Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

9: Higher Levels Of Trauma

C h a p t e r | N i n e

Present Day - Frank

"Why?"

I shrug then remember he can't see me. "There's no 'why'. There just is."

"So you believe in heaven and hell? How about an afterlife, spirits?"

"Are you deliberately pestering me with your incessant questions because you know I can't hurt you with the door in the way? Because I'll break it down to come in," I snap tersely, "and bring back the notion of the gag."

Surprisingly, to my secret pleasure, he doesn't shut up. In fact, I love hearing him talk - the sound of his voice, his accent, the way his mouth twitches to one side, his smile.

Get it together, Frank.

I've never been shy or quiet. I like to talk so I suppose it feels less awkward when my conversations are a two-way street. It fills up the silence. I guess talking with me can't be easy if all I seem to mention is murder and getaway plans to Mexico. I realise he knows nothing about me but I don't know whether I want that to change.

"I never believed in a God, not when there's s-so much suffering in the world," he admits, a little on edge at my threat. "Or maybe I did, once." Probably before I came along. "But - I mean, there's got to be something out there, some higher power of nature watching over us. It's comforting to think that way, that you don't end when your life does. Maybe we're reincarnated. Ghosts, perhaps." I hear his pencil scribbling across paper as he draws something new.

"Gee, what was that song you were singing?" I can't help but to ask.

The sound of sketching stops for a split second then resumes. "I call it 'The Ghost Of You'."

"Is it about someone?" Maybe I shouldn't be so nosy. What if the subject is dead? That would be awkward.

"My... mom," he gets out reluctantly, "she's still alive, it's just - she's not the same as she was when I was a kid."

"You don't have to explain it," I assure him. He must think awful of my mood swings - I whacked him across the face less than a few hours ago and now I'm chit-chatting with my back to the door. Hell, I have nothing better to do; may as well try to get to know the guy I'm shacked up with indefinitely. And I do have a weird feeling about him and his past, a sort of protectiveness. An unusual dislike for his mother already despite never having met the woman.

"I want to," he insists, "I've never told anybody what happened between us. It's time I talk to someone."

"Your abusive kidnapper?" I doubtfully raise an eyebrow and pull my lip ring between my teeth.

"Can I make a deal with you?"

I narrow my eyes, feeling my mood deflate. I don't like the idea that my authority is dissipating and he's forgetting that his life is in my hands. I'm not here to negotiate. "I don't know, do you think that's a wise idea?"

"Just-just hear me out..." He shifts against the door, clearly anxious. "I swear I'll tell you everything about me because I know you want to know, only if you..." He swallows in uncertainty.

"If I what, Gerard?"

"Tell me something about your parents," he blurts out, "I know you said you didn't want to talk about them but I have to understand, Frank. I have to know why you went after my brother because I get it, sometimes we have sibling rivalry and don't get along and I fight with him, but Mikey would never solely inspire anybody to try to kill him. It can't just have been him, or those guys he was friends with. Was it because of your parents' death?"