and his hand falls on mine. Whether it was an accident or on purpose, I tense up at the contact. It's been almost a month since I held hands with someone. I want to make it special. Frank can be my special.

I intertwine our fingers, a blush covering my smiling face. The movie begins, and I reach forward for a slice of pizza. He does the same, and I prop my feet up on the coffee table.

The movie night goes mostly uninterrupted until the climax. I'd been doing okay throughout the movie, occasionally squeezing Frank's hand, which I haven't let go of for 90 minutes, or gasping. He's been mostly emotionless, laughing whenever I would get more intensely scared. This is where it gets really scary, though.

I don't stick around to see what happens. Straight away, I bury my head in Frank's neck, wrapping my right arm around him. He chuckles, pulling me closer with his spare arm. My breathing gets faster, and I jump when a scream pierces my ears.

"Come on, you can look." He coaxes, and I stubbornly shake my head. I would rather die.
That was me being sarcastic.

15 minutes of whimpering later, and the movie is over. I refuse to move, however, as I'm half-believing that there is gonna be one last jumpscare. Eventually, he turns off the TV, and I shyly lift my head from his shoulder.

I just spent 20 minutes with my head buried in my boss's neck. A great way to start off the next 50 years.

"I'm too tired to drive you back home. Wanna sleep in my guest room?" He asks, massaging my head.
I don't want to. Well, I shouldn't want to. But I'm not saying that. I just shake my head, trying to get the point across to him. I just want to sleep on the couch.

"If you insist."

He stands up, throwing a blanket over me. "I'll wake you up at 9. We open up at 10. And then close at 7. That's 9 hours, 7 days a week. Good luck."

I didn't have a night terror that night. Let alone dream of anything. I didn't even think about the gun lying under the bed of my motel room.

Notes

you have no idea how much research it takes to find popular restaurants in 1972 jersey. much harder than it should be
anyways i did way too much research for this chapter :)
review or rate please i'm a desperate gay