“So you’re just going to take an aptitude test, Gerard, it’ll take you a couple of hours and then we can place you in your classes.” The cheery lady behind the desk has bright eyes and long dark hair, the gray peeping out from under the dye job, crow’s feet crimpling at the corners of her eyes. The room is musty, and the chairs are squeaky. I roll my shoulders, wanting to leave. “You’re gonna go down the hall there and hang a left, that’s the library. We have a student assistant there at the moment; ask him to set you up at a table.” She smiles.

“Okay,” I mumble, thanking her and gratefully heading out of the front office toward the library.

That morning had been long. Mikey kept his mouth shut all through breakfast (which consisted of another bowl of chalky cereal and probably a whole pot of coffee) and in the car on the way to school I could hear the silence ringing in my ears. Mikey hadn’t said anything, looking over at me now and again, worried. He’d opened his mouth to say something once or twice but stopped himself. The only thing he’d mumbled all morning was the words ‘over there’ when giving me directions to the office.

I think he got the fact that I didn’t want to be talked to. Smart kid.

I spent the entire night after meeting the raven rolling over back and forth in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, the wall, the door, trying to rid images of it from my head. Nothing worked and I couldn’t sleep, lying awake, worrying about what Fate had said. I felt like Edgar Allen Poe.

I found myself wishing I hadn’t caught Mikey on the phone the day before. I guess, sometimes, it’s better to not know you’re insane.

"Hello?" I find myself in the library, the room large and spacious, smelling of old paper and dusty books. The front desk is vacant, an empty can of soda sitting on the counter, the computer turned on and running. "Anyone there?"

No one answers. I furrow my brow, looking around, not a single breathing body in sight. The library looms in front of me, deep shadows between the book cases. My skin crawls. “Fantastic,” I mumble sarcastically to no one, leaning to snoop around the desk, scanning for a note, the test, something because I don't have the patience to sit and wait today and I need a distraction from the dark tunnels between the shelves. I shuffle around, moving papers, uncovering the front page of an old looking newspaper. The headline jumps out at me.

FRANK IERO: 17 YEARS OLD AND CONVICTED OF HOMICIDE

I blink, the wind knocked out of me.

The paper makes a horribly loud ruffling sound as I snatch it up off the counter, flipping it so that I can see the full page of text. It’s odd because the date on the paper reads from August 18th, months ago. Actually, three months ago, to be exact. My heart beats too hard in my chest.

Frank Iero, a seventeen year old male living in Belleville, New Jersey, was convicted yesterday for the murder of almost four dozen confirmed victims across both New York and New Jersey. “A grand total of forty six people,” says officer Ryan Jacobs of the New York Police Department. “We have more, but we’ve yet to conclude them to be associated with Iero.” Jacobs says that the identification of the unconfirmed victims is “in the works” and “further information will be released soon”.

Officials say that Iero will be serving a life sentence with no probation, which isn’t usual for minors. “Kids usually get a free card because they have more pliable minds, they can change their behavior. With Frank, it really isn’t the case,” says certified criminal psychologist, Sarah Baker. Baker preformed a series of psychological tests on Iero. “It’s safe to say that he was, by definition, a serial killer, and one of the youngest to date.”

Iero was also charged for the kidnapping of fellow teenager Gerard Way, who was recently recovered from Iero’s old neighborhood in New York City last month. Some say Way may have been the next victim. Baker thinks otherwise. “Way seems to have developed a condition called Stockholm syndrome, which is actually quite common. The condition occurs when the hostage creates a special bond with their captor. I think there wouldn’t be much of that if Iero had planned to kill him.” Way even pleaded -

“Um… excuse me…” And suddenly there’s a hand in front of my face. I look up exasperatedly, meeting eyes with a tall, broad shouldered boy with a wild mass of curly dark hair, his skin a deep tan. His eyes are wide as he stares at me and we don’t break our gazes until he has the paper out of my hands.

“Wait! No, I was reading that!” I squeak, watching with longing as he folds the paper back up.

The taller boy looks to the ground almost guiltily. “I’m sorry, I just… it’s mine…”

I sigh. People guilt tripping you when they’re not even meaning to sucks. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, shouldn’t ‘a looked at it anyway, sorry,” I mumble. But I can’t get passed the fact that this kid (he’s definitely a student, his Metallica shirt a bit too informal to be a teacher, though he looks older so I’m guessing he’s a senior) has a paper from three months ago that just so happens to be about the guy who kidnapped me.

And then it dawns on me. This paper, right here, is evidence that Frank is real! So maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought I was. That’s exciting.

“Uhm, sorry, uh… what did you say your name was?” He moves to go behind the desk, shuffling through papers.

“I didn’t say. It’s Gerard.” I watch as he looks up at me sharply.

“Way?”

“Uh, yes.”

He gives me this wide eyed look, gaze flickering over me. He chuckles nervously. “Right… uh, c’mon.”

Ray rambles on about how the test works, showing me the computer, throwing an ‘I like your shirt’ into the mix of his words, which is ironic because I can’t recall ever listening to Dinosaur Jr., their logo sported on my chest. But I mumble thanks anyway because the guy is nice and seems to be pretty okay, if you count out the weird fact that he was reading a newspaper about me.

And then Ray’s gone off to do something else, and I’m left to take this stupid test.

It takes three whole hours and all I can think about is the newspaper and the fact that Frank really isn’t a figment of my imagination. It’s almost scary, thinking that I really did get kidnapped; he really is still out there. At least I have something solid about my past to lean on, but where things get cleared up, other things cloud over. Like who was the stranger in the alley way the day before? And who was leading me around with those notes? If Frank is in jail, then he couldn’t possibly have done it.

When I’m finished I hand my test to Ray and he gives me a smile, a really nice one, and I find that I like it a lot. He smiles almost like the sun, brighter maybe. My stomach twists up.

“Okay, so you can go home now, we’ll have your classes all squared away tomorrow… oh, and Gerard?”

I stop in my tracks, turning away from the door to look at him.

“You wanna… maybe go for coffee sometime?” He smiles again.

“Oh I don’t… I… actually… yeah. Yeah I’d like that.” And I can’t help but smile back.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“You’re too old, Dad.”

"Too old for what?"

Both Mikey and my father turn to look at me as I pad into the kitchen. Mikey gives me a look from his seat at the table, as if he has some sudden understanding about what's going on inside my head. I doubt he does, unless he sees his dead grandmother and big talking ravens named Fate all the time too.

The car ride home from school had been another awkward silence. Mikey kept giving me that stupid look, too. And it made me want to kill him a million times over.

"Oh, Dad wanted to be a part of this undercover drug bust at school," Mikey says, tearing his eyes away from my face and back down to the plates of food he’s making. My father looks between the two of us, frowning, before looking back down at his computer.

"I could've been an undercover teacher," He grumbles, typing something rapidly.

Mikey says something mildly funny but I tune them out too quickly to hear the punch line, busying myself with getting soda out of the fridge

I come to stand next to Mikey, pulling the plate closest to me right out from under his nose. He squeaks, discreetly reaching for the plate as if it has poison on it. I frown, batting away his arm; no way in hell is he taking my food. He gives me this nervous little chuckle, guiltily biting his lip as I lean to grab a fork from the silverware drawer. And for a moment I wonder why in the world he's being so weird but as I go to take a scoop of the potatoes on my plate I catch an even weirder thing to wonder about. Sprinkled atop the mini mountain of white are little specks of orange dust that stare up at me.

My stomach churns and I look up at Mikey.

"Heh," he mutters, smiling sheepishly, and I scowl. The fuck is he trying to do? Kill me?

And I'm about to say something to him but there's a loud crash and the both of us spin on our heels. And there’s so much red. All over the floor, spilling across the linoleum and leaking towards the bottom of the cabinets, thick and soupy. My vision goes black for a split second before I’m stumbling a little, catching myself on the edge of the counter, drawing my attention back to the blood on the floor.

But there isn’t any blood. Just water, Dad’s cup shattered amongst the spill.

I rub at my face. No blood. Just water.

Just water, only water, water, water, water.

All three of us get towels to clean it up and I tell myself over and over, it wasn’t blood, it wasn’t blood.

But my hands shake as I wipe at the floor.

The three of us finish mopping the water from the linoleum and Mikey’s off to put the towels in the laundry. My father bustles out to take off his uniform before dinner and I’m left in the kitchen, watching the place where the water had been spilled.

“It wasn’t blood,” I whisper to myself, trying to scrape the image from my brain.

I busy myself, with picking up the uneaten plates of food, placing them on the kitchen table. The potatos on my plate are a shade away from white, leaning towards orange.

My brother's out to kill me.

Or maybe not. That's a bit over the top. Then again, who puts unidentifiable oddly colored powder in their twin's dinner without an ulterior motive? Maybe I could ask Fate. He always tells the truth.

After placing the plates on the table I shuffle back over to the counter, reaching up to open the cabinet and grab cups from the shelf. There’s a hollow sound as the glass knocks against something. Out of the shelf falls a little bottle that had been hiding behind the cups, dropping to the counter and popping open, sending little orange pills all over the granite like a disease.

I frown, placing the bowls where they belong and reaching to scoop the pills back into the little bottle. If they had been any other color I would have dismissed them, just some random medication for my father’s migraines or Mikey’s asthma, but they were the exact same shade of orange as the flecks in my potatoes. I take a deep breath, holding the bottle up so I can read the label.

Gerard A. Way
Clozapine
Take one tablet by mouth twice per day

I blink.

So Mikey hadn't been trying to kill me. He was only attempting to get me to take my medicine. It was a good tactic too, I don't think I would have taken it if he had simply given it to me.

"Gerard."

I spin, hearing an all too familiar high pretty voice from behind me. Helena is sitting on top of the table, her black dress bunched all up around her, her hair neatly pulled back. She looks tired, but then again she always looks that way.

"Where’ve you been!?" I yell quietly, glaring at her.

"Well you're just full of piss and vinegar today, huh?" She snaps back, sticking out her tongue. "I actually wasn't here because of you, so I don't wanna hear you bitch about it."

"Because of me? I’ve been looking for you for the past two days!"

"You took your medicine this morning, Gerard," She says, crossing her legs and pursing her lips.

I frown, looking down at the bottle in my hand. I didn't take any medicine... not to my knowledge at least.

“Cereal,” Lena says with an exasperated sigh.

I look up at her, frowning. Cereal... this morning! It tasted funny, chalky almost. Mikey had slipped my medicine into my breakfast that morning and the one before. "Goddammit, Mikey," I grumble, turning to put the medicine back in the cabinet.

"Yeah, exactly. He did it," Lena says, slipping off the table and coming to stand by me. "So you gonna take it? 'Cause you don't... you don't really wanna know what happens when you don't take your medicine, Gerard. I wasn't there yesterday but... a lot of other things weren't there either..."

I stare at the bottle for a long time in silence. "I saw the raven yesterday...."

"I know. He tells me you know about the Schizophrenia?"

I nod, eyes still locked with the medication, contemplating whether or not I should take it.

"Gerard, don't listen to them! They're wrong. You're not crazy, okay? Look at me," She reaches to poke my jaw. "You felt that right? You can't feel something that's real, Gerard."

I glance over at her. "But-"

"No buts! There isn't any question! I'm your grandmother, Gerard. Wanna know why you can see ghosts? Cause I could see 'em too!"

“If I’m not crazy then why does this medicine work? It’s for mental patients, Lena, not fucking necromancers or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to be,” I snap, waving the little bottle around.

“The doctors made it so it dulls your ability to see the ghosts, Gerard,” She retorts matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips.

“How would the doctors know I could see ghosts, hm?”

“They’re out to get you, Gerard! You told your mom, and your mom told them!” She jumps around, waving her arms madly, trying to convey the message. I snort.

"What about the raven then? Or the monsters? Those weren't ghosts."

"They were spirits, Gee," she says, calming down, smiling quietly, glad that I was giving her a chance to explain herself. "The Raven is the form the spirit of Fate likes to take on; he can shape shift. And the Monsters are demons. Ghosts are spirits too, just lost ones that originally belonged to humans."

"How do you expect me to believe all of that...?" I ask, looking down at the floor, shuffling my feet.

"Because it's true. It's better than being crazy anyway, right?"

I bite my lip, looking back at the bottle held tightly between my fingers before lifting it up to place it neatly on the bottom shelf of the cabinet. I close the door. Helena grins.

"There we go. C'mon let's-“ but I never figure out what she was going to say. Her gaze drops over my shoulder to something behind me, eyes wide.

The fear in her eyes makes my heart beat go through the roof.

“What?” I ask quietly, afraid to know what’s lurking behind me.

Helena says nothing, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, no words coming out.

I suck in a breath, turning on my heel to look behind me.

Across the room, standing in the doorway are two small figures, little girls, twins maybe. They’re clothed in pearl white ballerina leotards with fluffy skirts, little bows tying their dark hair. They face the hallway, their backs turned to me.

“Gerard,” says one of them in a sing song voice, her head moving as she speaks. “Gerard do you remember us?

No. I don’t remember anything.

“What was that?” Says the other one and their voices seem too familiar. “Think louder, we can’t hear you!”

They giggle in unison.

“Go away. Lena, make them leave,” I say shakily, glancing over my shoulder, but Lena’s gone, in her place the pool of blood. It crawls across the floor, puddling around my feet, seeping into my socks. I turn back to look at the girls quickly, hands shaking.

“Hi, Gerard!”

“Do you think we’re pretty, Gerard?”

“Do you like our eyes, Gerard?”

“Mommy says they look just like hers!”

I stumble backwards. The two girls have turned themselves around, the blood leaking across the floor, pooling around their thin white slippers, staining them in red. They giggle and laugh, holding each other’s hand, gesturing toward their faces.

Where their eyes should be are gaping holes.

“The doctor took our eyes away, Gerard,” says one, pouting, red streaking down her face like tears.

“He poked them out with ice picks!” The other makes little sobbing noises.

“Leave me alone, I don't- I- Just go away!" I yell hysterically, slipping and tumbling to the floor, drowning in blood. It seeps into the sleeves of my hoodie, the legs of my pants, the bottoms of my socks, getting my skin sticky underneath. I choke.

"Oh no, Gerard! Are you alright?" One of the girls shrieks, the two of them stepping forward in unison, little slippers wiping red across the slippery tile.

"You're okay. You like it, don't you?"

"I bet you just love blood, Gerard. After killing all those people..."

The two of them smile mechanically, their vacant eye sockets making my stomach shrivel up.

"What?" I sputter, scrambling to get away, my hands begging for traction against the floor. "I didn't kill anyone! What are you talking about-"

"Gerard and Frankie went out to play!" The girls giggle, their hands coming to cover their mouths, smearing blood across their smooth pale cheeks.

"They went to see the city, far far away!" They shriek with joy, bouncing on their toes, reaching to touch each other’s hair, their dark locks sticking together in thick matted clumps.

"A raven came along, shrieking in their ears!"

"Meet me at your funeral! It's looming quite near!"

"Won't you like to see what you did that night?" One of them sings, turning to face me, red stained teeth bared in a plastic smile.

"Won't you like to know what you hid from sight?" The other follows suit, and the pair steps forward again, the puddle beneath them splashing up around their ankles.

"Will you?" They take a step.

"Won't you?" And then another.

"Will you?" And another.

"Won't you?" Until they're looming over me, round bloody faces open and waiting.

"Won't you join the dance?"

They say the last line of the rhyme in unison, heads cocking as they extend tiny bloody hands to me, beckoning.

I stare for a moment, mouth gaping, before I scream at the top of my lungs and try to fumble away. "No! Leave me alone! I don't wanna dance!"

And they laugh.

And laugh, and laugh, shuffling to follow me until I finally reach the counter, getting a hold on the ledge with a shaky arm, hauling myself to my feet.

"Don't," I sob, waving a hand at them. "Don't come any closer... please..."

They gasp, turning to each other with offended faces. "Why not Gerard?"

"Why won't you dance with us?"

"Come dance with us, Gerard!" They say together, voices shrill, their toes pointing professionally in their slippers as they step forward.

"N-no, don't touch me!" I cringe away from them, tripping to my right, socks sliding across the floor as I splash around them, spreading the blood.

"Don't leave us Gerard!"

And I can hear them follow me as I scramble blindly for the exit, head spinning. I make it to the doorway, leaving red spotty fingerprints on the off white frame, falling into the hallway. Their voices echo in my ear as they shriek and trill, trailing behind me.

"Go away! Go away! Leave, I-I just wanna be left alone!" I yell breathlessly, face red and puffy as I cough, stumbling down the hallway.

"Gerard? Gerard what's going on?" A distant voice cuts through the commotion followed by pounding footsteps as someone descends the stairs.

I'm about to reach the front door, about to get away from the bloody ballerinas, and suddenly Mikey's in my way, thin frame seemingly gigantic.

"Mikey! Mikey, help me! Help me!" I shout, colliding with him, holding on to his bony torso, swiveling my head to look behind me. The two girls stand midway between me and Mikey and the door to the kitchen. Their white tutus are splattered with dark red dots, ankles soaked, little footprints leading from the stained kitchen and down the hall. Their grins are stuck to their faces.

"Gerard.... Gerard, what's the matter? I don't... I don't see anything..." Mikey says quietly, pressing his fingers hesitantly to my sopping hoodie.

I sputter, looking back and forth between Mikey and the twins. "They're right there! There, right there, you don't see them...? You don't... you don't see them." It's more of a statement than a question as the fact sinks in. I'm seeing things. The girls aren't there.

But they seem too real.

"Gerard..." Mikey mutters soothingly, rubbing my back. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs..."

But the girls are still there. And as I watch with wide eyes they giggle and skip forward, twirling extravagantly, blood leaking down their chins and into their mouths.

"Dance with us, dance with us! Come and join the dance!" They chant, voices falling into a mechanical drone. "Dance with us! Dance with us! Won't you join the dance?"

My heart falls to the bottom of my stomach and I yank my way out of Mikey's arms, pushing past him, trying to get away.

"Dance with us! Dance with us! Dance, dance, dance!"

"No!" I yell, fumbling for the doorknob, hands slipping as I twist it. It comes open with a hard pull.

Their voices morph into screaming, as if the two girls were being torn to pieces behind me. I cough as I fall out into the night, skidding down the steps. Mikey is running after me, I can hear him yell my name, but I can’t stop. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it.

Reaching the end of the driveway, stumbling onto the sidewalk, I turn to the porch. Mikey’s voice rings in my ears, along with my father’s, but they aren’t there. The yard is empty, the windows dark, a dim stream of yellow coming from the gaping front door. A tiny ballerina stands alone on the porch, hands fisted at her side as she opens her mouth wide, too wide to be human, her jaw coming unhooked and hanging uselessly as she screams.

I sputter, scrambling to turn away, running straight into the second little girl, her bloody sockets turned toward me as if she’s looking at my face. She smiles.

“You can run, but you can’t hide. You can run but you can’t hide! You can run but you can’t hide!” She shrieks, her voice raising with each chant until she’s screaming it at the top of her lungs. Their voices melt into one long draining scream until I can’t take it anymore, raising the courage to push past the child in front of me and run down the street, dripping with blood.

I run and run and run until I can’t run anymore, crumpling to the sidewalk.

My heart settling in the pit of my stomach and I realize how much I really need to uncover what happened to me.

My blood curdles.

The only way to figure all this out on my own is through the notes.

I have to go back to the house on Caroline Road.