+Bad Catholics+ Frank Iero

+28+

"Is there a specific house we're going to? I thought you just kind of saw one and you know... went into it."

"There's one I've had my eye on for a few years now, but it used to be swarmed by cops all of the time because of how many people tried to break into it, so I never had the chance to. The hype finally died down a while ago so it seems like the perfect time."

"Why was it broken into so much?" I asked, still briskly following behind him.

"I won't spoil it, but it was considered a crime scene before it was abandoned."

I furrowed my brows and felt a tinge of nervousness come on, wrapping my arms around myself as we walked.

"That's gruesome. Why would everyone want to see a house that used to be a crime scene? Those get cleaned up, you know."

"You'll see," Frank replied with a tone of excitement in his voice, flipping his hood over his head as he peered over his shoulder to look at me. "Stay close, this isn't the friendliest part of town."

An uneasy feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach, but I didn't know why. I knew that Frank was interested in the strange and the macabre, so it didn't surprise me that something like this piqued his interest. The more I thought about it, it wasn't even really the mention of a crime scene that felt unsettling. There was something else, something bigger than that. I just couldn't figure out what it was.

We continued walking for about 15 minutes before we began turning a corner onto another street, and I looked up at the powerlines carelessly strung across one another, down to the pattern of barren trees parallel to the sidewalk. Something about the plain design felt so familiar to me, even though all the neighboring streets looked the same. Frank casually hummed to himself as we walked, occasionally looking over his shoulder at me to make sure I was still following close behind.

I continued to shake the mistrusting thoughts that gradually ricocheted off one another, that classic feeling of impending doom stalking my every move. With each step I took, I asked myself why the feelings were back again when I had been so comfortable mere moments before. The street at night, albeit creepy, wasn't the source. I felt safe with Frank so I wasn't afraid of any strangers intervening.

Where is this coming from?

It wasn't until I looked down and saw the letters engraved in the cement of the sidewalk square I was about to step on that I finally understood where the strange ache was coming from. I stopped in my tracks and stared at it, unsure if I had entered a bad dream in the time it took to get there from the car.

"Frank?"

"Yeah?" I could hear his shoes shuffling against the sidewalk and stop. "Why'd you stop?"

"What street are we on?"

I was frozen where I stood, unable to take my eyes off of the initials below my feet.

M. D.

"Lincoln. Why?"

I felt the blood drain from my face as I looked up and across the street, and saw it there. The one place I had sworn to avoid for the remainder of my life, not only in body but in mind. I couldn't speak, the once passive fear now pounding on my door violently.

"Do you recognize it?" Frank asked as he walked back toward me, blind to my lack of response. "It's kind of crazy to think about all that went on in there. Most of it we'll probably never know."

I couldn't take my eyes off of that house.

"No. I don't recognize it," I managed to choke out, unsure of what else to say.