Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points 7/9
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In the early hours of the afternoon the trucks finally come to a halt. Frank can't imagine anything better than the breath of fresh air that hits his face when he opens the door. He was shaken awake at daybreak after another one of his dreams. He'd been screaming again, Ray told him with wide, scared eyes, his hair an even bigger, messier ball of fluff on his head than usual. He'd been thrown into the battlefield, soldiers all around him running for cover as explosions started to tear apart the ground. He was running so fast his lungs burned, but he couldn't escape. A strong explosion threw him back against the trunk of a tree, and when he opened his eyes, he realized his legs had been blown off by the bomb.
After getting coffee from Butcher, Frank sits by an empty table and takes in his surroundings. The rousties are just starting to set up the tents, get the booths assembled, under Brian and Bert’s supervision. Bob's sitting with Tegan on the steps to her trailer with a hand on her shoulder; she's wringing a blue hankie, occasionally running it through her fingers and dapping the corners of her eyes with it.
"She had a rough night," Lindsey says, taking a seat opposite to Frank. She sets her own coffee on the table and clasps her hands, looking into Frank's eyes.
"Sara?" Frank asks, and she hums, smiling softly at him.
"You don't look all that great, either. What's with the dark circles underneath those pretty eyes of yours?" She reaches out to brush her thumb under his eye and then takes his hand into hers, holding it between her warm palms.
"I guess I haven't been sleeping all that well lately," Frank says, looking down at their hands. "I can't seem to get over these dreams I have."
''Honey, everyone has bad dreams. It's the times we live in, it’s hard to be happy. It's hard to feel safe," Lindsey says, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. But these aren’t normal nightmares, Frank wants to say. They feel too real to be just bad dreams.
It's the first time since Sara's death that both carnivals open doors for business. The atmosphere is subdued and tense, and Frank finds himself having nothing to do, even Bob seems to have lost his fire in bossing him around.
The cooch show is a no-go for the time being, but Frank's not sure they'll ever be able to have another show after what happened. "Baby steps," Bert tells him like he knows what he's talking about, but Frank still has to wonder.
When the evening rolls around, Gerard finds him wandering amongst the townies and pulls him aside.
"Aren't you supposed to be giving readings?" Frank asks, nudging him with his elbow. Gerard's trying to give him a wretched look, but quickly his smile slips free.
"Small turnout, I guess. Brian gave me and Mikey the rest of the night off," he beams.
"And you wanted to spend it with me?" Frank grins big, feeling like a hundred bucks.
"Well you did promise me some of your time," Gerard reminds him, grabbing Frank's fingers and squeezing them tight. Frank nods, smiling down at their hands. Gerard's hands are soft, pale and surprisingly clean. Frank tries not to feel embarrassed about the dirt under his fingernails and the rough calluses on his fingers and palms.
They walk around for a while, checking the crowds. Gerard's mostly doing the talking, telling Frank stories from the road.
When the air starts to cool, Frank fishes a nickel from his pocket and flicks it at Dan who hands him a fluffy white cloud of cotton candy in return with a wink and a sly smile that makes Frank's cheeks burn hot.
He eats the fluff with Gerard on the back of Brian's truck, swinging his legs in the air. Tegan's playing records in her trailer and the music drifts outside from the open window, mixing with sharp yells and children's laughter. Maja's gathering a crowd, juggling a couple of burning, bottle-shaped torches in the air. Lindsey's been looming in the background, but when Maja drops the last torch on the ground, she steps up to Maja's side, takes a swig of mescal from the bottle she's been emptying at a steady pace all evening and blows a ball of fire at the men wolf-whistling her. She’s a dragon, Frank thinks. Beautiful and strong and a little bit terrifying.
Frank presses his head to the crook of Gerard's neck and closes his eyes, allowing himself to be swept away, lulled by the different noises and smells of the carnival.
Gerard's finally stopped talking. Hesitating, he leans his jaw on the crown of Frank's head and squeezes his shoulder, then inches his fingers up along Frank's shoulder and starts to play with the strands of hair curling on his neck and behind his ear.
"God," he murmurs when the evening grows dark and thousands of lights go on at once, illuminating the space. "Sometimes I hate this life with everything I have, all the crap that goes on, sometimes it just gets to me, like there's just too much shit to handle. But then --"
"But then it also gives you moments like this," Frank says, voice mellow, looking up at him. A squeeze on his upper arm and he's pulled even closer, held a little tighter.
"And I realize this is where I belong," Gerard murmurs, his mouth pressed to Frank's hair. "I can't imagine anything that could ever make me leave."
Frank heaves a sigh and wonders if he'll ever begin to feel that way.
"Can I read your cards," Gerard says, giving Frank a nudge.
"Um," Frank hesitates, detaching himself from Gerard's side. He's not too sure he wants a repeat of the last reading; it had creeped him out more than he's willing to admit. "I dunno, I mean. I don't really have that great experiences with card reading..." he trails off, worrying his lip with his teeth.
"Okay, I admit that the last time didn't really go as well as I'd hoped, but I think you should give it another shot. Maybe your future looks brighter than your past. Actually, I'm sure it does," Gerard says desperately, like he really needs to believe it's true.
Frank's stomach does a nervous swoop, and he realizes with a start that his hands are shaking.
"Okay," he breathes out in the end. They're just cards, he thinks, they can't hurt me. And he has questions to ask; maybe Gerard's cards will give him the answers he's been looking for.
"Okay?" Gerard asks with apprehension, giving Frank a worried look.
"Why not," Frank answers, attempting a reassuring smile, which falls short when even his lips begin to tremble.
"Frank --"
"I'm sure. I'm really, really sure. It's just. I'm just a little nervous," he admits.
"You have nothing to worry about." Gerard looks and sounds so reassuring that Frank can’t help but feel more at ease already.
He pulls out a deck of cards from the hidden breast pocket of his jeans jacket, holding them out for Frank to look at. These aren't the ones that told him about his past. They're smaller and thinner, not as boastful or well kept but friendlier to look at, and in a way more intimate, easier to control. "They're just cards," Gerard echoes Frank's thoughts. "Whatever they tell us, it doesn't mean it'll actually happen to you. You're the one in control of your life, not a deck of cards. At the most, they can give you guidelines, a nudge in the right direction. But that's all. Okay?"
Frank nods, feeling a lot better from his words.
He studies the way Gerard shuffles the cards, his sure, easy movements, the faster-than-thought flick of his fingers that shuffle the cards before folding around the deck.
He spreads out the cards into a fan and says, "Pick three."
"Last time you picked them," Frank points out but extracts three cards anyway, holding them out for Gerard.
"We're doing things a little differently this time," Gerard says, putting the incomplete deck out of the way. He takes the three cards that Frank picked out and places them belly down on the bed between their thighs.
"The Tower reversed," he says, looking at the first card. "The Tower means sudden change. Disruption and downfall when it's the right way around, but reversed it means accomplishment and success."
"Well I'm glad it wasn't the right way around, then," Frank says, kind of feeling like he's just dodged a bullet there.
"See? It's not all bad," Gerard smiles in a bona fide fashion, flipping the middle card around, studying it with interest. "Judgment," he says, and a quiet feeling of dread starts creeping back up Frank's spine.
"Well that can't be good."
"Oh, no, it's nothing to worry about. It just means renewal and rebirth. Do you think you could be starting to accept your power? Come to terms with it?"
Frank considers it, looking down at the card. "I guess," he says, and adds more confidently, "Yeah, yeah, I think I am."
"That's awesome," Gerard beams, reaching out to squeeze Frank's hand.
When the last card gets flipped over, a film of images starts flashing in Frank's eyes with so much force that it knocks him down.
"Frank? Frank, talk to me," Gerard says, trying to detach Frank's hands from his face. The images are still coming, but slower now, almost slow enough to make sense of them. The minister is there, standing next to a black, sturdy-branched tree on fire. He sees rocky hills and a green valley, the moon big and white and cold. A large black dog is walking down the valley, snuffling at the ground, and somewhere in the distance thick-furred gray wolves lift their heads up to the moon in a booming howl.
"Frank? Are you alright?" Gerard's voice sounds distant and muffled like they're both under water, but when the torrent of images stops, his ears pop and for a while everything is too loud and raw.
"What happened?" Frank asks dumbly, his scalp's aching from where he was tearing out his hair.
"Jesus, Frank! I thought you were having a seizure. You almost gave me a fucking heart attack."
"Sorry," Frank says sheepishly and pushes up from the bed. "It was nothing."
"Ha, yeah right. Didn't look like nothing to me."
"Can we just forget it? I wanna know what my last card is all about," Frank says, hoping that Gerard will just leave it for now, ignoring the fast pulse beating against his eardrums.
"You got the Ace of Swords," Gerard says warily, still eyeing Frank like he's afraid he's gonna combust in flames or something.
"What is it?"
"It means both clarity and focus. You're gonna have to focus on the issues at hand and make your stand, there's no room for excuses anymore."
Well, sure, what else would he get. "Great."
"You sure you're okay?" Gerard asks, reaching out to cup Frank's knee. "They're just cards, they don't have to mean anything."
"Says the carnival card reader," Frank cracks a smile.
"Frank," Gerard says, still frowning, but Frank doesn't get a chance to reply because there's a loud crash, metal colliding against metal, and a blood-chilling scream.
"Shit, come on," Gerard takes Frank's hand and yanks him down the truck. They run towards the gathering crowd just under the Ferris wheel, Gerard pulling him through the tight mass of people until they face a wailing woman in the center, crouching over a small girl. She's clutching her hands and calling out to her, but the girl stays perfectly still.
"Is she?" Frank breathes out, holding Gerard's hand so tight he might be crushing his bones.
Gerard glances at him and then kneels down, placing his hand on the girl's neck. "I can't feel a pulse," he says and the woman just cries harder.
Frank's legs wobble and he hunkers down next to Gerard, not able to take his eyes off the little girl.
When Brian and Bert come to check out the hubbub, the crowd starts to dissipate. It's almost closing time so most of the townies just shake their heads and leave, muttering quietly to themselves.
"What the hell happened?" Brian demands. He swipes his face with his hand, his thumb and forefinger drawing a line across his closed eyelids. Bob sits down onto the platform and sighs, looking very old.
"The safety rail came off and the girl... fell."
"That's just goddamn fucking great," Brian snipes. "Someone does a sloppy job and the next thing I know I have a dead child on my hands."
"It's no one's fault," Bob says, and the girl's mother lets out a watery sound. "I checked the wheel myself when it was assembled, everything was fine."
"Well something fucking happened! Otherwise there wouldn't be a motherfucking dead girl under the Ferris wheel."
"Calm down," Bert hisses, eyeing the mother with concern. She's started chanting, “Why her? Why my baby girl? Why, God, why?” while rocking her child in her arms.
"Listen," Frank says, scooting closer to her. "Hey, listen. I can -- I could bring her back," he whispers, blood pounding fast in his ears.
"Wh-what?" she stutters with wet, wide eyes.
"If you could, would you give your life to her? If that'd save her? If that'd bring her back?"
"Yes," she answers without a beat. "You don't even have to -- She's my everything. I don't know if I can live without her."
"Frank?" Gerard asks, searching Frank's eyes.
"I can help them," Frank says with so much determination he hardly recognizes his own voice. "I can help you," he tells the woman. A strange calmness has started blooming in his chest and he feels it spreading all through his body.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, yes. I'm sure. I can do this." He turns to the woman. "You can't have your kid back, I'm sorry but that's something I can't fix. But you can give your life to her, she'll still have a chance to grow up and have a future, just. You won't be there to see it."
The woman gives a wistful, watery smile and nods her head, taking Frank's hands into hers. "Is that possible? Oh, please, please do whatever you can to save her, my baby."
Frank searches her eyes and smiles, nodding his head and giving her hands a reassuring squeeze. "Gerard, stand back," he warns, glancing at his worried face. "All of you, get back."
Gerard sighs and gets up from the ground, nudging at Brian and Bob to give Frank some space. Bert looks confused but trails behind them anyway, kicking at the dirt with the balls of his feet.
Frank looks over his shoulder, giving Gerard a brief smile before he turns back to the mother and her child. He puts his right hand on the girl's chest over her heart, his left hand still holding the mother's. He looks at her one last time, her hopeful face the last thing he sees before his eyes slip closed.
The first surge of energy always hits him the hardest. It knocks his breath away, makes his chest hurt and his hands shake. He thinks about his cards while the energy flows through him, but it's the memory of Gerard's voice that finally helps him relax. “You need to make a stand,” he'd said. There's no room for excuses anymore.
"What in the name of," Brian says in wonder, backing away from the girl when she rolls her head to the side, her long eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks before she opens her eyes. Frank's panting and shaking, breaking into a cold sweat.
"He did it," Gerard breathes out, sounding awe-struck and a little bit terrified. "He fucking did it."
"So the crippled girl was telling the truth," Brian breathes out, eyeing Frank as he stumbles back a little, trying to find his balance. Bert whistles, raising his eyebrows.
"You fucking cured her! Which is amazing, but it makes me wonder what the hell else you've been keeping from us."
"Brian, now's not the time. Give the guy some space." Somewhere in his fevered haze Frank's surprised to hear Bob's voice defending him. "He looks like he's gonna croak."
"God, Frank? Are you alright?" Gerard jumpstarts into motion, kneeling down next to Frank, starting to fuss over him. He gently detaches Frank's hands from the woman's death grip and wraps his arm around his shoulders, steadying him. Frank garbles out something vague and stupid, and smushes his nose into Gerard's shoulder.
Gerard gives his arm a reassuring squeeze and then turns to the drowsy girl. "Hi, darling," he whispers, "you wanna go grab ice cream with Bob while we talk some boring adult stuff?"
The girl looks up at Bob and shrugs, holding her arms up in the air, waiting to get picked up.
"We'll go find Dan," Bob says, hoisting the girl up in his arms. "And eat so much ice cream that it'll ooze outta our ears."
"Isn't mommy coming?" the girl asks, and Frank thinks he's gonna throw up.
"Mommy's...sleeping," Bob says evasively, giving Brian a helpless look.
"I guess I'll go find out if she has any family here. And someone has to move the body," Brian adds, giving Bert a pointed look. Bert sighs but nods his head, walking away from the scene.
Brian casts a final glance at Frank, flashing him a weak smile before taking off, plucking out a cigarette from behind his ear and placing it between his lips.
Gerard supports Frank as they stagger up from the ground. "Do you need to lie down?"
Frank shakes his head. "I think I just want to go somewhere quiet. The speed news spread around here... I just can't handle being with anyone right now. Except you," he adds, already glancing over his shoulder to check if anyone's noticed them but at the same time making sure he doesn't look too closely at the dead mother on the ground.
"Okay, yeah, we can do that," Gerard says and starts steering him away from the scene. They walk past the tents all the way to the edge of the carnival, towards a beat-up Sedan that's parked next to an empty popcorn stand, one step at a time. He opens the door and waits for Frank to clamber into the back before climbing in next to him and pulling the door closed.
"Whose car is this?" Frank asks, pressing his cheek against the cool leather.
"Don't worry, it's one of ours," Gerard reassures him. He reaches out to the front and grabs a pack of Marlboros from behind the gearshift. "Want one?"
Frank nods and then fishes his matchbox from his pocket, shakes one out and lights up their smokes. "Thanks."
Gerard shrugs, rolling down his window, and takes a long drag from his cigarette.
"You did a good thing back there. A real good thing," he says wistfully, smoke gushing out of his mouth.
Frank stares down at the cig between his fingers; ash flakes swirl in the breath of air.
"Frank, look at me. You saved that little girl's life."
"I wouldn't have done it if her mom hadn't looked so desperate. Even if the girl gets to live now, someone's still dead. I don't get how anyone can call that a gift."
"You gave her a choice." Gerard bumps his arm softly with his knuckles and lifts Frank's chin up. "Oh Frankie," he murmurs, brushing his cheek with his thumb. He leans down and presses a kiss on Frank's face, just above his upper lip, the sting of his Marlboro breath itches Frank's nose.
Frank's eyes flutter as he concentrates on the feel of Gerard's mouth so close to his. He turns his head just enough for their lips to brush, dry and chapped but soft at the same time. They move slowly together, Gerard’s fingers caressing under his ear, and when Gerard pulls away, Frank replaces Gee's mouth with his half-burnt cigarette and can't help but crack a smile at his knees. Strangely, his world doesn’t look quite as dim as it did before, and he realizes he’s just saved a little girl’s life. It makes him feel powerful; makes him feel like he matters.
Gerard dips his own cigarette between his lips, inhales, and then flicks the stub out of the window. "That was nice," he muses, like he's commenting on a good meal.
"Hey, do you see me complaining," Frank says, raising his eyebrows. He still doesn’t feel completely like himself, but he thinks he’s getting there. Gerard’s presence is helping to soothe him, to see things in a different light.
"Wouldn't hurt to add a little tongue next time," Gerard jokes and Frank burst into a soft, genuine laugh.
"Next time? There's gonna be a next time?"
"Well, I kinda hoped there'd be," Gerard says fondly, giving Frank a crooked smile.
Frank licks his lips and stubs out his cigarette on the leather upholster, throwing it out the open window, then leans in to kiss Gerard again.
Gerard tastes like coffee and smoke: bitter, but his mouth is soft and warm. Frank thinks he'll never want to stop kissing him now. Their noses bump and Frank bites at Gerard’s lip, tugging it into his mouth, while Gerard cups his hip, spanning Frank’s back with his free hand. Frank roams his chest and belly, pushing into the soft skin there, then slips his hand under Gerard's shirt, palming his warm, soft skin.
"Wait. Frank," Gerard starts, pulling out of the kiss. "What're we doing?"
"I think we're finally having our dance," Frank smiles dazedly, thinking back at the night in the bar, but sits back when he notices the frown drawing Gerard's brows together. "Gee?"
Gerard worries his lip, motioning between them. "I just -- What is this? We never really discussed this before."
Frank blinks. "No, but I thought things were implied," he says with a frown of his own. "What's the matter? I thought we were on the same page."
"I just. I don't know what you want -- what you're expecting from me."
Frank rakes a hand through his matted hair, confused and a little bit hurt. Just a moment ago they were kissing, and Gerard had thought it was nice.
"I want us to have what we've always had? But also more. Like, now that I've kissed you I definitely want more of that. The kissing was great," Frank tries to explain. He can't help but feel a little cornered. "Look, I just. I wanna be with you."
"Oh," Gerard breathes out, looking so relieved. "Okay, then. I wanna be with you too."
Frank blinks. "Okay. Then what's the problem?"
"No problem really. I just wanted to make sure I'm not like, using you when you’ve just been through so much, when you’re so vulnerable. I mean, I thought you liked me, but usually I'm really bad at reading people when it comes to stuff like this," Gerard rambles, a blush spreading out along his neck.
"First of all, fuck you for saying I’m vulnerable," Frank huffs, but he feels stupidly giddy, the pressure in his chest easing up. "Secondly, Gee, you read people for a living, you gotta see the irony in that."
"It's not the same," Gerard shakes his head and pulls Frank in, hooking his leg over Frank's thigh. "It's just not the same."
"Uh huh," Frank says, ducking in to press a kiss to Gerard's chin. "Whatever you say."
"Hey, come here," Gerard grins, tugging Frank snug against his chest. He scoops in for a new kiss, licking Frank's lip as their noses bump. Gerard smells like old sweat and his cigarettes, and Frank brushes his hands through his short white hair.
There's a yell outside that startles Frank and he pulls back. Gerard shushes him, following him to his seat. "It was probably just Brian barking someone's head off, no one knows we're here."
"Sorry, I just really don't want to deal with anyone right now," Frank says, taking a nervous glance out over the backseat.
"I know, you said that," Gerard replies, pressing his face in the crook of Frank's neck. "And I told you not to worry, no one'll know we're here."
"What, is the car cloaked in some magical veil or something?"
"No," Gerard's laugh vibrates on his skin. "It's just that we're hidden behind all these tents and trailers, and you know how busy everyone is during the opening night. Besides, there's that stuff with the girl and her mom, no one'll have time to miss us."
"Okay," Frank says, nosing Gerard's forehead, trying not to think about what’s happening outside the car right now, but still hoping that the girl is all right. "I was being stupid."
"Nah, I get it. If I were you I wouldn't wanna answer anyone's questions either."
"I just wanna stay here for a while," Frank explains. He nudges at Gerard and lies down on the seat, then pulls Gerard back by his shirt, satisfied only when Gerard's settled back on his chest, that nice, heavy weight holding him down.
"That's good, because I wasn't planning on moving any time soon."
"Works with me."
Gerard feels around until he finds Frank's hand. He gives it a tight squeeze and rests the knot of their fingers on Frank's chest, softly kissing his knuckles. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other and sharing the same air.
The clouds shift when Frank's slipping Gerard's shirt over his head, and there's a loud rumble in the sky.
Gerard stumbles with the clasps of Frank's dungarees, flustered, and it brings Frank into a fit of giggles.
"What the hell?" Gerard grumbles, pulling at the strap. "How is this more difficult to open than a bra?"
Frank hooks his leg over the back of Gerard's thigh and presses his grin into the backrest.
"You think it's funny?" Gerard exasperates, pulling Frank to him by the straps. "You think this is fucking funny? I'll fucking show you funny!” He digs his fingers into Frank's sides where Frank's the most sensitive.
"Oh god, stop it," Frank giggles, squirming and trashing, trying to break free from Gerard's hold while shaking with laughter. "You fucker! Oh my god, seriously!"
Gerard almost gets punched in the eye during a particularly terrible tickle, and he lets go, sitting back and waiting for Frank catch his breath, a sly smile spreading on his face.
Frank snorts and lies down on the seat, spearing his hand through his hair, his face wet from sweat and tears of laughter. "Jeez," he says, looking up at Gerard who's grinning wolfishly, kneeling between Frank's thighs.
"Now that we got that outta the way, you wanna help me out with these?" Gerard wiggles his eyebrows, pulling at a clasp.
"After that I should probably make you suffer, but I don't really feel like it," Frank chuckles, kicking off his shoes and slinking out of his dungarees, getting his undershirt off as an afterthought. Then Gerard's kissing him all hot and heavy, running his palm down Frank's side and cupping his thigh, pressing softly at Frank's skin.
And Frank's been so into this ever since their first kiss. He can't get enough of Gerard kissing him. Gerard pressed so close to him, Gerard's skin and mouth and attention all for him now. And he realizes he's wanted this so much ever since the first night Gerard sought him out and showed him the beauty of the carnival that he's practically shaking with want and need now.
Frank breaks the kiss with a moan, and just looks at Gerard, his lips and eyes and the pink of his cheeks. "Gee," he breathes out, pushing up with his hips, winding his leg over the back of Gerard's thigh. He grabs a hold of Gerard's shirt and struggles it over his head, Gerard's arm almost colliding with his jaw in the process. As soon as the shirt is gone, Gerard starts mouthing at Frank's collarbone, his hand sliding up and down Frank's thigh comfortingly, humming a reply into the ball of Frank's shoulder.
Gerard's skin is soft on his back and slick with sweat, the sudden humidity in the air's already gotten to him. He slips his hand down the small of his back where the sweat is pooling, and under the waist of Gerard's jeans, palming the slope of his ass.
Rain starts to lash at the car and trickle inside through the open window, slicking up the black leather. Frank's head lolls to the side and he scrabbles at Gerard's back, feeling his spine undulate under his skin.
"Fuck, fuck, Frankie, can you?" Gerard says breaking through the haze Frank's fallen in. Frank blinks dumbly up at Gerard as he pulls back and starts yanking at his arm that's stuck under Frank’s back while struggling to get his jeans down his hips with his free hand.
Frank lifts up and Gerard gets his hand back, then tries to help him with the jeans, although he thinks he might just be making it more difficult for him.
He lets Gerard cup his dick through his underwear for a while, but soon gets frustrated, just needing to feel Gerard’s skin against his own, only satisfied when they're both naked. And all of a sudden the car is too small and hot, the air thick and heavy in his lungs, but Frank hardly notices, all that matters is Gerard holding him, pressing him down, kissing him with everything he has.
And then it's so good, so great Frank can't keep still, his hips rutting up in a messy rhythm, belly swooping and fluttering, a string of whimpers pouring out of his mouth. His dick is tucked snug against the cut of Gerard's hip, getting sweetly rubbed while Gerard moves over him in a messy rhythm of his own.
But he's not there yet, not quite. "Fuck, I need --" he groans, pushing up and rolling them over, admiring the pale of Gerard's skin and hair against the black leather of the seat, storing the image into his memory.
"Christ," Gerard says brokenly when Frank presses down, his dick sweeping wet against Gerard's. Gerard scrambles to help the slide, cupping him and Frank in his hand, running his palm along the slick skin. And it's so hot, so fucking hot Frank has to squeeze his eyes closed and bite at his lip to keep from completely breaking apart.
And then Gerard does something with his hand that's just unfair and Frank's coming with a sharp cry, his whole body shaking with it. And it triggers Gerard's climax, his hips jutting and eyes slipping shut, his whole body flush and strung tight. Frank struggles to hold himself up until Gerard's coming down, and boneless, he crumbles on Gerard's chest, pressing his mouth to the crook of Gerard's neck in a sleepy kiss.
They lie together in a companionable silence for what feels like hours, stealing kisses and light touches and listening to the sounds carrying in through the open windows.
When it starts to get cold, Frank sits up and starts looking around for their clothes, locating Gerard's shirt before he gets distracted by the rain lashing against the car. "It's raining," he grins, reaching out the window to collect raindrops into the cup of his palm. Gerard has a hold of his ankle, like he's being anchored to his spot in the car by Gerard's side. "I can't remember the last time it rained."
"You wanna go check it out? 'Cause if you do, you need clothes for that," Gerard adds, driving his hand up along Frank's calf. "Unless you want Jimmy to make you his new crowd-puller."
"Spoilsport," Frank says, pulling back from the window. The sky is all dark gray tones, the occasional lightning flashing yellow and giving it character. They get dressed and climb out of the car, the first step in the muddy ground already seeping water into Frank's shoe.
"Good thing I put my socks in my pocket," he says as Gerard grabs his hand. "I hate wet socks."
"The sky looks fucking insane," Gerard says with his head cocked up, rainwater running down the column of his neck.
Frank grins at the sky, letting rain lash against his face and soak his hair.
There's a loud rumble, the next lightning striking all too close for comfort, and another one right afterwards, the ground flashing white. It gets scary really fast, all around them lightning bolts like the sky is aflame.
"Shit, Mikey" Gerard cries out, letting go of Frank's hand and taking off towards the clearing, water splashing and seeping into his pantlegs.
When Frank catches up with him, Gerard's fighting Bob, trying to bolt for the burning trailer. It takes a moment to realize whose trailer it is, and when he does, it's like a punch in the gut and he loses his breath. One moment he's standing there, helplessly watching as the brothers' trailer burns to the ground, and the next he's struggling against Brian and Bert, trying to break free so that he can run inside and get Mikey out.
"It's too late," Brian says, rain on his face running down like tears, but Gerard’s still yelling, "I can hear him! Let me go, I can fucking hear him screaming!"
The rain is dying away.
Frank's knees give out and he collapses to the ground, Brian still holding onto him by the back of his t-shirt. He wonders how it's possible for wet wood to burn so well. The flames lick at the frame of the trailer, yellow and orange, almost too bright to look at, as a cloud of fire bursts out from inside, breaking the windows and banging the door wide open.
"Mikey!" Gerard cries out, his voice so raw and grating, so full of agony and terror, that it's hard to listen to. "I can hear him, I can still hear him!"
Frank struggles one arm free but Bert quickly grabs it back, holding tightly onto him. "Fuck!"
"Just die," Gerard cries, his shoulders trembling. "Why won't you fucking die!"
It's only after everything's quieted down that the troops rush back with buckets at full gallop, splashing water everywhere as they hurry to throw it at the already dying flames.
"You wanna go help them out?" Brian says to Frank, but it sounds more like a command than a question. Frank's finding it hard to take his eyes off of Gerard's quivering back, and no, he doesn't wanna help out, he wants to go to Gerard and hold him close until he stops shaking. But Bert's there with him already, his hand on the back of Gee's neck, letting him sob into his chest and cling to him with his full weight.
"Fine," Frank grits out, breaking away from Brian's tight grip. "Just -- fuck! Just make sure he's alright, okay?"
Brian gives him a dark look but doesn't say anything else, just nods his head and starts making his way to Gerard and Bert. Frank watches him kneeling down and putting his hand between Gerard's shoulders, the three of them all huddled together with Gerard in the middle.
--
"Brother Peter. Brother Peter, wake up," someone jiggles his shoulder. Pete turns around onto his side and smushes his face into the pillow. "Pete, you gotta wake up. There's been a fire. Our church's burnt down to a crisp."
"What?" Pete sits up, his legs tangled in the sheet. Hayley's standing by the bed, wringing her hands nervously, tears in her eyes. "What did you say?"
"Oh, it's awful, all those children..."
"Children? Wait," Pete rubs the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to wake up. He feels unreasonably tired this morning, even though the sun's already high up in the blue, cloudless sky. When he thinks about the fire, he can almost feel the smoke in his nose, hear the helpless cries of the children. "The orphans? How -- how many?"
"Every single soul," Hayley breathes out, touching her lips with her fingertips.
Pete stumbles down the staircase, two stairs at a time while fumbling with his cassock that he's thrown over his pajamas in a haphazard hurry. He considers rushing out the door but his cracked lips and dust-dry mouth lead him into the kitchen instead.
Ashlee's standing by the kitchen sink, facing the window, her back to the door. A batch of her sleeveless, cream-colored shirt is damp and stuck to the middle of her back and her hair's a messy knot on her neck. She's running a wet sponge along her arm with meticulous care, from shoulder to wrist, trickles of water mixing with black dirt and rolling off her arm in rivulets, washing the dirt away.
"Ash?"
Her shoulders tense for a fraction of a second, and she clenches her hand into a tight fist around the sponge, a fountain of water flowing down her arm. She hastily rubs her arm clean of the dirt and turns to him, then grabs him into a tight hug. The long bone of her arm feels almost painful as it presses against the back of his neck. "Oh, Pete," she sighs.
"Ash? Ashlee, are you alright?" Pete asks, pushing her back a step to better see her face.
"I'm fine," she says, turning around towards the window, but Pete remains skeptical. She hugs her arms to her chest and says, with a tense shrug, "Why wouldn't I be?"
Pete blinks. "Did you hear about the fire?"
"What -- what fire?" her back tenses even more and she digs her nails into her upper arm, hard enough to leave scratches.
"Chin’s burned down last night. Hayley just told me about it. You didn't know?"
She turns around, shaken. "I just got in, I was working in the garden." She furrows her eyebrows, looking down at her hands. There are thick stripes of dirt under her fingernails and a surface cut circling one wristbone. "I -- I think I was working in the garden."
"Uh," Pete says, at a loss. Something about the fire and Ashlee's reactions to it jab at Pete's memory, like the answer to everything is just lurking beneath the surface, sitting at the tip of his tongue. "Well... I'm on my way to check out the damage. What I heard from Hayley, it looks like it's pretty bad."
"Sure. Of - of course. Do you need me there?" Ashlee asks, still studying her hands. She seems lost somehow, and like she hasn't really heard anything Pete's been telling her.
"Nah, I'll go by myself. You just take care of yourself."
"Okay," she says, worrying her lip. "Hey, Pete?" she adds when Pete's about to leave.
"Yeah? What is it, Ashlee?"
She looks at him for a while, an odd look on her face, then shakes her head, thinking better of it. "Nothing, never mind."
--
Night falls over the carnival, shadows merging into a blanket of darkness.
The day after Mikey’s death had gone in a blur of sadness, everyone sitting quietly, buried in thoughts, trying to make sense of it all. Gerard hadn't come out of Bert's trailer all day, and he slept through the one brief visit Frank was allowed to make.
But on the next morning, Gerard is up early, lifting heavy props and carrying them with Lindsey into the main tent, his shirt already damp with sweat. Bob's eyeing them with disapproval, but not intervening, just letting them work.
Most of the rousties have settled down on the ground nearby, watching the scene while complaining about Lindsey -- a goddamn woman -- doing their job.
Brian, who's come to inspect the hold up, abruptly stops in his tracks when he notices the odd couple. "What's this all about?" he asks Bob, crossing his arms to his chest.
"They wanted to help," Bob shrugs, rubbing his wrist under the loose support strap. "I let them help."
"Help? But it's not their job," Brian says with a tired voice, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his pointer finger and thumb.
"They're doing a pretty good job, though. And they aren't constantly complaining like some people," Bob says and casts a pointed glare at the rousties.
"And why is the rest of the crew dicking around, not doing anything?"
Bob's face twists into an ugly scowl. "They felt like they couldn't work with a woman and a fortune teller. I guess they feel threatened now that they know they aren’t the only ones that can do this job."
"You feel that way, too?"
"Hell no, but I don't think Gerard should be doing anything right now. I'm worried he'll get himself or Lindsey injured."
Brian nods, watching them struggle a plastic horse out of the back of a truck. It's for the merry go round, the frame of it is already assembled, it's just lacking the animals.
He strides over to Gerard and grips his shoulder to get his attention.
"Hey, Gerard? Why don't you leave this one to the rousties. It's not really your job."
"I want to pull my weight," Gerard says with a tight voice, helping Lindsey place the horse on the ground next to the giraffe. The yellow paint is almost completely hugged off of the giraffe's neck, and there are white scratches on the tips of its ears. "Since I can't read cards anymore… I -- I need something to do. You know how I feel about freeloaders."
"Shit. Gerard. Give yourself some time, you just lost your brother."
Gerard's jaw goes tight, and his expression is angry and raw. "Don't you think I know that? I woke up this morning and I couldn't hear his voice -- it's so fucking quiet all the time now. He's not… I can't hear him anymore." He blinks the sudden wetness from his eyes and wipes the tears on the back of his wrist.
Brian exhales heavily and nods, says he's sorry and that Gerard should do whatever feels best. Then, at a loss, just leaves him to it. Frank watches Gerard work for a while as he finishes his cigarette, then dusts his palms on the back of his dungarees and goes to give him and Lindsey a hand.
"Hey, Gee, you doing okay?" he asks, helping Gerard with another plastic horse. He feels like the world's biggest asshole when Gerard gives him a pained look, and struggles to find better words even though he has no idea what to say to him. He just needs to say something. "No, shit, I'm sorry. Of course you aren't. I wanted to be with you yesterday but Bert kind of shooed me away. I should have fought him. I just didn't wanna make noise and risk waking you up."
"You came to see me?"
"Well, yeah. Of course I did. Fuck, Gee. I'm so, so fucking sorry."
"For what? It wasn't your fault."
"Maybe if you hadn't been with me you would have had time to get him out. Before the fire grew too intense."
"Shut up, Frank," Lindsey says before Gerard has a chance to reply. "Thinking like that won't do anyone any good."
Gerard looks down, his mouth twisted in a tight downwards slope. "She's right," he says after a beat with a raspy, heavy voice. "I just, I think I wanna be alone," he adds, placing his half of the horse on the ground, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Well. That went well," Frank says, letting go of the horse's ass, not even flinching when it almost crushes his toes, missing them just by a hair’s breadth. Lindsey pats him on the back as they watch Gerard walking away. "Come on, babe," she says. "Let's get the rest of the stuff out."
The last item on the truck is a large mirror, its wooden frame cut in the shape of climbing plants. Frank lifts it alone with some difficulty, holding it at an arm's length while peering into it. When he was lifting it, he thinks he saw something moving in the mirror, a black shape, but it's gone now. It could have been just his own reflection, he thinks, but it still gives him the chills.
He spends the rest of the day alone in the supply trailer, which has manifested itself again at the very edge of the carnival. It's just as dusty and dank inside as he remembers, but it only adds to the grime and sweat he's already drenched in. There hadn't been a chance to a shower, most of the water tanks were emptied in the process of putting out the fire. A part of him had lived in the hope of bringing Mikey back until the very end, but when the smoke and flames finally cleared out, there wasn't much left of Mikey to restore.
He falls into a slumber sometime in the middle of the afternoon, and when he comes to, he realizes that the weight on his chest is a dusty, leather-jacketed book that he’s clutching in his arms.
He turns it around and lifts the cover, studying the front page. There's an inscription on the dirty-white page that he can't quite read, the handwriting looks old and shaky.
When he starts flicking through the pages, some paper clippings flutter down on the floor. They're all reviews of the carnival with small pictures above the articles depicting a younger, smiling Ozzy in a top hat, standing under bright, shining lights, or Ozzy being held up between two dancing girls, his arms around their bare shoulders, hand wrapped around a bottle of wine. "You old dog," Frank murmurs, shaking his head.
A brown photograph catches his eye, and he picks it up, studying the picture. His heart speeds up, and he almost drops the photo in his haste to get up. "Holy shit," he exhales, stumbling over his feet as he rushes to get out.
He finds Ray in his trailer, strumming his guitar with an air of absence that makes Frank wonder if he should be left alone. There are circles under his eyes and a smudge of soot on his cheek.
"Um, Ray," Frank says tentatively, looming in the doorway. Ray raises his head and looks around, frowning like he doesn't know where he is. He manages to snap out of his funk when his eyes settle on Frank.
"Frank? Come on in, what are you doing just standing in the doorway?"
"I found this photograph," Frank starts, mapping the scenery with his eyes, studying the animals in the picture and the huge full moon. It's almost exactly what Ozzy said to him: the place where the dog and the wolves howl at the moon. Pete would be there, waiting. "Can you tell me anything about it?"
Ray takes the photo and holds it close to his face, eyebrows drawing into another deep frown. "I know this place. We used to travel through the valley when we had shows in Hollywood, back when big city folk still got excited over us."
"I need to go there," Frank says without a smidgen of doubt. "I need to go there and get this thing over with."
Ray studies him with intent, his hair flopping when he nods his head. "Let me talk to Brian," he says, "I'll explain things to him the best I can."
When the night rolls around, Frank curls up on his old spot under Brian's truck, opposite to Bert's trailer, feeling exhausted and small, too far away from home, missing his mom. The light is still on in the trailer, and he stares at the black silhouette of Gerard smoking in the window with hunched shoulders and his head resting on his hand, as he drifts off to a dreamless sleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, Gerard is gone.
--
As a new morning begins to give way to a scorching day, Pete walks in the valley among the half-erect tents, giving out blessings like Communion wafers for everyone who's come to help him set up his temporary church. He raises his eyes to the large tree on top of the hill, letting his gaze caress the thick, powerful branches. He'd named his tree as the Tree of Knowledge as it was the largest, most impressive-looking tree he'd ever laid his eyes on. Near it he felt like the Snake, looking down on all the people in the valley, all those people he'd already lured into following him here.
"We must move forward. Our eyes to the future," he'd said when men and women gathered around him outside of Chin’s, every soul drenched in pain and despair, faces and fingers still charcoal black from the fire.
On the ground by the scorched church hall the children were lined up under sooty gray blankets. Pete had chanced a look under one blanket but then quickly pulled away. The sight had been too much for him: the smell of burned skin and hair, all melted together, hair glued to the length of Polly Ann's cheek.
He'd stumbled his way back to the house, ignoring Ashlee downstairs -- now in her rocking chair with the radio on -- and ushering Hayley out of his room where she'd been folding laundry into his drawers.
In the late afternoon William Becket arrived. Alone in his room Pete had begun to remember things; they felt distant like a dream, but real enough that he knew they weren't just figments of his imagination. Ash seemed to remember bits and pieces too, judging by the uneasy way she acted near him.
When William had settled in the guest room for the night, she confronted Pete under the stairs, holding tightly onto the collar of his shirt as she hissed, "What in God's name did you do? All those children --"
Pete sneered, looking into her eyes. "Don't you mean what you did?"
"You wanted this," she cried, pushing him away from her. "Not me."
"Ash, you're not seeing the big picture," Pete tried to justify. "Now that Chin’s is gone, I can start building my temple! It all worked out for the best."
"Sometimes I feel like I don't even know you," she replied, mouth twisted in an ugly scowl. "We're both going to Hell for this."
"There's a plan for everyone, Ash," Pete gritted out. "I'm special, I can feel it. I've been chosen to carry out something big and wonderful. I've had visions of a new and improved world, a world where people don't destroy themselves in God's name but in their own, a world without rules and regulations. I've seen how it could be. From me the new age of men begins. So what are a few casualties along the way? Our victory will just taste that much sweeter because of them."
"Do you even hear yourself? This is not you, Pete. It’s not," she said, astounded. "You make me sick to my stomach. I -- I can't be around you right now."
"Ash! Ash, wait," Pete yelled after her. He gripped her arm and spun her around. "Don't you dare walk away from me, Ash. I will make this world burn!"
In midday William visits the site, fascinated by the fast work people have put into making everything ready. He walks around with a tape recorder, occasionally describing the scenery to the small machine and sometimes shoving it to people's faces, asking them questions. "This is good stuff. Good stuff!" he keeps saying, grinning to himself.
Ashlee's also there, helping Hayley fix up sandwiches and coffee for the people, all earlier negativity forgotten, wiped out of her memory.
She’s looking at Hayley out of the corner of her eyes when William pulls her aside and they start talking, Hayley speaking in hushed tones and William looking more and more dubious as time passes, stealing glances at Ashlee on the sly when she starts to occupy herself with the sandwiches once more.
Pete’s been battling with his thoughts for so long he feels weary, a part of him disgusted at himself now that he realizes what he’s made Ashlee do, a bigger part trying to convince him things will all work out for the better in the end.
And surely Ashlee will be grateful when she sees how much good comes out of it all.
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