Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Monday, June 8th, 1987. Eleven-thirty pm. Outside Tim’s bar, Upper-East Manhattan, New York. 

Murder—universally condemned yet so common. It seemed as if murder cases were skyrocketing, or perhaps it only seemed that way to Gerard Way. As a high-rank private investigator, murder certainly occupied his mind more than it should. Was this particularly good for his wellbeing? No, but he loved doing what he did, even if at times it seemed as if his profession didn’t love him back. 

The detective fished into his brown trench coat pocket to retain grainy photographs. He nibbled on the inside of his cheek as his brain struggled to retain every bit of visual information he could. The cogs that made up his brain, turning and grinding, squealed in an attempt to make links between his theories and the truth. At times, he felt as if he could sit back and watch the dates and facts and information and theories in his head, tumbling around like clothes in a dryer, deciphering the truth from the lies. 

Well, the truth so far was scarce. The truth was that on Saturday, June 6th, a young woman was shot in the grimy and dark alleyway outside Tim’s bar. Twenty-six-year-old Miss Olivia Walters received three shots to the chest and stomach. Gruesome , Gerard reflected. But it was his responsibility to figure out who was responsible for this cold-blooded murder. Yet, he had no leads. 

He leaned against the grungy brick wall of the alleyway before immediately pulling away from the grime. Scowling, he dusted off his sleeve and returned his notepad to his pocket, along with his pen. Gerard absolutely hated germs and contamination in general. Germs were like small insects trying to dirty something clean. 

The longer he spent at the murder scene, the more frustrated he became. Perhaps it was the lack of leads, the blooming crippling self-doubt in his career choice, or the stale stench of blood rising from the urban decay that locals called home. The bustling traffic, empty midnight conversations and grey cityscape gave Gerard homesickness for New Jersey. Despite working for the New York Police Department briefly, Jersey remained his favourite place to be. He hated out-of-state assignments and would rather be at home with his brother, who needed him more than he knew. 

Gerard eventually left the murder scene, frustrated with his perceived inability to make the case progress. It seemed bizarre to him that he was considered one of the best detectives, regarded as insightful, resourceful and fine-tuned to the facts. But half of that was just his personality, not a skill. Gerard was focused, determined and strangely lacked empathy, which came in handy when dealing with those horrid sleepless nights where he remembered all the crime and tragedy he had been amidst. 

The detective’s black 1965 Volkswagen Beetle had decided to blend into the identical side streets, forcing him to aimlessly walk until he found it. He didn’t particularly like walking the streets of Manhattan, desolate yet channelling a hidden lurk of danger. But something, or someone , had now occupied his mind. A man who shared the same sidewalk as him was dressed in black double denim, walking aimlessly, as Gerard was. Gerard had a reason to be out this late, but this man didn’t. 

Gerard blocked the man’s path. “Good evening, sir. May I ask you a few questions?”

“On what grounds?” he replied, cocking an eyebrow in amusement, his lips tugging into a smirk. 

Gerard noted his familiarity with the legal system through his response. Legally, an authority figure could not ask questions or search without disclosing the reason. “Detective Way, investigating an alleged murder case.” He presented his police identification while maintaining uncut eye contact with the man. “Do you know anything about a shooting here two nights ago?” 

“No.” 

“Interesting. May I ask what you’re doing out this late?” 

“I could ask you the same thing.” He folded his arms, clearly testing Gerard’s boundaries. 

The detective ignored his comment, waiting for an answer, arms folded. 

“I’m buying cigarettes. Is that illegal now?” He chewed the inside of his mouth and stared at Gerard, gaze travelling across his features, studying his face. 

“If you’re under the age of twenty-one, yes.” 

The man smirked. “You’re a rule guy, aren’t you? A hard worker?” 

Gerard grew suspicious of his now friendly tone, contrasting his initial standoffish behaviour. “If you want to earn a living, there’s no way around hard work. What do you do for a living?” 

“Criminal psychology. I suppose we’re not so different after all.” The man suddenly seemed more relaxed, which only made Gerard more doubtful, but it did help him understand how he knew about police powers. “I’m Frank, by the way,” he added, offering his hand. 

Gerard embraced it briefly. “Do you mind if I tag along? I need something from the convenience store too.” 

Frank’s lips curled into a smile. “Sure, Detective. It’ll be a safer walk with you around, anyway.” 

Frank and Gerard walked to the nearest gas station, which was only a few blocks away. Gerard remained with his hands in his pockets and demeanour reserved, while Frank whistled to himself. 

When they arrived, Frank bought two cartons of cigarettes and a Jolt Cola, while Gerard made himself a coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream. He didn’t have time or tolerable taste buds for coffee’s sugary alternatives, or at least he didn’t want to develop diabetes. Coffee was supposed to be a pick-me-up, not a put-me-down, and he did not want a sugar crash, especially this late. 

“You drink caffeine this late, too?” Frank gestured to Gerard’s coffee and then back at his energy drink. “An adrenaline addict, huh?” 

“Far from it. It helps my brain work faster to determine evidence. Without coffee, I’d still be a lousy lieutenant.” Gerard reached into his pocket for his wallet but Frank stopped him, placing a hand over his. 

“I’ll pay,” Frank insisted, covering Gerard’s coffee as he purchased his items, paying $2.50 from his cracked leather wallet. 

“Thank you, Frank.” Gerard gazed thoughtfully at Frank as they left the store, trying to decipher the meaning behind his courtesy. He embraced the caffeinated warmth in his cold hands as they immersed themselves in the cool Summer evening breeze. He loved coffee to death. 

“You’re welcome, Gerard.” Frank lit a cigarette, the flame struggling against the wind, but eventually igniting the cancer stick. He took a long drag and blew it out like the smoke was his air supply. “Ah, nothing like a good cigarette, am I right?” 

Gerard’s relaxation drained from his body and he stared at Frank with a threatening look. “ What did you say?”

Frank blinked in confusion, self-conscious from Gerard’s sudden intensity. “Nothing like a good cigarette…” he repeated, tone conveying artificial guilt as he wondered what he did wrong. 

“How did you know my name?” 

“You told me.” 

“No, I introduced myself as Detective Way . You called me Gerard . Those were not my words.” Gerard held onto his paper coffee cup tighter, feeling uneasy. “How did you know ?” 

Frank’s eyes, previously nervous, portrayed betrayal. He softly spoke, “You don’t remember me?” 

Gerard’s eyes lingered on Frank, glancing up and down, struggling to match a memory to his face. His mind grappled at a potential answer and he wondered how he could solve complex murder mysteries but not recognise faces. 

“The case of Dr. Parchin? The millionaire doctor who was murdered? 1975? New York City?” Frank questioned, “You don’t remember me?” 

“Parchin… Charles Parchin? You’re Dr. Eero ?” Gerard interrogated Frank with cold eyes. 

Frank grinned. “In the flesh. Try not butchering my name, though.” 

“Dr. E-ehro ?” 

“Just call me Frank.” He cringed at Gerard’s constant mispronunciations of his name before smiling. 

“You’re the shrink who figured out the motive behind the murder. Your interpretations were spot on. We were able to catch the culprit because of you.” Gerard felt like he was talking to a celebrity. He rested a hand on his chest, attempting to empathise, saying, “Sorry about my aggression. As a detective, it’s my job to be suspicious.” 

It was true. Frank was considered an asset to the police force, being able to solve mysteries effortlessly. He often worked more efficiently than detectives, not Gerard, though. They were both at a similar rank of intelligence, just in different fields. 

Frank took a sip of his Jolt Cola and pursed his lips slightly. “You organised and determined a lot of evidence, too. Kudos to you.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “You’re quite a pleasure to work with, too. Very organised.” 

“I should’ve recognised you sooner. My apologies, Frank.” He took another sip of his coffee, savouring its warmth. “I’m getting old. I must be getting dementia.” 

“You couldn’t be a day over thirty.” 

Gerard smiled, feeling flattered. “I’m thirty-eight. That would make you…thirty-three?” 

Frank nodded, amused. “Spot-on! So it is true what they say about detectives…they have good intuition skills?” 

Gerard smiled sheepishly. “Ironic for a profession that forces you to rely on the facts.” 

The two of them sat on the curb, continuing to exchange words. “You don’t live in New York, do you? You talked about New Jersey a lot.” 

“That’s because I live in Jersey. I’m only here for the case…which I can’t seem to get any leads for.” He felt his chest clench in discomfort, the pressure of an unsolved case hanging over his head like a raincloud. “But after I solve the case, I’ll be driving back to Jersey.” 

“I wish you luck, Gerard. Though, I don’t think you’ll need it.” Frank nodded and patted Gerard’s shoulder. “I should head back home. It’s getting late.” 

“Oh, right. Yeah, me too.” Gerard arose from the curb and extended a hand for Frank. “Nice to see you again, Frank.” 

Frank embraced his hand with a firm grip. “If you want a break from the crime, I’ll be around here a lot. I’ve taken some work leave.” Frank’s lip twitched into a smile. “You’re welcome to meet me.” 

“I might just take you up on your offer.” Gerard nodded goodbye as Frank ventured home. He seemed much shorter from a distance than he did close-up. Even though Gerard found talking to people irrelevant to his cases a waste of him, he didn’t quite mind exchanging words with Frank. His confident and charismatic attitude made Gerard feel at ease for once, like a breath of fresh air. 

When he was alone again, he finished the rest of his now lukewarm coffee and returned to his car. He could already feel the caffeine kicking in, which he now regretted when he remembered he had plans for tomorrow. A night of horrible sleep combined with a caffeine high was a recipe for disaster, jeopardising his typical focus and mental clarity. 

Getting into the red-upholstered backseat, he gathered his cloth bag of spare clothes and tucked it under his head. It wasn’t like his bed at home, but it would have to do. Hotels in New York were infested with germs and they were way out of his budget. Even the coffee Frank bought him would have done some damage. The scarce eleven dollars on his person was reserved strictly for fuel and meals, which he wasn’t having regularly anyway. Everything was getting so expensive. 

Struggling to get comfortable, he eventually drifted off to sleep, clutching his notepad and photographs as if the information would magically absorb into his brain. If he didn’t have any solid leads yet, wishful thinking may as well be his last resort.

Chapter Text

Tuesday, June 9th, 1987. Seven-thirty pm. Tim’s Bar, Upper-East Manhattan, New York.

The bar surface was sticky with spilled shots from the clumsy bartender. Gerard hated clumsy people, especially clumsy people who worked near him. Thank God this guy wasn’t a pharmacist or a surgeon because he’d have a hefty lawsuit on his hands. 

Gerard rubbed his fingers in disgust upon making contact with sticky bartop, interrogating the man, notepad on his lap. “Were you bartending when Miss Olivia Walters was murdered?”

“Yeah, dude. I never witnessed anything, though. If I did, I’d be on stress leave, not at this shitty place or talking to you.” He wiped down the bar, noticing Gerard’s distaste towards his uncleanliness, and poured a shot for a customer. 

Gerard ignored the bartender’s passive-aggressive behaviour and proceeded with the interview. “Did you notice any suspicious behaviour? Aggressive bar-goers? Anti-social behaviour? Unfamiliar faces?” He connected the tip of his pen to the fresh page, awaiting an answer. 

“No, just regular drunken guys. The bar was a bit busier than usual, though. The Belmont Stakes had everyone bettin’.” The bartender poured another shot for the man next to Gerard, and one for the man on his other side. 

“I’m not familiar.” Gerard didn’t quite like being sandwiched between two drunk and rowdy New Yorkers because he felt suffocated. But he did like this new information. 

“The Belmont Stakes. It’s horse racing. The folks here like to bet on it. Bet Twice smashed it, and everyone celebrated. It’s an annual event, like the Super Bowl.” 

Gerard took note of this in his notepad. “And I suppose everyone was too busy watching the race to notice the shooting?” The odds seemed to play at Gerard’s disadvantage, but no challenge was too difficult for him. 

He nodded, fabricating artificial sadness, out of fear of being labelled as a suspect. “It seems that way. Good luck with your investigation.” The bartender moved across the bar to serve other customers, who were becoming rowdy from a lack of service. Gerard still had questions, but it would’ve been beneficial to focus on dissecting his new information. He could tell the bartender disliked him, and he didn’t want to remain seated at the bar anymore. 

The atmosphere of the bar was strangely alluring to him. Its rustic colours and dim lights reflected on the glass cabinets of the bar and the shiny wooden tables. The smell of steak from the bistro and the sound of conversations shared between workmates having a beer also contributed to this. There was an undeniable sense of community, which perplexed Gerard further. If people supported each other here, why was someone killed and no one seemed to care? It seemed so bizarre, but Gerard tried to understand it, hastily scribbling down notes with progressively worse handwriting. 

When Gerard left the bar, he rolled down the sleeves of his white button-up, confronted with the breeze of early dusk. He disliked its wrinkles so he wore a black vest and red tie to draw attention away from it. A cloth bag wasn’t his first choice for clothing storage, but it was all he had. He observed the bustling nightlife made up of friends, summoned taxis and laughter. He strangely felt alone, despite being around more people than he was usually comfortable with. 

Gerard regretted not grabbing Frank’s phone number yesterday because there was no guarantee he’d see him again tonight. Frank’s offer was a ‘break from the crime’ and Gerard so desperately needed that. 

The detective sat on a bench and crossed his legs, awkwardly stretching in pain. Sleeping in a car seemed like a money-savvy idea but it only left him with a bad back. 

“Hey, Gerard.” Frank perched beside Gerard, a warm smile spread across his face. 

“Good evening.” Gerard glanced at Frank with wide eyes, questioning the sheer coincidence of his appearance. 

“Something wrong with your back, grandad?” Frank joked. 

Gerard stretched his spine by pulling on the back of the bench, not even noticing the age joke. “Must’ve slept wrong.” 

“Hotel beds suck. All the beds either have naked springs or…foreign stains.” Frank shivered in disgust but then smiled. “Which hotel are you staying in?” 

Gerard pointed to his car. “That one over there, parked on the curb.” 

“You’re sleeping in your car…? Don’t you trust hotel rooms?” Frank questioned, regretting his playful behaviour. 

“Not really, no.” Gerard laughed nervously, trying to ignore the pain in his upper back. “They’re not in my budget.” 

“Would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?” Frank offered. 

Gerard looked at Frank, expression grateful but gaze suspicious. “Thank you for the offer, but I don’t want to impose.” 

“It won’t be a problem. I’ve got one of those fold-out beds. I couldn’t let you sleep in your car again. The locals are going to think you’re homeless.” Frank paused for a moment, looking Gerard up and down. “But you’re too well-dressed to be homeless.” 

Gerard’s cheeks heated up at the compliment. “Thank you so much for your generosity, Frank. If there’s anything you want from me, you got it.” 

“I’ll see about that,” Frank spoke slowly and then laughed. “I was on my way home anyway, so just follow my lead.” Frank rose from the bench. 

Gerard grabbed his small bag of belongings from his car and they walked to Frank’s apartment. It was nestled in the suburban heart of the city, although it seemed cosy and secluded. The two of them entered the lobby and Frank checked his mail. Gerard took this opportunity to observe the lobby, arms crossed which displayed his reserved nature. He noticed some strange noises coming from the entry and then saw a strange figure rush past, disappearing into where his view restricted him from seeing. 

“There’s some weirdos around here. Don’t worry.” Frank tapped Gerard’s elbow to guide him to the elevator where he pushed the arrow button pointing up. 

Gerard watched the flickering lights slowly travel downwards as the elevator embarked on its journey from the top floor. 

The lobby had a strange smell, a combination of cigarette smoke and moisture, and the almost green-tinted lights bounced off the stained white walls. The marble tiles contrasted the metal and glass doors at the entry, acting as a strong lighting contrast between the early dusk and the artificial illumination of the building. But there was a pleasant aesthetic touch with the fake plants and the velvet dark green couch tucked in the corner. 

Frank gazed at the elevator position indicator, neon red and flickering, like a candle in the breeze. 

As much as this lobby furnished a modern and sleek 80s look, it still felt lifeless and depressing. Gerard felt this strongly, ironic as he was able to sense the emotions of inanimate objects like buildings and cars, but not so much people. 

A woman made herself known behind them, her heels clanking on the dull marble floor. She was short with dyed-blonde hair in a plait, frizz poking out of her head like twigs. Her lips of red lipstick twisted into a smirk as she twirled her hair in her bony fingers. “Hey, Frankie, baby.” 

Frank clutched Gerard’s hand, intertwining their fingers affectionately, much to the woman’s disappointment. Gerard felt a blush creep up his neck as he looked at their hands and then at the woman who strolled to the exit, frowning. Frank let out a breath and watched the elevator door open before them. The woman’s deflated stride heavily contrasted her original flirty walk, which had Gerard thinking, still staring at their hands. As if Frank felt him staring, he released his hand and stepped into the elevator. 

The slow journey to level nine was held in awkward silence. “Sorry about that, Gerard. I wanted to get that obsessive woman off my back.” 

Gerard nodded. 

“I had a one-night stand with Maggie two years ago, and she hasn’t left me alone since. She wanted to marry me after we’d known each other for twenty minutes. Been thinking about getting a restraining order.” He glanced the elevator door up and down, hands held together in front of him and nibbled the inside of his cheek like an awkward child. “And the craziest part is, she doesn’t live in the building. She just comes here to see me.” 

“Maybe she has friends or family here?” Gerard suggested. 

“She doesn’t. I know everyone here, and no one knows her. Isn’t that creepy?” Frank flinched in sudden disgust. “You’d think she’s a spy agent or something — no, she’s a locksmith . But now she thinks I’m gay, so hopefully she won’t be back.” 

Gerard smirked. “Hopefully.” He couldn’t help but wonder if there was irony in Frank’s words as he could undeniably sense some affection that settled on the borderline between platonic and romantic. Given that they were both men, Gerard determined that either Frank was very comfortable being straight or was unaware of himself. 

Soon, they arrived at Frank’s apartment, which had a notably better smell and look than the lobby, and it was much more spacious. Although maybe Gerard only felt that way because he hated elevators. The subtle relaxing scent of lavender also brought on fondness, almost making him want to start trusting Frank. 

When Frank opened the door to his apartment, the first thing that had Gerard captivated was the evening cityscape defined by skyscrapers and city smog. The Sun threatened to slip away from the sky, peeking through the twin towers that created a God-like glow. He slowly entered the apartment, standing before the large framed window, gazing with pure love in his eyes. 

“Beautiful, huh?” Frank pierced the silence and stood beside Gerard. 

“Better than my car.” Gerard observed Frank’s apartment. It was sizeable and had a nice colour scheme of red and white. The main space of the apartment held two double-seat couches, a coffee table and a flat-screen television positioned on top of the television unit. Further to the right before the kitchen was a round dining table and down the hall was where Gerard assumed the bathroom and bedroom to be. “Nice pad.” 

Frank smiled wide in gratitude, placed his keys on the key hook, and then took off his brown leather jacket to throw onto the couch. “Thanks.” 

Gerard’s attention was drawn to the collection of VHS tapes stored on a shelf by the television unit. He ran his finger across the spines and smiled. “You’re a horror movie fan?” 

“Sure. They’re exhilarating.” Frank stood next to Gerard, leaning against the wall, wearing a smirk. “It’s good practice, too. Some villains are so well-written.” He pointed to the movie names printed on the spines of the video cassette cases. “Jack Torrance from The Shining represents the darker side effects of isolation and how it can distort one’s moral perception and psychological reasoning.” 

Gerard pulled out the tape and observed the case, considering Frank’s analysis. 

Frank pulled out a copy of Halloween. “Michael Myers from Halloween is so dangerous because he lacks an understanding of the depths of life and death. If one cannot understand his consequences, he cannot see himself as evil.” 

Gerard returned the film to the shelf and looked at Frank, intrigued by his ability to effortlessly analyse and decipher all kinds of evil, even fictional. “Or Dracula with his blood sucking,” Gerard started, picking up the 1931 version of the film, “and the psychological torture, brutal beatings, and I think he massacred a whole ship crew?” 

“Necrophilia, too. Although, I think the ship massacre was only in the book.” Frank chuckled to himself and turned his attention back to Gerard. “Anyway, where are my manners? If you need the bathroom, it’s down the hall to the right. You’re welcome to shower if you want. And if you’re hungry, thirsty or need some clothes, just ask.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you, Frank.” Gerard smiled at him gratefully. “I will take advantage of your shower, actually.” He took his bag of clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. 

Whistling to himself, Frank set up the fold-out couch for Gerard, fixing it up with pillows and blankets. Finishing in the living room, he approached his boombox on the shelf of films and powered it up. He inserted a copy of ‘Powerslave’ by Iron Maiden in the compartment and pressed play. After briefly nodding his head to the opening track, he entered the kitchen to boil some pasta. Frank could hear the music lingering in the living room mixed with the sound of running water from the bathroom. 

Sometime later, Gerard returned from the bathroom, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a white wrinkled button-up shirt and a pair of black jeans. His half-wet hair draped onto his face in smooth clumps. Frank turned to look him up and down, smirking slightly. “Do you want some clothes?” 

Gerard’s face flushed with embarrassment, suppressing a smile. “These are okay. I can really sleep in anything.” 

“Nonsense.” Frank left the finished pasta on the stove and disappeared into his bedroom at the end of the hall. Gerard took this opportunity to listen to the music playing from the stereo and observe the framed sports memorabilia in the apartment. When Frank returned, he handed Gerard plaid pyjama pants and a graphic t-shirt. “This okay?” 

Gerard nodded and took the clothes from Frank, changing when Frank returned to the kitchen to add sauce to his pasta. “Is this Iron Maiden?” 

“Yeah, Powerslave. Do you listen to them?” Frank asked, placing a pot of spaghetti and cutlery on the dining table. He then returned to the kitchen to grab some glasses and a jug of water. 

“Not really, but my brother likes them. I’m more into Gary Numan and Thompson Twins.” He absentmindedly stared at the stereo and then at the food on the table. Frank turned off the music and then sat at the table, with Gerard following soon after. “You’re a good cook, as well? You are full of surprises.” Gerard looked uneasy but he tried to suppress it for non-awkward socialisation’s sake. 

“It kinda comes with being Italian.” Frank scooped spaghetti into two plates as they both ate together. Gerard, who relied on chewing gum to suppress his appetite, was grateful to eat some real food. 

The first half of dinner was spent in awkward silence. Gerard noticed that Frank had a strange way of eating. After three forkfuls of spaghetti, he would wipe his lips and sip some water. He was intrigued by this but tried to keep his eyes to himself for the majority of the time. 

Gerard’s knee bounced as he found himself looking around Frank’s apartment, noting the cosy clutter created by papers and physical media like magazines, mostly relating to sports. 

“So…are you married?” Frank asked, breaking the silence that nestled between them. 

Gerard perked up at the mention of marriage but hesitated. “No…” he dabbed a napkin on his lips, “I’m divorced.” 

Frank apologised, regretting his topic choice. 

Gerard justified himself, “It’s alright. It was mutual. I hated her excessive shopping and she hated my job travelling.” Gerard took a sip from his glass of water. “What about you?” 

“Single as fuck. A few flings here and there, but nothing serious.” Frank took a sip of his water and smirked. “Unless you count this as a date.” 

Gerard stared at Frank blankly, although his eyes held reasonable suspicion. “We can stop pretending. Your crazy stalker ex isn’t here.” He fidgeted with the used napkin in his hands, scrunching and folding it. 

Frank’s eyes grazed Gerard’s face, lingering a little longer on his lips. “Who’s pretending?” His voice grew mellow and soft with flirtation, and then he chuckled and leant back on his chair, observing Gerard with an ambitious gaze. 

Gerard suddenly laughed a nasal and high-pitched laugh. “You’re so funny, Frank.” He got up off his chair and gathered their empty plates to the kitchen sink. A muffled, “A date…” could be heard from the kitchen under the running water as Gerard washed the dishes, followed by another chuckle. 

“I understand why you’re single,” Frank remarked, leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, staring at Gerard’s back. 

“At least I was married at some point.” Gerard placed the final plate on the dish rack to dry and glanced at Frank over his shoulder. His voice returned to being serious and that same tense demeanour overtook him, his spontaneous moment of playfulness in the past. 

“I never denied that you can pull. But can you hold?” 

Gerard dried his hands on a hand towel and turned around, caught off guard by Frank’s sudden proximity. Frank had trapped Gerard against the granite tabletop, hands resting on the surface on either side of him. He chuckled nervously, eyes flickering around. Soon, Frank collided his lips with Gerard’s. 

“You can investigate me anytime you want, Detective.” Frank smirked, twirling Gerard’s slightly wet black hair in his fingers and resting a hand on his chest. He quite enjoyed their height difference and found it enduring. 

A light pink blush crept up Gerard’s neck as he stared at Frank’s now dreamy eyes. He scratched the back of his neck like a confused cartoon character, avoiding Frank’s gaze now. “I’d like to investigate you, actually.” 

Frank rested his hands on Gerard’s chest and leaned forward to kiss his neck softly. Gerard’s face heated up more, and he was sure that Frank could feel it. This confirmed his original suspicions about Frank’s sexuality. 

“C-Can you tell me what you were doing last Saturday night?” Gerard stumbled over his words, distracted by Frank’s lips on his neck. 

“Saturday night, hmm?” Frank cupped a hand on the back of Gerard’s neck, squeezing slightly. “Why do you want to know, darling?” 

Gerard reached for a notebook by the telephone and flipped to a fresh page. “Can you tell me where you were?” he asked again. 

Frank pulled away from Gerard’s neck. “You’re considering me to have killed Olivia Walters? Seriously?” he huffed, offended, “Don’t you trust me?” 

“Frank, it’s my job to be suspicious. It’s nothing personal, so just answer the questions.” 

“You’re unbelievable…” Frank returned to the living room, shaking his head.  

“Frank, wait!” Gerard went after him, finding him rummaging through a drawer. “What are you doing?” He clutched a hand to his stomach, feeling uneasy and internally conflicted with Frank’s sudden change in attitude. 

The psychologist pulled out a New York Times newspaper clipping and pressed it face-up onto the coffee table. “You’re a real piece of work. Instead of asking me for help, you accuse me of killing someone?” He pressed his finger to the inkly headline that read, ‘PROVOCATION FOR CRIMINAL DEFENSE REVISITED.’ 

“Care to explain?” Gerard asked, now open to some help, especially considering his lack of leads. 

“This is an issue of the New York Times, published a few days before your alleged crime took place — June 1st, 1987.” Frank ran his fingers along the printed article. “It outlines some legislative discussion surrounding the whole and partial criminal defence of provocation. Due to increasing murder rates for NY sex workers, they are aiming to reform existing legislation to protect everyone’s rights. And who is your deceased?” 

Gerard fumbled with his notepad, writing down this sudden new information. “Uh, Olivia Walters?” 

“Yes, Olivia ‘Dizzy’ Walters. Did you know she was a sex worker?” Frank seemed forceful and condescending with his questions. “A friend and I were at Tim’s bar on June 6th. She was chatting up men at the bar’s entry. She presented herself to me, only to receive rejection, and then moving onto my friend who also denied her. My friend and I watched the Belmont Stakes over a beer when we heard shooting .” Frank emphasised the last word for dramatic effect. 

Gerard gazed at Frank intensely, scribbling down information. 

“ Three shots. Exactly , three shots.” Frank stuck three fingers in the air, eyes blazing with passion. “No one bat an eye. People eventually get used to hearing stray bullets, especially in the busier parts of Manhattan.” 

Gerard gazed at Frank thoughtfully, not displaying any visible emotions. “And what did you do?” 

“I took my friend home and then went home myself.” Frank shrugged, placing the newspaper back in his drawer, full to the brim with other publications. Gerard took a mental note of this. 

Gerard, having finally processed this new information, smiled softly. “You’re passionate about crime, aren’t you, Frank?” 

“I have to be. I deal with it every day.” Frank positioned himself on the couch and gazed up at Gerard. There was still a flame behind his eyes, but a different kind—not one that wanted to kiss him until he was lightheaded, but one that wanted to tear him apart…passionately, of course.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, June 10th, 1987. Ten am. NYPD Headquarters. 1 Police Plaza, Lower Manhattan, New York . 

Gerard had a troubled look on his face as he listened to the police officer—a look of despair and internal rage. Pressing his lips together to suppress these horrified emotions, Gerard focused on the curly-haired man with a soft face. He spoke steadily and calmly as if to protect Gerard’s feelings. 

Gerard dug his fingernails into his panted thighs. “Where did they find the body?” 

“Buried under an abandoned house on 36th street, Brooklyn. Jackson Connolly, thirty-two years old, Irish-descent—” 

“Under…a house?” Gerard asked, intimidated by the idea and the sheer claustrophobia it brought. “In…Brooklyn?” 

“We could barely get him out whole…the culprit trapped him in further using dirt.” The cop also seemed regretful with this new information, also picturing the body as he too cringed. 

The detective nodded as his eyes grew vacant of emotion. “Upper East Manhattan to Brooklyn just to dump a body…this person means business, Ray.” The offender was certainly not shy about travelling. 

“Connolly was close with Olivia Walters. His family told us that they often spent time together at concerts and shopping malls,” Ray informed. “They may have been killed by the same person.”

Gerard nodded, feeling the contents of his head swell up. “And now, it’s up to me to confirm or deny this.” Gerard ran a hand through his black hair and sighed. “Thank you for sharing this new information.” 

“No problem.” Ray smiled, placing a hand on Gerard’s shoulder. “I can tell private investigations are stressing you out. You should’ve stayed with me and the boys as lieutenants.” 

Gerard laughed bitterly. “I suppose it is stressful at times. Thank you for your concern.” He stood up from the chair opposite Ray’s desk and reached out to take his hand. “Always a pleasure to see you, Ray.” 

Gerard left Ray’s office after shaking his hand and walked through the police corridor. It was dull and empty of conversation, making Gerard feel bitter nostalgia mixed with dread. Upon exiting through the front door, he turned up the collar of his black leather jacket. The weather was another thing that varied between New York and New Jersey—despite it being June, the Summer days were cooler than previous years, barely reaching eighty Fahrenheit, unlike warmer Jersey. Manhattan also had an intense hustle culture that stressed the detective out, which was why he moved back to Jersey with his brother. 

And speaking of his brother. 

Gerard emptied a few coins to make a phone call at the payphone. The telephone buzzed to life so he punched in a phone number. Accompanied by the vibrations of the dialling phone, Gerard tapped his fingers over the buttons, not pressing but enjoying the light tapping sounds. He often did things like that. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey, Mikey. It’s Gerard. How are you doing?” Gerard greeted, happy to hear his brother’s voice. 

“Hey, Gee. I’m okay. How’s the case going?”

“It’s getting there. No leads yet, though. How are things with Alicia?” Gerard changed the subject, asking what he really wanted to know. Mikey had recently moved back in with Gerard because of some relationship troubles, which Gerard could relate to through his own marriage breakdown. Now, it was just like they were kids again, living together. 

“Not good. The relationship is basically over. I’m just waiting for her to break up with me.” Mikey sighed on the other end. Gerard felt heartbroken upon hearing how upset his brother was, feeling a familiar resonation with his divorce. He wanted to take away his brother’s pain like he wished someone had done for him years ago. 

Gerard and Mikey shared a telephone conversation, talking about a range of topics but mostly catching up. It felt peaceful and nostalgic to talk to his brother again. Even though they’d seen each other a week ago, he still missed him. 

Fright washed over Gerard when he heard sudden hammering footsteps on the pavement. He looked through the glass wall of the payphone to see a man, a black hoodie pulled over his head and a lighter in his trembling hands. He had just halted to a stop and leant against the brick wall of a nearby apartment complex, looking around suspiciously. 

Gerard kept his cold gaze fixed on the man and ended his conversation with Mikey. “You know you have my love and support. I’ll be home when the case is solved.” Gerard tapped his fingers on the small flat surface of the payphone. “I’ll call you every now and then to see how you’re going, okay?” 

“Okay. Don’t get yourself killed. Love you, Gee,” Mikey closed off the conversation softly.

Gerard quickly dunked the phone on the hook and approached the stranger with reasonable caution, hand resting over the gun in his holster, carefully out of the man’s view to not arouse aggression. He leaned on the wall next to the man and glanced over at him. 

“You got a smoke?” Gerard asked. 

The man nodded shakily and pulled out his pack of Marlboro Reds, offering one to Gerard. 

Gerard took the cigarette that the stranger had lit for him. He wasn’t a regular smoker so he had no reason to carry around a lighter. The last cigarette he had was months ago overlooking the mountains of Vermont, again on another case, although that one he had solved within three days. He had a feeling this case would take longer than he initially thought. 

“Thanks. Are you from around here, man?” Gerard asked, taking a drag and glancing over at the man. 

He nodded, keeping his eyes down on the pavement. 

“What’s your name?” Gerard continued, attempting to get something out of the man. 

“Why?” he replied. 

“I believe that’s how a conversation works. I can’t properly talk to you if I don’t know your name, hon.” He took another puff of his cigarette and kept his eyes on the man. 

“I’m uh, Pete.” He propped his foot up on the wall behind him, clearly displaying anti-social behaviour. Gerard took a mental note of this. 

“Lovely day, isn’t it? Got any plans for today?” Gerard continued. 

Pete shook his head slowly. “What do you want from me?” he bluntly asked. 

Gerard was surprised at his directness but responded. “Are you, perhaps, familiar with the Belmont Stakes?” 

Pete met Gerard’s eyes for the first time and then ran. His footsteps pounded on the pavement, the blur from his black clothing contrasting with the daylight made it an easy target for Gerard to chase. 

“Get back here!” Gerard shouted, trailing closely behind him, holding the handle of his gun in his holster. This kid sure could run fast, but not as fast as Gerard. His job required him to be physically fit, including being able to sprint. 

Eventually, Gerard caught up to Pete and grabbed his wrists, containing them behind his back as he pressed him onto the wall. “Why did you run? What are you hiding?” he asked between breaths. 

“Get off me! I’ll call the cops!” Pete threatened, struggling under Gerard’s grip. 

“I am the cops , kiddo.” He flashed his police identification and spun Pete around so now his back was against the wall. “You had no reason to run from me. Tell me what you’re hiding.” 

“I’m not hiding anything! Leave me alone!” Pete grunted, squirming away from Gerard as if his gaze was pure fire. 

Gerard realised that he wasn’t going to get any information out of the kid through typical police questioning, so he tried a different approach. “How old are you, Pete?” 

“Seventeen,” he barely mumbled. Gerard knew he was young, but seventeen was a surprise to him. He realised he could not conduct any professional questioning with the boy without the presence of his parent or caregiver, so he toned down his police attitude. 

“I remember being seventeen. Almost out of high school. Everyone expects so much from you at that age, when you’re really just a kid.” Gerard was no longer holding him, but only speaking. “Why aren’t you at school today?” 

Pete didn’t answer him straight away. “I’m sick.” 

“I hope you feel better, Pete.” Gerard nodded solemnly. “All I want to know is why you ran. Not all cops are bad people. I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to hurt you.” 

Pete remained quiet, in a staring competition with the floor. 

“Hey, man, I’m just doing my job. I’m trying to solve a case and your behaviour seemed suspicious.” He dipped his head in an attempt to make eye contact with Pete, wanting to lift his head to meet eyes but knowing he wouldn’t like that. 

“Can I go now?” Pete simply said. 

Gerard pressed his lips together and dug through his pockets for his photographic evidence to refer to, but felt his heart drop when he couldn’t find them. “Uh, yeah. You’re free to go.” 

Pete didn’t hesitate to leave, not even closing off their interaction with a goodbye. He hastily walked off, leaving Gerard alone. 

Gerard felt terror consume his heart and he realised he had someone he needed to call, urgently.

Gerard returned to the payphone and promptly punched in a phone number, swearing to himself. The dialling sound seemed to last forever until it was replaced by a cheery voice. 

“Yello!” 

“Frank, it’s Gerard. Listen, are you home?” 

There was a brief silence. “Yeah, why?” 

“I need to drop by your apartment to grab something.” Gerard was ready to leave before even being given a yes. 

“What?” 

Gerard grew annoyed. “What, what?” 

“What did you leave behind?” Frank clarified. 

“Something I shouldn’t have. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Gerard ended the call and jumped into his car, on his way to Frank’s. How could he be so stupid and forgetful? In this field, any seemingly small mistake like this could end up in severe and irreversible tragedy.

Chapter Text

After struggling to find a parking spot and accidentally stepping into a puddle of rainwater, Gerard finally made his way into the lobby. He was greeted once again with the desolate neon-esque walls and sickening scents as his finger depressed the buzzer. Frank eventually answered in a strangely energetic voice, inviting him up. Soon, he was walking in through the door of his apartment. 

“Hello,” Gerard greeted, not really paying attention to Frank. He walked over to his couch and folded out the bed, grabbing his brown trench coat that he left behind, nestled within the white sheets. 

“You left that behind after our little night together.” Frank smirked, taking a bite from his red apple. 

Gerard’s head snapped up to meet Frank’s gaze. “Don’t call it that. It sounds like you’re implying something else.” He dug through the pockets of the trench coat with slightly trembling fingers. “We only kissed.” 

“I suppose you’re right.” Frank leaned on his elbow, lying on the fold-out bed. 

Gerard felt awkward with Frank’s gaze burning through him, combined with the occasional crunches from biting into the apple. After emptying every pocket of his trench coat, he felt his heart drop. “Did you…go through my pockets?” 

“Again with the suspicion…” Frank shook his head in disappointment. “Can you tell me what you’re looking for?” 

“My photographs. The photographs of the evidence from the crime scene,” Gerard annunciated slowly. 

“Those?” Frank gestured to his coffee table which had the photos to the corner in a neat pile, tucked under the corner of a newspaper. 

Gerard swiped the photos and returned them to his pocket. “Why were you looking at them? Those are for the case. They’re private.” 

“You left them here…” Frank shrugged. “Besides, I didn’t even look at them long. Just to see that they were yours, not mine.” He then smirked and looked Gerard up and down. “I’ve never seen you like this before…so desperate. I like it.” 

“I thought I lost them.” Gerard bit his lip. 

Frank popped open a can of Dr. Pepper and took a sip. Gerard considered all the sugar Frank had been consuming since they first saw each other, from the Jolt Cola to the apple to the soda, and wondered how he wasn’t a diabetic. 

“Without these photos, I couldn’t solve the case,” Gerard continued, realising that he had been awkwardly staring in silence. 

“Oh, right, the case. How’s that going for you, Detective?” 

Gerard felt sick when he remembered the new dead body. “I can’t tell you the details, but it’s coming along.” 

“Is it, really?” Frank pressed, tilting his head and giving him a knowing look. 

“No, not really. I’m confident in my ability to solve the case, though.” Gerard noticed the mousse in Frank’s hair. “Got plans?” 

“I’m seeing a family friend in Long Island.” Frank took another sip from his can of soda. “But for now, can I interest you in something to drink?” 

“No, thank you. I really have so much work to do.” He gathered his trench coat in his arms and headed for the door, haste in his step. 

“Oh, come on. You don’t have to leave,” Frank called out, “You’re nice company.” 

“I…am?” Gerard elongated his phrase, confused that someone would consider him, with his intense schedules and a suffocatingly precise spiderweb of a mind, to be good company. It seemed utterly bizarre to him, almost blasphemous. 

“Yeah. You’re a really sweet guy, once you get over the suspicious accusations. Why else would I let you come over? I obviously like you.” Frank sat on his couch, gazing up at Gerard near the door, a striking adoration in his hazel eyes that Gerard would be lying if he said he didn’t notice. 

Gerard avoided Frank’s eyes briefly and gripped his trench coat a little tighter than normal. “I know you like me. You showed me.” He remembered the feelings of Frank’s lips on his in the kitchen only last night. 

Frank chuckled to himself. “What can I say? I’m a straightforward guy. I don’t like to beat around the bush.” He once again ogled at Gerard, for a little too long for comfort. 

Gerard mentally noted Frank as the flirty type, something that he had never been. He imagined that Frank was the type to have a new partner every week, possibly because of his perceived sociability and effortless technique of flirtation. The idea of romance to Gerard was just a leading step towards marriage, but as that had ended wrongly for him once, he lost faith in the concept of love. For women and men, for which he never consciously considered as an alternative. He had himself and the idea of anyone else trying to claim that title intimidated him, like a hacker in a computer system or an armed intruder in a bank. He knew Frank wanted him, and unlike intricate evidence and the semiotics of reality, he couldn’t wrap his head around that realisation. 

So, to avoid making daunting confrontations with himself, Frank or his subjective reasonings, he changed the subject. “Frank, would you mind telling me why you’ve taken some time off work?” 

“I needed a break. Criminal psychology can be very demanding.” Frank met Gerard’s eyes. “Constantly talking to demented and twisted criminals…learning how they became that way. It’s really tough to sustain without a break. I suppose you must feel the same way…always learning about horrible crimes. And the responsibility of having to unpack them is really big.” 

Gerard smirked, noting Frank’s psychological tendencies. He too knew a thing or two about psychology. “Don’t try empathetic mirroring on me. We’re talking about you, Frank. I already know my job is tough.” 

Frank sighed. “Why don’t you sit down? I can’t talk to you when you’re standing by my door, looking uncomfortable.” He looped his arm under Gerard’s and guided him to the couch. “I’ll get you something. I know you like coffee. Black, no sugar, no cream?” 

“How did you know?” Gerard turned to meet Frank’s eyes. 

“I remember from the convenience store.” Frank disappeared into his kitchen and started to brew some instant coffee. “Make yourself at home, please. And don’t be shy. Think of me as your personal assistant.” Frank laughed to himself. 

Gerard sat on the couch, looking through his evidence and notes. The photographs were grainy and shot in black-and-white, some obtained from security footage. The day that CCTV cameras were crystal clear and in colour would be the day Gerard finally retired because half of his job was deciphering faces from these photographs. He heard Frank whistling in the kitchen, the melody seeping through the sound of the coffee machine. 

Frank soon joined Gerard on the couch, placing a cup on the coffee table. He then looked up at Frank, noting the warmth in his smile and the smitten look in his eyes. Gerard glanced away, suddenly shy under Frank’s gaze. 

“You work too hard, Gerard. You need some time off…like me.” Frank drew the cup of coffee to Gerard’s hands, holding his hands over his knuckles affectionately. 

Gerard took a sip. “I don’t have time for a break.” He held the coffee in both hands, salvaging the warmth. 

“Make the time.” 

When Gerard returned his cup to the table, Frank took his hands. Gerard gazed at him thoughtfully and leaned in closer until their lips met. Gerard wasn’t intimidated by the kiss this time but rather had a hand in initiating it, which was very unlike him. Frank moved closer to Gerard, placing one hand on his back and one on his chest. 

“Change of mind?” Frank asked in a breathy voice as his lips met Gerard’s again. His kiss somewhat resembled biting, but after being single for so long, Gerard didn’t quite mind that. 

“Yeah,” Gerard mumbled, not really hearing Frank over the volume of his passion. The feeling of lips on his felt foreign. Gerard used his mouth for talking and eating, not kissing, but he couldn’t find the energy or motivation to push him away. 

Affection consumed Frank and he soon found himself on Gerard’s lap, lips intertwined with his and fingers in his hair. Something switched inside Frank, whether it be the turned-up collar of Gerard’s leather jacket making him look like James Dean — a long-time crush of Frank’s, or the way his lips latched onto the coffee cup. Frank felt a deep desire and thirst that he wanted to share with Gerard. 

Gerard hadn’t become aware of Frank’s excitement yet, so he decided to emphasise it, with a slight rocking of his hips. A snicker of amusement escaped Frank’s throat at the pure adrenaline that coursed through his veins. 

Gerard hesitantly placed his hands on Frank’s hips, feeling thoughts hammering into his mind, like a jackhammer in concrete. He wasn’t sure that this was a good idea, but he was too sexually naive to understand Frank’s intentions. 

Frank took Gerard’s gesture as permission to continue showing his yearning for Gerard, moving his hips over Gerard’s lap. 

Gerard felt threatened by how quickly things were progressing. He had only known Frank for three days, and only yesterday they had shared their first kiss. He wasn’t even sure if he was comfortable with what was going on to be able to enjoy it. Oh God, if he and Frank had sex, then Frank would have to see him without clothes on. Ew . 

Gerard lifted his hands from Frank’s hips and placed them on his chest, slightly pushing him away. But he noticed a stronger bite in Frank’s kiss — almost a flinch. “What?” 

“Nothin’, baby.” Frank’s lips returned to Gerard’s. 

Gerard’s hand returned to the same spot on his chest, only for Frank to flinch again. “Why are you flinching?” he asked, more seriously this time. 

“I’m not.” Frank continued to make out with him, reasoning heavily clouded with lust. 

Gerard pulled away from Frank and lifted him off him by placing both hands on his shoulders, creating an acute angle between them. “Stop acting like a horny teenager and answer me. Are you hurt on your chest?” 

“Yeah, but that’s not important.” Frank retrieved himself from Gerard’s hold, finding the position humiliating. He readjusted his shirt and crossed his legs, avoiding the detective’s gaze. 

“Can you show me?” Gerard continued, his finger toying with the hem of Frank’s t-shirt. “I just want to see if you’re okay.” 

Frank eventually nodded and lifted off his shirt, revealing a deep gash on his chest from his collarbone to his sternum. Gerard’s face remained emotionless as he inspected it without touching it. Frank spoke quietly, “A patient had snuck a knife into our session.” 

“How long ago?” Gerard asked, eyes calculating and cold. 

“Two weeks ago. I’m actually on recovery leave, not just a normal break.” Frank fidgetted with the shirt in his hands. 

“Are you okay, though? Is it painful?” Gerard attempted to sympathise in a monotone voice. 

The other man nodded. “Thank you for caring. I just can’t do any streneous activity for a couple of weeks.” He looked up at Gerard and smirked. “You have a cold way of expressing affection.” 

Gerard pressed his lips into a thin line, mentally agreeing. He’d just been like that his whole life, even before he became a detective. He was just lucky that he wasn’t a teacher or a social worker because that would’ve been awkward. “It’s better than nothing, though.” He paused. “A knife, you say?” 

Frank nodded. “One of those pocket knives. That fucker managed to sneak it past security.” 

“And he must have had an unsteady hand too, right?” 

“An unsteady hand? I suppose so. Maybe he was nervous.” Frank shrugged. 

Gerard gently grazed his fingers over Frank’s chest, further inspecting his injury, intricately to not hurt Frank. “Either that, or his knife was very blunt. Like a butter knife.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “Where was your patient in position to you?” 

“He was in front of me. We were sitting on chairs, ready to start the session.” 

“But your wound is angled upwards. Either this guy swung his knife upwards at you or he was beneath you.” Gerard bit his lip and continued staring at it. “May I take a photo?” 

Frank’s eyebrows knitted together. “This is irrelevant to you, so no.” Frank pulled his shirt back on and rose from the couch. “Thank you for coming.” 

“You’re…kicking me out?” Gerard suddenly felt guilty yet confused at Frank’s blunt approach to social cues. 

“Not on purpose. I need to head off now.” Frank stood before the mirror near the door to put on a brown corduroy jacket and fix any stray strands of hair from their makeout session. “Nice seeing you again, Gerard. You’re always welcome back to chat…or continue where we left off.” Frank smirked at the memory. 

Their hands met in a firm handshake before parting ways. Gerard had work to do.

Chapter Text

Thursday, June 11th, 1987. Ten-forty-five am. New York City Mortuary. 462 1st Avenue, Manhattan, New York . 

Standing in the morgue wearing a white lab coat was a medical examiner, preparing to conduct an autopsy on the recently deceased. In the room with him, was Detective Way, quietly observing the tragedies inflicted upon the victim’s body. Despite encountering occurrences like these for the last twenty years, Gerard still felt nauseous at the sight of a dead body. Even though the morticians glammed them up to look alive, the truth still shined through. It was uncanny — looking alive but being dead. 

Gerard wrote some observations down in his notebook, noting the visible bruises on the victim’s neck from alleged strangling. Way was sure the cause of death was asphyxiation, but an autopsy would be completed to confirm this. 

The medical examiners conducted the autopsy after Gerard left, much to his preference. He couldn’t stand seeing the dislocated limbs and deep grazes from the struggle to retrieve his body from under the house, so he knew he couldn’t stand to see the body dissected further. Autopsies were too Frankenstein-esque for him to handle, which was why he remained a private investigator. 

Getting into his car, Gerard shivered at the thought of being trapped under a house. He’d never label himself as ‘claustrophobic’ but he resembled the phobia much, even finding himself uncomfortable in elevators and bathroom stalls. 

Gerard drove to his next destination, which was 334 E 73rd St, Manhattan . It was an apartment complex where Jackson Connolly’s parents resided. 

After a twenty-minute long drive, Gerard arrived at the apartment complex. It was a five-storey red-brick building with a fire escape near the face windows. Gerard compared this apartment to his Belleville, New Jersey home and attempted to draw similarities—this helped him connect to his interviewees, especially because empathy didn’t come naturally to him. 

Upon arrival at the family’s apartment, Gerard felt sadness lingering in the air like fog. He introduced himself, presented his police ID, and obtained the consent of both parents for an interview. Now, they were situated on the couch. 

“Jackie was a really nice boy. He always did well in school and helped others in need…” Jackson’s mother, Rose, sat beside her husband, speaking softly. “And he loved to play the piano. He’d always play my favourite song…” She smiled fondly. “Are you familiar with ‘Happy Together’ by The Turtles? Lovely song.” 

Gerard nodded and wrote down some notes. “Indeed a great song.” 

“Jackson was fond of music. He loved going to concerts with his best friend. All genres, all artists. His last concert was Eric Clapton at Madison Square Garden in April,” the father, Bill, contributed. 

“Can I have the name of his best friend, please?” Gerard didn’t look up from his notebook. 

“Olivia Walters,” Rose answered, “She was a lovely girl and he loved her like no other.” 

Gerard felt the cogs moving in his brain as he noted this, handwriting now in capitals. “She was his best friend?” 

“That’s what he told us. They spent so much time together at concerts, fairs, shopping malls…Rose and I had suspicions that they were lovers, but he never confirmed anything. If not lovers, then very close friends.” Bill nodded, lips pressed together. 

Rose nodded along with him. “Jackie was an empath—cared about others more than himself. He was a volunteer at the New York Public Library and even went to watch silly football games with his sporty friends. He had no interest in that rubbish.” 

“Football is the best thing that ever happened to America! The Jets and the Giants are legendary!” Bill asserted, and Gerard felt his mind begin to numb at the mention of sports. He’d never really been a fan of sports. 

“Oh, don’t be silly! Jack could never enjoy watching grown men run into each other while chasing a silly ball.” Rose shook her head. “Jack was far more sophisticated. He saw life as a valuable possession that meant to be cherished. He valued good looks and intellect. You know, Olivia was studying to be a lawyer!” 

Gerard froze. “A-A lawyer?” 

Rose continued, “Yes, but she was a personal assistant at a law firm in Manhattan. I can’t remember which one…but yes, a very ambitious girl, also very pretty.” 

Bill took a sip from his cup of water. “They met while on a road trip to Connecticut organised by a mutual friend.” 

“Two souls made for each other on the open road. Just like a love story! Jackie was only twenty-five at the time.” Rose smiled, dimples showing despite her aged face. 

“And what did Jackson do for a living?” Gerard asked. 

“Like the young ones these days, self-employment. He was a piano tutor but could never get enough clients. What is it called, free-working?” Rose asked. 

“Freelancing, I believe,” Gerard clarified. He was familiar with the term as he wanted to be a comic book artist years ago, but it never took off. 

“Yes, freelancing. I always told him to get a real job — stable with guaranteed money. So he did, at a Charivari. The one thing he loved more than music was fashion. His style was…pretty much like yours, Detective.” Bill gestured to Gerard’s black button-up shirt, black jeans, red tie and red corduroy jacket, buttoned up. “Formal but with a touch of colour. Like a…charismatic college professor.” 

“Interesting way to label it, but thank you.” Gerard felt this information may have been irrelevant, but he noted it anyway. “Do you folks mind if I use your phone?” 

“Not at all, honey. There’s one in the kitchen,” Rose responded with a smile, which Gerard took as an opportunity to find the phone. 

Gerard was grateful to use the landline, especially since payphones weren’t within his budget. He stuck his finger in the circular dial of the rotary phone and dialled a number. 

No answer, so Frank must still be in Long Island. 

Gerard felt frustrated with his contradicting information and decided the best way to decipher the truth was to learn more. He found a Yellow Pages on the kitchen tabletop which he flicked through to find the New York Public Library. He jotted down the address, 476 5th Ave, New York , nibbling on the inside of his cheek. 

The detective then returned to the couple and they exchanged their goodbyes. Soon, he left their apartment and stepped into his Beetle. He drove, gnawing at the inside of his mouth to suppress his nerves. Ray was right, maybe his job was too stressful. The library was only an eleven-minute drive, which Gerard had fixated on tracking for some reason. 

It didn’t take Gerard long to find a parking spot, surprisingly. But before leaving his car, he caught a glimpse of himself in his rearview mirror. He stared with an intense gaze at where his lips met, dampened with red. Quickly, brushed his hand over his lips to see blood; not a lot, but enough to raise alarm. The metallic taste of blood made him feel sick as he reached into the glove box for a tissue, wiping his lips. 

The detective ran his tongue over his teeth and the metallic taste grew stronger, almost sickening. He swallowed bitterly and made his way to the library. Gerard didn’t focus on his interview plan for the library staff as his first stop was the bathroom, which was unlike him as he was a strategian. He washed his mouth out under the faucet and observed his reflection. Could he really have been biting his cheek that hard? 

In the mirror’s reflection, he saw a familiar figure enter the bathroom. Instead of walking to a stall or the urinal like usual bathroom-goers did, he stood awkwardly against the tiled walls, eyes fixated on the ground. Gerard didn’t need to see his face to know who he was because his nervous demeanour was a giveaway. 

“Pete?” Gerard asked, turning to meet eyes with the man. He wiped his lips again, not from discomfort but out of apprehension. 

Pete met Gerard’s eyes long enough for him to know that he was crying. He didn’t say anything, which was typical of him, but that didn’t stop Gerard from asking further questions. 

“Are you alright?” Gerard asked, approaching Pete slowly as if trying not to startle him. 

Pete nodded and wiped his eyes with agility. “Yeah, are you?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Gerard’s nose crinkled in confusion, wondering if Pete had noticed the slight crimson tinge of his lips. “Did you come in here to use the bathroom, or…?” 

“Did you come here to talk to the librarian?” Pete reversed a question back to Gerard. 

“Yeah. How did you know?” Gerard felt suspicious. 

Pete tilted his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. He looked more jittery than he did yesterday. “I just assumed since Jackson died, you’d probably be investigating.” 

“You knew Jackson?” Gerard fumbled with his notepad and pen. 

Pete nibbled on his lip and blinked a few times. “Kinda. I hated him.” 

“Why?” Gerard continued, now much more interested than he previously was. 

The man underwent a strange full-body shiver. “I’ve got to go. Sorry to bother you again.” He hastily went to leave the bathroom but Gerard held him back by the hoodie of his jumper. 

“You can’t run off when things get hard.” Gerard spoke calmly, although he was internally freaking out. “Why did you hate Jackson Connolly?” 

“His priorities were all over the place. He meets someone new and throws aside everyone else to be around them.” Pete struggled in Gerard’s hold, obviously freaking out and blurting out anything he could. 

“Pete, are you okay?” Gerard now held his wrists in a lame attempt to stop him from trembling. “You’re free to leave if you don’t want to talk to me.” He observed the young man again. “You’re not in trouble, okay? Stop freaking out.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Are you here with anybody, Pete?” Gerard continued, now worried for this guy’s wellbeing. 

Pete shook his head slowly and choked a sob. 

“You don’t look well at all.” Gerard was careful not to touch him as he didn’t want to startle him. “Are you still sick?” 

Pete nodded. 

“I think you need some rest. Would you like me to drive you home?” Gerard was very careful as if talking to a live bomb. He pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to Pete to wipe his eyes. 

Pete took the tissue cautiously and wiped his eyes. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“It’s up to you. It’s no problem at all. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Gerard observed Pete with caring eyes. 

“It’s fine. I should get going,” Pete said before leaving the bathroom before Gerard could protest. 

Gerard swallowed nervously, not going after Pete since he already looked very uneasy. He finally grabbed a hold of himself and managed to stop his own hands from trembling. The blood in his mouth still had him shaken up reasonably. 

After a moment of reassuring himself, he left the bathroom and approached a librarian. He showed his police ID and maintained consent for a short interview. 

“Jackson was by far our nicest and neatest volunteer. He was a big hit, especially with the older people,” spoke a woman in her seventies, “Folks my age are worried that libraries are becoming a thing of the past, but young people like Jackson proved that wrong.” She slid books into the romance section of the shelves, wrinkled hands gripping the binders firmly. 

“Do you recognise this woman?” Gerard asked, showing the librarian a photograph of Olivia Walters, captured at a music event, face glowing with enthusiasm. Jackson’s parents were right, she was very pretty. It made him feel sick to his stomach with regret as if he had killed her. 

“That is Jackson’s girlfriend, Livie. She came here a lot to see Jackson and to study for her law degree.” The woman smiled fondly, presumably picturing the scene she painted — a scene of a time far simpler and with less tragedy. Tragedy was a strange concept; as much as people hated tragedy, it was a normal part of life. Not everything lasted forever, and it certainly shouldn’t be expected to. But without tragedy, life was boring and didn’t progress. Progress also had Gerard’s mind in a chokehold because what even counted as progress? Was all change progress, or did change only inflict negative consistency with irreversible consequences? 

“I know that you are aware of how they both met their fate. So, I must ask, have you noticed any suspicious activity? Strange people talking to them? Secretive conversations? Avoidance of anyone or anything?” Gerard swallowed, again uncomfortable with the taste of his mouth and with the strange tangent his mind had gone on merely seconds ago. 

“If poor Jackie was in danger, he would have talked to me. He and Olivia were happy as sunshine.” The librarian finished returning all the books and returned her hands to the handles of the book trolley. “Are you okay, dear?” 

Gerard finished writing his note and glanced up at her, almost surprised that she was able to sense his unease. “Yes.” 

She wasn’t convinced but didn’t press. “Good luck with your investigation, Detective. I’m afraid we’re closing now. On Thursdays, we close at midday.” 

Gerard nodded and reached for her hand. “Thank you for your information. Have a great day, ma’am.” 

“You too, dear. Take care of yourself.”

As Gerard left the library, he struggled to return his notepad to his pocket, needing to lean against the wall to steady himself. Another night in his car was taking a toll on his wellbeing, he decided. Horrible sleep, and he was hungry, too. Perhaps he could get in contact with Frank again and take advantage of his pad again. 

Gerard bought a salad from a restaurant at the food court of a shopping mall and sat at a table to eat it. The lack of tomatoes and cucumbers confused him, as well as the inclusion of sunflower and pumpkin seeds, avocado, broccoli and cabbage. At least it had lettuce, spinach and cheese, which he didn’t quite mind. 

While eating, Gerard’s mind wandered to Pete and the strange revelation of his distaste towards Jackson Connolly. Gerard knew that Pete was only a teenager who seemed to be skipping school quite frequently, but there was an undeniable feeling that he was involved in this case. Why else would Pete coincidentally be in the same place as Gerard continuously? It was almost as if he was purposely trying to slow down Gerard’s investigative processes. 

Gerard decided that the next time he came in contact with Pete, he would obtain consent from his legal guardian for an interview. The odds were too uncanny for Gerard’s liking and he wished to get to the bottom of it. 

Upon finishing his salad, Gerard felt less weak, and the metallic taste in his mouth was more subtle. He was probably just hungry, he decided.

Chapter Text

Friday, June 12th, 1987. Eight-fifteen am. Someplace peaceful in Manhattan. 

Gerard leaned against the wall of the cafe with the telephone cord intertwined in his fingers. The monotonous buzzing that he wanted to be replaced with Frank’s voice never seemed to end, so he replaced the phone on the hook. Frank should have been back from Long Island by now, so perhaps he just wasn’t home. 

He returned to his seat by the window, glancing outside. It was a cloudy day today, which he quite liked. At times, he found the Sun to be obnoxious and invasive, so he much preferred it when it was shielded by the clouds. He also liked it better when it was cooler since he had wider options for fashion. 

The detective was very meticulous with his work, meaning he immersed himself in strange work rituals that he found quite normal. He would often enter a trance-like state where he would immerse himself in his mind and simply observe. After years of experience in this field, he found that our biggest enemies were often ourselves. As humans, we tend to be negative and pessimistic, and Gerard could relate to this heavily. He was well aware of his often negative self-talk and its impact on his self-image. 

Gerard’s mind used to be at peace — not that he was currently unhappy. He was always the kind of person to be confident in theory and be dependent on premeditation, but that wasn’t always plausible in the ever-changing concept of life. Gerard knew what he wanted and how to get it, but sometimes life threw obstacles at him. These obstacles were sometimes more complex than conceivable, being physical, emotional or intellectual. 

Gerard had been married only once, which was one more time than he expected. He was attached and protective of his wife, mainly because she was the first person besides his family to love him. Love was never real to Gerard until he met his ex-wife, but now that they had broken things off, he vowed to never fall in love again. Their marriage finally crumbled in mid-1975, so Gerard was over it by now. 

As a child, he always felt that he couldn’t get along with others. It wasn’t a personality clash, as far as he thought, but rather a misaligning of priorities. That was why he concluded at the young age of fourteen that the only person he needed was himself. Only he was guaranteed not to let himself down. 

Until now. 

Gerard bit his lip and tapped the tip of his pen onto a used page of his notebook, taking a sip of his black coffee. As the bitter energy kicked in, he imagined it to be a kind of superpower serum that gave him extreme mental clarity and incredible critical thinking skills. Although he felt as if there was a rubber band strangling his brain, restricting the flow of thoughts to connect and create meaning. What was the point if things didn’t have meaning? 

He had organised his evidence into categories determined by relevance, and beneath them, he wrote theories. 

Olivia Walters was a personal assistant at a law firm. Sexual harassment towards women is common between bosses and secretaries. Perhaps Olivia threatened to report something that had the power to defame a major figure in the legal system, so she was killed to silence her point of view. 

Gerard read over his cursive handwriting and shook his head. That theory seemed too generic, and it didn’t leave room for the murder of Jackson. The culprit knew Olivia and Jackson if they were motivated to kill them both simultaneously, and if not, the odds were too uncanny. 

Jackson Connolly was allegedly obsessive over others, and when aligning with patriarchal norms, he may have been possessive over Olivia Walters, his girlfriend. He may have committed a murder-suicide if Olivia went out of line. 

Gerard nibbled on the back of his pen. He thought that Frank’s information about Walters being a prostitute played into this theory extremely well… too well . 

Way compared the information that he had separated by source. He had the information provided by Rose and Bill Connolly, Barbara Donners (the librarian) and Lt Ray Toro on one side, and the evidence from Dr Frank Iero and Peter Wentz on the other side. He had separated the evidence because of the contrast of perceptions — positive and negative. 

As a former lieutenant himself, Gerard understood that people possessed two sides, like Jekyll and Hyde (although, oftentimes not as extreme as Stevenson portrayed in his novella). Considering all evidence without discretion, Olivia Walters was a secretary and to-be lawyer who also did prostitution on the side, and Jackson Connolly was a musically-inclined fashion-guru angel in the eyes of his family and friends, but came off as possessive and obsessive. 

It had been almost a week since the case was opened, which made Gerard sick. Usually, he had cases closed within three or four days, so seven days made him look like a slacker. Either he had lost his touch of expertise or he had gone mad. 

Either seemed plausible, really. 

Eyebrows furrowed, Gerard reached for his cup of coffee but accidentally knocked it over. He swiped his notepad from the surface of the table before the java stained its pages. 

A waitress rushed over to Gerard’s table and pressed a towel onto the spilled liquid. She had lovely curly brown hair and lips that looked like flower petals. Her eyes sparkled like emeralds as she gazed at Gerard with a caring smile. 

He was brought back from his intentional trance upon observing the woman. “Sorry, dear.” Gerard placed the notepad back in his pocket and helped to clean the spill using napkins. The taste of blood re-entered his conscience. 

“It’s alright. No big deal.” She sustained a smile and proceeded to wipe the table. “Would you like a refill?” 

Gerard swallowed densely and wiped his lips. “No, thanks. I don’t trust myself,” he remarked with a chuckle and left his money with the bill. 

When the waitress moved off to refill coffee for another customer, Gerard arose from his seat and adjusted his red tie. He looked down at his hands and wondered how he had so heavily misjudged the placement of the cup on the table. Combined with the metallic taste in his mouth, he couldn’t help but feel that something was terribly wrong. 

As soon as Gerard turned to leave the cafe, he saw a man mugging a woman on the side of the street. It was then that he heard a few concerned screams from the other customers at the cafe as if they had witnessed the same thing he had at the same time. 

Gerard noticed that the man had a gun, so he clutched his own Glock out of instinct. “Relax, everyone, you’re in safe hands.” Gerard presented his police ID to the people in the cafe, keeping his eyes on the crime unfolding before his eyes. “Who is the manager here?” 

The woman who cleaned Gerard’s spilled coffee stepped forward, hesitantly raising her hand. She looked far less relaxed than she did merely moments ago. 

Gerard looked at her name tag and then back at her face. “Jennifer, I need you to take charge while I handle this.” He spoke with his hands, gesturing around at the cafe. 

He continued to observe the growing aggression of the man outside the cafe and swallowed. “As a safety precaution, I’m directing you all to hide out of sight of the windows, preferably under the tables.” Gerard pulled his gun from his holster and leaned up against the wall near the entrance, observing the crime. 

After directing the movements of everyone in the cafe, he slowly left the cafe and approached the mugger from behind. Gerard grabbed the guy from the back of his denim jacket and pushed him onto the wall, pressing his knee into his lower back and holding the gun to the back of his head. “Lieutenant Gerard Way. You are under arrest for assault with the intent to rob. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” 

The guy struggled in Gerard’s grip and seemed to be clutching something tightly in both hands. Gerard noticed this and spun the guy around so his back was now on the wall. He held the gun in front of him and demanded, “Empty your hands.” 

Gerard recognised the guy he was arresting as Peter Wentz. “Pete, what are you doing, buddy?” Way felt confused and flabbergasted by the sheer coincidence of running into the same strange teenager three times in the last three days. 

Pete pressed his lips together, looked at Gerard’s gun and then at the old woman on the floor. He seemed extremely regretful to see Gerard again as if expecting to get away with mugging someone in broad daylight. 

“Empty your hands,” Gerard repeated, not weakening the arm that trained the gun on Pete. 

Pete’s trembling hands released and slipped a small cardboard box through his fingers. It split open when making contact with the concrete, and yellowish-white powder spilled out. Gerard crouched down and observed it closer up, sticking his pinky finger in it. “What is this, Pete?” 

“I don’t know,” he responded immediately. 

“Yes, you do. What is it?” Gerard looked up at him, a stern look in his eyes. 

“Cocaine.” 

“No, it’s not. What is it?” Gerard pressed, now glaring at Pete. He knew it wasn’t cocaine because the drug was usually pure white and powdery as it was often mixed with baking soda. The only possibility was that it was pure cocaine, which was usually yellow or brown, but cocaine in its purest form was too rare and expensive to just be around — especially in the possession of an elderly woman. 

Upon receiving no response from Pete, Gerard trained his attention to the woman. “Miss, what is this?” he asked, now realising that she was sustaining some significant injuries, including grazes to the face and a swollen ankle. 

Her aged hands trembled as she wiped her tears. “Bromadiolone — it’s rat poison,” she answered in a shaky voice, trying to move position on the ground but wincing in pain. “I’m a sister at the Trinity Church and we have a rat infestation. I was sent to Warshaw Hardware on 3rd Avenue to get some rat poison. On my way back, this young man threatened me and wanted to steal it away from me!” She seemed astounded as she spoke.  

Gerard sat on one knee in front of the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder, observing her pained state. It was then that Pete made a run for it, making the woman gasp from his sudden outburst. 

The detective then realised that it wasn’t a good idea to arrest somebody as a solo member of the force due to the power in numbers. If Gerard had a partner, they could stay with the nun and Gerard could go after Pete, but at that moment, Gerard cared more about to woman’s wellbeing than catching Pete. He would have to handle Pete later. 

Gerard eventually called an ambulance for the woman, using the phone at the cafe. Waiting for them to arrive, Gerard heard some peculiar details about the crime. 

“I don’t believe he intended to hurt me. He only wanted the poison, for some reason. If he wanted it that bad, he should’ve bought it himself.” She shook her head in disappointment but immediately winced in pain. “Oh, dear, my head hurts.” 

Gerard got closer and supported her head with his hands. “You’re going to be alright, hon. I can hear the ambulance.” 

And he was right. The ambulance pulled up beside them and the paramedics met them. 

Gerard stood up and dusted himself off when the paramedics attended to the woman. “She may be suffering injuries to her head and ankle,” he informed them before glancing back at the cafe which still had the shades drawn shut. 

He returned to the cafe and slowly opened the door, not to startle them. “Everything is clear. You can all return to normal,” he announced, much to the relief of everyone. The detective watched as the staff and customers arose from under the tables and proceeded with their duties. He was on his way to leave when Jennifer tapped him on the shoulder. 

He turned to meet her eyes. “Everything okay?” 

Jennifer was quite short so she tilted her head up to meet Gerard’s eyes. “Thank you for your help. There’s someone on the line for you.” 

“Oh, thank you.” He approached the telephone mounted to the wall and picked up the receiver that was off the hook. “Hello?” he greeted confusedly. 

“Yello! This is Frank, you called earlier?” 

“Oh, hi Frank,” Gerard said with a smile, again twirling the phone cord in his hand. “It’s Gerard. You’re back from Long Island?” 

“Yeah, it was awesome. Everything okay?” 

Gerard leaned against the wall and tasted the inside of his mouth. The taste of blood seemed to be getting stronger, and he wasn’t sure why. “I’m just working on the case. Almost got killed, though.” 

Frank’s tone changed from cheery to concerned. “What happened?”

Gerard explained what had happened with the mugger and the nun. He felt nervous while speaking, especially since he hadn’t conducted an arrest since his days as a lieutenant. Investigations were his stronger point because arrests were more dangerous. Only adrenaline-junkie cops enjoyed arrests, and Gerard didn’t fit in that category. Gerard was the type of man to be happy with a good psychological thriller novel and a cup of coffee in a cabin in the middle of a forest. 

As Gerard explained, Frank had cut him short. “Right, Gerard. Listen, I’ve got to go. We’ll catch up soon, okay?” Frank had killed the call, leaving Gerard with a deadline. 

That was the side of love he was used to. 

As much as Gerard wanted to let himself sulk over Frank having to leave the call so promptly, he had something far more important on his mind. Who was Pete Wentz and why was he stalking Gerard? 

The detective trapped the receiver between his head and shoulder, punching in a number. Moments later, Ray answered the phone. 

“Lieutenant Ray Toro speaking.” 

Gerard usually made fun of how work-oriented Ray was, and the complete lack of emotion or happiness in his greeting to phone calls, but today he didn’t. “It’s Gerard. Listen, I need your help.” 

“Sure, Gee, what’s up?” Ray responded, now more enthusiastic than he was ten seconds ago. 

Gerard looked down at his notepad, specifically at the notes taken on the newest suspect in this case. “Who is Pete Wentz?” 

Ray’s end had a rustling sound, presumably from him looking through his files. “Wentz?” he mumbled. 

Gerard hummed in the affirmative. 

“Peter Wentz. Born June 5th, 1969; seventeen years old. Charged with aggravated assault, break and enter, and possession of a deadly weapon. Sentenced to the New York Juvenile Correction Centre twice in 1984 and 1986.” Ray paused. “Family life?” 

Gerard hummed again, the cogs of his mind moving. 

“His mother has attended Twelve Step Programs in the past for a heroin addiction and his father is unidentified. Currently, he resides with his mother. Uh…school performance is below satisfactory.” 

“Thanks, Ray,” Gerard mumbled, finding that this was enough information. “Better add assault with intent to rob with that list. I caught him mugging an old woman but couldn’t arrest him. That’s one of the downsides when working solo.” 

“Gotcha. I’ll look into it. Thanks.” 

The call ended and Gerard left the cafe in silence, now having something to ponder.

Chapter Text

Saturday, June 13th, 1987. Ten fifty-eight pm. Manhattan Bridge, New York. 

Gerard had never had a stalker before. In movies, stalkers were always portrayed as creepy people who always wore hoodies and observed their interests through their windows. But stalkers in real life were different, at least in Gerard’s situation. Stalkers often stalked people, but Pete seemed to be luring Gerard in. 

Nothing seemingly noteworthy had happened in the mere thirty-eight hours since Gerard had last seen Pete. Pete had escaped from his arrest, the nun was sent to the hospital for medical treatment, and Gerard was losing more blood. 

Gerard was sitting on the edge of Manhattan Bridge only two metres from Pete. The boy wouldn’t let him get any closer without threatening to jump, so Gerard cautiously kept his distance. After learning about Pete’s situation, particularly regarding his home life and criminal record, Gerard knew he had to be careful. 

The flashing lights from the police cars currently blocking the bridge casted brightness on their faces. With each flash of red, Gerard could see the tears staining Pete’s cheeks and the tinge of fatigue in his eyes. The textbook definition of depression was all he saw. 

The cops had advised Gerard to stay away, but Gerard still had his suspicions about Pete. This kid was his only current lead, and without him, he’d lose his case. He observed Pete, noting the way his eyes glued to the water below. The detective wasn’t stupid — he knew what his intentions were. Pete was sick, but Gerard hadn’t realised just how sick he was. 

Pete sniffled and wiped his eyes. It was the only noticeable movement he had made within the last twenty minutes that he and Gerard spent in silence. 

“Lovely night,” Gerard began, not knowing what else to say. He fell more on the apathetic side of the empathy spectrum, especially for people. People were complex and had networks of emotions and thoughts far beyond understanding. People also changed, sometimes drastically. And other times, they remained eerily stagnant. Both evolutions were a mystery to Gerard — a mystery he could never solve. 

Pete nodded slowly and brought his eyes up to gaze at the dusky horizon of Manhattan briefly. Unlike the view from Frank’s apartment window, they saw the other side of Manhattan. 

“How are things at home, Pete?” Gerard asked gently, trying to figure out why Pete wanted to end things. He knew it was none of his business, but something told him that Pete was more relevant to the Walters/Connolly case than he knew. 

“I didn’t intend for all of this commotion,” Pete said instead, looking around at the cop cars blocking the bridge. He heard beeps from angry drivers wanting to get through, and he trembled. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Gerard reassured. 

“Why do you care about me so much?” 

“I just want to make sure you’re safe. Are you ready to step away from the ledge, Pete?” Gerard finally asked, feeling anxious at how close Pete was to the edge. 

“And then, what?” Pete touched one of the supporting beams and scooted forward. 

Gerard internally freaked out, trying very hard not to show his apprehension to Pete. He slowly stretched out his hand. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

Pete looked at Gerard’s hand and bit his lip. “Yes.” 

Gerard was surprised at this revelation. “Take my hand. You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He reached his hand further, now closer to Pete. 

As Pete was about to reach for Gerard’s hand, he saw someone in the crowd. He stumbled over his words and snatched his hand back, turning away from the detective. 

“What is it? What’s wrong, Pete?” Gerard asked, confused by the boy’s sudden agitated behaviour. 

“I messed up. I messed up real bad, Gerard.” Pete sobbed and stepped closer to the edge. 

Gerard grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled him back. “Don’t, please. Just talk to me.” Panic flashed in his eyes. “You don’t need to do this. I just want to understand what you’re feeling so I can help you.” 

Pete looked again at the people behind a barricade set up by police, feeling uncomfortable with the eyes on them. Gerard tightened his grip on Pete’s arm and slowly got closer, supporting himself with another support beam of the bridge. 

“Step away from the edge, Pete,” Gerard directed, voice now more stern. He wanted to turn around to see who Pete was looking at, but he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off the fragile boy. “You’re only seventeen, Pete. If this is about the crime you committed, your record will be wiped clean when you turn eighteen. I know you have a lot of negative things to your name, but you can always turn your life around. Do you understand?” 

“It’s not about that,” Pete responded quietly. “This is my only option. I’m going to die, anyway.” Tears gathered in his eyes and Gerard realised that nothing he could say would change his mind. 

“Why? Are you in danger, Pete?” Gerard asked, although it was a silly question because one wrong step and Pete was experiencing irreversible consequences. 

“You can’t change anything, Gerard. I just wish you luck…with your endeavours. You’re a good detective. I know you will figure out who killed Jackson and Olivia.” Pete shied away from Gerard. 

“How do you know about Olivia?” Gerard felt his mind become fuzzy. “You know who killed them? Was it the same person?” 

“Yes,” Pete murmured, misstepping on the ledge, and stumbling. But Gerard steadied him again, saving him from falling to his death. 

“Peter, you’re not in trouble. If you have something to do with this and you’re guilty, this is not the way to go. Your consequences will not be as harsh because you’re a minor. And if this has something to do with your mother’s addiction or anything, there are options for you.” Gerard didn’t break eye contact with Pete, presenting an understanding gaze in an attempt to calm Pete down. “You believe me, don’t you?” 

Pete nodded and looked at the barricade again. 

“What are you looking at?” Gerard quickly turned his head but just saw people. “Focus on me, okay?” 

“B-But—” 

“No, focus on me. It’s okay to be scared. It’s also okay to feel the way you’re feeling. But what’s not okay is how you want to resolve things.” Gerard swallowed nervously, tasting blood again. He considered stepping away and letting someone else deal with Pete because he was feeling sick again. 

“You’re right, I am guilty. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry !” Pete’s words had a bite to them that Gerard had never heard before. He sniffled and wiped his nose hastily, sustaining a nosebleed. 

Gerard tightened his grip on Pete’s arm. He had spent enough time around suicidal people to know that Pete’s behaviour indicated a stronger likelihood of risk-taking, and in their current position, that could never end well. “Why are you sorry, Pete?” Gerard asked calmly, noticing his bleeding. 

“I know I’m young and people won’t take me seriously. You actually seemed to care about me. A-And y’know how…some people—” Pete hastily wiped his tears, embarrassed to be crying. “Some people get mixed up in the wrong crowd. And that wrong crowd influences them to become a bad person…Am I making any sense?” 

Gerard took care not to interrupt him, instead, he listened quietly, nodding with understanding eyes. It was the first time he had heard Pete speak this much. 

“And sometimes those wrong crowds impact other people…good people…good people, like you.” Pete looked at Gerard’s mouth and choked a sob. “Do you understand?” 

Gerard wiped his mouth with his forearm, seeing blood. “Who are these wrong crowds?” 

“I can’t say much else…” Pete trembled in Gerard’s grip. “You’re bleeding.” 

“So are you.” 

“I know. I have a Vitamin K deficiency.” Pete trembled and wiped his nose again. 

“Here,” Gerard announced, pulling out a tissue from his pocket for Pete, but the boy stopped him. 

“No need,” Pete murmured, stumbling. Gerard wondered if he was drunk. The kid stared at Gerard with intense eyes, as if he was trying to communicate with him telepathically. “You shouldn’t be wasting your time on me — you should be solving the case. I’m just a distraction.” 

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s silly. I care about you, and I don’t want you to kill yourself over something like this. You’re only s-seventeen.” He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“Just find out who killed Olivia and Jackson…” Pete looked at the water below, “And me.” 

With Gerard’s arm still looped over his, Pete jumped from the ledge, so he too was brought to the edge. Gerard screamed and scrambled for something to stop him from falling. 

Frank grabbed Gerard’s arm and held him from falling to his death. 

As Gerard was brought back to safety, he looked over the bridge to see that Pete was gone. He felt his stomach churn and acid burn in his throat. 

Frank knelt next to Gerard and placed an arm around his shoulder. “You did everything you could,” he simply said. 

Gerard swallowed the rising bile in his throat and looked at Frank with tears in his eyes. “He was only a kid.”

Frank wiped Gerard’s tears with his thumb. “Some people are just too far gone. No matter how old they are.” 

Gerard clutched a hand to his chest and leant forward. “I could’ve stopped him. I should have.” He groaned and threw his head forward, holding his chest tighter, like he was in pain. 

“You tried, Gerard. Don’t beat yourself up over this.” Frank placed his hand over Gerard’s. “Are you panicking?” 

The words and Frank’s voice seemed foreign to the detective. He wasn’t sure if he was having a panic attack, but he did know that his chest was tightening and his lungs were closing up. He stuttered and glanced at Frank’s face, hoping to find some kind of reassurance. 

“You’re okay, Gerard.” Frank held his hands and kneeled in front of him. “Deep breaths. Follow mine.” Frank breathed in and out, with Gerard imitating him. “You’re alright. It wasn’t your fault.” Frank rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Gerard’s hands and maintained eye contact with him. 

“I was the last person who saw him alive…” Gerard sniffled. “I was the last person who spoke to him.” He realised that he had a nosebleed, and what he was sniffling was blood. He coughed and spluttered, leaving blood on the concrete. 

Frank watched Gerard with wide eyes. “Is that blood? Are you okay?” He drew a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to the detective. “D-Does this happen often?” 

“Yeah,” was all Gerard said, wiping his nose and lips. “S-Sorry, I stained it.” 

“I don’t care.” Frank stood up and offered his hand to Gerard. “I’m not around for a couple of days, and you fall apart. Come with me.” 

Gerard took Frank’s hand and they walked past the police and the people gathering at the barricade. The cops attempted to talk to Gerard, but Frank wouldn’t let them, thinking he was in no condition to answer questions. 

They approached Gerard’s car and Frank got into the driver’s seat. Gerard, moving slowly, unable to focus on anything but Pete, got into the passenger seat. Gerard couldn’t stop his tears from flowing, which he found so embarrassing, especially in front of Frank. 

Frank started the car and shifted to first, pulling out onto the main road and returning to his apartment. “Are you okay?” Frank asked gently, not moving his eyes from the road. 

Gerard nibbled on the inside of his cheek and also stared at the road ahead. “Yeah,” he answered without thinking. He looked over at Frank, noting that he had one tattooed hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. The car was surpassing three thousand revs so he should’ve been shifting. “Frank—”

Frank shifted to fourth from third when he approached thirty mph. “I’m an automatic driver,” he simply excused. 

“Do you want me to drive?” 

“You’re in no shape to drive.” Frank dismissed Gerard with a wave of his hand. “You’re allowed to cry, alright?” He turned to look at Gerard, noting the pained expression on his face from containing his emotions. “If I was in your position, I’d be sobbing.” 

Gerard looked away from Frank as his eyes trailed back to the road ahead of them. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he sat in silence, wanting to draw his knees to his chest and disappear. He knew Frank was only trying to validate his emotions, but he hated to show weakness. A weak authority figure was as good as nothing at all. 

They eventually neared Frank’s apartment, and after a slight hassle of finding a parking spot, they were finally in the lobby. 

The lobby seemed different since Gerard last remembered, but this could have been attributed to the fact that it was much later and everything was darker — or maybe the contrast of the seemingly brighter neon lights gave Gerard that uncanny effect. The brightness burned into his retinas, his eyes already sensitive from the uncomfortable tears glazing them. 

Gerard found his mind detaching from his head and floating away. His gaze flickered and spasmed and he thought for a moment that he was dying. He felt the warm and wet sensation of blood drizzling onto his lips from his nose and his chest tightened. 

Frank’s hand brought Gerard back to reality as he placed it on Gerard’s arm. “Hey, focus. Take it easy,” he told the detective, gazing at him thoughtfully. 

“Sorry,” was all Gerard thought to say, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. 

“Don’t apologise. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Frank held Gerard’s hands. They were much warmer than Gerard’s so he found himself salvaging that warmth. Gerard felt like a corpse, like Jackson Connolly laying on the morgue table, prettied up by the mortician but dead nonetheless. 

Gerard was eventually brought back to reality when Frank placed his hand on his shoulder. “Elevator’s here. Come on.” Frank led Gerard into the elevator. 

The short trip to the top floor felt better than the first time. Gerard hardly felt claustrophobic in the confined space because his mind was too preoccupied with the tragedy. He picked at his fingernails and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. 

“I hate seeing you like this,” Frank said regretfully. “I just want to take the pain away from you.” He pressed his hand to Gerard’s chest as if trying to absorb his pain. Gerard felt a heartache at the kind gesture. 

The elevator trip drew to a close and the two men made their way to Frank’s apartment. Upon entering, Frank gestured to his couch and gazed at Gerard’s with caring eyes. “Sit down, please.” He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving Gerard alone. 

Gerard looked around briefly, biting at his fingernails. He couldn’t bring himself to speak out of fear that he would sob. Despite this, he’d managed to stop the tears from flowing from his eyes. It felt weird — crying — like your insides morphing into jelly or wearing a wet t-shirt. Speaking of a wet t-shirt, Gerard looked down and noticed that his copper brown button-up was stained with blood patches. 

Whistling, Frank returned to the living room with a black t-shirt and a damp towel, as if he had read his mind and analysed his concerns. “How are you feeling?” He sat on the couch in front of Gerard, gazing at him. 

“I’ll live,” Gerard simply said, not sure how much truth that statement held. He didn’t like relying on others though, so he was determined to prove his wellbeing to Frank. 

“You’ll be fine,” Frank reassured. “It may not seem like it now, but you will be eventually.” He looked at Gerard like a nun would gaze at an orphan, heart full of emotion and regret. “Will you let me take care of you?” he asked gently, undoing the buttons of Gerard’s shirt. 

Gerard pushed Frank’s hands away and gathered both sides of his shirt which now exposed a bit of his chest, bringing them together to cover himself. “What are you doing?” he asked with a shaky voice. 

Frank smiled gently. “Let me take care of you. You’re covered in blood.” Frank continued with the buttons, slowly revealing more of Gerard’s chest. 

Gerard sat in silence, shoulders caved in on himself and a slight blush scattered on his cheeks. Not many people had seen him shirtless before, only his ex-wife, his parents when he was a child and the nurse who delivered him. He watched as Frank pulled his shirt off him, suddenly feeling a draft on his bare back. He opened his mouth to protest, but Frank shushed him. 

“You’re tense. Just relax, okay?” Frank cleaned the blood stains from Gerard’s skin with the towel gently. “You trust me, don’t you?” 

Gerard didn’t mind the damp coldness on his chest, but he refused to make eye contact with Frank while he cleaned him off. He didn’t like being smothered like a child, so much so that he felt his brain chemistry being tampered with — although that feeling could probably just be from his noseblood. 

Frank smiled in amusement and placed the towel under Gerard’s nose. He looked at the detective the same way a little girl would look at her Barbie doll, right before she ripped all her hair out. “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out, and Gerard was reminded of what Pete said to him. 

“I’m okay,” he insisted, trying to ignore the sickening correlation his brain made. 

“I don’t think you are,” Frank admitted bluntly. “No one should have to witness something like that.” He wiped a stray tear from Gerard’s cheek with his thumb and cupped his hand on his cheek. “I know what it’s like.” 

“You do?” Gerard asked with a strained voice. 

Frank nodded and brushed some of Gerard’s ink-black hair behind his ear. “In criminal psychology, sometimes my patients cannot handle the guilt of committing crimes. The worst part of all is that they say they are fine.” He pressed his lips together, looking sad. “I have to deal with the fact that sometimes I’m the last person they talk to or see before they split their veins or asphyxiate themselves.” 

Gerard blinked at Frank’s bluntness and looked away, now relating to Frank’s story. He had interacted with many suicidal people before, but most of them were that way due to insanity. Gerard didn’t think Pete was insane; he thought Pete was emotionally raw. Seeing something like this made Gerard question the meaning of his own existence. If everything could end so suddenly with one wrong step, metaphorically or literally, what was the point? Gerard shivered when he remembered that if it wasn’t for Frank grabbing his arm, he too would have followed Pete’s path. 

“It’s quite terrible — suicide — or much rather, death in general. It’s hard on everybody, not just family and friends.” Frank seemed regretful as he spoke. “The human mind is a powerful mechanism. Trust me, I’ve studied it all my life. Sometimes the mind insists on ending things early, even though the human body can withstand seventy or eighty years. It’s strange yet depressing…relatable, even.” 

“Relatable?” Gerard inquired, not liking Frank’s tone. 

“Everyone has considered suicide as a way out. But most people don’t act out on those fantasies.” Frank shrugged, wiping some dried blood from Gerard’s neck. “It’s human nature. I’d know.” 

“Frank?” Gerard asked quietly, feeling a terrible dread creep up on him. He had never considered killing himself, so was something wrong with him? 

“I’m only making a statement, not a personal innuendo.” Frank noticed the alarm in Gerard’s eyes and attempted to comfort him. “I consider myself generally happy. My childhood wasn’t the best, though.” 

As depressed as Gerard felt, he was interested to learn more about Frank. “What happened?” 

“My father was a soldier in the Vietnam War, so he was absent for most of my childhood. My mother struggled to support our family, dealing with discrimination in the workplace and sexual harassment from her colleagues. We were close, though…too close.” Frank swallowed and ran his hand through his hair. “My mum was perverted. I don’t like talking about it.” 

Gerard nodded, listening as best as he could. 

“I haven’t told anyone this, but…” Frank paused for a while, “I’d do anything to go back and do it differently…my childhood, I mean. Sometimes, I just feel like a little kid in a grown-up’s body.” He shook his head. “Anyway…” 

It was then that Gerard felt a strange sense of apprehension overcome him. Frank had saved him from certain death merely half an hour ago. Without this man sitting in front of him, he’d be on his way to the morgue, the final destination, just like Olivia Walters and Jackson Connolly…and now, Peter Wentz. Gerard felt a tinge of possessiveness overcome him, similar to his feelings towards his ex-wife. But this was different. Gerard felt like Frank’s father — the father he never really had. They were only five years apart and Gerard wasn’t attracted to parenthood, but he wanted to protect Frank. 

But he also felt like he liked him; not love. He had been married to Lindsey but only kissed Frank a handful of times. But this feeling was stronger than anything he had ever felt before. 

Frank tapped Gerard’s cheek lightly upon noticing him space out. “You alright, honey?” 

Gerard ripped a piece of skin from his lip with his teeth and stared at Frank. He wanted to hug him, but he didn’t know how to initiate it. As suspicious as Gerard chronically was, he couldn’t help but feel that Frank was one of the better people he’d come across during his years as a detective. He saved his life. 

“Hey, focus,” Frank said again when he received no response. A small, amused smile crawled onto his face as he gazed deeply into Gerard’s eyes. 

Gerard rested his hands on Frank’s arms, which made the other man smile. As if analysing his intentions, Frank pulled Gerard into a hug. It didn’t take long for Way to eventually settle and wrap his arms around Frank also. It wasn’t like Gerard to initiate any kind of physical affection as he often resisted it. 

Frank rubbed Gerard’s back with his hands, causing shivers to travel up his spine. He had forgotten he was shirtless, so he pulled away hesitantly. “Um, maybe I should—” 

“No.” Frank returned his hands to Gerard, placing them on his chest as he smirked. “You look nice like this.” 

The last person who told Gerard this was Lindsey, so Gerard felt strangely nostalgic for that affection in a way that made him almost touch-starved. 

“I missed you,” Frank said, kissing Gerard’s cheek softly. 

Gerard had conflicted feelings. One part of him was curious as to what this could lead to, but the other part of him thought that this kind of affection was inappropriate as a teenage boy had just committed suicide. “Did you know Pete, Frank?” he asked. 

Frank hummed and kissed Gerard’s neck. “Nah,” he breathed. 

Gerard lifted his arm slightly, wanting to tap Frank to tell him to stop kissing him, but he couldn’t. He remembered when he found himself in a similar situation with Frank, only three days ago. It seemed longer, like three months ago. His arm remained awkwardly raised as Frank continued to attack Gerard’s neck and chest with his lips. Gerard spluttered a flustered, “H-Hey—” 

Frank pushed Gerard back onto the couch and straddled him, his lips crashing against his like magnets. Gerard raised both his hands slightly as if to feign innocence as Frank slid his tongue into his mouth. 

Gerard’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he placed both hands on Frank’s shoulders. Despite the sick feeling of stirring guilt and the taste of blood in his mouth, he didn’t push him away. He couldn’t bring himself to resist because he was enjoying it too much. “Frank—” 

“I love you,” Frank confessed, murmuring his words against Gerard’s mouth. “God, I love you so much,” he said again, in case Gerard didn’t hear him the first time. But the truth was, Gerard had heard him, again and again and again as the words were echoing in his mind. The foreign word for that concept that Gerard didn’t believe in was being displayed to him so passionately. 

Gerard dug his fingers into Frank’s back as he made out with him, unable to process the guilt yet pleasure he felt. “Fr—” He felt something. 

Frank pressed his forehead against Gerard and wiped the blood from his lip with his thumb, a snarky smirk on his face. “Feel what you do to me?” 

Gerard blushed deeply and understood how close they were to doing something he hadn’t done since marriage. “Y-Yeah, I can feel that.” He nestled back on the couch, looking at the younger man on top of him. Seeing the lustful look in Frank’s eyes sent alarms in Gerard’s mind. He wouldn’t feel right doing this with Frank right after witnessing something so tragic, and he hadn’t done anything remotely sexual since his marriage. He didn’t want to embarrass himself with his lack of practice. But despite all this, he couldn’t move past the three words Frank had told him. Bewildered, Gerard whispered, “You love me?” He felt his heart breaking, even though that new revelation was supposed to have the opposite effect. 

“Yes. I love you, Gerard.” Frank’s tongue brushed against Gerard’s closed mouth as if asking him to open up again. “You have no idea what you do to me. This,” Frank moved his hips against Gerard, “is just a physical response.” 

Gerard choked on air at the feeling of Frank on his lap, more so concerned with the shiver of pleasure it produced. He threw his head back and a soft moan escaped his lips. The sound was foreign to him, especially since he left no room in his life for…entertainment. He wasn’t even sure if he still experienced sexual attraction, until tonight. 

“I like that sound,” Frank breathed as he continued his movements against Gerard. He smirked, wiping the blood seeping from Gerard’s lips with the shirt he once wore. “You’re mine.” 

And the rest of that night was a blur of passion-overpowered regret.

Chapter Text

Some day in 1987. The day after yesterday, which was, what, a Saturday? So, today must be a Sunday. Yes, Sunday, June 14th, 1987. The location is a diner that’s really crummy and infested with germs. I don’t care as long as I solve this damn case . 

Gerard tapped the tip of his pen on a fresh page on his notepad. “Tell me, George, how do you know Olivia and Jackson?” 

George took a sip of his Coke. “I knew Jackson in high school, although we were merely acquaintances. And Olivia I knew through Jackson.” 

Gerard bit on his lower lip as he stabbed his fork into his scrambled eggs, sitting on his plate beside two strips of bacon. “What did they do for a living?” Although he knew the answer to this question, he wanted to confirm it through a second source. 

“Olivia was a secretary, almost a lawyer. Jackson worked at Charivari.” 

Occupations are confirmed, Gerard noted. “I believe you attended a road trip to Connecticut with them, is that correct? In the Summer of 1980, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you tell me who was involved in that road trip?” asked Gerard, running a hand through his hair. “Full names, please. If you can.” 

“Olivia Walters, Jackson Connolly…” he popped a steak fry into his mouth, “me, obviously, George Matherson.” 

“Another source informed me that a mutual friend organised the trip.” Gerard informed, already feeling a stirring feeling in his stomach, which could’ve been from the taste of blood in the back of his throat. It was probably from a combination of stress and fatigue, Gerard thought. He’d go to a doctor but didn’t have the money for that. “Was that you? Did you organise the trip?” 

“Ah! I remember, now,” George mused, “there were two other people, but they were only acquaintances to me. Elizabeth and…Frank.” 

Gerard smiled in adoration. “Frank, huh?” he hummed, but seriousness overpowered his puppy love. “Frank…?” Gerard clutched a hand to his stomach, feeling his food slowly travel up his esophagus. “Surnames, please.” 

“Elizabeth had a basic surname, like Smith or something. Frank had a really weird surname that no one could pronounce. He was the one who organised the trip.” George stuck a finger in the air, proud of his spontaneous memory. 

“ Eeh-ero ?” Gerard asked, his voice suddenly exhausted. 

George nodded. “Something like that. I just called him Lero. Made him sound like an Italian dude who owns a pizza parlour.” He chuckled, “Oh, dude. I fucking love pizza. My favourite is pepperoni.” He slammed his hands on the table, excited. “I even have a pizza bracelet. Look,” he presented his wrist to Gerard, revealing a range of small pizza slice charms, strung together. “My girlfriend thinks it’s a little feminine, but I don’t care. Pizza fucking rocks—” 

Gerard gazed absentmindedly at George while he ranted about pizza, unable to pay attention to anything but the fact that Frank was personally involved with Olivia and Jackson. He pressed his lips together and nodded while attempting to listen to the man, but his mind was infiltrated with memories from the previous night. Frank probably just went to high school with them. If Frank were involved in this, he wouldn’t have spent so much time with me, and he certainly wouldn't have… Gerard pictured Frank, with his lustful eyes and caring smile, on top of him. Frank loved him, he admitted it. 

A piece of food flew out of George’s mouth as he brought the glass of Coke to his lips again. 

“What was Frank like? Was he generous and supportive?” Gerard asked softly, brown eyes meeting George who had stopped ranting about pizza, thankfully. 

“Frank Lero? No way, man. We didn’t get along at all. He’s eccentric and overbearing, like a mad scientist. Literally, Frank enstein.” George grinned, way too proud of his pun. 

Gerard remembered how Frank had explained to him that Olivia Walters was a prostitute. He remembered the energy in his eyes and the superiority in his tone, like a confident lawyer. Maybe George just saw one side of Frank, or maybe George was just unlikeable. That was definitely possible, given his lack of table manners and inappropriate speaking tones. 

“Why? Do you know him?” George asked as if reading his mind. 

“Um, yeah.” He rubbed his eye with his knuckle, suddenly feeling agitated. “Was Frank close with Jackson or Olivia?” 

“Frank hated Olivia. He was always making up these rumours about her. He didn’t even want her on the road trip, but Jackson loved her. And Frank loved Jackson.” George shrugged. “I’m not one to assume, but Frank totally had the hots for him.” 

Gerard felt strangely jealous, even though the love interest in question was literally dead. “How do you know?” 

“I don’t. He was just always trying to touch him and compliment him and do things for him. I’m no psychologist, but that sounds like a crush.” George ate another chip. 

“Did you know that Frank is a psychologist?” Gerard asked. 

George scoffed. “Really? That dude doesn’t have a crumb of empathy. They must pay well.” 

Gerard kept his eyes on the table that was dented from utensils, tasting blood again. “Thank you for your help, George. It is much a-appreciated.” Gerard attempted to close off the interview professionally, but he could only focus on the stirring feeling in his stomach. He shook George’s hand, gripping it a little too tightly. 

“Are you good, dude?” George asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Gerard felt a strange kind of panic grip his chest at the realisation that George could sense his unease. He felt embarrassed, in a way. “Yeah, I just need to freshen up.” He rose from his squeaky diner chair and approached the bathroom with suspicious haste. 

In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror, cloudy with grime. I just need to freshen up? Am I a fucking woman? He shook his head in embarrassment, pressing a hand to his clammy forehead. But when he looked up at the mirror again, he noticed a trail of blood seeping through his right nostril. Panicking, he reached for a hand towel but ended up punching the wall. 

“Fuck!” he swore under his breath, feeling pain shoot up his wrist. 

He took a second to take a breath and collect himself before slowly reaching for a paper towel and sitting on the closed toilet seat in one of the stalls. Pressing the towel to the bottom of his nose, he flexed his fingers and clenched his fist, noticing a slight bruising from when he punched the wall. Bruising? This quickly? What was he, a fucking apple? 

Gerard tried to ignore the weird joke his brain made. But he was quite grateful that the restroom was empty because he felt a strange fear grip his chest. Grip at his chest. Grip at his chest. 

Gerard caught the stall door with his foot and slammed it, pressing it shut with the sole of his boot. The lock wouldn’t work, he thought. No, no, it wouldn’t work. If anyone tried to come in to hurt him, he would have to keep the door closed with his leg, not some lock. A lock would let him down. Gerard couldn’t let himself down. But what if the intruder is so aggressive that the door snapped his leg? Snapped his leg. Snapped his leg. There was suspicion. So much suspicion. Suspicion everywhere. 

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Gerard leant back and stared at the shut door, blue paint peeling off its surface. His chest tightened as he bit his lip hard, and then swallowed. Blood again. Why so much blood? He hated blood. Blood reminded him of needles . Gerard, he- me, loosened his red tie with haste and doubled over. Pressing his elbows onto his knees, he watched the small puddle of blood form on the floor, dripping from his nose and mouth. Drip. Drip. Drip. His quivering hands rested on his chest, but he felt more blood. 

Mom, I’m sorry I got blood on my shirt. I didn’t mean to. He was punching my mouth. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t fight back. He was too strong. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, mom. Gerard shook his head in confusion and slipped out of his blazer, dropping it onto the floor. Ugh, disgusting public bathroom floor. He may as well burn his jacket now . 

Unsteadily arising from his seat, he rolled up the white sleeves of his dress shirt and splashed cold water onto his face. He observed the rust-coloured water spiral at the drain and then looked up at his reflection again. Polycoria. At least that’s what Gerard noticed. Why have one pupil when you can have two? See twice as much that way! No contacts needed for Halloween! He wiped his face with his forearm and left the bathroom and the diner. 

When Gerard was a few blocks from the diner, he remembered that he left without paying. He wanted to go back, he really did, but he didn’t. Hah, he didn’t! 

He leaned against the glass booth of a payphone and struggled with his change, dialling a number. His lips twisted into a pained grin as he stared wide-eyed at the number pad. He felt utterly delusional and he wasn’t quite sure why. I can tell you why! 

A voice on the other end of the line killed the buzzing sound. “Hello?” 

“Ray, it’s Gerard,” was all Gerard said, unable to continue, hoping Ray would take his pain from him. 

“Gerard! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” Gerard heard some rustling of papers on Ray’s end. 

“That’s kind of hard to do when I don’t have a phone connected in my fucking car,” Gerard grumbled, unfamiliar with his bitter tone. “Sorry,” he added. 

“Jackson’s autopsy results came in…” Ray paused, “his cause of death was asphyxiation, as you guessed. But his injuries…weren’t from being buried under the house.” 

The ringing in Gerard’s ears and his mental fog prevented him from reacting properly to this new revelation, so he supplied a nonchalant hum of approval. 

“Jackson was assaulted.” 

“What?” Gerard barked in surprise. 

“It is unclear whether he was molested before or after death, but the marks on his body suggest that the perpetrator is into knife play and biting. Some DNA was collected from the body, and that is currently being investigated.” 

Gerard threw up in his mouth a little. A killer and a necrophiliac? He wasn’t sure if he could continue with this conversation without actually vomiting. “Ray?” 

“Yeah, Gerard?” 

“Do you know Frank Eehro ?” Gerard mumbled, looking at the photograph of Jackson Connolly and noticing the similarities between him and himself, physically. Frank clearly had a type. 

“Frank Iero ?” Ray asked, sounding very confused. 

“Yeah, him. Do you know him?” Gerard pressed. 

“He was a criminal psychologist, why?” Ray responded slowly, “Are you alright?” 

Gerard’s voice came out low with betrayal. “ Was? ” 

“He doesn’t work for the NYPD anymore. He hasn’t for at least three years.” Ray seemed afraid to provide Gerard with that information. “I didn’t know you knew him.” 

Gerard felt his arteries twisting and knotting, pure betrayal coursing through his veins. He felt as if he would throw up, pass out and die. Frank told him he was taking some time off work, but what kind of job allowed someone to take three years off? Frank clearly wasn’t doing much except visit friends and break Gerard’s heart. And how the hell could he afford to live in Manhattan while unemployed? 

Ray decided to continue with his explanation upon hearing silence from Gerard’s end. “Frank was fired for getting too personal with his patients. Apparently he got too immersed into their criminal minds.” Ray fell silent after speaking, listening to Gerard’s heavy breathing through the phone. “Are you alright, Gerard?” 

“Th-thank you, Ray. Love you.” Gerard yanked the phone onto the hook sloppily. Love you? What the fuck? Ray is married! He cringed to himself at the strange ending of their phone call and dialled another number. 

Gerard punched the glass wall of the phone booth, enraged at the fact that he was met with an empty line. He stared wide-eyed at the glass shattered on the floor and looked around in case anyone saw him. 

Gerard’s trembling hand gripped the receiver, his knuckles turning a sickening white. His eyes dropped to the dial pad, where he saw blood pooling between the numbers. He brushed an index finger over it, coughing and laughing. 

Gerard would find a way into Frank’s apartment, whether he was there or not.

Chapter Text

Intuition was a powerful skill — unable to be mimicked by any top-end computer. It proved that humans were tuned into each other and could foresee big occurences — particularly, tragedies. Gerard had always been intuitively blind to emotions that troubled him when trying to connect with others, but the facts were something he knew in his gut early on. But now, Gerard felt sick — not from the blood in the back of his throat but from the torturous sensation of impending doom. He felt like a rat trapped in a maze with no cheese reward at the end. A puppet to his profession. Nothing but a chronically suspicious and emotionally ill divorcee. 

Nothing good ever came from love. Love only opened up a window for pain and distrust. Gerard knew he was onto something when he swore off love, but sometimes when something so pleasurable was missing from your life, you give in, even for just a moment. Like an addiction — nicotine, alcohol, gambling, hardcore drugs; it was all just like love. The sensations of pure pleasure and the emotional attachment of finally belonging always ended in suffering, just like the low after the high. But there was one thing worse than regular love, and that was the manipulative side of love — the side of love he saw with Lindsey and now Frank. 

The detective entered the lobby of Frank’s apartment complex, blood dripping from his right nostril, but luckily he kept the paper towel from the diner gathering the metallic fluid. Never in his life had he seen this much blood — not at Olivia Walter’s murder scene, on Jackson Connolly at the morgue table, or even on Peter Wentz just before he killed himself. 

Gerard leaned against the tiled wall next to the elevator, contemplating how to get into Frank’s apartment. He knew he wasn’t home because he hadn’t seen his car outside, and he always answered his phone when at home. 

“You okay, honey?” 

Gerard turned his head fast, startled. It was the Maggie, the woman who stalked Frank. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Looking for Frank, darling?” she asked, voice gentle upon noticing Gerard’s agitated behaviour, which was quite unlike him. 

Gerard nodded and looked down at the tissue to see if his bleeding had stopped. No, it hadn’t. If anything, it was getting worse. 

“He’s not home. It’s Sunday night, so he should be on a date or with a friend.” She looked Gerard up and down, either checking him out or questioning his degree of wellbeing, but with that permanent flirty look in her eyes, it was impossible to tell. “Aren’t you seeing him?” 

Gerard had to restrain himself from responding in the affirmation. He wasn’t sure what he and Frank were. Friends , Gerard settled on. “No, we’re friends. I do need to get to his apartment, though. I left something behind.” 

“I can help you with that, lovie,” Maggie smiled, pressing the button for the elevator. 

Before Gerard could question her method of helping, the elevator had arrived and they stepped inside. The trip to Frank’s floor was short yet sluggish, but that could have been attributed to Gerard’s mental fog. 

Maggie brought Gerard out of his haze with a tap on his shoulder. “I have a spare key.” She dangled some keys in front of Gerard before planting them in his palm. 

“How?” Gerard asked, bombarded with suspicion and the need to understand who exactly this woman was. 

“I just really love Frank, you know? He’s so awesome and friendly and cute and —” She smiled to herself and then shook her head, aware of her rambling. “We had a one-night stand once, and right before I left, I got his key and imprinted it into my thigh.” She lifted her dress to reveal a red imprint of a key on her thigh. 

Gerard winced at the sight of the woman’s skin, bruised and lined with red. “That doesn’t look too good.” 

“As soon as I see it fading, I reapply it. I can’t let Frank’s key leave me. It’s a constant reminder of how much he means to me.” She clutched her hands over her heart, completely smitten. “Anyway, you can have this one. I have more at home. I’m a locksmith, so I can always make another.” 

Gerard looked at the key and noted its resemblance to the scar on Maggie’s thigh. He fidgeted with his copy of the key, flicking it around in his hand. “Thank you, Maggie.” 

“You’re welcome, honey. Good luck finding what you lost. And make sure you tend to that nosebleed.” Maggie brushed her knuckles against Gerard’s cheek and left for the elevator. 

When Gerard was alone in the corridor again, he inserted the key into the lock and the door swung open. He let out a breath and walked in, closing the door behind him. 

“Frank?” he called out hesitantly, feeling his throat swell up at the mere mention of his name. He felt heartbroken, even though he wasn’t sure if he was even in love with him, to begin with. Gerard never thought that those unforeseeable obstacles could be the thing he feared most — love. 

Upon receiving no response, he found it appropriate to conduct a short investigation. 

The apartment felt different without Frank’s warm presence. Without him, it was just a painfully average Manhattan apartment, but with Frank, it was a manifestation of all the best components of human nature…and love. One thing Gerard did remember was the scent of lavender; he knew a thing or two about aromatherapy and how lavender was often used to arouse trust subconsciously. He remembered enjoying the scent initially, but now it felt manipulative and fabricated. 

He pulled a tissue from the box on Frank’s coffee table and wiped his lips, the blood immediately soaking through it and staining his fingers. He smiled, for no reason whatsoever. God, I’m losing it . He coughed and shuddered, spraying blood on the floorboards, but he didn’t notice. 

Trudging across the living room, Gerard started investigating. He ran his fingers across the spines of the VHS collection next to the television unit, taking note of all the dark colours. Crime documentaries, a few romantic comedies, but mostly horror movies. He remembered Frank’s psychological takes on the mental states of the antagonists. Interesting. Although many people were into horror movies, that didn’t make them all criminals. Hell, even Gerard enjoyed horror films. 

Gerard moved on to the drawer of the television unit, the one full of newspaper clippings that he had noticed earlier. He chuckled bitterly and flipped through the clippings, with one leg crossed over the other. Every second layer was a blank sheet and the actual newspaper articles had weird spelling errors. The one thing that had caught the detective’s attention was the word ‘minuscule’ which was spelt ‘m-i-n-e-s-k-u-l-e’ . The New York Times had a team of proofreaders to ensure simple spelling mistakes like these weren’t printed. But not these articles, no, they read as if a child had written them. 

As the living room was recently cleaned, there wasn’t much to investigate, so Gerard moved on to the kitchen. He walked in, running his fingertips over the red cabinets and yellow pattern backsplash. Occasionally, he’d open a cabinet and inspect its contents. Chocolate bars, licorice sticks, cookies, Jolly Ranchers — Frank was a raging sugar fanatic, Gerard thought. Nothing caught his eye until he spotted an unlabelled silver tin, which he opened. White powder, possibly flour or baking soda, although it had a yellowy tinge. Gerard dipped his pinky into it and tasted it, gagging at its bitterness. Immediately, he washed out his mouth with water at the sink. Disgusting . He opened a watermelon Jolly Rancher and sucked on it, hoping to eliminate the bitterness of the strange powder and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. 

Moving from the kitchen, Gerard walked down the hall to Frank’s bedroom. Although, he froze in place upon hearing a tapping sound. On edge, he glanced back, expecting to see Frank, but saw nothing but a trail of blood on the hardwood floor. Then, he looked down at his shirt to see the rest of the blood that missed the floor. God, I’m such a mess . 

The detective quietly treaded to Frank’s bedroom which he discovered to be much messier than the living room. It had comics scattered on the floor and movie and sports posters covering the walls. He leaned against a movie poster for Teen Wolf and picked up a photo album, flipping through the pages. Family pictures, holiday pictures… lots of holiday photos… too many holiday photos for a criminal psychologist .

Upper East Manhattan to Brooklyn just to dump a body. 

A strange and desperate squeaking noise escaped Gerard’s throat when he made that mental correlation. He heard a tapping noise and his head snapped up at the open door of the hallway, only to see emptiness. 

Gerard picked up the photo album and staggered across the room, leaning on a different wall. He saw photos from the Connecticut road trip in 1980, with Olivia, Jackson, George and Elizabeth. Frank and Jackson were standing close — too close. Gerard could see the sheer resemblance he shared with Jackson, particularly in that photo — they even had the same hairstyle, longer for a male and gathered in combed-back tufts, except Jackson was ginger. 

The photo album slipped from Gerard’s fingers and landed on Frank’s bed. Through his eyes, it looked as if his hands turned transparent and the photo album simply fell into the grips of gravity. He wiped his nose with his forearm, trying not to focus on the tension in his head. 

He picked up a lined notebook from Frank’s desk and flipped through it, his gaze drawn to a page titled Bromadiolone . Through his slightly unfocused vision, he managed to decipher a few sentences from Frank’s messy handwriting to discover it to be a type of rat poison. Gerard pressed his shoulder onto the wall and clutched the bedhead to support himself. He tasted blood again. 

Powdery texture with a colour varying from white to yellow…

Bitter taste and easily soluble in hot water…

Prevents the production of Vitamin K in the body, resulting in irregular bleeding…

There it was again — that sickening gut feeling of impending doom. Surely, Frank hadn’t poisoned me. Frank loves me . 

When Gerard flipped further into the notebook, he discovered nothing but blank pages, so he chucked it on the ground. Then, with trembling hands, he picked up a second scrapbook, titled ‘Jackson 2’. 

Gerard swallowed, his throat feeling raw and painful, as he read through the scrapbook. The first page talked a lot about the murder case of Dr. Parchin in 1975, and there was a section about Gerard. 

Gerard is going through a messy divorce…his wife sounds like a heartless bitch…

Gerard is touch-starved and yearning for love…I can give him what he wants. 

Tears gathered in Gerard’s eyes — again, the second time within a few days. He didn’t particularly like Frank calling Lindsey a bitch, but then remembered how hard the divorce had hit him in 1975…and how often he badmouthed her to deal with his own complicated emotions. Gerard suddenly wanted to rip his skin off. How could he have let Frank touch him with such malevolent intentions? Sex deprived for thirteen years, and Gerard chose an obsessive and manipulative fake psychologist? 

Frustrated, Gerard continued to read through the scrapbook. It was all sappy romance crap, which was the one thing the detective hated more than love. Gerard looked nice with wet hair today and Gerard and Pete are getting along . 

The detective blinked, reading over that last sentence once more. Frank told him that he didn’t know Peter Wentz, so why did he mention him in this scrapbook? He continued to flip through the pages, reading over countless points about how much Frank loved Gerard’s personality and physical appearance. And with each sentence, Gerard felt his heartstrings being twisted and torn. If Frank loved Gerard, then why was he slowly bleeding out? 

Gerard let out a quivering breath and wiped the blood from his lips and nose, looking at Frank’s bed and realising that he had left a puddle of crimson on the sheets. “Fuck,” he mumbled, eyesight shifting into a blur, creating a spasm-like vision that made the detective nauseous. He dropped the scrapbook next to the notebook and then reached for another book. 

This book was a personal diary. Journals kept by criminals always told the police everything they needed to know, so Gerard didn’t hesitate to read it. As much as the evidence against Frank overwhelmed him, he found himself desperate to find something to prove Frank’s innocence. 

Gerard could only gather a few words from Frank’s messy handwriting, his eyes sometimes making the page invisible. 

Jackson and I touched hands today. They were soft. I wanted to hold him and never let go…

I imagined him touching me and hugging me and kissing me…

I want to shrink him and keep him in a little glass jar in my room so he can be the first and last thing I see each day…

His eyes, oh my, his eyes. Sometimes I just want to take out his eyes and stick them on my ceiling. No, even better, I want to keep them in a glass case, right next to his head. If only his whore of a girlfriend would leave him. Why are all the hot guys straight? 

This was him. Frank was the killer. Gerard let out a sob, although it felt like something invisible had knocked the wind out of him. Olivia, a respected secretary and aspiring lawyer, was a prostitute because Frank thought so. 

Gerard spotted a phone in Frank’s bedroom and fumbled with the receiver, dialling a number that was supposed to be for the NYPD, but his finger kept slipping. The numbers swirled and intertwined and for some reason he couldn’t remember their order up to nine. He placed the phone between his head and shoulder, not sure if he actually called for help. 

The front door of the apartment opened.

Chapter Text

A tremor in Gerard’s chest that resembled his heart caused him to choke. He dropped the phone, so it smacked against the wall and dangled from the coiled cord. The man dropped to his knees and pressed a palm to his chest, feeling intense fluttering. The strength in his knees collapsed so he sat on the floor, slowly scooting away from the open door in case Frank saw him. 

Gerard was sure that it was Frank in the apartment with him; he could tell from the familiar cheerful whistling and the sound of rustling from Hershey’s foil. Cheerful sugar fiend. 

The detective bit his lower lip hard and pressed his back to the wall next to the door, hoping Frank wouldn’t notice the trail of blood on the floor, leading to the bedroom. At that moment, he seriously considered escaping through the window, but that would’ve resulted in him falling to his death. 

Gerard peeked from the doorway to see Frank, standing in the middle of the hallway, back to him. He wore black from head to toe and his brown hair was fluffy. In Frank’s hand was a bracelet made from pizza slice charms, which he spun on his index finger. Continuing to whistle, he slid the bracelet onto his wrist and walked into the bathroom, presumably to clean the blood from his hands. Blood on his hands? 

There was an impudent smile on Gerard’s face, subconsciously checking Frank out as he left. Something in him was thrilled to see him again, as wrong as it was. As soon as Frank was in the bathroom, Gerard’s eye twitched and he wiped the trickling blood from his mouth and nose with a t-shirt from the bedroom floor. The murky red latched onto the fabric immediately. He felt light-headed as he’d never lost this much blood before…oh God, there was blood everywhere. 

Gerard stifled a sob and then clutched his hand to his mouth as Frank’s movements in the other room halted. He was done for. Finished. Over. 

Footsteps, slow and tentative, sounded on the floorboards down the hall. They ceased and Gerard held his breath. Then, there was the faint flicking of a lighter and the sound of Frank taking a deep breath, presumably smoking a cigarette. 

Gerard looked around the room and tried to swallow the blood in his mouth to avoid choking. He spotted an American football next to him, its leathery-brown skin giving Gerard an idea. Picking it up and clutching it to his chest, he listened to Frank in the living room, merely twenty feet from him. 

Frank smoked his cigarette and hummed to himself, flipping through his cassette collection. Bowie, Halen, Metallica…too many options for only one tape deck. Frank leaned against the wall and crossed one leg over the other, thinking. 

Then, Frank saw a faint puddle of red, gathering on the floor in front of his VHS tapes. He crouched in front of it, inspecting it with an eccentric glint in his eyes, memories flooding his gaze. 

You haven’t changed a bit. You’re still as eccentric and overbearing as you were seven years ago. Hey! What are you doing with that knife? Cut that out! Wait, not literally — 

Struggling to contain his giddy excitement, Frank played with the pizza bracelet on his wrist. Such poetic last words, George Matherson . He’d seen a reasonable amount of blood today but didn’t know where this blood came from. 

With a restless bounce in his step, Frank followed the blood trail to his bedroom, only to trip over a football that was thrown into his path and crash down to the floor. 

Gerard jumped upon seeing Frank’s body colliding with the hardwood floor. He pulled out his gun and pointed it to the other man, scrambling to his feet. 

Frank also stood up and gawked at Gerard with his eyes, wide with fright yet calm with reassurance. “Hi, Detective Way,” he greeted calmly, unable to hide the growing smirk on his face. “How did you get in here?” 

Gerard’s voice cracked with fatigue. “I command you to stay where you are. Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?” 

The younger man trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. “Baby, I’m starting to think it’s you who doesn’t know who you’re dealing with.” He smirked again, supplying a look of superiority and condescension. 

“Don’t call me that,” was all Gerard said because he could hardly move past the affectionate term of endearment. “I’m not your baby , I’m a high-rank private investigator.” 

“Is that why you came here alone?” Frank spoke calmly in a way that made it impossible to tell if he knew he was guilty or not. “That wasn’t a smart move, now was it?” 

Gerard gripped the gun harder in both his hands, pressing his back to the wall. “ Don’t patronise me.” His eye twitched as another drop of blood trickled from his nose. “You’re not a criminal psychologist…you’re just a criminal .” 

“That’s quite a fashion statement you’ve got going on.” Frank’s gaze dropped to Gerard’s loosened tie and wrinkled ‘white’ dress shirt, splattered and soaked with crimson. “That couldn’t be your blood, could it?” 

“This? No way.” Gerard didn’t misplace his gaze on Frank once. “This is Jackson Connolly’s blood. He’s been feeling under the weather recently, didn’t you know?” The detective pictured the state of his body after he was retrieved from the dug hole under the abandoned house. 

“Maybe it’s you that’s been feeling unwell, honey.” Frank’s voice was warm and sweet, like melted chocolate. “But I do commend you on your spectacular immune system. Or maybe you’ve just been eating lots of Vitamin K.” 

“You better stay where the fuck you are!” Gerard spat, noticing Frank discreetly creep forward. He looked at the pizza bracelet on the other man’s wrist and drew a quivering breath. “George wasn’t a bad guy.” 

“I know, but he provided you with information. I don’t let that kind of thing slide.” Frank pulled out a knife from his back pocket and flung it at Gerard, striking his arm. 

Gerard seethed and looked down at the bloody slit on his forearm, and then back up at Frank who now also held a gun at him. The tallboy draw hung open, so Gerard could only assume that Frank obtained the weapon in that brief moment of distraction. 

“You can’t fool me, anymore. I know you killed Olivia and Jackson…and George, now. All the evidence points to you.” Gerard’s finger trembled on the trigger as he pressed one hand to the wall to support himself. “You took him home and then went home yourself? Think of me as your personal assistant ? You fucking played me.” 

Frank bit his lip and observed Gerard’s unsteady movements, then smirking and giggling like a teenage girl. “I’m quite the poet, aren’t I?” Frank taunted, slowly stepping out of the bedroom and into the hallway. “How could you be so accusatory of someone who loves you?” 

Gerard identified the horrible squeeze around his heart as the ugly side of love. He knew love led to heartbreak, but he’d never guessed that it would lead him right into the grips of a psychotic serial killer. “You don’t fucking love me,” Gerard sobbed. 

“I believe I do the fucking part quite well, don’t you?” Frank slowly continued to walk backwards, enjoying the power dynamic. “I think you agree, given how lonely and touch-starved you are.” 

“Why don’t you ask Jackson’s dead body?” Gerard’s voice wavered with fear, remembering the shocking autopsy discovery revealed to him by Ray. “You’re disgusting.” 

“I know.” Frank’s eyes grazed Gerard’s body up and down. “Let’s hurry this along. I don’t have all day. I’ll make you another coffee — black, no sugar, no cream?” 

The blatant taunting made Gerard’s insides turn inside out. He had no idea how much Bromdiolone Frank slipped into his coffee four days ago, or even how long the poison took to kill. Eyes narrowing in frustration, Gerard wondered how Frank could’ve benefitted from choosing a poison that took days to show symptoms. 

Frank ogled at Gerard in lust, chewing the inside of his lip. “You look hot covered in blood.” 

Gerard suddenly experienced intense fear at the thought that nothing was stopping Frank from using his body if he were to drop dead. He smacked the gun from Frank’s hand in frustration at his evil manipulation of emotions and for what he did to Jackson. 

Frank flinched and stepped back further, bumping into his dining table. “You won’t really kill me.” He pressed his lips together, expression unreadable. 

He was right. Gerard needed some answers from Frank first. “How did you know Peter Wentz ?” 

Frank’s face lit up. “I thought you’d never ask!” 

“Just answer the…” Gerard clutched a hand to his heart, “motherfucking question.” 

“Pete was a lot like me. Lost, misguided, and a daredevil.” Frank reached for the Hershey’s bar on the table, but the cocking of Gerard’s gun halted him. “Look, the kid couldn’t get a job to support his mum because of his criminal record.” 

“Minors don’t have criminal records,” Gerard said in a slow, weak voice. 

Frank smirked. “Oh, you’re a smart one.” He looked at Gerard’s bloodied lips again as darkness consumed his eyes. “I really do love seeing you like this.” 

“Oh, you fucking—” 

“Hey, I helped the kid out. He needed a job; I gave him one.” 

Gerard remembered Pete’s last words, on the edge of Manhattan Bridge, trembling and bleeding…like Gerard was. Find out who killed Olivia and Jackson…And me.

“Pete was your alibi,” Gerard breathed, utterly shocked. “You hired him to distract me from the fact that you are the culprit. You hired a minor to assist you in criminal activity. And you never went to Long Island…you were stalking my interactions with Pete.” 

“You’re smarter than I thought.” Frank only smiled. “He fucked it up, though. He hinted too much and stalked you too obviously, but he didn’t quite divert your attention from me.” 

“His nosebleed. You poisoned him…like you poisoned me…with bromadiolone.” Gerard felt like his knees were going to buckle and force him to crash to the ground. He had to grip the couch with one hand to stop himself from collapsing. 

Frank stared at Gerard with wide eyes, hazy with desire. “That was your fault for drinking the coffee. I’m surprised you lasted this long.” 

“You fucking poisoned me!” Gerard’s voice broke. He grabbed Frank by the shirt and drew him in with a glare, blood spraying over his face. 

Due to their height difference, Frank looked up at Gerard, enjoying this way more than Gerard intended. He gathered the blood from his face, smirked, and wiped it on Gerard’s cheek. Frank bit his inner cheek as his eyes travelled to Gerard’s bloodied lips. “I still love you, Gerard.” 

Gerard felt something stir deep within him — a manifestation of sexual gratification, not love. He didn’t love Frank, or at least he didn’t want to. Eyes lingering all over Frank’s face, he pondered the concept of morality. This man standing before him, looking as smug and flirty as ever, was responsible for the known deaths of four people, soon to be five. Gerard would never talk to his brother or Ray again. He’d never again experience that feeling of pure pleasure when he came from a long and tiring work trip and was finally able to sleep in his cozy bed at home, in front of an episode of The Twilight Zone and a cup of tea. Frank had a pretty face and a vibrant personality, but he had ruined Gerard — ruined him for any future friends, pleasures, experiences…even possible marriages. Just like a horror movie antagonist would. 

The sick man, torn between justice and pleasure, pulled out his police identification. “You have the r-right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—” 

Panic consumed Frank, his eyes stretched with fear. “You can’t do that!”

“I will not hesitate to shoot you dead,” Gerard reinforced, finger flicking over the trigger as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pants pocket. 

“You can’t do this to me. I fucking love you! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Tears pooled in Frank’s eyes. “I want to love you…just like I loved Jackson.” 

Fear flashed in Gerard’s eyes as he remembered the state of Jackson’s body after Frank was done with him. He still couldn’t fathom the idea of someone loving him after Lindsey, but after reading Frank’s journals, he knew that was exactly what Frank fed off. He wasn’t only a sugar enthusiast, but a misery feaster. 

“I figured that I could have Jackson if something happened to Olivia. I went to watch the Belmont Stakes with Jackson at Tim’s bar and…” he paused, no emotion on his face, “Jackson also invited Olivia without telling me. He was afraid of me. He didn’t want to be alone with me. I’m really not that scary, but if he thought so, I wanted to show him scary .” 

“So you shot Olivia? To prove that you can be scary ?” Gerard felt like he was talking to a child. 

Perhaps he was. 

The raging sugar addiction, the cheerful whistling, the lack of knowledge of social cues, the childhood sexual abuse from his mother. If one cannot understand his consequences, he cannot see himself as evil. Frank even admitted feeling like a child in a grown-up’s body . 

Frank nodded. “But Jackson saw me…and tried to stop me.” He brushed his fingers on the wound on his chest. “It was impressive how you figured out it was a butter knife, Detective.” He smirked. “I admit, it’s terrible how things worked out. Especially for you.” Frank had an insane spark behind his eyes that Gerard hadn’t noticed before.

Gerard clenched his teeth and felt his heart palpitate “You haven’t killed me yet…” 

“ Yet ,” Frank emphasised, eyes momentarily dropping to his gun on the floor. “If the poison won’t work, I’ll finish things myself.” 

Gerard choked on the blood in his mouth and glared at Frank. “You’re still under arrest. Regardless of what you tell me.” He fumbled with his handcuffs, growing frustrated with his lack of focus and incoordination of movements. 

Frank took this as an opportunity to reach for the gun on the floor and shoot Gerard in the leg. Collapsing in a forward motion, Gerard made forceful contact with Frank, shattering the window and sending him flying out. 

Gerard clutched a trembling hand to his wounded leg and coughed on the blood in his throat. He gripped the window frame and pulled himself closer to the edge, staring at the long drop to the ground. He saw Frank and immediately looked away, resonating with the amount of blood he saw. 

There was a brief silence before the door was busted down and cops flooded the apartment. Gerard saw Ray…or a man who looked like Ray. In his delirious state, he couldn’t tell. He rubbed his eyes and wiped his nose, clearly losing too much blood to think properly. 

The cops roamed the apartment in search of evidence and Ray kneeled beside Gerard. The detective whimpered and shuffled backwards, feeling that same strange sense of paranoia as he did in the diner bathroom. 

“It’s me, Ray.” The cop attempted to reason with Gerard’s perceived hysteria, holding him still by his shoulders. “Relax, okay? We’re here to help.” Hysteria. Hysteria. Hysteria. 

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Gerard gripped his hair, staining it with blood from his hands. The metallic smell was too much for him to handle. He jerked forward and threw up straight blood, the acid stinging his throat and nasal cavity. Ray moved back, watching in fear. 

“Gerard, look at me.” Ray wiped Gerard’s nose and mouth with a tissue. “Paramedics are on the way. They’re going to help you.” 

Gerard stared at Ray, although it seemed more like he was looking through him than at him, eyes vacant and stained. He loved coffee to death. To death. To death. “The Walters/Connolly case has been solved.” Blood pooled in his mouth. 

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Hello dear readers, first of all, thank you for supporting this story! I appreciate each and every one of your comments and votes. They truly make my day! :)) 

I have something really cool to share with you guys. 

I'm a published author. And this story is one of them. 

If you're interested in this story, I have them available on Amazon as Kindle, Paperback and Hardcover, under the same name. However, I replaced the character names with original names as Amazon isn't too fond of fanfiction. I think the MCR boys in this fic are a little out of character anyway (like Gerard irl is extremely empathetic but in the story he's stoic), so it worked out well. 

The main changes:

- Gerard Way is now Grayson Beretta
- Frank Iero is now Frank Paolicelli (there were too many Frankenstein puns to change his first name lol)
- Ray Toro is now Jaime Altoro
- Pete Wentz is now Peter Giddeon
- Mikey Way is now Lucas Beretta

If you'd like to purchase Suspicion as a physical copy in Paperback or Hardcover, I've provided links below. My pen name is A. M. Eid

Kindle Edition

Paperback edition: Paperback Edition

Also, I have an author profile on Goodreads, so if you enjoyed reading the story, please leave me a rating :) Name: ameid (Goodreads Title)

As I have an author copy, here's what it will look like for you if you wish to purchase a copy! 

This is a dream come true and I am thrilled to share it with you all. As always, much love to you all, and thank you <3