Starcollecter (14/?)
Title: Lost Soul
Author: Cue
Rating: Pg-13(language)
Pairing: Frank+Gerard
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, this is all make-believe. You can't trust a word I say. Because I lie. All the time.
Author's Note: So sorry that is has been a billion years since my last update! I had a lot going on in my personal life and writer's block on top of that. So, I actually planned this one out, but of course its nothing like I expected it to be. The end is near though! Also, I'm sorry if it's extremely boring. But it always gets boring right before the exciting stuff, well not really, but you get the idea, it's going to get more exciting.
Summary: A war between angels and demons has been waging and when an angel dies, Starcollecters find their souls. To his dismay, Frank is the best in the business, and business is good. He thought he could rebel forever, but when he is bribed, and thrown, quite literally, back into it, everything gets fucked up when Frankie falls for the soul he has to kill.
Gerard stood in Mikey's kitchen, hugging a mug of steaming coffee to his chest like it was holding him together. He paid no attention to the drink in his hand, however, his eyes were glossy red and fixated on an undefined spot on the wall; distant. He had changed out of his stained clothes from the night before, wearing an old long-sleeved black shirt and black sweatpants. He opened his mouth as if to cry-out, form words, but no sounds came from his throat so he closed his chapped lips once again. His expression never changed. He remained distant, biting at his lips until they bled.
Mikey sat at the kitchen table, staring at his own mug of coffee intently, eyes ringed red. He slowly traced the tip of his long index finger around the top of the mug. Occasionally, he would drop his attention from his coffee to gaze at his older brother, watch him watch the wall. He sighed, getting used to the feeling of dread resonating through him. He just lost his best friend, a part of him, and now his brother was staring at the wall with a crazy look in his eyes, only opening his mouth to bite his blistered lips or speak delusionally of how he was going to bring Frank back. Unlike Gerard, Mikey had accepted Frank's fate, always knowing the dangers that ensued with it. But Gerard had only just began to grasp it all before being snatched away from him.
Gerard was only minutely aware of his younger brother's presence in the kitchen; watching him. His mind was focused on other impossible things. His thoughts were cut short, however as a light rapping on the front door rang through the small apartment. Gerard's eyes instantly snapped away from the wall to meet Mikey's. With a curious expression, Mikey stood from the table, leaving his coffee behind. Gerard slowly followed behind, standing in the kitchen's entryway to watch as Mikey cautiously answered the door.
"Hello?" he asked.
Gerard couldn't see the guest but he could certainly hear her. "Hello, Michael." a sweet, innocent, but altogether hesitant voice rang out.
"Uh, hi?" Mikey said awkwardly, looking startled, as if he didn't know what to say. "H-how do you know my-um-excuse me-who are you?"
"My name is Zita and I'm here to help you." The kind voice said, not exactly answering Mikey's question.
Gerard's curiosity had been piqued but he didn't move, only continued watching Mikey's facial expression change.
"Help with what?" Mikey said simply.
A nervous chuckle before, "Frank, of course?" she made it sound like a question.
Without thinking, Gerard unhitched himself from the door frame, strode across the hallway and pulled the door out of Mikey's hands, opening it wider to expose Zita. There was tall, beautiful girl standing in his brother's doorway. She had long, grayish-blonde hair and dull grey eyes.
"What did you say?" Gerard asked, his voice hard.
"Hello, Gerard, I'm here to help you get your boyfriend back." she said almost confidently.
You are?" He asked, losing his breath. "Is that possible? Who are you? How are we going to do it?" Gerard fired multiple questions at her without pausing in between them. He didn't smile but he offered a somewhat apologetic look. "Sorry, for all the questions, but, who are you?" he decided on that question being the most important.
Zita smiled. "May I come in?" she asked, stepping up into the doorway. Gerard and Mikey backed up to let her through. Mikey nodded his approval at her, since it was after all, his house. He shut the door behind her.
"Would you like some coffee?" Mikey asked.
The offer, however, seemed to go unnoticed by her. As she was now standing there in his front hallway, in between the kitchen and living room, a small space, nothing spectacular about it. But she peered around the apartment like it was all foreign and intriguing to her. She stared at the paint, the scuffed wooden floors, the pictures hanging on the wall. Her eyes lingered over a picture of Mikey and Gerard from a few years ago, arms thrown over each other, huge smiles on their faces.
Finally, she turned to look at the two brothers standing behind her, waiting for her response. Gerard was fidgeting impatiently, longing to learn more. "That would be nice." She said.
The three of them sat gathered around Mikey's small kitchen table, each holding a mug of coffee. Zita took a sip and made a sour face. "I don't like coffee." she said after taking what looked like a painful swallow, pushing the mug away from her. Mikey stared at her like she was an idiot. Gerard nudged his ankle with his foot under the table. Mikey dropped his eyes back to his own cup.
"So," Gerard began, clearing his throat, "um, about everything you said earlier. . ." his voice dropped off at the end.
"I'm sure you have many questions."
"Yes." Gerard answered.
"Then let me tell you a little about myself and maybe that will answer some of your questions before even needing to ask them." Zita sat up straighter in her chair. "My name is Zita. I am, for all intents and purposes. . " she paused, a look of conflict on her face. "well, I am a. ." she sighed. "No point in trying to hide it. I'm an angel. That's all you need to know for now. And I'm here to help you bring Franc- Frank back from the dead."
"You're an angel?" Mikey peered up at her, udder curiosity evident on his face.
"Why do you want to help us?" Gerard asked, diverting her attention away from Mikey's question.
Zita shrugged. "A few reasons."
Gerard made a sound of irritation, having no time for simple answers. "What are those reasons?"
"Well," Zita's voice drifted as her attention quickly snapped to the window. She peered out of it with her eyes drawn together in what looked like confusion. In a moment, her attention returned to Gerard. "I like Frank. I think it's a little unfair what happened to him." She shrugged. "And, well, he's kind of important."
"You want him back so he can finish his job, right?" Gerard asked in a short voice.
Zita hesitated, "N-no, at least not in the way you think. I want him back because, well, I don't agree with anything that's happening right now. I mean demons are bad yeah, and something needs to be done about it. But everyone is going about things in the wrong way. It's archaic. All this blood and guts." she spoke quietly, as if someone might have been listening. "I was thinking, maybe, if he came back, he could help me change a few things." She spoke slowly.
"Change a few things?" Mikey asked before Gerard could.
Zita nodded, "It's hard to explain. But I have this idea." She bit her lip hesitantly. "Point is, I want to help you. This could be revolution." She smiled and for the first time the innocence of her age shone through her face.
Gerard rolled his eyes. "Revolution." he scoffed. "You make it sound romantic." He shook his head.
"I saw your country through its revolution, I know the sacrifice it takes, do not treat me like I'm completely incompetent." She said seriously. "But revolution is always worth it." her voice was resolute.
"I don't know. ." Gerard said.
"Are you really going to turn down help when it showed up at your doorstep? Help that you need?" She smiled knowingly.
Mikey chuckled. "I guess that cures your indecision."
Gerard sighed before nodding his head. "Alright. But how do I know this isn't a trick of some sort?"
"You don't." her words lingered. "But I can tell you that I am not here for anyone else. I am here because it is what I want. It's in my best interests. You'll have to trust me." she extended her right hand. "Will you accept my help, then?"
Gerard stared at her hand, inhaling a large amount of air through his nose. He slowly took her hand in his, the warmth of it radiated throughout his arm. "Alright." he agreed.
~~
Green.
Green. That's all he saw. Dull green. Like chipping paint on an old house. Green mixed with brown blurring his vision above him. And a hint of grey beyond that.
Frank sat up slowly, he shook of the wave of vertigo that was bursting through his head. He was becoming quite used to the feeling of constant nausea. He closed his eyes and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. He took a deep breath, waiting to feel somewhat normal again. His heart would be beating fast if he had a heartbeat, but he didn't. He didn't even need to breath but it felt so uncomfortable not making the unconscious movements.
As the fogginess cleared from his mind,voices began to bombard his ears. Tiny voices. Like whispers. The voices were a sad murmur, spreading out around him in a thin layer. Frank opened his eyes, hoping to place faces to the melancholy voices.
Crowley sat on his haunches next to Frank. He put a finger up to his lips, signaling Frank to be silent. Frank gave him a look of confusion but obeyed. "You can't yell here, kid." Crowley whispered, standing up.
He held out a hand and helped Frank to his feet. "Where are we?" Frank asked quietly. It was a forest obviously, that much was obvious. A lush, green forest. Invaded fully by tall trees, everything was swathed in green. A deep, sad, green. A think veil of fog rolled through the forest, staying low, surrounding their feet. Nothing could be seen beyond endless trees. And then there was the voices. Continuing in his ear in whispers. Several different voices, murmuring unintelligible things in his mind.
"A forest." Crowley looked around.
Frank gave him a look. "No shit." he said sarcastically. "Why do we have to be quiet?" he whispered. "What are these voices? Can you hear them too?" The voices sounded so sad inside of his ear, Frank couldn't help but begin to feel his insides fill with a sort a melancholy.
"Yes, I hear them," Crowley nodded, still peering around, not meeting Frank's eyes. He had his hand resting loosely on his holstered gun. "Those are the voices of lost souls, begging for another chance, calling out for loved ones, looking for something of meaning." Crowley spoke slowly. "They wander around Limbo, just," Crowley paused. "waiting for something."
"Why haven't we met them before?" Frank asked, looking around for others but seeing only dense foliage and fog.
Crowley shrugged. "We were lucky." he said. "Sometimes you come across them, sometimes you don't."
Frank cleared his throat. "Um, lucky?" he asked.
"Lost souls aren't as innocent as they sound. Or seem." Crowley nodded. "They will do anything to find what they think they are looking for. They will surround you, overwhelm you, suck you in, drown you in sadness and the feeling of being lost. Until you become one of them."
"Well," Frank peered down, his hands in his pockets "They sound. .charming." he spoke sarcastically, masking the block of fear that had formed in his stomach.
"Oh, definitely." Crowley answered back just as sarcastically.
"So," Frank started, peering around, "I don't belong here?" he said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.
Crowley looked at Frank in the eyes for the first time. The crow's feet at the corners of his cloudy brown eyes made him appear infinitely wise, as if he had lived as long as the Earth. "Do you, son?" he asked.
"No," Frank hesitated. "I don't think s- do I?" He asked, his voice shaking. For some reason in that very moment he finally began to feel dead, afraid of the melancholy that would surely try to take his soul.
Crowley's thin, chapped lips were set in a sad frown. "Don't you?"
Frank gasped, he felt as if Crowley had punched him in the stomach, making that block of fear burst until it was just particles flowing throughout his entire body now.
"That's something you have to ask yourself, son."
Frank shook his head, vision blurring, could he cry in Limbo? He certainly didn't want to. That would make him weak, right? It was childish to cry, right? Especially in front of Crowley. But for some reason, this heavy weight was pressing down on him, getting heavier every minute he was there. And it was overwhelming him, blurring his vision, making his head spin. Filling him with sadness so intense he couldn't quite grasp it.
"No, no." Frank shook his head. "No," he gasped, shutting his eyes tightly. "No, I don't belong here. I'm not lost." he said to himself, sounding painfully hopeful. He opened his eyes to look at Crowley.
Crowley nodded at him. "That's exactly what you need to tell yourself, Frank." he said solemnly.
Frank took a deep breath, the weight was still there, pressing down on him, but not as intense as before. The voices still echoed around them. They sounded louder, as if they had gotten closer. No, Frank thought to himself, I don't belong here. I'm not lost. I'm just. . . misguided.
"C'mon, lets go," Crowley said hastily.
Frank peered up at Crowley, wondering why he was all of a sudden in such a rush. But Frank didn't get a chance to ask. Faces began to appear behind Crowley, amongst the trees. But it was just behind Crowley. They were all around them. Pale faces attached to slow-moving bodies. Many of their eyes were close, many were opened wide, as if searching for something. And some just looked tired. But all of their mouths were moving, calling out sad words.
"C'mon!" Crowley grabbed Frank by the wrist and began pulling him. "Dammit!" he exclaimed. "I don't know how to get out of here. They're everywhere!" he yelled.
Sure enough, the bodies began to slowly creep towards them, encircling them. They looked like ghosts of normal people. Sad, misguided ghosts. Frank felt something tug at the back of his hoodie.
"Mister, mister!" Frank turned to find a small boy grabbing onto him. He was wearing depression-era clothing. "Have you seen my mam?" he asked in an early, grimy New York accent. His eyes were big and sad and infinitely blue.
Frank shook his head, eyes wide, but before he could respond, his hand was being grasped by icy fingers, chilling him to his core. "What did I do?" he turned to find a woman clinging to his hand, sobbing. "What did I do?" she cried. "I haven't done anything! I need a second chance! I'm sorry! Tell him I'm sorry!"
In an instant, Frank's attention was being called in every direction, strange hands were clinging to him, holding onto him like he was life itself. "Sir, what day is it? I was supposed to meet my wife, but I'm afraid I'm running late." one man asked. "Please, please, you've got to help me find my daughter." said a woman, clutching him and sobbing uncontrollably. "I need to get out of here!" a shout came. "Help me! Help me!" the voices all spoke to him, and suddenly their whispers all became a shout in his mind.
Tears welled up in Frank's eyes. He had lost Crowley among them. The weight was pressing down on him completely now. Too much to handle, he began to cry openly, witnessing the lost faces laid out before him.
"I'm afraid I have forgotten what food tastes like," a little girl said to him. "I can't remember what it feels like to be embraced." a man said quietly. "The sun looks grey to me." A little boy said.
Frank began to back away, trying to get away from them, but he couldn't. They surrounded him from everywhere. There was so many of them. "Stop it!" he yelled. "Leave me alone!" he screamed. His head became foggy and senseless. Frank felt as if he was spinning.
He fell to his knees and they were above him, blocking out the light, closing him in. "Gerard," Frank cried weakly, his voice mixing with the cries of of the lost souls. "I can't give up, Gerard." He closed his eyes, and just as he was about to give in to the voices, the voices were silenced and the world exploded once more.
~~
Gerard and Mikey warmed up to Zita fairly quickly. She was set into action as soon as Gerard had shaken her hand. She seemed to be taking this whole business very seriously.
Gerard stopped her mid-rant. "Wait," he said," Isn't it just as simple as snapping your fingers and bringing him back? I think Frank said something like that one time." Gerard asked curiously, shaking his head, trying to remember.
Zita shook her said. "For a normal angel, yes it probably would be that simple,"
"Are you saying you're not normal?" Mikey interrupted, arching an eyebrow in her direction.
"Well," Zita shrugged. "I am normal but I'm still a child." she explained.
Mikey and Gerard both glanced her up and down. She looked like a typical young woman. Not a day over twenty. They gave her incredulous looks. "Uh," Gerard started.
"Well, I'm only 300 years old." She explained. "And 59 days."
Mikey snorted. "Only."
Gerard shook his head. "So you can't just snap your fingers and . . . poof?"
"No, I'm sorry." She said. "No 'poof' "
"Well then," Gerard shrugged, "That's okay. All we need is an adult angel, right?" he asked. "Sounds easy."
Zita gave him a look that made him pause. She gave him a small smirk. "No," she shook her head, "It's not that simple."
"Well, why not?!" Gerard snapped. Mikey elbowed his in the ribs lightly, keeping him in check, Gerard shrugged Mikey off.
"There's a war going on, Gerard. Most of us are too busy to stop to fix Frank. And if they did stop to help us, as soon as they brought him back, they would force him to kill you." Her face was emotionless. "I could ask my father, but he's in Hell. And I imagine he's going to be there for awhile."
"Wait, why is your dad is Hell?" Mikey asked.
Zita shrugged. "He's a general."
"Ah," Mikey nodded, drifting out of the conversation again.
"So he's no help?" Gerard asked, losing more and more hope by the minute.
"No."
"Well, who will be help?"
"I-" Zita sighed, "I- I guess I could always, I don't know. I'll figure it out though."
"That's not very reassuring." Gerard said, trying his hardest not to snap. He felt as though she had come all this way to help and had absolutely nothing to offer.
"Look, tonight I will go to the record hall. I'll look into and figure out what to do."
Gerard shook his head doubtfully.
"You said you would trust me, didn't you?" Zita asked.
Gerard looked at her. Her grey eyes seemed honest. Maybe it was because she was an angel; she seemed so pure. Maybe it was just because she meant every word she said. "Unfortunately, I did." He nodded.
"Then trust me." She said.
~~
Frank sat up quickly, gulping in air that he didn't need. He clawed at his chest, peering around. "Get away!" he yelled. He tried to stand but fell to his knees the moment he was on his feet. His ears were buzzing and his mind was still foggy.
Suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder.
"No!" Frank yelled. "Let me go." He crawled away from the touch.
"Frank! Frank!" Crowley yelled. "Get a hold of yourself, son! They're gone."
Frank hesitated. "Gone?" he whispered. He looked around. He was sitting in a street, an endless street, no houses, just a road. The sun was shining above.
"Yes," Crowley nodded reassuringly. "We're not in the forest anymore. It's just us." Crowley stood above Frank, peering around at their new surroundings. He sighed loudly.
"What the hell?!" Frank sighed. "No seriously, what the actual Hell?!" Frank's breathing slowed. He brought his knees up to his chest and laid his chin between them. He tugged at the hair on the back of his head, pulling at it with fistfuls. He rocked back and forth, slowly.
"I think you mean what the Limbo." Crowley cracked a smile, obviously pleased with himself.
Frank peered up at him. "Ha-ha-ha! Fucking hilarious!" he said without humor.
Crowley nodded, still smiling lightheartedly. "Ah, I try, I try." he shrugged, still looking down the road, as if something was going to suddenly appear out the horizon.
Frank sighed, returning to his thoughts. He was confused and hysterical. He had no idea what he had just gone through but he was certain he never wanted to feel like that ever again. His soul still felt strange, after all that sadness had been lifted from it, the feeling of being over burdened was slowly dissipating. Very slowly. "I have to get out of here." he murmured.
"What was that now?" Crowley asked, returning his attention to Frank, still curled up on the dirty street.
"I have to get out of here." Frank said, speaking a little louder for Crowley to hear.
"Well, son, you'll just have to be a little patient and-"
"I have to get out of here!" Frank yelled. "Don't you understand?!" He stood up fiercely, stumbling a bit but he continued. "I am not supposed to be here! Is this punishment?! Because I didn't kill Gerard? I have to go home! I have to see him! And Mikey! I have shit to do! So don't tell me to be patient! I'm Frank and patience is certainly not a fucking virtue I possess! Do you understand?! No! I don't even understand!" Frank's chest heaved. He sighed and looked at the ground. "Look," he said in his normal voice, "I'm sorry for yelling, you've been very helpful. But, I just have to get out of here." He said finitely.
Crowley nodded solemnly. "I remember when I was like you. Lost and confused. It's alright, son. We'll get you home. I'm sure of it." his words were meant to be comforting.
Frank said nothing.
"So, Gerard, eh?" Crowley asked with a mischievous smirk.
Frank nodded. "Yeah, what about him?"
"Oh, nothing." Crowley said. "Just now I can put a name to him." he shrugged.
"He's probably dead by now." Frank said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry at himself for thinking such things but he couldn't help it. He had always been slightly pessimistic.
"Look, kid," Crowley pulled him from his thoughts. "I don't what exactly will help you get home. But I think I know something that could point you in the right direction." he offered.
Frank looked up at him, "What?" he asked.
Crowley knelt on the ground and pulled his gun from his holster. He pointed it at the ground and pulled the trigger. Nothing seemed to happen at first. Not even a bullet was shot out. There was simply a loud noise like a shot. Crowley stood and holstered his gun. He took a step back from the place he had shot the ground.
"Wha-?" Frank stared at the ground in confusion.
Crowley held up his index finger. "Hold on, now." He said, hushing Frank. A few moments passed and then Frank noticed the change.
The spot where Crowley had shot began to glow and shimmer, quickly a hole seemed to appear on the ground right before his eyes. Frank blinked. He was getting very used to strange things happening.
Crowley looked up at Frank, staring him in the eyes. "This is where we part ways, Mr. Frank." he smiled kindly, laugh lines wrinkling around his mouth.
"What?" Frank asked, honestly confused.
"You step through there and it will transport you to someone who will know what to do better than me." Crowley motioned at the portal in the ground.
"You can't come with me?" Frank asked.
Crowley shook his head. "Nope, sorry, son. This is my domain, I told ya. I stay in Limbo. I'm the sheriff."
Frank's dark eyebrows connected to form a line of confusion and apprehension. He stared at Crowley. "So where will this be taking me?" He nodded at the hole.
"It will take you to the pearly gates, bubs. Right there at the beginning of Heaven. Someone will be there. You need to talk to them. They'll know what to do."
Frank nodded, stepping up next to the portal. He inclined his head to nod at Crowley, his Cowboy friend for the last time. "Thanks for everything, Sheriff." He gave a half smile.
"Anytime, son." Crowley tipped his hat to Frank.
Frank returned his gaze to the portal. He took a deep breath before allowing himself to fall in.
~~
Frank rolled over, cold marble floors pressed against his cheek. Unlike all the other times he had been warped to another destination in Limbo, his head didn't hurt this time, he wasn't out of breath. It was rather peaceful, actually; like waking up. He pushed himself up onto his knees, the floor was cold under his palms. Everything was quiet around him. The only sound was a low hum.
Frank stood, peering around. He was in a very large room, like a library. There were shelves lining the soaring walls. Giant bookshelves, filled with elegant looking books bound in leathers and with ropes of shimmering gold and silver hanging between their paper. The color of the room was a light, pleasant brown. Chandeliers hung from the tall ceilings. It was as if the entire space could contain an entire house, or a few.
"Excuse me?" a sweet-sounding voice called out to him.
Frank glanced around, searching for the owner of the voice. Seated in the middle of the room, behind a large, intricately made mahogany desk was a woman.
"Um," Frank spoke, he walked towards her, the distance between where he stood and where she was seated was a lot longer than it appeared. He finally stood in front of her. "Um, I-" he started, not quite sure what he was supposed to be saying. He looked down at the desk she was seated at. Before the women was a large, metallic bowl filled with a strange , cloudy liquid.
"Name?" She asked emotionlessly. She had straight auburn hair, cascading around her shoulders, and flowing around her wispy frame. Her eyes were a brilliant green, set above very prominent cheekbones. She was beautiful.
"Um," Frank mumbled, "Francis Iero?" he stated.
She nodded once before peering down into the mysterious bowl of questionable liquid. She extended one index finger over the surface of the liquid, laying it down on the surface gently. Instead of her finger going though the liquid like Frank had expected, it remained on the surface, lighting up the entire bowl. She moved her fingers over it meticulously. "Ah, yes, I found you," she said.
Frank made a face of confusion but didn't ask.
"Is there a reason you're here?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Uh, I died." he shrugged.
She nodded once and then peered down at the bowl for a second, she returned her gaze to Frank. "Yes," she said, "You did."
"I'm not supposed to stay dead."
She sighed as if she had heard this story before. "Look, once you're dead, you usually stay that way. That's the rules, I'm sorry,I can't change that."
"No, no," Frank shook his head. "You don't understand," he reasoned. "I have something very important to do back on Earth."
"A lot of people die with jobs, Francis." she said, sounding bored, not meeting his eyes.
"No! Listen to me! You don't understand!" He was slowly losing his thin grasp on his self-control. He was working hard not to yell at her. He was still shaken up from the previous encounters of the day.
She slowly looked up at him, arching her eyebrow as if asking a question.
Frank gave her an apologetic look. "Look," he sighed, "I'm an Achill, alright? I have a job to do. I have to get back. I'm supposed to be brought back. They told me that."
"Who told you that?" She asked.
"The angels who trained me." He sounded doubtful. "Gabriel."
"That may be the case, but I'm sorry, like I said, I can't help you." her tone was still emotionless.
"No!" Frank exclaimed. "Just, look, I, just let me speak to Gabriel, okay?" he asked, having trouble controlling the volume of his voice. "That's all I need, I just need to speak to him that's all." His emotions were sporadic, and it was showing on his face. His countenance ranging anywhere from confused to angry to worried and everything in between.
The angel seated behind the desk cleared her throat. "You can't." She said calmly.
"Why not?!" he yelled and the quickly calmed down, shooting her another apologetic look.
"Because Gabriel is in the fifth level of Hell fighting an entire army of demons." She said almost too calmly now.
Frank peered down at the pristine marble floor below his scuffed, dirty canvas sneakers. He had an overwhelming feeling like he didn't belong there. Like he should just turn around and walk away. Keep walking forever. Wandering like the lost souls. But he couldn't. He wouldn't allow himself to and he just couldn't. One thing made him stay there, rooted to the floor in a strange, alien place. Gerard. His face was twisted into a frown, his eyes stung and the cavity where his dormant heart was ached.
"You just," he spoke quietly, his voice was sad, hesitating, all these days of doubt and worry and torture were evident behind it. "None of you understand," he said, turning to walk away, find another way.
"Actually," the woman spoke up, her voice sounded different from before. Holding something behind it. Sympathy?
Frank peered up into her eyes.
"I do understand." she said, standing up, "I'll help you, Frank."