Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points 8/9
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It feels like ever since they reached Babylon, bad luck has started following the carnies around everywhere they go. One day Mikey's gone and a few days later Gerard disappears, leaving behind just a crumpled up note under a paper weight.
A part of Frank, an ugly, selfish part, feels angry, so angry at Gerard. Angry for not seeking him out to say goodbye, angry for not asking him to run away with him. Like he'd mean more to Gerard than the people he grew up with, the people he considers his family.
But he can't let it go, can’t let Gerard just disappear, not after everything they’ve been through. He needs to find him, needs to bring him back to the only family that he still has left.
"He was gone before we could even discuss Mikey's wake," Brian says, rubbing smudges on his forehead with his black fingers. He's been at the fire site again, sitting by the burned wood, the ashes from his cigarette snowing on the heap of charcoal.
"He's in denial. He couldn't handle losing his brother, so he left it all behind."
"Thanks for the insight," Frank says harshly, wanting to punch Bob so much he's shaking with it. "He shouldn't be alone right now. He can't be alone."
"And what exactly are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going after him," Frank states, pushing through the small gap between Brian and Bob.
"His note was very clear about us following him," Bob yells after him. "He just lost his fucking brother! He needs time to heal, even if it means being left alone. Asshole," he adds, for good measure.
"I don't fucking care," Frank says with a tight voice. "He can't just fucking wake up and decide to leave!"
He spots Jimmy sitting in his truck with the radio on, a bottle of pale yellow liquid hanging from his almost limp grip. Frank opens the door and yanks Jimmy out before he has time to protest, jumps in and switches on the ignition.
Jimmy sways on the spot, shaking his bottle in the air like an old bum. "Hey, fucker! Gerroff my car!"
"He needs us, we can't leave without him. I won't allow it."
Brian stares at Frank for a long while, weighing his options. Then he nods, his eyes sharp and serious. "I'll give you today and tomorrow. Tomorrow night we continue on, with or without you and him."
"Fine," Frank says, and hits the gas.
He drives around for hours, the air that swirls in through the rolled down windows pushes sand into his eyes and makes his lungs ache. The sun's scorching hot today, the sky devoid of clouds. When the night rolls around and his eyes feel too heavy to hold open, he parks the truck and takes a short nap, the vultures circling overhead even at night. He has a restless sleep, nightmares about Gerard haunting his dreams. He dreams about finding him walking down the road, but when he gets close enough to touch, Gerard turns into his pursuer, his chest bulking up and the now familiar tattoo taking shape on his skin. He gasps awake and leans his head on the steering wheel, blinking away the lingering dream, then continues driving, but with no real luck.
When he returns, Tegan meets him by main the road, running to him as soon as he gets out of the truck.
"Frank, oh Frank you have to come with me," she says, grabbing his hand in a tight grip.
"What's wrong?" Frank asks wearily. It's almost as if Gerard's vanished from the face of the earth, and right now Frank just wants to press his head down on a soft pillow, turn his back to the world and mourn for a while.
"It's Bob," Tegan swallows down a sob. "I just found him. He's really hurt."
And Frank's already dreading the worst. Things have gone so horribly wrong lately that he's running low on optimism. "What happened?" he croaks, taking off into a light jog, trying to keep up with her pace.
"The Ferris wheel death," Tegan says with a broken voice, dragging Frank further away from the carnival, towards a lonely tree in the distance. "The girl's father showed up with some of his friends. Real big guys."
She kneels down next to a black, dirty lump of a man on the ground, his whole body scorched by the hot, wet tar that's covering him from head to toe, hands tied behind his back and his face swollen and covered in blood.
"Jesus fucking Christ, that's. Bob? Holy shit," Frank stutters, hunkering down next to Bob's unconscious body. It feels like his breath has been knocked out of his chest and his head is swimming.
"You have to help him, Frank! I can't lose him too."
--
All through the week new men and women have been pouring into the valley: mostly farmers and miners but even bankers, shopkeepers and doctors have abandoned their workplaces and homes and come to hear Pete's words.
The Temple of Jericho that Pete had jokingly dubbed during one of his talks with William would in time be built by the Tree of Knowledge, but for now the white tents that the Okies struggled to put up would have to serve the purpose.
Their new home stands on the top of the hill opposite to the Tree. It had belonged to a family of four until they offered to move into tents with the Okies so that Pete and his family could live closer to the valley.
Was there ever a time when he would have refused such an offer, Pete wonders, searching his conscience. But reason and logic are on his side this time. Joe needs a real bed and a roof over his head, and if nothing else, Pete can at least offer him those. And Ashlee's never been much of an outdoors person if she could have her way.
Hayley's been distancing herself from Ashlee and him lately, but silently studying them from afar and spending most of her time with Joe, claiming he's been starving for company ever since he started showing progress with his recovery. Sometimes Pete catches her regarding him or Ashlee with reserved looks, emitting nervous energy so thick and strong it radiates off her in waves.
"Listen, Pete, we need to talk," William says with the late afternoon sun in his eyes. He pulls Pete aside and leads him behind the main tent, finds a spot far enough from people that they can't be overheard.
"Now's not really a good time. I'm going to address my people as a group for the first time."
"I've talked to some townies. Pete, I say this to you as a friend. Ashlee's in trouble. People are whispering -- They're saying she somehow started the fire."
Pete glances over at Ashlee. She's standing by the river with Hayley, next to them a half-finished flowerbed, watering can and a shovel. Ashlee looks upset, and there's nothing friendly in Hayley's gestures. He closes his eyes and concentrates on Ashlee, trying to communicate to her, to comfort her and tell her she's not alone.
"You don't believe them, do you?" Pete asks, turning back to William.
"No, of course not, but I'm asking you to be careful. She's a great girl, I wouldn't want to see her lose her reputation, or something worse."
"Thanks, William. You don't have to worry though. God takes good care of my people. His people."
When Pete glimpses at the river again, Ashlee's standing with the shovel in her hands and Hayley's floating face down in the water, the current carrying her away from the shore and pressing her under the surface.
Ashlee notices him watching and drops the shovel to the ground, straightens her hair and wipes her hands on the hem of her dress, composing herself. She gives Pete a shaken look before walking away from the river.
"Everything's fine," he assures William, making sure William’s eyes don’t stray towards the river, that he doesn’t notice what’s just taken place. "We're all just carrying out our Mission."
"And what's your mission?" William asks, fumbling for his pen and notepad, all star-reporter-like.
"You'll find that out," Pete smiles tightly, thinking Hayley probably had it coming. "As soon as you let me deliver my sermon."
The crowd has already gathered inside the tent when Pete makes his entrance. He walks up to the stage in a rain of applause, resting his hands on the podium.
"The clock is ticking, brothers and sisters, counting down to Armageddon," he says, taking in the crowd. "The worm reveals himself in many guises across this once great land; from the intellectual elite cruelly indoctrinating our children with the savage blasphemy of Darwin, to the craven Hollywood pagans, corrupting them in the darkness of the local bijou, from the false prophets cowering behind our nation's pulpits to the vile parasites in our banks and boardrooms and the godless politicians, growing fat on the misery of their constituents."
Out of the corner of his eye Pete watches Joe’s slow movements as he reaches his hand inside his jacket, fumbling for something with the difficulty of an ill old man.
"The signs of the end times are all around us, etched in blood and fire by the left hand of God. You have but to open your eyes, brothers and sisters. The truth is that the Devil is here. The Anti-Christ, the Child of Lies, the Son of Darkness walks among us cloaked in the flesh of a man. Does the Lord not weep at this degradation?" Pete bellows, driven by the blind trust and admiration in the Okies’ eyes, always the most powerful when he’s preaching.
"Does He not tremble with righteous fury? And shall he not seek retribution? I open my eyes and I see a black sky that tears apart and screams with a voice that is thunder, 'Rise up, rise up brothers and sisters and take your place at my side. For you shall be my scythe and your face shall shine like a thousand suns and the streets shall be sanctified by the steaming black blood of the heretics.' And together brothers and sisters, together we shall build a shining temple, a kingdom that will last for thousands and thousands of years."
The sound of a gunshot splits his roaring ovation, and then he notices Ashlee struggling with Joe for the revolver, trying to take it away from him. She gets a grip of it and yanks it from Joe's hands, pale as a sheet. "Daddy," she chides, appalled at what she's witnessed. Pete turns his head slowly, looking behind himself. There's a bullet-sized hole in the tent behind him; it looks like the shot just barely missed him.
Before the crowd gets to Joe, Pete urges everyone to find back to their seats and calm down.
"But he tried to kill you," a man in a dusty brown suit yells. "Surely you ain't gonna let this crime go unpunished!"
"He's just an old man," Pete says, stepping down from the podium, trying to placate the crowd. "God teaches us to love our family, our neighbors, to forgive those who do us wrong. This man doesn't know what he's doing." He takes the steps down and goes to kneel beside Joe, taking his pasty hands into his. "I forgive you, Joe," he says, looking into Joe's eyes, only gripping Joe's hands tighter when he tries to yank them away. "I forgive you, father."
Standing up, he meets his people's eyes, almost floored by the strong, honest sense of love that surrounds him, that at that moment wants to burst out of him, too.
These are your people, he hears a voice inside his head telling him, and finds it easy to smile at every adoring face. "It's almost time," he murmurs, pulling Ashlee under his arm, squeezing her shoulder tight. She gives him a shaken look like she wants to be anywhere but here. "It's almost time to be fantastic."
Outside the tent Ashlee introduces him to a sad-eyed young man. "His name is Gerard," she says, holding him by his shoulders.
"It's an honor to meet you, Brother," Gerard says, offering his hand for Pete to shake. "Your sermon was awe-inspiring. I got goose bumps all over. I still have them."
Pete traces the length of Gerard's arm with his eyes, then takes the offered hand to shake. "Thank you, I'm glad my speech left such an impression."
"He has the gift," Ashlee throws in, and Pete thinks she sounds almost sarcastic.
"Ash," Pete smiles pleasantly at her. "I think our good Christians are starving for your world-famous coffee. She makes the blackest, strongest teeth-rotting coffee you will ever have," he adds for Gerard's benefit. "Terrible on its own, but great with cream and sugar." She rolls her eyes and says Pete's just a wimp, but she's got the hint and makes her exit, leaving Pete alone with the newcomer.
"I'll definitely have to try that out sometime," Gerard grins as Pete starts steering them back into the now vacant tent.
"So, Gerard, tell me. Where are you from?" Pete asks, motioning for Gerard to sit down on a rickety garden chair.
"Here and there." Gerard sounds almost embarrassed. "I'm not really from any certain place," he tries to explain further. "All I've ever known is the road."
"I see. That sounds fascinating," Pete says, Gerard's words triggering flashes from his childhood that he's tried so hard to repress. "In a way the whole world is your home."
Gerard considers it for a while, then nods as a small, wistful smile starts tugging at his mouth. "Yeah. Yes. Sometimes that's exactly how it is, but then other times I feel like there's no place on Earth I could ever call home."
There's only one way to describe Gerard and that's tragic. There's potential there to make a new and improved man out of him, to fix whatever there is to be fixed and get a good ally in the process. They don't come in spades, trusty allies; it's important that he does this right.
"Do you have a place to stay here in New Canaan?"
Gerard shakes his head. "Not yet, but I'm working on it."
"Well, we have… recently lost our maid," Pete says almost sheepishly, wondering with a sick sense of fascination how long it would take to get into Gerard’s head, how long until he has control over him, whether he’s easier to lead than Ashlee, or if they’re all just the same. "There's an empty room in the house, what do you say about moving in?"
"What? Seriously? That's… Thank you so much. You've saved me from a night under the open sky." Gerard looks so grateful and amazed at Pete's hospitality that Pete can't help but smile big and join in on Gerard's celebration.
"It's no problem, we could always use a little help maintaining the house, it's so big for just the three of us. Look for my sister and tell her what I said. She'll show you the ropes."
Gerard stands up, shaking Pete’s hand.
“Oh, and Gerard,” Pete says before he turns to leave. “I’m sorry you had to witness that little incident at the sermon. My adoptive father has been sick for a long time now, I’m afraid he’s slowly decaying mentally. Most of the time he doesn’t even seem to remember who I am, thinking I’m someone he should be afraid of.”
Gerard nods earnestly, motioning with his hand. “I get it, it’s totally fine. I’m just sorry your family has to go through something like that. It must be hard.”
“Everything has a purpose,” Pete says, and together they walk out of the tent into a sea of people awaiting Pete, wanting to thank him for his inspirational words.
--
The sun coupled with the tar all over his skin has done so much damage to Bob that Frank feels nauseous just looking at him. He leaves Bob and Tegan under the tree and jogs back to get his truck and drives over, parking next to Bob’s mauled body.
"Help me get him to the back of the truck," he says as he cuts the string holding Bob’s hands together loose with Ozzy’s dagger, draping Bob’s arm around his shoulders. Tegan gets on Bob's other side and wraps her arms around his stomach, cringing when his head lolls onto her chest.
"Ready?" She nods and together they struggle to stand up, lifting Bob's dead weight between them. Frank's knees buckle instantly and he almost loses his grip. "Jeez, how much does he weight?"
"Come on, just. We're almost there," Tegan grits out, egging him on. Her face is wet and dirty, hands covered in tar all up to her elbows but the adrenaline is giving her the strength of a bear.
They lift Bob's deadweight onto the bed of the truck. Tegan puts her foot on the tailpipe and hoists herself up, crawling to drape herself over him, taking Bob's face into her hand.
"You just look after him, okay?" Frank says before climbing in the driver's seat. "And don't worry," he yells, pulling the door shut with a loud bang. "I have a plan!"
He drives them to the empty desert, the wheels blowing dust clouds inside through the open windows. When big black birds start circling the sun, Frank changes gear and drives them off the road. He keeps going until the main road is just a thin snake behind the truck, then hits the brakes and hurries out, going to the back to check up on Tegan and Bob.
"Let's get him down," Frank says, trying to mask his self-doubt and worry with faked reassurance. If Tegan notices, she doesn't let on, probably just clinging onto every bit of hope she can find.
They lower Bob onto the ground, the dust sticking to the tar on his skin. She goes down with him, supporting his head on her thighs.
Bob comes to for a slow second, grunting in pain as he searches for Tegan's eyes. A sob escapes her, and she drops a too-tender kiss to his temple, her face wet with tears. "Please, Bob. Please, no. I - I’ll do anything - I’ll stop dancing," she whispers, caressing his burning hairline, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I promise. Just please don’t die."
"It's okay," Frank says with a tight voice, trying to reassure them both. "It'll be okay."
"What do you have in mind?"
Frank looks up at the sky, the vultures have followed them from the roadside and more are coming fast, a black cloud of feathers moving towards them, driven by the kind of hunger you can only experience in the desert.
"Go. Leave us," he says to Tegan, keeping an eye on the birds. He doesn’t want to take any chances, doesn’t want to put her in danger. He doesn’t know how much life he needs to draw from the birds, but he guesses it won’t be as simple as with the girl and her mother. "Take the truck and drive back to the road and don't come back."
"But --"
"Tegan," Frank says, grabbing her arm and pulling her up from the ground, forcing her away from Bob. "You asked me for help, this is me helping. Go. Take the truck and don't come looking for us. If everything goes well, we'll come looking for you. Both of us." He hadn't saved her sister, but he's going to save Bob, even if it's the last thing he does.
Tegan tries to match Frank's forced smile with her watery one, and Frank grips her arms a little tighter, then lets her go, watching as she gets in the truck and starts the engine. She takes a U-turn and guns the gas, peeling off towards the road, following the fresh wheel tracks in the dirt. He waits until the shape of the truck is blurred in his vision, then settles down next to Bob, sitting quietly and waiting as more birds land on the ground and venture closer, trying not to scare them off.
A swirl of black and he's almost knocked over, loud screeching splitting his ears. The vultures are getting more daring with every passing moment. Frank shifts gently closer to Bob, his heart beating like a snare. He closes his eyes and places his hands on Bob's chest, trying to fight the panic when he can't feel him breathing, forcing himself to calm down.
"Get a fucking grip," he murmurs to himself, bunching his fingers in Bob's shirt, then to Bob, "You're gonna owe me big time for this, big time," but not really meaning it, just trying to convince himself that Bob’s going to be okay.
All around him he can hear the rustle of feathers, soft thumps as the screeching gradually quiets down. The flow of energy feels no different from that he draws from humans, but he has to take a lot of it, more than he's ever taken before. When Bob’s recovery starts taking too long, he forces more of his own energy into Bob and it seems to do the trick.
He's sweating and shaking when Bob's chest finally expands, and he drops to the ground, lying his lead-heavy head on Bob's chest, a stray tear gliding down his cheek as his head rises and falls to the steady rhythm of Bob's breathing.
Bob's head rolls to the side and he groans, swiping his face with his arm. He nudges Frank aside and sits up, taking in the hundreds of birds lying lifeless all around them. He blinks, shifting ill at ease.
"Must've been some fucking party," he says, dazed, and Frank lets out a relieved chuckle, closing his eyes, his body surprisingly light and the air easy to breathe.
Frank isn't sure who's supporting who when they trudge back to the main road, but his knees buckle and he almost falls to the ground when Tegan comes running to them and throws her arms around Bob, pulling him into a crushing hug.
She drives them back to the campsite. Brian is waiting outside of Tegan's trailer, fixing a worried look on each of them in turn when they climb out of the truck.
"What's going on?" he asks, eyes finally coming to rest on Frank who's trying his best to look better than what he feels like, focusing on evening out his breathing, hiding his shaking hands inside his pockets. "Frank? What did you do?"
"Nothing. Just leave it," Frank grits out as his stomach makes a painful lurch.
"Come on, you need to lie down," Tegan says and starts steering Frank into the trailer, letting him lean against her for support.
"Frank," Bob says while Tegan hits the door with her hip, nudging it open. The hinges creak and whine like old joints. "I'm going to tell Brian. He deserves to know."
Frank's gaze flits between Bob's stupidly grateful face and Brian's calculated suspiciousness. He sighs, nodding his head wearily, the fight in him leaving his body with every exhale.
Tegan's bed is soft and the pillows smell like dried flowers. Frank feels immediately muckier when he almost regretfully sinks down in it.
"You just rest for a while," Tegan whispers, pushing sweaty clumps of hair out of his eyes. "We owe you everything."
"You don't owe me a thing,'" Frank voices, reveling in the soft caresses. He closes his eyes for just a second, but when he comes to, it's already dark outside.
He glances around, not lifting his head from the pillow, and notices Bob, Brian and Tegan sitting at the round table in the candlelight. Lindsey and Bert are perching on the wide wooden trunk where Tegan keeps her show costumes and other accessories. The candlelight flickers on the trunk’s varnished surface and it's got caught in Lindsey's hair and eyes.
She's saying, "So this minister… he's a bad guy?"
"Frank seems to think so," Bob shrugs, and Ray adds, "Ozzy thinks that too, and so do I." Frank hadn't even noticed Ray up until now. He's looming by the window, staring out into the darkness.
"He fixed my wrist," Bob says suddenly, loosening his support strap and rubbing the pale skin with his thumb. "When he -- well. You all know what he did. That kid, hell. When I first met him, I didn't think that much of him, but. I was just being stupid. I know now that the kid’s alright."
Brian snorts, shaking his head. "Understatement of the year."
"He saved Bob’s life," Tegan smiles, holding on to Bob's arm.
"He's also awake," Bert comments with an amused grin, and then everyone's eyes are on Frank except for one's. Bob's staring at his hands, his thumb still ghosting over his wrist like he's just waiting for the ache to return back to his bones.
"Uh," Frank says, tucking a leg under himself while sitting up on the bed.
"Man of the hour," Bert crows, reaching forward to thwack Frank on the back.
"Look, I know it's hard, but can you just not make a big deal out of this," Frank says, the irritating throbbing against his temples adding to his bad mood. "I just did what any one of you would have if you’d had the chance."
He’s met with disbelieving looks. "What're you so afraid of?” Brian asks; his voice sounds almost accusing in Frank’s ears. “That now that we know your big secret, we're just gonna beseech you for favors?"
"Look, you don't know what it's like to be stared at like you're some kind of a freak --"
"Oh, honey," Lindsey laughs, casting him a pitying look. "You have no idea."
--
It’s taken no time at all for Gerard to unpack. His only belongings a sketchbook, a pack of Tarot cards and a worn photograph.
“That’s me and Mikey,” he explains with a weak smile on his tired face as Pete studies the photo. Gerard looks around the age of ten and Mikey a little younger, both sitting by the Ferris wheel. Mikey’s leaning against Gerard’s chest in an awkward position and they’re both smiling: Gerard big and wide, Mikey thinly and more with his eyes.
“Your brother?”
Gerard nods, his lips in a tight clench. He turns around and walks to the open window, resting his hands on the frame. There’s tension in his shoulders and his head hangs low. “I’m sorry, it’s just -“
“You lost him,” Pete says quietly, studying the line of Gerard’s shoulders.
Gerard stifles his sob. His shoulders are shaking. “There was a fire. I couldn’t - I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t save him.”
“I’m sorry,” Pete says, sitting down in a chair. “He must have meant a lot to you.”
“He was my whole world.”
“Why don’t you tell me about him?” Pete prompts, and Gerard turns around to look at him, tears caught in his lashes.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“It might help,” Pete suggests, motioning for Gerard to take the seat next to him. Gerard sighs, pulling his lip between his teeth. He swipes a hand over his face, wiping off the wetness from his cheeks as he collects himself.
“I - we looked out for each other. Always. Mikey had this way of keeping me grounded, making sure to let me know when I’d fucked up, but then helping me figure out how to fix things.”
“I’m sure you helped him out just as much.”
“Oh, yeah, of course. But he was always the stronger one. And I feel so empty now. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“You’ve already taken a step forward. After all, you came here,” Pete smiles, reaching over the round coffee table to squeeze Gerard’s hand.
Gerard’s smile is weak, but at least he’s smiling.
“I’d like to help you, Gerard. I know you’re hurting, and you’ll be hurting for a while, but it will get easier.” Pete gets up from the chair and walks to the desk, pulling out a worn Bible from the drawer. “Listen, I know it has its faults but, people seem to find comfort in it.”
“The Bible,” Gerard breathes out, taking it from Pete. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about turning to the Book.”
“Give it a shot,” Pete shrugs, pleased that Gerard seems to be listening to him, that his mind is open to him.
“Thank you.”
“Gerard. I know what it’s like to lose someone important. I got separated from my family when I was just a little boy. I’ve never felt so alone as I felt back then. But then I met Joe and Ashlee. They gave me a new home. A good home. I’d like to do the same for you.”
Gerard blinks. “Um, wow. I don’t know what to say, Peter. I’m honored. It’s just that - why me? There’s a valley full of people out there, every one of them is more deserving than me.”
“I see a lot of potential in you, Gerard. I can’t explain it but I just, I feel like I need to help you. No man or woman or child in this valley is alone like you. They’re all with their families, friends, loved ones. I want you to feel a part of this community as well. Like you belong here. Because you do.”
“Well. Thank you. That means a lot.”
Pete smiles. Gerard has definitely warmed up to him. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts now. Just remember that everybody grieves differently, and the grieving process takes time. Don’t try to force it, and don’t try to shut your brother out of your thoughts either, that’ll only do you harm in the long run. You must keep his memory alive. He’ll always be a part of you, you know that, don’t you?”
Gerard exhales shakily and nods, pressing the Bible to this chest. “I do. I - thank you, again. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“Keep your chin up,” Pete says, and Gerard smiles a bit, raising his head a little higher.
--
Frank takes the ten-minute walk into town with Bob and Ray. Surprisingly, Ray had wanted to come along, all the excitement finally catching up with him. He'd claimed not wanting to sit in his trailer when so much was going on in the world, wanted to feel a part of it all.
They step into a diner, sitting down in a booth with soft, worn-out burgundy leather seats, salt- and peppershakers overturned on the table and coffee rings staining the place mats. On the wall above the counter there's a mirror, which reflects Frank's dusty image back to him.
"Coffee?" the waitress asks. Her pale-yellow dress is immaculate but the off-white apron around her waist is covered with stains. She pushes a strand of dirty-blond hair behind her ear and fills their mugs, smacks her red lips together and drops three crinkly menus on the table.
"Do you have the paper?" Ray asks when she turns to leave. She nods her head towards the counter and says with a southern drawl, "Help yourself, sugar-pie."
Ray's neck is flushed pink when he returns with the newspaper and starts leafing through it, hiding his face behind it while Bob and Frank share amused smirks over the coffee mugs.
Something's very familiar about the diner, from the interior decorations to the blonde waitress, but Frank can't place it. It almost feels like he's stepped into a hazy, long forgotten dream.
"I think I found something," Ray says suddenly, smoothing out the paper and laying it on the table. The headline reads, REVEREND NEARLY GETS IT - A near-death shooting shakes the Temple of Jericho. "It says here that radio preacher Peter Simpson was almost shot during his first inspirational speech in a valley they've named New Canaan." Ray blinks. "By his step-father and respected churchman, Joe Simpson."
"That's him!" Frank says, almost tipping over his coffee in his haste to have a better look at the small picture. It's not a big story at all, almost like a page-filler in the side-column on the far end of the page. But Frank recognizes Pete instantly. He's standing outside a large tent, holding himself in an awkward pose with -- Frank scans the picture notes -- stepsister Ashlee Simpson clutching his arm. A few feet away from the couple Joe Simpson sits in his wheel chair, a look of disappointment shaping his old face.
"That's your preacher?" Bob asks, squinting at the picture. "Doesn't look that scary to me."
Ray takes a swig from his mug, swallowing noisily. "New Canaan," he says, nodding his head, his hair bobbing along with the motion. "That's the place in your photo, right? It's not far away from here at all, just a few hours' drive."
Frank sets his jaw, pressing his hand on the dagger attached to his belt and tries to psych himself for the task to come.
It takes about an hour of arguing with Bob until Frank gives up in trying to make him stay behind. Then Brian finds them when they're making their leave, and practically forces them to wait until everyone else has packed their stuff too, says they're going the same direction anyway, so why can't they all just take the same road? And then Frank sees Tegan lurking close by, the embodiment of satisfaction.
"Great," he says, getting more irritated by the second while smoking by Brian's truck and glaring at people running in all directions, gathering their belongings. "This is exactly what I didn't want."
A slow grin tugs at Bob's mouth. He pulls a torrent of smoke from his cigarette and savors it, then glances at Frank sideways, one arm tucked comfortably against his chest. "I don't know. Having a support-team has its perks."
Frank sneers at that and Bob huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "A few months ago, no one would have followed you willingly one single foot. Aren't you happy you made friends?"
"They're not following me because they want to, but because Brian made them."
Bob considers it a while. "Maybe," he says, shrugging his shoulders. "But what about me, then?"
"You're living by this fucked up sense of gratitude, feeling like you owe me for saving your life. Which, you don't. I already told you that." Frank flicks his still smoking stump on the ground, the red glow of the flakes making an aura of light in the sand until dust puts it out; the sun has been setting for a while now.
"I do owe you," Bob says, his slow amusement has died fast, replaced by heavy solemnity. "But that's not why I'm coming with you."
"Whatever," Frank says, finding it hard to keep Bob's intense gaze.
"Yeah," Bob says, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. "Whatever."
After the quick drive, the carnies set camp above the valley, far enough from the Simpsons' house that Frank is lulled into believing they're sufficiently hidden from the preacher, but still so close that a brisk walk into the valley takes merely minutes.
Now that they're finally here, Frank feels reluctant to leave the trailer. It's already dark out, over the valley rests a blanket of light from hundreds of tents, almost like a reflection of the starry sky above. He thinks about Gerard with an ache in his chest, and hopes that he’s alright wherever he is.
He spends some time just looking out the window, trying to collect his thoughts. Maja and Lindsey are sitting on the hood of somebody's truck and sharing a bottle of mescal. Maja is holding the bottle pressed to her chest and shaking her head, exasperated, while Lindsey laughs with her head thrown back, her shoulders shaking with it.
Further back, Bert, Dan, Quinn and Jepha are huddled together around a small campfire, smoking, looking uncharacteristically sober but not exactly in bad spirits.
Brian joins Maja and Lindsey after a while, hops on the hood between the girls and leans in to give Lindsey a kiss on the cheek, then does the same to Maja, stealing the bottle from her in the process.
At the round table Frank pulls the dagger from its sheath and holds it close to the candle's flame, studying the blade. The metal is spotted with dark blotches, the leather of the handle soft and worn but the blade sharp and well kept.
The door opens and closes, and then Frank feels Bob's eyes burning on the back of his head. He sighs, gently laying the dagger on the table.
"I could find you a better weapon," Bob says, nodding at the blade. "Gun maybe. Maja's got some really sweet swords if that's more your style." He grins wolfishly like he's just bursting to kick some ass.
"It's gotta be the dagger," Frank says, watching the reflection of the candle's flames licking at the blade. "Ozzy was pretty insistent about that."
"Ozzy? Don't tell me you're taking that nutjob seriously."
"He seemed to know his shit. Everything he said to me, down to the last detail, it's all happened. I have no reason to doubt him."
Bob twists his lips; he's made his opinion about Ozzy painfully clear countless of times before, so Frank is surprised when he lets the matter rest now. "I walked around a little," he says instead, dropping onto a chair. "Checking the grounds. It doesn't look that great; preacher's got some mean-looking guard dogs out there. Some of them really big guys. Not that I couldn't take them."
"I'm still going to try and get in the house. I have to. First thing in the morning."
When morning rolls around, the butterflies in Frank's stomach have transformed into bats. He takes his time washing his face in the bowl of water on the nightstand and changing into a clean shirt, pulling the straps of his dungarees over his shoulders and working the clasps. He runs his hand through his messy hair, fingers getting stuck in the curls until he tugs them loose.
He checks and double checks that the dagger is hidden in his pocket, then after a moment's thought picks up the small and slender hatchet from a tree stump that Maja's used for target practice.
In the valley everyone's too busy to pay him any heed, and besides, he fits right in with the Okies in his dusty clothes and calluses, knows their slang. When he notices a stack of firewood behind a white tent, a plan starts to form in his head. He gathers a pile of logs into his arms and hides the hatchet and his dagger underneath it, careful that they stay hidden.
At the house two guards stop him, aiming their rifles at his chest. “What’s your business?” one of them asks. “No one goes further without our consent.”
Frank puts on his best innocent face and says, “I was asked to bring firewood for the Brother and his family.”
Guard number one hands his rifle to the other one and gives him a dirty smirk around his smoke before starting to pat him down. "Gotta be careful," he says, giving Frank's thigh a hard grope, "'Lotta psychos 'round here parts, just doin' my job." Frank grits his teeth and holds tight onto the logs, not letting them drop.
When he gets the all clear, Frank goes around the house and drops the logs into an empty flowerpot to free his hands. He pockets his dagger again, keeping a tight hold of the hatchet as he tries the front door. It opens soundly, and Frank wanders in.
The kitchen and the living room open out on either side of the hallway, all the furniture and kitchen utensils bathing in the daylight streaming in through the large windows. Every room downstairs is empty. Frank takes the steps upstairs as quietly as he can manage, holding his breath as he tiptoes down the hallway, peeking into the rooms through the small cracks in the doors, sweaty hand gripping the hatchet so tightly his fingers are starting to prickle.
When he gets closer to the wall on the far end of the hallway, quiet, muffled sounds start drifting into his ears. He chances closer, pressing his back against the wall as he peers into the last room. The door is so ajar that he has no trouble looking in. He sifts even closer, immediately recognizing the two people in the room as Ashlee and Joe Simpson.
Joe is sitting in a wheel chair and he gets a flashback of Mikey in his chair outside with Gerard feeding him breakfast from a porcelain plate, both entrenched in a silent conversation, and he has to struggle to swallow down the sudden lump that's attempting to close up his throat.
Ashlee's sitting on the bed next to Joe, wringing her hands, looking nervous like she's trying to tell him something that's hard to say.
"Look, daddy, what you tried to do to Pete. I want you to know I understand. And sometimes -- sometimes I wish I hadn't stopped you that day," she confesses, looking down at her hands in her lap.
"I haven't felt like myself for ages," she continues, her voice shaky. "I don't think he has either. Like something -- some force beyond our control is guiding us, making us do all these terrible things. I think I killed Hayley," she admits, tears in her eyes.
Joe moistens his lips, and when he speaks, his voice is rough and hard to hear. "The force that's controlling you -- it's him. It's Peter. He's the one forcing you do these things. His mind has been corrupted by the devil."
"Maybe so, but he's still my brother. And he's your son."
"Foster," Joe corrects, and Ashlee tsks, shaking her head. "Even so. I've loved him my whole life."
Heavy silence falls in the house, and Frank thinks it's time to make his exit. He makes it all the way back to the stairs when the door opens and Ashlee walks out. She stops in her tracks upon noticing him.
"You're Frank," she says slowly, taking him in, her puffy eyes lingering on the weapon in his grip. Frank glances at the front door directly below the stairs, and wonders what would happen if he just fled. Ashlee doesn't seem threatening though, and he's not come all this way to run.
Frank lets go of the railing and turns to Ashlee, stepping away from the staircase. "How do you know my name?"
"My brother. He's not as clandestine as he likes to believe."
Frank swallows hard, the bats in his stomach taking flight. "He knows I'm here?"
"I don't think so," Ashlee says, and looking into her eyes Frank knows she's telling the truth.
"I heard you back there, you and your father, heard what your brother made you do."
"I wish I had made better choices," she says quietly, holding Frank's gaze. "I know I wasn't alone in them, wasn't myself, but. They were ultimately all mine. The children. Hayley. They're black sins, sins outside of redemption."
"He's a bad man and I think you should leave. Get the hell away from this place."
"Hell?" Ashlee huffs out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "When I die, I go to Hell. I am fortunate, though, for my brother will be waiting for me with open arms."
Frank's started to notice the bags under her eyes, her messy hair and dirty clothes. She doesn't strike him as someone who wants to let others see her in anything but tip-top condition, and he can't help but feel sorry for her. Sorry that another life has been ruined by Pete. "I need to find him, finish what's started."
She sets her jaw tight, her eyes calculating. "He's baptizing devouts down at the pond today. You will find him there."
Frank nods, turning to leave.
"The hatchet," she says with a voice to be reckoned. "Leave it."
Frank hesitates, momentarily tightening his hold of the weapon, but it's not the dagger, so it doesn't really matter anyway. He hands it over and she wraps her fingers around it securely, holding it to her chest.
Walking down the sun-beaten path, Frank is met with men and women dressed up in sharp-white cloaks. A young woman stops him with a hand on his arm and asks, "Have you been baptized?"
"No, ma'am," Frank breathes out, and she smiles softly, leading him into a small tent where people are mucking around, white cloaks hanging from a large rack in the center. She studies Frank minutely, then selects a garment for him, helping it over his head and tying the strings at the back.
"You should hurry up, sweetheart, if you don't wanna miss the start."
"Uhh, thanks," Frank says, dazed, amazed at his luck. He wobbles out of the tent and joins the sea of white cloaks, slowly making his way down to the river.
He hides behind the mass of people, watching as the minister stands waist-deep in the water, a queue of ten on his right. Frank's heart jumps up to his throat when he realizes who's standing next to the minister, dressed in white, his pale face and hair adding to his eerie image as he stands still and waits to get baptized.
"Gerard," Frank breathes out, his chest clenching hard.
Later, Frank hides behind a tent and waits for the group to move back from the pond. He searches the sea of white robes and when Gerard walks past him, he yanks him by the arm in the shade of the tent.
"Frank!" Gerard says, surprised but not upset to see him. "You found me."
"Gee, what are you doing here? Why'd you get baptized by that man?" Frank hisses, pulling them further from the path when a new surge of people travels past them.
Gerard smiles, looking so at peace with the whole world. "I need to introduce you to him. He's so inspiring."
"What? No, Gerard, he's a bad man. He's the one I've been having nightmares about! We need to get away from him, back to the carnival where it's safe."
"You're not making sense, Frank. He's been nothing but nice to me ever since I got here. You must be mistaken."
"Gerard, please, let's just go, okay?" Frank begs. Every passing moment is adding to his anxiety, and he just wants to leave the valley. "Come on, the carnival is just above the hill."
"I'm not going back there," Gerard says with determination. "I can’t. I've found my place. I haven't felt this at peace with myself for ages. And Peter's helped me so much with coming to terms with Mikey's death. I owe him to stay."
Frank takes a step back, shaking his head. He feels weak like he's been punched in the gut. "I can't believe he got to you so fast."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gerard frowns. “But please. Try to understand. I can't go back. I left because I couldn't deal with the carnival anymore. So much crap happened there. First Sara. Then Mikey. I needed to get out."
His whole body radiates determination. There's so much of it in Gerard's eyes that Frank just knows there's nothing he can do to get him to leave. He swallows down his disappointment and nods, exhaling heavily. "Can I at least ask you a favor?"
"Of course, what is it?"
"Just. Be careful, okay? And don't mention me to him. Please don't tell anyone I'm here. Can you do that for me?"
Gerard studies Frank for a while, and then nods, reaching out to grab Frank's hand and giving his fingers a quick squeeze. "I promise."
Frank breathes out a sigh of relief, and as much as it pains him to leave Gerard there, that's all he can do for now. "Thank you. I need to get going, but I'll see you later, okay?"
Gerard nods, letting go of Frank's hand. "I'd like that," he says.
--
At the dinner table no chair is empty. Ashlee's brought hers next to Joe's, and she's cutting up pieces of meat for him, then scooping up mashed potatoes and peas with his fork, feeding him medium-sized bites.
"Look at us," Pete smiles, resting his elbows on the table on either side of his plate. "Like a real family."
Gerard gives his peas a sad smile, poking at them with his fork. He’s been kind of subdued ever since they got back from the river, mostly keeping to himself throughout the day. Maybe he just needs more time, Pete thinks, studying his face. Maybe the day’s just managed to overwhelm him.
He turns his attention to Ashlee and says, "I think our patient is starting to be well enough to eat by himself."
Ashlee gives Pete a tense look, scooping up more potatoes and feeding them to Joe, taking no heed of him.
"I said leave it," Pete snaps, and she drops the fork on Joe's plate with a clatter, exhaling shakily. She recomposes herself and then slowly pushes her chair back, sitting down at the head of the table opposite to Pete.
Satisfied, Pete turns to Gerard again, giving him a pleasant smile as Joe slowly attempts to pick up his fork. "We both have a big day behind us. You can’t imagine how happy it made me that you decided to get baptized. I’m sure your brother would have been proud of you."
Gerard's worrying his lip while casting unhappy glances at Joe, looking like he wants to get up and help the man. "Uh, yeah," he replies distractedly. "Thank you, again. I think it was just what I needed. I feel like a different person."
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear! Now that you’re one of us, you can finally leave your old life behind you. I promise that you won’t regret it.”
Gerard just smiles ruefully at his peas.
After dinner Pete sits outside on the porch and thinks about everything that’s happened in the past few months. He thinks about Joe in the church lying under the manifestation of the bleeding Jesus Christ on the cross after Joe had failed to kill him. He thinks about Ashlee at night inside of Chin’s, and how he had made her burn it down in his sleep.
He feels powerful, like there’s nothing he can’t accomplish. And once he gets rid of this Frank, the only other man who seems to want him dead as much as Joe, nothing will stand on his way anymore. He’ll have the world on his palm.
Later in the evening Pete paces down the hallways, too excited to sleep, his blood feels hot and his hands jitter, and he kind of wants to go to Ashlee's room and pull her in for a kiss.
The light is on in Gerard's room, and he peeks inside instead. Gerard's hunched over the small letter-desk, oblivious of Pete's presence. The window is cracked open and cool night air drifts inside, ruffling the short hairs on the back of Gerard's neck. Pete sneaks closer, curious to see what he's so engrossed in. He's been living with them for days already and Pete still hasn't quite managed to figure him out.
But that drawing. He's seen this man before, and as Gerard gives more shadows to his handsome face, his image becomes even more defined. "How do you know him?" Pete breathes out, and Gerard jumps, dropping his pen. It slides over the edge of the desk to the floor, rolls along the floorboards and disappears under the unmade bed.
"Wha - what?"
"Who is he?" Pete demands, picking up the picture and shoving it to Gerard's face. "How do you know him?"
Gerard's spooked face becomes more confused by the second, but he stays silent, not telling him a thing. He tries to stand up from the chair but Pete pushes him back down, grabbing a hold of his nightshirt. "Tell me who he is."
"Let go of me, Brother," Gerard says, his voice calm and stern like he doesn’t realize what Pete could do to him. "Please."
Pete has to force himself to loosen his grip from Gerard's shirt and take a step back. "Come on, Gerard. This is important. Do you know this man?"
Gerard takes a moment to consider his words. Then he looks at Pete, eyes clear but serious. "He's no one. I must have seen him somewhere and the face just stuck with me." And as convincing as he sounds, Pete knows that he's lying.
"Okay, okay. Sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Thanks anyway," he says, knowing he should leave before he does something reckless. It takes a lot to keep himself in check, he realizes, as he leaves a perplexed Gerard in his room.
He stops by the doorway and glances back at Gerard, trying to make his voice as casual as ever. “By the way. Where did you say you lived before coming here? With Mikey?”
Gerard chews on his lip, hesitating.
“It’s okay to tell me. I just -- I was just wondering. I like to know as much as I can about my new friends. I think it’s important.”
Gerard sighs and nods, attempting a small smile. “I lived in a traveling carnival. With Mikey.”
“Thank you, Gerard,” Pete breathes out and stumbles out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
He leans against the wall in the hallway, mind working to put pieces together. He turns the picture in his hands, studying the familiar face. Gerard's past appears much clearer to him now, and he feels satisfied, just knowing that this man Gerard's taken painstaking care to draw is coming to him, all the signs point to it. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t look at them as just random occurrences anymore.
And Gerard. Gerard just became a whole lot more interesting.
On the next day Pete keeps a close eye on Gerard, apologizing to him for freaking out like that and inviting him for a walk through the valley. Later, he tries to bond with him over coffee that they both inhale a whole pot in the house after their walk, asking more about Mikey and telling Gerard he’s not alone in his sorrow, many people in the valley have lost someone close to them to the dust and drought.
Gerard had been acting kind of cautious in the morning, but as the day progressed, he seemed to be warming up to Pete once more. And in the late afternoon in the wake of another sermon, Gerard takes his seat in the front row with Ashlee and Joe like usual, listening to his words so earnestly that Pete knows he hasn’t lost him to doubt.
They walk back to the house in a comfortable silence, Ashlee a few steps ahead of them pushing Joe's chair and making dinner plans with a couple of their old friends that finally managed to come live in the valley and hear Pete's word. Pete’s thoughts are filled with Frank, and he just knows he will get to meet him soon.
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