I stand there, staring off at the vacant mouth of the alley, long after the guy with the Batman voice left. The rain gets gradually thicker and by the time I move my legs water is dripping from the long inky strands of my hair, the black fabric of my hoodie even blacker and sopping wet. I walk out of the alley, one hand deep inside the damp pockets of my jacket, the other gently touching my lips.

My mind is numb, November rain cutting across my back like little arrows shot by archers in the sky. My lips are numb as well, the not-so-everlasting press of the kiss long faded. The walk to my fathers house is long and tedious and I find myself headed in the wrong direction at one point, spinning on my heel and going the other way. The down pour lessens to a light drizzle and the gusts of stinging wind dies to the occasional light breeze.

I find my numb mind, which isn't being bombarded by the usual merry-go-round of bright lights and screaming emotions, wandering back to the boy in the alley way.

I had absolutely no doubt as to who he was. There hadn't been enough light to see most of his features and his lips, the only thing I could see clearly, were swollen out of proportion, too disfigured to recognize. What had tipped me off was his smile. No one smiled like that, like the sun. Brighter than the sun. There was only one person I'd ever seen with a smile like that and he'd tried to kill me.

And then, today in the alleyway, he kissed me and told me he missed me.

I had been worried about following the notes, worried that he could jump out of no where and shoot me with that revolver he had under his pillow. I guess if he'd wanted to kill me, he would've done it already. He would've plunged the unusually large kitchen knife into the spot between my third and fourth rib, digging the blade into the soft, vulnerable flesh of my heart.

But he didn't.

And, if I make assumptions, he wouldn't.

But assumptions are never good to make, especially when they involve life or death situations.

As I turn onto the drive way, Mikey's Mustang parked neatly on the asphalt, I decide that I'm not going to follow the notes anymore. I'm not going to go to that house tomorrow. I'm not going to even think about it. All that would do is get me killed and dying is something I wouldn't much enjoy right now.

No matter how curious I am, no matter how alluring my past is, I swear on my soul that I won't have anything to do with it. Absolutely not. No matter what happens.

I bite my lip as I open the front door to my father's house, determined to rid the thoughts of Frank and kidnapping from my head. I step into the foyer, my sneakers squeaking on the hardwood as I slip off my sopping jacket. The hallway is dark, shaded in gray from the soft rainy light of the window. My jacket gets hung on the staircase banister to dry and then I head toward the kitchen at the end of the hall.

I can hear Mikey talking on the phone as I reach the kitchen door. I turn on my heel not wanting to bother him. Just as I'm about to walk away my ear catches something and I stop in my tracks.

"-should know about Frank."

My heart stops in my chest.

"I know, I know... no I haven't told him... No it's just- C'mon! He can't stay in the dark forever Mom! He'll find out eventually!"

I squeeze my eyes shut, grinding my teeth.

"He almost died, don't you think he should know? It's bad enough that you're keeping his condition from him... I don't care if it's for his own good, someone should know if they have a fucking mental disorder!"

I choke.

"You know what? Fine. I won't tell him. But when he finds out and totally flips, because believe me he will, you're the one who's to blame... No Mom, that's not fair! You don't get to pin that on me! I'm not trying to hurt him, you are... He's my brother, Mom! I'm not gonna sit and watch him suffer!... What ever. I'll go along with your stupid fucking plan, but you better pray that he doesn't figure this out."

I gain a sudden respect for Mikey. I'd thought he was keeping everything from me willingly and I was very, very wrong. He was adamant about telling me.

I also gain a sudden putrid hate for my mother.

I slowly turn, hearing nothing but silence from the Kitchen, and peek inside. Mikey leans against the counter, his phone laying carelessly on the white counter, his eyes squeezed shut as he rubs his temples. I wait a moment or two and then casually walk into the kitchen as if nothing had happened. Mikey looks up from the counter, watching me walk toward the fridge and pull out a can of soda. He stares intently as I pop the tab, taking a sip.

"Gerard, do you remember... do you remember anything about a guy name Frank?"

It's a lucky thing that there isn't any soda in my mouth when he speaks. I would've choked on the Mountain Dew and died or something.

"Uh... uh I..." I cough, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to form a carefully thought out answer in my head before letting my mouth run wild. "N-no." It was impulse really. I didn't want Mikey to get involved in the notes, and besides, wasn't I supposed to be avoiding thinking about Frank Iero?

Mikey's face falls and he bites at a bit of loose skin on his lip. "Oh... I thought maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe you would- ah forget it. It's nothing." Mikey pushes himself off the counter and gathers his phone up from the sleek black granite. I watch quietly as he walks away. At the door he turns.

"Gerard, do you know what Schizophrenia is?" He asks quietly, face full of sorrow.

I frown. "It's like a mental disorder right?"

"Yeah," Mikey says, barely above a whisper, eyes averted to the floor. "You should go look up the symptoms."

And then he walks away.