The Murder Scene (Frerard)

A Stain That Never Comes Off

Chapter Eight.
Title from I Never Told You What I Do For A Living by My Chemical Romance.

Frank watched the smoke leave my lips, he looked tired, and I knew he was but I knew now why he couldn't sleep. It was exactly the reason that I couldn't.

"You look tired" he said to me.

"I was just thinking the same about you" I replied, giving him a smirk while I took another drag from my cigarette.

Frank shrugged, picking at his fingernails "I don't always dream" he muttered "I'm actually pretty good at sleeping.. like all day" he said dragging out the world 'all' to make it more dramatic, making me chuckle and him offer me another heart stopping smile.

"Then get some rest, you're running on three days of no sleep" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"And you're running on what? You haven't slept at all, at least I did once" he argued, giving me a winning look.

I sighed and looked at the ceiling for a moment while I ashed my cigarette into a solo cup before bringing it back to my lips.

"Go to sleep, Gerard. I will if you will" he said, kindly and somewhat sincerely.
He's right. I've not slept in five days.. or six? I don't know how long it's been but I'm starting to wear out, it's part of the reason we've been in this motel room for so long.
Three days. It's best to move around.

I put my hand up in defeat and he gave me another one of his smiles.
I don't see him smile an awful lot, but I've been seeing it, and that's what's important. He's smiling. He still looks sad, especially if I catch him in thought, but he's smiled.

I got up from my bed as I put my cigarette out, and washed my hands one last time before turning the light out.
The room was still partially illuminated by the neon sign outside.
Frank never says anything about how often I wash my hands, and I actually like that. He doesn't mind or say anything or even give me weird looks.
He has his quirks and I have mine.
We accept them.

"Goodnight, Frank"

"Goodnight Gerard"

***

"Mikey?" I asked, my words nearly echoing as I stepped near my younger brother. He was faced away, not saying a word.
Oh, it is him, I'd never forget.
"Mikey, I've missed you" I said, smiling, walking quickly towards him.

The closer I got to him, I realized that he was looking at something. He wasn't responding to me.

"Mikey" I said again, taking the last steps to where he was.
My heart sank when I saw what he was looking at. A mass grave.. several hundred bodies lay piled on top of one another. Blood everywhere, blood that could never be cleaned.

"You're a monster" he said in a strange voice, one I never recognized as his own. "You're a murderer" he said, more sinister this time as he turned towards me.
His face was normal, but sad, so sad I couldn't handle it.

"I'm sorry" I cried to him, each of our words echoing more than the last.
He quickly grabbed my hands and yanked them steady though they were earthquakes attached to my wrists.

Blood. Blood was all over my hands, all over my hands and I could see every person I killed inside of the blood. I could see the reflections. The first one. The mom, the dad, the sister, the brother. I could see the businessman and the gang leader, I could see the innocent woman and the drunken father.

I could see them all and they all looked back at me, they all looked at me with their cold dead stare they always had.

I began to scream, trying to claw at them, but even as I began tearing the flesh off of my hands their blood was still there and it wouldn't go away. When I got to the bone, everyone else's blood drenched my bones.