A Splitting Of The Mind - Chapter 20
Title: A Splitting Of The Mind [Chapter 20]
Author: shoved2agree
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Gerard Way sees the world differently. Alone and institutionalised, Gerard claims that he is being hunted, and that his mind holds the key to existence. Does Gerard really hold such a powerful secret? Or is he just insane like everyone else in the institution?
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Institution!Fic. Chapter quote is by Charles Manson.
Beta: yaminoshugoshin ♥ x ∞
Warnings: Rape themes, schizophrenia, adult themes, sex, mental illness
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 || Chapter 19
Chapter 20: “I'm probably one of the most dangerous men in the world if I want to be. But I never wanted to be anything but me.”
It appears that I have been sentenced to permanently exist in the presence of my intern, the intern I met in Hell Week: Brendon.
I remember Brendon. He thinks he’s my friend. He’s wrong. He is not my friend. He is my enemy.
Of course he is not as much of an enemy as They are, but I still deem it appropriate to classify him as one. I remember very clearly the viciousness of the lies he wrote in his report about me to Markman. He called me callous and selfish. He called me crazy.
“I’m not crazy,” I announce impatiently to Brendon and Dr. Morgan. They are both studying me keenly, their pens poised and ready to sign off on the continuation of my involuntary treatment order.
It was a lie, of course. I know I’m crazy. I destroyed my brother because I am crazy. But, I don’t want to be here, so I have to convince Dr. Morgan and Brendon that I am sane and should be discharged. I need to convince them both that I am well enough to be released into the community.
It is never going to happen, but one can hope.
“You don’t think you’re crazy?” Dr. Morgan reiterates. I don’t like Dr. Morgan. At all. In fact, I hate her. She is even better at reading my mind than Markman and that scares me. She has this way of looking into my eyes and forcing me to speak to her and tell her about my feelings. As a result I have been forced to build two extra walls since arriving at Brock and meeting her. She obviously isn’t human. She is obviously evil.
I nod, agreeing with her statement.
“So, you were in your right mind when you hurt Mikey?” she asks.
What the fuck kind of question is that?! Who asks someone that? Fuck. That is why she is evil. I am no longer referring to her as Dr. Morgan, she shall be Dr. Evil.
I don’t reply to her statement. I feel my chest tighten as she forces me to think about the brother I have destroyed. I have spent a lot of time coming up with ways to not think about Mikey, but Dr. Evil pushes the topic every time she sees me.
“Gerard?” Dr. Evil presses.
“I don’t know!” I say defensively. To be honest, I don’t even remember hurting Mikey, so I have no way of knowing whether I had been in my right mind or not.
Dr. Evil watches me carefully and I quickly smooth out my facial features. I can’t let her see how much pain it causes me to think about Mikey. “So, you don’t think you’re crazy, Gerard?”
“Crazy is a very strong word,” I object nonchalantly, and study my fingernails. Acting nonchalant is one of the walls I have built. It is very effective. I need to give the impression of being indifferent and in control. Being in control is the very opposite of crazy and I can’t be both.
Dr. Evil looked surprised. “I’m using your word, Gerard,” she said. “You were the one who used the word in the first place when you told me you weren’t crazy. In fact, I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I think you’re sick.”
My wall of nonchalance weakened slightly at the word ‘sick.’ Markman often tried to convince me that I was sick. Frank tried to do the same thing. I’m not sick.
Sickness implies weakness and weakness implies that I am not up to the challenge of carrying these secrets. Jasper is wrong; I am not a pathetic and weak choice for a secret keeper. I have kept the secrets safe for years. I’d pay a lot of money to know of anyone else who could do a better job than that. Most secret keepers barely last six months, but not me.
I clench my fists together tightly. “I’m not sick,” I say, weighing each word heavily and spitting it out like it is poison.
Dr. Evil nods. “So, you’re not sick, and you’re not crazy?” she asks.
Exactly.
“Then why do you think you are here?” she continues casually.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Her calmness is frustrating.
“I honestly have no idea.” That’s a lie.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, seriously, Doctor -.”
Dr. Evil shakes her head at my protests. “Yes, you know exactly why you are here. Tell me.”
“No.” I know exactly why I’m here, but I won’t ever admit to it.
“Tell me.” Her voice is firm but she is still unwaveringly composed. I hate her. She is going to make me say something I’ll regret.
I beat my fists down on the armrests of my chair. “No, stop it.”
“Tell me.”
“Because I destroyed my brother! Okay?!” The words exit my mouth before I’m fully aware of them.
Dr. Evil goes silent as I practically shake with anger. That is private information. She has forced me to admit that to her. How dare she use her abilities on me? She has powers. She has no right to make me say things like that.
“Destroyed?” Dr. Evil says softly.
I stand up from my chair and march out of the room. I will not be subjected to questioning about Mikey. Dr. Evil has no right to know how soul-consuming and gut wrenching my guilt is. That’s private.
I am here in Brock because I am a monster.
I make my way to the cafeteria and sit down at an empty table. I don’t have a table of my own here. I don’t like having to sit at a new table for every meal. I hate it, but I can’t control it. I don’t dare challenge anyone in this place. They all look and act like they could kill me with their bare hands.
At Bluestone, people respected me and feared me. They left me alone. I had a reputation. But here in Brock I’m the new guy, and everyone knows that the new guy gets treated like shit.
I pull my sketchbook out of my jacket and hold it loosely in my hands. A second later, it is ripped from my grasp by one of the other patients. He darts away from me as I lunge after him.
“What have we got here?” he says patronisingly and flicks through the pages. Panicked, I scramble towards him, but he runs away, putting the table between us. “Oh, who’s this?” he asks and holds up an incomplete sketch I’ve done of Frank. “He’s so pretty.”
“Give it back!” I exclaim, and lunge unsuccessfully across the table towards him.
“He looks like he could be one of the purple people. Is he? My girlfriend was one of them. She had purple skin. That’s why she died.”
“That’s why you killed her,” I snarl and wrench the sketchbook from his hands.
He shrugs. “She was one of the purple people. She wasn’t human. Humans don’t have purple skin, dickhead.”
“Misha, leave Gerard alone.” An orderly finally notices Misha’s harassing and comes over to put an end to it. “Go and sit at another table.”
I shoot a filthy look at Misha as he wanders off. I’m not a dickhead. He’s the dickhead. And Misha? What kind of fucking stupid name is Misha? I sit back down at the table and smooth down the pages Misha has crinkled. I stop running my fingers along the creases to stare down at the picture I’d drawn. I miss Frank so much.
I hurriedly close my sketchbook and tuck it back inside my jacket as a nurse approaches my table. She thrusts a tiny paper cup in my face, which I accept obediently. Then, like I’ve done for the last week, I throw the pills into my mouth and pretend to wash them down with a small swig of water. After deftly hiding them both under my tongue and up next to my gum, I open my mouth to the nurse for inspection. She looks into my mouth more carefully than usual, but upon seeing no evidence of my deceit, she moves away to poison the next patient.
As soon as her back is turned I quickly spit the tablets out into my hand before they disintegrate in my mouth, and stow them away in my pocket. The next chance I get I’ll flush them down the toilet. It’s too easy.
I’m startled as Brendon suddenly appears next to me, and I discreetly withdraw my hand from my pocket, setting it down awkwardly on my leg. “May I sit?” he asks, indicating the seat opposite me.
I shake my head. “No, I’m saving it for someone.”
Brendon looks rather bewildered at my answer. It’s almost as though he thinks it’s completely outrageous for me to suggest that there is someone in this shithole that would willingly elect to share a table with me.
“Who?” he asks stupidly. Well, everything he said is stupid; he is stupid.
“Jesus,” I say casually, and begin picking bits off the empty Styrofoam cup in front of me.
Brendon looks down at the seat as though Jesus is actually going to appear. “Oh,” he says eventually. “Good joke.”
I look up at him, wearing my best disgusted look. “Does my choice to believe in a deity and his son amuse you? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to discriminate on the basis of religious belief.”
Brendon’s professional demeanour disappears. He makes a big show of letting go of the back of the chair I’d saved for Jesus and then striding off. I grin to myself and move to pull my sketchbook back out. But, before I do, I make sure Misha is nowhere near me. If he dares to touch my things again I’ll punch him in the eye socket. Why the eye socket? Because it fucking hurts like hell - Bert taught me that. I’ve just finished putting the shading onto my unfinished Frank picture when Brendon reappears. He sits down in Jesus’ seat and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re not religious,” he says triumphantly. “You don’t even believe in Jesus.” He looks so proud of himself for figuring it out.
I shrug. I’ve managed to delay his sitting by almost five minutes, so I’m happy. I don’t care that he knows I was lying about saving a seat for Jesus. I think it’s my indifference to his gloating that irritates Brendon more. I don’t understand how this man is a doctor. I personally won’t consider him a doctor; he’s more akin to pond scum in my opinion. I like the phrase ‘pond scum.’ It reminds me of a lot of people: Bert, Dr. Evil, Ray (okay, only sometimes), Dr. Leto….
“Gerard, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Brendon says.
I ignore him.
“I’m working here at Brock full-time now. I’m going to be on your case for…well…for a long time, okay, Gerard? So, I think you need to start acknowledging me as a doctor. But, more importantly, you should start acknowledging me as someone who wants to help you.”
I make a loud scoffing noise before I can help it. Brendon is trying to be the bigger person here and I feel slightly guilty about mocking his attempts to bond with me. Brendon doesn’t look hurt though. In fact he looks invigorated.
“You don’t think I can help you?” he guesses as he tries to interpret the reason behind my jeering.
“Of course you can’t help me,” I tell him condescendingly. “Markman couldn’t, what makes you think you can?”
He doesn’t reply because he has no answer. I nod, satisfied, and use my index finger to artfully smudge a line on Frank’s forehead.
“How’s Frank?” he asks casually, pointing to my sketch.
I shoot him a filthy look. How the fuck would I know how Frank is?! Brendon must realise he’s crossed a line because he quickly stands up and leaves. Either that or he successfully interprets my filthy look as a warning about his imminent face reconstruction courtesy of my fist.
I’ve barely been alone for ten minutes before Dr. Evil comes along to inform me that a group therapy session is about to commence and my presence will be required. I roll my eyes and follow her over to where a ring of chairs has been assembled. I sit down cautiously in an empty chair, warily watching the other patients. They seem disinterested in my existence and attendance at the group session, much to my relief.
I will never admit out loud to anyone, but I’m scared. I’m frightened of the other patients. They are exponentially crazier than anyone I’ve encountered at Bluestone. I want to go back to Bluestone more than anything. I want to see Frank again and fall asleep next to him. Hell, I wouldn’t even be opposed to seeing Markman again. At least she doesn’t use magic to force me to share my feelings.
Dr. Evil’s extraction ability is the main reason why I’m exceedingly apprehensive about this session. I don’t want her to make me say something in front of these nutcases that I’ll regret. I wipe my sweaty palms on the blue cotton pants I’m wearing. I scowl at the faint smudge my dirty hands make on the material. Another thing I hate about this place is the complete lack of privileges I have. I have nothing. I can’t go outside. I’m not allowed to get snacks from the cafeteria, and I’m not allowed to wear anything other than the standard issue clothes they’d given me on my first day. I’d woken up already wearing the light blue pyjama pants and the white shirt. I don’t even know what happened to my jeans.
They were my favourite jeans. If I’d been awake when they took them I would’ve fought fiercely to keep them.
I’m also forced to wear slippers. I told every nurse and every orderly that would listen that I don’t wear slippers but they didn’t care. It was ridiculously unfair. You shouldn’t have to “earn” clothing privileges. Decent, age appropriate clothing in mental institutions should be considered a basic regulation. I make a mental note to speak to my father about using his influence to create such a regulation.
Dr. Evil has begun the session already, but I’m not paying attention. Instead, I’m studying my fellow inmates. Misha is sitting very still in his chair, listening very intently to the doctor. His jet black hair is laden with an unnecessary amount of hair gel, which is doing little more than keeping several spikes vertical. Next to Misha is an older woman named Jess. I overheard her arguing with an orderly last week who thought it was unnecessary for her to take two servings of dinner with her back to her table every night. She quite clearly stated to the orderly that one was for her and one was for her husband who would be joining her shortly. Her husband was remarkably hungry for a man who’d been dead for twelve years.
“You’re all going to die.”
My head snaps up to stare at the tall young man who’d stood up and announced his prediction to the group. I don’t know his name, but he is wearing a black shirt covered in grotesque pictures of real human skulls, so I decide to call him Skull.
Dr. Evil looks concerned at Skull’s announcement. “Jonas, that is not appropriate,” she says, and indicates for him to take his seat. His name is Jonas? What a stupid name. I decide to continue referring to him as Skull.
“Of course it’s not appropriate, but it’s true,” Skull argues and remains standing. He turns and starts pointing to each person in turn. “You’re gonna die.” He points to the next person. “You’re gonna die, too. And you.” He points at Jess. “You too. I’m going to kill you all.”
My mouth goes dry. Skull now seems like an incredibly appropriate name for this psychopath. Why is the doctor letting him threaten everyone? I swear if he points his bony finger at me I will snap it in half.
“Jonas, stop it. You’re not going to kill anyone.”
“I’m going to kill everyone,” Skull insists, and points to the next three people in the circle. I am next. If he dares to threaten me I’ll show him and everyone else how much of a mistake it is to mess with Gerard Way. “And I’m gonna kill you!” he says blatantly, jabbing his finger in my direction. I freeze. I don’t leap out of my seat and snap his finger like I planned. Fear keeps me glued to my seat. “And….” Skull stops suddenly and slowly turns back to look at me, as though he can sense my intense hatred for him. “Oh,” he says, his eyes growing incredibly wide. He looks surprised. “My mistake. I’m not going to kill you,” he says, speaking directly to me.
What the fuck is going on?
“No. I won’t get a chance to kill you. They’re going to get you first. Fuck that,” Skull grumbles. “So unfair.”
Without thinking, I launch myself out of my seat and throw myself at Skull with all the strength I can muster. I catch him by surprise, grabbing him by the throat and pin him up against the wall, pushing us out of the circle of chairs.
“How do you know about Them?!” I snarl, my hand compressing his windpipe as hard as I can. I am fully aware that I will get no answer whilst I’m choking him, but it feels too good to stop.
I’ve barely been holding his throat for a few seconds when hands wrench me back. I don’t fight; I hate being sedated. Being sedated fucks with my head for hours. Skull massages his neck gingerly and spits at me. “You scared, fag?” he rasps spitefully. “Are you scared because They’re gonna get you?” He runs his finger across his forehead, simulating slicing it open.
I lunge towards him again, but the orderlies pull me back and drag me off in the opposite direction. Everyone else in the circle is now standing, watching me with interested looks on their stupid faces. Dr. Evil looks positively shocked. I bet she thought she had me all figured out. Nobody figures Gerard out.
“How do you know about Them? ” I shout as two orderlies grab at my arms with the intention of removing me from the room.
Skull doesn’t reply. He just sneers at me, one hand still clutching his throat.
I don’t struggle against the orderlies as they escort me back to my room. They lead me inside and sit me down on the piece of wood they pass off as a bed. “You going to behave yourself?” one of the orderlies asks.
I nod dutifully just so they won’t think it necessary to strap me to the bed. They leave, and I am left alone and terrified.
How the fuck does Skull know who Theyare? I have not told a single person in this place about Them. I haven’t even mentioned Them to Dr. Evil. Of course she knows about the Them situation, Markman would’ve written about it quite extensively in my file. But, is Skull Their spy? Is he the spy that Jasper warned me about? Is Skull one of Them? I lie down on my bed and curl up in the foetal position facing the wall. I spend a lot of time in this position. I want to be tough but really I’m a fucking pathetic piece of shit who’s destroyed his brother and lost the love of his life.
My door opens and my heart rate instantly increases as I irrationally consider that it could be Them coming in. I don’t dare roll over to look. My visitor sits down on the side of my bed. I decide that it is Dr. Evil, purely due to the fact that her petite frame barely lowers the side of the bed at all.
“Gerard,” Dr. Evil begins. I feel triumphant that I’ve successfully guessed who it is. I keep my eyes shut and don’t acknowledge that she has spoken. “You should not take Jonas’ threats seriously. He has been threatening to hurt people every single day since he arrived over two years ago and yet he has never done anything more than squash an ant. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
She has it all wrong. I’m not afraid of Skull. I’m afraid of Them. I can deal with Skull. I can deal with him calling me a ‘fag.’ But, I can’t deal with the fact that he knows that They are coming to kill me. I can’t deal with the fact that Jasper was right. I am going to die. Soon. I know I am. I know things, remember?
“Gerard?”
I lie very still until Dr. Evil leaves the room. Maybe she thinks I’ve fallen asleep? I don’t know. I don’t care. All I care about is staying alive…and Frank.
I eventually end up falling asleep. I don’t dream. I haven’t had a dream in a long time. I’m not sad about that fact - my dreams usually involve blood or dead brothers or dead lovers. I awake suddenly to the sound of someone calling to me. They’re telling me that I have a visitor. I decide it must be a mistake. I don’t get visitors. Frank is on the other side of the country and no one else cares about me.
I pretend to still be asleep and eventually the nurse disappears. Maybe she’ll tell my visitor to come back. I wonder if my visitor will be Lindsey. Maybe Lindsey is here to prepare me for my murder trial? The door opens again a short time later and I hear the sound of expensive leather shoes tapping against the linoleum on the floor. The person sits down on the edge of my bed, too, but definitely outweighs Dr Evil.
“Gerard?”
My father is my visitor. What a surprise. I won’t call it a pleasant surprise. I’ve decided that I’m not particularly fond of my father - he’s practically condemned me to die by sending me to this place. I ignore him as well. I much prefer to pretend to be asleep than converse with him.
My father grasps my shoulder firmly and rolls me over so I’m on my back and looking up at him. I’m not expecting this sudden action and I instinctively open my eyes. I take one look at his judgemental face and try to roll back over. He isn’t pleased with me for doing that.
“Gerard,” he scolds, and pins my shoulder against the mattress so I can’t move. “Don’t be rude.”
I don’t make a retort or roll my eyes. I just stare up at him, defeated.
“How are you?”
“Fine,” I lie. I am not fine. I am going to die soon. I wonder if I will have a chance to say goodbye to Frank. Maybe I should write him a letter.
My father realises suddenly that he’s holding my shoulder very tightly and lets go. I roll back over to face the wall.
“Oh, Gerard,” my father sighs, frustrated. “I was advised that you might not be ready to see me again.”
“Were these advisors the same people that advised you to forget about me while I was in Bluestone?” I ask suddenly, looking back over my shoulder.
My father looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t forget about you. I was advised that your recovery would be easier if I wasn’t around.”
I bite my lip and shake my head, betrayed. “Of course you did. Thank goodness you have someone to think for you. Oh, hey, what do they advise you to have for breakfast tomorrow?’ I ask sarcastically. “Or, what if they advise you to have eggs, but you feel like cereal? Do you have to have the eggs?”
My father knows he deserved it. He’d deserted me. “Gerard, I’m so sorry.”
“I never had a single visitor. Ever. You know, I actually thought I was orphan with no family who’d been left in the care of the state. But all this time I was your son, and you never came to see me.”
An uncomfortable silence falls. I will never forgive my father for abandoning me. Of course he had every right to, considering what I’d done to Mikey, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“I’ve got to go,” my father says, breaking the silence. He touches my shoulder gently. “Is there anything I can get you?”
I decide to seize the opportunity and ask about my clothes. “Can you make them let me wear my old clothes?” I ask.
“Oh, no, Gerard, that is something you’ve got to earn. I’m sure you will get your old clothes back as soon as you earn it. No more fights,” he says light-heartedly.
I sigh and tug on the itchy cotton shirt. “I can’t wear these,” I object.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re itchy and they’re ugly.”
“So? Behave and you’ll get jeans in no time.”
I don’t have time. I’m going to die. I’ll be damned if I die wearing a pair of slippers. “I don’t want to die in these clothes,” I say crankily.
My father looks alarmed. “Gerard, you’re not going to die. Why would you say that?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I am. They’re going to get me any day now.”
My father becomes very confused. “Them? Gerard, no! No! They’re not real. Okay? They’re a delusion. They’re the reason you hurt Mikey. Remember? They are not going to hurt you because They’re not real. Okay?”
I don’t expect my father to understand. No one understands. They are real. They are coming to get my secrets and there is no stopping it. Even Skull knows there is no stopping it. They are going to get my secrets and the world was going to end.
I pause suddenly, a brilliant idea shooting through my head. I might not be able to stop Them and I sure as hell will be useless against stopping Their brutal entry into my brain. But I can control what happens after they get my secrets. I can stop the world from ending. I can’t save myself, but I can save the world.
My father leaves, and I resume my staring at the wall. I know I can stop the world from ending - I’m just not sure how I will do it.
I don’t leave my room for dinner that night, or for breakfast the next morning, and it takes the nurse threatening to put a red dot next to my name before I drag myself to the cafeteria for lunch. Red dots are the worst thing you can get in this place. White dots are the best. If you get fifty white dots, you move up a category and get awarded a privilege. If you get more than five red dots, all of your white dots get erased; you move down a category and lose a privilege. I already have three red dots and even though I don’t have any privileges to lose, I don’t particularly want to be that guy that reached five red dots in his first week.
White dots are awarded for everything from using manners to helping clean up the art room. I only have one of them and Brendon only gave it to me when he saw me pick up a piece of trash up off the floor. I’d only picked up the piece of trash because I thought it might’ve been a note one of the other patients had written. I was hoping there would be some gossip on it I could use as leverage. I’d received my red dots for choking Skull, swearing at Brendon and throwing my slippers out the tiny bathroom window on my first day.
They ended up giving me a new pair of slippers straight away so my efforts to dispose of the shoes went to waste, but it was still worth it. I really want to know what the gardener thought when he found them in the shrubs.
I eat my lunch as quickly as I can and kept my eyes down the entire time. I know people are looking at me. There isn’t a lot of excitement in this place; I’d figured that much out in the first twenty-four hours. My fight with Skull yesterday is probably the most entertaining thing that’s happened in a while.
As soon as I’ve forced the peanut butter sandwich down my throat, I stand up and make my way back to my room. I’m only metres from the door when someone jumps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Hey!” I don’t understand how anyone can be anything other than miserable in this prison. This kid’s enthusiasm makes me ill.
I try to step around the kid but he moves with me. I take a deep breath and try to stare him down. “Move,” I demand rudely.
“I’m Pedro,” he says and sticks out his hand. I blink at him. I’m not here to make friends, especially not with someone named Pedro.
I take another step to the right but Pedro mimics me, still intent on stopping me from passing. “Fuck off,” I say angrily.
“What’s your name?” Pedro persists, his hand still extended in a greeting gesture. “If you tell me I’ll let you pass.”
I consider his acne-covered face. Is he lying? Will telling him my name be detrimental? He should already know who I am. My name is up on the Dot board for all to see. My name is the one with all the red dots next to it. You certainly can’t miss it.
“Gerard,” I say bluntly.
Pedro grins. “Nice to meet you, Gerard,” he says and pushes his hand out further, seeking a handshake. I don’t see the harm in shaking his hand so I firmly place my hand in his and shake it hard, trying to intimidate him. Pedro suddenly reaches out with his other hand, gripping my wrist and pulling me off-balance, tilting towards him. He wrenches my hand free and holds it tightly, his dull eyes studying my palm intently.
“What the fuck?” I object, and snatch my hand back.
Pedro looks frustrated. “I just wanna read your palm,” he says, and reaches out to take my hand again. I hurriedly stick my hands in the pockets of my pyjamas.
“Fuck off,” I say bitterly, and start to walk away.
“It’s called Palmistry. It’s a legitimate art,” Pedro informs me, jogging to resume his place in front of me. He shoves his palm into my face. “See that line?” he asks and runs his finger down the centre of his palm. “It’s called the Line of Heart. It tells you all about your emotions, especially love. Have you ever been in love? I bet I can tell from looking at that line.”
I pause and look down at Pedro and his infectious enthusiasm. Palmistry is a complete joke. Surely you can’t tell if someone is in love from a line on their hand? “Go on then,” I say patronisingly, and present him with my left hand.
Pedro holds my hand tightly and runs his fingers softly down my palm. “See that one?” he says, his fingers deftly tracing the top line on my palm. “That’s your Heart line.” He looks up at me and smiles. “You’re in love,” he says resolutely.
“Yes,” I admit awkwardly.
“With a boy,” Pedro continues.
My eyes widen. “You can tell that from my palm?” I say, astonished.
Pedro looks amused. “No. Jonas called you a fag. That only means one thing around here, you know?”
“Fuck Jonas,” I grunt, embarrassed, and pull my hand away.
Pedro snatches my hand back. “I’m not done,” he says disapprovingly and goes back to studying my palm. “Now this next one is your life line. It tells you when you’re gonna die.” He lets go of my hand to show me his. “See?” he says and points out his own lifeline. “This tells me that I’m going to live to be sixty-seven. I’m going to die of a myocardial infarction.”
I’m ninety-five percent convinced that Pedro is full of shit. The other five percent is dubious but incredibly curious. I am going to die soon. Nobody knows that except me. If Pedro is a legitimate palm reader, he’ll be able to tell me how soon I am going to die. I present my palm to Pedro and request he read my life line.
Pedro looks concerned. “Gerard, most people don’t want to know when they’re going to die. Or how. It’s heavy stuff, man. It’ll cut you up. I told Mel she was going to die in exactly one week and guess what happened a week later? She died.”
“Do it,” I order.
Pedro reluctantly holds my palm and examines it. Then, after about a minute he freaks out. He drops my hand like it’s a grenade and steps away from me fearfully.
My own fear escalates. “What?” I say urgently. “What did it say?”
Pedro clutches his head. “Gerard!” he says in a panic. “You don’t have one!”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I demand, my heart beating rapidly. I stare down at my palms, seeking answers.
Pedro looks around nervously. “Gerard, you don’t have a life line.”
Is Pedro saying that I was already dead to begin with? Am I a zombie? I don’t understand.
“Death is coming for you, Gerard!” Pedro starts running away from me like I’m going to kill him. He glances back at me only once.
“Wait!” I call and hurry after him. “How am I going to die?” I beg. I need to know. I want to be ready.
Pedro hesitates for a second. “Your brain is going to explode, Gerard. I’m so sorry.” He runs off, leaving me standing outside my room in shock.
I take a step sideways to support myself against the wall. My knees have gone weak and I feel faint. My brain is going to explode. Even Pedro knows that They are coming to cut into my brain. I don’t have a lifeline; I’m already dead. I quickly haul myself to my feet and go looking for Dr. Evil. I need to convince her to transfer me to another facility. I need more time to think of a way to hide from Them forever.
Brock is very different to Bluestone in that the doctors are not readily accessible. At Bluestone I could march into Markman’s office whenever I liked. But at Brock I have to speak to a receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks, looking at me over the rims of her glasses.
“No, but it’s urgent. I need to see the doctor. Immediately. It’s a matter of life or death.” Literally.
The receptionist shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Morgan isn’t available right now. Would you like to leave her a message?”
“No!” I say crossly and stamp my foot on the ground like a child. “Please, just five minutes.”
“What’s the matter, Gerard?” I glance up to see Dr. Evil looking at me from her office doorway. I force myself to calm down. I take a breath. “I need to talk to you.”
Dr. Evil nods. “Okay, come in,” she says pleasantly and beckons me forward.
I heave a huge sigh of relief and hurry into the room. I take my seat on the leather couch. Dr. Evil pulls a chair closer to me and sits down.
“I’m quite surprised you wanted to talk to me,” she says. “You’ve not shown any interest in it in the past.”
“I need to be transferred,” I say bluntly, ignoring her jab at my usual lack of participation in therapy.
“Ah,” Dr. Evil says, nodding as though she had been expecting me to say that. “Because They’re coming to get you? Correct?” She’s mocking me. She doesn’t understand how powerful They are as an organisation. She doesn’t understand that the world is at stake here.
“Yes,” I answer, my hands twisting together painfully. “How did you know?”
“Your father told me that you were under the impression that They were coming to harm you,” she says, her eyes drilling into me.
How dare he tell her anything! He has no right. I push the urge to complain about him down. I have more important things to discuss. “So, when can I transfer? I’ll go anywhere.”
“I’m not transferring you,” Dr. Evil says.
I shut my eyes and count to ten. Once I open them I repeat, “I want to transfer. When can I leave?”
Dr. Evil shakes her head. “You’re not going anywhere, Gerard. I’m sorry.”
I mutter a stream of curse words under my breath. This is a disaster. Why doesn’t she understand what was going to happen?
“Gerard, I want you to read something.” Dr. Evil pulls a piece of paper from a drawer in her desk. She hands it to me. I read the first few lines in disgust:
‘Types of Schizophrenia: Paranoid Schizophrenia - These persons are very suspicious of others and often have grand schemes of persecution at the root of their behaviour. Hallucinations, and more frequently delusions, are a prominent and common part of the illness.’
“Sound familiar, Gerard? Grand schemes of persecution? Remind you of anything?”
“If you’re referring to Them, you’re wrong,” I say spitefully.
“Am I?” Dr. Evil asks. “Has anyone else ever seen Them, Gerard? You claimed that They’ve visited you several times now. Why did no one else ever see Them? Gerard, you described Them as an army of soldiers. Why has no one else ever seen an army of soldiers traipsing around the facility?”
Isn’t it obvious? “People are blinded by their own problems. Why would they care about mine?” I say.
“Yet, Frank never saw Them either? Wasn’t Frank there on one occasion when you thought They had found you? Weren’t you holding him when They put a gun to his head?’ Why didn’t he see Them? He cares about you. He cares about your problems. He should’ve seen Them. Yet, he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t see Them because They were never there to begin with?”
My eyes are wet with tears. I don’t want to listen to this. I don’t know why Frank never saw Them. I’ve never thought about it before. He was always telling me They weren’t real. Maybe they weren’t. “Why did I see Them if they weren’t really there?” I ask. I’m so confused. I don’t understand. I am so ridiculously crazy. I don’t know what is real anymore.
“Because you have a mental illness called schizophrenia. You have hallucinations. They are a hallucination. Jasper is a hallucination.”
“But Pedro said…” I begin and Dr. Evil looks exasperated.
“Did he say you were going to die?” she asks.
How does she know that? I nod cautiously.
“Pedro told me I was going to be mauled to death by a bear whilst camping when I was thirty-five years old. Guess how old I am now, Gerard?” she asks.
I wonder if it’s a trick question. I don’t want to say an age that’s too extreme. I don’t want her to be mad at me for saying she looks older than she is. I shrug instead.
Dr. Evil folds her arms. “I’m turning thirty-eight in about two months time. I’ve never seen a bear in my entire life and I hate camping.”
“So?”
“So? Pedro makes things up. He lies. He likes to scare people by telling them when they’re going to die. Did he tell you how he himself was going to die? He told me he was going to die at the hands of modern day metropolitan cannibals. Very imaginative.”
He told me he was going to die of a heart attack. That little fucking dickhead. How dare he make shit up about me? I glance down at my palm and at the lines. I don’t know which one is my lifeline, but it probably wasn’t nonexistent like Pedro had claimed. Maybe I’m not already dead after all.
“Let’s not get distracted now, Gerard. Do you understand what I mean when I say you have Schizophrenia?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I say, placing my hands over my ears. I don’t want to hear her say that word again: Schizophrenia. It is all Markman ever talked about. It was always: I have this disease or I have an illness. She had really been trying to tell me I was defective - but I wasn’t. My brain is perfect - that’s why I was chosen to keep the secrets. I would never have been chosen if a disease affected my brain.
“Gerard,” Dr. Evil says gently, and pulls my hands away from the sides of my head.
“Are you going to transfer me?” I ask. Dr. Evil shakes her head. I stand up. “I’m going back to my room,” I say, and walk out. I pause at the door and looked back at her. “To die,” I add for dramatic effect.
I spend the next three days in my bed curled up and facing the wall. I wait for Them. Dr. Evil comes and sees me almost ten times. She tries everything to try to get me to leave my bed but I refuse. I am going to wait here until the end.
I have resigned myself to it now. I haven’t the slightest clue of how I am going to save the world, but I don’t care too much about it anyway. I still haven’t written my letter to Frank either. I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I’m thinking about him. Probably not.
As I lay in my resigned state, fighting sleep, I decide to search back through my memories. I find one from my first few weeks at Bluestone. We had been watching a movie. I couldn’t remember the title. All I knew was that it was a horrible romantic comedy. There was one scene, however, that stuck in my brain. The lead female character had fallen asleep on the bed and her love interest had come over and I remembered very clearly that he woke her up by kissing her devotedly on the lips. Then she woke up and they lived happily ever after. It was a shit movie.
I used to think that things in movies never happened in real life. But I was obviously wrong. Why was I wrong? Because Frank is kissing me awake right now. Even though my eyes are closed I know it is him. I can smell him. He smells amazing.
I open my eyes and wrap my arms around Frank, hugging him impossibly tight. I pull him off me and lay him down on the mattress. Then I lay down almost on top of him, kissing him properly. I stop only long enough to ask him, “Why are you here?”
He shrugs. “Dr. Morgan told Dr. Markman that you were really depressed. Then Dr. Markman told me that you were really depressed, and that maybe I should come to visit you. And I said yes.”
“I’m not depressed,” I object weakly. I could be, I have no idea. I will deny it anyway.
Frank bites his lip. “Well, you are talking about the fact that you’re going to die, Gerard. That’s pretty depressing.”
“It’s true.”
Frank doesn’t reply or argue. He just grabs the back of my head and pulls me in closer so he can kiss me again.
“How are you?” I interrupt. It’s not that I don’t want to lie here forever and make out with Frank. It’s more that I have a lot of things I need to discuss with Frank before he has to leave. He can’t stay long. Visiting times in this place are very short, especially for people like me who have no privileges.
Frank nods. “I’m good,” he says.
“Don’t lie,” I warn, and Frank looks annoyed.
“So I’m not allowed to be good?” he says.
“You’re allowed to say you’re good when you’re not.” There is no way he can possibly be good. When I last saw him he was still very broken.
Frank pushes me off him and sits up. “How do you know how I am? You don’t know anything about how I’ve been for the past two weeks.”
“That’s exactly the point!” I insist. “It’s only been two weeks. Nothing can happen in two weeks.”
Frank looks angry. “A lot can happen in two weeks,” he objects.
I don’t believe him. “Like what?” Maybe he made a new friend. Maybe he met someone new. Maybe this person was more than a friend. Maybe he’d found someone new to love.
“A lot, okay?”
I just nod. I had failed. He is still so broken. I thought I’d managed to fix him but I’d failed. I failed just like I failed at everything else I’d ever done. I was even going to fail as a secret keeper.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asks. He’s good at figuring out when I’m in pain.
I sit up against the wall, pulling my legs up to my chest. “I failed.” I’m such a loser. I don’t know why Frank came here to visit me. I don’t understand why he would come and see me at all. I told him that I could fix him and he let me fuck him, trusting that it was the only way to fix him.
Frank suddenly grabs my hand and presses it to his chest. “What are you -?” I say. Last time someone grabbed my hand I ended up finding out my brain was going to explode.
“Shhh!” he says loudly, and places two fingers over my lips. “Do you feel that?” he asks. He shuffles closer to me so my arm isn’t stretched as awkwardly.
At this exact moment I’m really quite baffled as to what Frank is trying to convey to me. I shake my head but it doesn’t put Frank off. Instead he removes my hand from his chest just long enough to lift up his shirt. Then he presses my hand to his chest again, but this time there is no clothing between our skins. “Do you feel that?” he asks again.
“I can feel your heart beat?” I say slowly, confused.
Frank smiles. “Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“My heart is beating, Gerard.”
I nod. “Well, yeah, if it wasn’t you’d be dead,” I say sensibly.
Frank sighs. “Gerard, I’ve been waiting for my heart to start beating again for almost two years.”
Oh. Oh. He hadn’t been talking in the literal sense. I feel rather stupid.
“I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember. It stopped because I felt like I’d died. I felt so disgusting and dirty and ashamed and abused and my body shut down. I didn’t want to live anymore and I felt like my heart just stopped as a result. It’s been stopped so long that I thought it was going to stay that way forever.” He looked thoroughly miserable as he revisited the memory. He poked me in the arm. “But then you came along with your stupid theories and your stupid face and you kept doing things to me!” He pushed my hand harder up against his chest. “You came along and you kept making it beat for a few seconds and for those precious seconds I would feel alive. But then it would stop and I’d go back to being dead again.”
I slowly raise my free hand to touch his cheek.
“Then it started again. Don’t you remember? You asked me if my chest was hurting? It wasn’t hurting. It was the best feeling in the whole world. Gerard, I’m not dead anymore. I can feel my heart all the time. I feel alive, all the time. Gerard, you….”
“I fixed you,” I say in disbelief.
“Yes,” Frank says quietly. “Gerard, I’m good. I’m going to be okay.”
I reach out and pull Frank into my arms. I don’t think Frank knows truly how much it means to me to hear him say that. I’m not going to die worrying about Frank anymore and that comforts me immensely.
Frank hugs me back, tighter than he ever had before. He is hugging me goodbye. “Markman is discharging me,” he mumbles into my chest.
I don’t have anything to say. Instead I press my lips to the side of his head and hope he won’t see the tiny tear that is slowly trickling down my cheek. I have fixed him. I had broken Mikey but I have fixed Frank. I feel like I have repaid some sort of karmic debt to the universe. I must’ve known all along what I had done to Mikey. It must be why I was so intent on finding a way to fix Frank. All this time I have been trying to find a way to forgive myself for breaking Mikey.
“I love you.”
I pull Frank away from where he had buried his face in my chest and kiss him. I don’t care that he can see my stupid tears and my weakness. I love him more than anything. I fixed him.
“I love you,” Frank repeats, his lips still pressed to my own. It’s him who had said it the first time. He loves me.
Frank stays wrapped around me until the nurse comes to make him leave. Now he’s standing by the door, his hair tousled and his shirt bunched up around his waist.
“Bye, Gerard,” he says sadly.
“I love you,” I remind him and he smiles blissfully.
“See you later?” he asks, opening the door.
I shake my head. I won’t see him later. Frank bites his lip and nods. “That’s right,” he says, remembering my disclosure about my impending death. “Well, just know that I love you, okay? I love you and I’m going to be okay. Okay?”
I nod. Frank stands up on his tiptoes to kiss me one last time before leaving.
I touch the door, pining like a teenage girl. My heart feels as though it is simply too full to break, but I can feel small cracks forming already. I don’t have time to dwell on my last ever encounter with Frank, as I see my shadow against the door flicker as though someone has crossed in front of the window, blocking the light.
I spin around, my eyes searching the window fearfully. Several more dark shapes dart across in front of the glass. One figure lingers just long enough for me to see his white mask. My mouth goes dry and my heart rate doubles, but I don’t freeze. I suddenly know how I’m going to save the world. I know things, remember?
I wrench open my sketchbook and set my pencil down onto the paper. I write down exactly twenty-four words. These twenty-four words are going to save the world. I scramble back to my feet and open my door. I’ve barely taken three steps towards Dr. Evil’s office when someone calls my name.
I spin around to see Markman walking towards me. I have never been so happy to see that woman before in my entire life. I walk to meet her, still clutching my piece of paper tightly in my hand.
“Gerard,” Markman says amiably. I figure she is pleased to see me out of my bed.
I have no time for niceties. I fold the piece of paper up into a square about half the size of a playing card and hold it out to her. “Do not open this or read this until after I die,” I order.
Markman looks surprised. “Pardon?” she says, glancing down at the piece of paper.
I push it into her hand. “Please do not read this until after I’m dead. If you read it before it’ll ruin everything. Do you understand?”
Markman touches my arm. “Gerard, why are you talking about dying?”
“Promise me!” I exclaim, and glance around nervously. They are coming. They were outside. I have no more time.
Markman accepts the piece of paper cautiously. “What is this?” she asks.
“Do not read it until I’m gone. Do you understand?”
She nods. “Of course,” she says. “But Gerard, you know you are going to outlive me by many decades, I’ll never get a chance to read it. I’ll be gone when it’s eventually your turn.”
“My turn is tonight,” I says firmly and start walking away. Markman follows me into the cafeteria. I see Skull sitting at one of the tables. He looks up at me and smirks.
I know at that moment that he is Their spy. He is the one Jasper warned me about. I am going to kill him before They kill me.
“Gerard!” Markman is persistent. I’d forgotten how persistent she is. Normally I can deal with it, but right now? I’m ready to push her to the ground. “What is this? If you don’t tell me, I’ll open it.”
I know she’s probably suspicious that the paper is a suicide note. She probably thinks that with all my talk about dying, I’m planning to off myself. I would never kill myself. I could never do that to Frank; that would be selfish. But, I don’t want her to read it so I turn to face her.
“It’s one of my secrets,” I say in a low voice so Skull won’t hear.
Markman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “And you’re entrusting one to me? Why?”
“Because you are the only one who can handle it. You’re strong and you’re intelligent. Frank wasn’t ready. I couldn’t burden him. I’m sorry to burden you, doctor, but I couldn’t let Them get them all. If that happened….” I pause and shot a venomous look at Skull. “The world would end and everyone would die. Frank would die. I didn’t want him to die.”
“Gerard, no one is going to die.”
“He is,” I say, before throwing myself at Skull. Skull is waiting for me. He’s been waiting for me for weeks. He leaps to his feet as I run towards him. I clench my hands into fists and smash one into Skull’s face. He is knocked backwards. I don’t have a knife or a gun so I will have to make do with my hands. I am very good with my hands. Skull leaps back to his feet with his arms raised protectively in front of his face. I swing out with my right fist again but I don’t get a chance to do any damage. Someone has grabbed a hold of my biceps and is tugging me backwards. I twist around, trying to escape their grip and only manage to succeed in hurting myself. Skull has not yet been restrained and he takes a step towards me. He grabs the side of my head and smashes it down hard onto the metal table. The ensuing blackness is terrifying.
***
When I awake, I can’t move my arms. I can feel them but I am strapped so tightly to the bed I can barely move an inch. I try to move my legs but find them tightly restrained as well. I have no idea where I am. The room is completely empty except for the bed and me. The walls are white plaster and the roof is high. The solitary window in the room is up high as well, completely unreachable by a human. This would comfort me if it weren’t for the fact that They aren’t human. My head isn’t throbbing at all. This surprises me. I expected to be in a lot of pain after Skull smashed my head into that table. Fucking dickhead. At least I managed to get one good punch in before his friend stepped into to restrain me. His nose was bleeding - maybe I’d broken it? The thought pleases me. A broken nose will suit his ugly, traitorous face.
I shut my eyes for a minute. Frank is going to be okay. I could see it in his eyes. He is alive again. I have done that. I have fixed him. I open my eyes and am not surprised to see Jasper leaning against the wall.
“You,” I say bitterly. I have been waiting for him.
“Me,” he says haughtily and looks up.
I follow his gaze and flinch as glass falls from the shattered window above my head. I listen to the shards as they fall to the ground, and watch as They start slithering through the window and down to the ground. They look exactly like I remember. Yet, I’m not afraid as I watch Them fill every inch of the room with their dark bulky forms and featureless faces. I’m not afraid because I know I have beaten Them. They don’t know it yet but I have and it allays any fears that I might’ve had.
Their leader steps forward from the masses and stands at the side of my bed. He smirks at me, the lips on his mask twisting into position.
“Hello, Gerard,” he says softly in his unforgettable raspy voice. I see Jasper sneer in the background. “Are you afraid?” he asks as he leisurely slips a scalpel from a pocket on his bulletproof vest.
I shake my head and his smirk wavers. He recovers quickly though and lightly touches the scalpel to my forehead.
“You’re wasting your time,” I force myself to say. I lied before. I am scared. I am terrified. I am pretty sure I am going to wet myself. I’ve faced Them before, but I’ve never been so helpless and never this fucked.
“Oh?” the leader says, amused, and runs his gloved finger down my cheek.
“I gave one away,” I say and shoot Jasper a vindictive look.
The leader’s smile vanishes completely. “You’re lying,” he says immediately and turns to look at Jasper.
Jasper steps forward and points his finger at me. “You’re lying. You would never give one away! I told you that you would die if you ever told anyone. Two people cannot know the same secret! You’re lying. You’d be dead if you’d given one away.”
“Well,” I say stonily. “I guess you’ll have to have a look and see, won’t you?”
The leader immediately steps forward and grabs a handful of my hair to keep my head still. Then he slides the scalpel across my skin like he is cutting into butter.
It is the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. It feels like I am being kicked repeatedly in the head. The pain is throbbing unbearably through to the back of my skull. My consciousness keeps wavering erratically as the leader cuts his way in and starts to pull out the precious secrets I have been protecting my entire life. I feel the nausea rise up suddenly and I barely have enough time to turn my head and vomit onto the pillow. The leader seems possessed as he searches through my head. I know he is counting the secrets but he won’t be able to count them all. He is never going to find number nine. Number nine is gone. It is currently in the possession of Markman. She hasn’t read it yet, but as soon as she finds out I’m dead she will, and the secret will have been passed onto someone else.
Do I feel guilty about endangering Markman by giving her the secret? Yes, I feel ridiculously guilty. But she is the only other option. I could never have given one to Frank. These secrets take up all my energy and in the end, they’ve taken my life. I could never do that to Frank. I love him too much. Markman can look after herself. Plus, Jasper thinks that I hate Markman, and he would never suspect that I would entrust one of my secrets to her. Without all the secrets, They can’t do a thing. The world is safe. Frank is safe.
The leader roars in fury as he realises that I haven’t lied. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to force myself to stay awake. I keep falling deeper and more sporadically into unconsciousness. I feel like I am free falling into darkness, even though my body is strapped impossibly tight to the bed. Then just when I think I’m going to descend into the eternal darkness, I jerk awake to the sound of Jasper and the leader arguing violently. The rest of Them are moving restlessly in their perfect rows as they too realise that their two-decade long search has come to an abrupt and unfavourable end.
Every time I jerk awake it’s like I have reached the end of a bungee cord. I blink rapidly and my heart beats frantically as it struggles to cope. My eyes water from the severity of the pain. I desperately wish I would stop jerking back into consciousness. I wish the bungee cord would just snap.
Their leader looms in my face. “Where is it?” he shouts, and grasps my chin tightly to make me look at him. I blink furiously, not quite comprehending his words. I struggle feebly, but suddenly realise that the entire left side of my body has gone worryingly numb. I can’t control the left side of my face at all and my vision keeps blurring. I feel strange. I can feel the tears spilling from my eyes. I don’t understand what is happening to me.
I do understand, however, that I am dying.
The leader keeps yelling and screaming in my face but I can’t make myself understand what he is saying. It sounds like he is speaking another language. I’m not afraid of him anymore.
I fall again but this time I realised that I’m not falling anymore; I’m being pulled down. They are pulling me down into the eternal darkness. My brain keeps pulling me back up but I know it can’t keep it up forever. Eventually my brain will give up. When that happens They will have me. Forever.
I smile to myself as I think of Frank. I think about him as that bungee cord finally snaps and I fall. This time I know I’m not going to jerk back up. My brain has given up. This time They have me. I know They have me. I know I’m not going to wake back up. Not this time. Not ever. I know it.
I know things.
Remember?
Epilogue
________________________________________
A/N: Will post epilogue as soon as humanly possible.
Thanks for reading, you're all champions.
Author: shoved2agree
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating: R/NC-17
Summary: Gerard Way sees the world differently. Alone and institutionalised, Gerard claims that he is being hunted, and that his mind holds the key to existence. Does Gerard really hold such a powerful secret? Or is he just insane like everyone else in the institution?
Disclaimer: Fake.
Author Notes: Institution!Fic. Chapter quote is by Charles Manson.
Beta: yaminoshugoshin ♥ x ∞
Warnings: Rape themes, schizophrenia, adult themes, sex, mental illness
Previous Chapters:
Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || Chapter 4 || Chapter 5 || Chapter 6 || Chapter 7 || Chapter 8 || Chapter 9 || Chapter 10 || Chapter 11 || Chapter 12 || Chapter 13 || Chapter 14 || Chapter 15 || Chapter 16 || Chapter 17 || Chapter 18 || Chapter 19
Chapter 20: “I'm probably one of the most dangerous men in the world if I want to be. But I never wanted to be anything but me.”
It appears that I have been sentenced to permanently exist in the presence of my intern, the intern I met in Hell Week: Brendon.
I remember Brendon. He thinks he’s my friend. He’s wrong. He is not my friend. He is my enemy.
Of course he is not as much of an enemy as They are, but I still deem it appropriate to classify him as one. I remember very clearly the viciousness of the lies he wrote in his report about me to Markman. He called me callous and selfish. He called me crazy.
“I’m not crazy,” I announce impatiently to Brendon and Dr. Morgan. They are both studying me keenly, their pens poised and ready to sign off on the continuation of my involuntary treatment order.
It was a lie, of course. I know I’m crazy. I destroyed my brother because I am crazy. But, I don’t want to be here, so I have to convince Dr. Morgan and Brendon that I am sane and should be discharged. I need to convince them both that I am well enough to be released into the community.
It is never going to happen, but one can hope.
“You don’t think you’re crazy?” Dr. Morgan reiterates. I don’t like Dr. Morgan. At all. In fact, I hate her. She is even better at reading my mind than Markman and that scares me. She has this way of looking into my eyes and forcing me to speak to her and tell her about my feelings. As a result I have been forced to build two extra walls since arriving at Brock and meeting her. She obviously isn’t human. She is obviously evil.
I nod, agreeing with her statement.
“So, you were in your right mind when you hurt Mikey?” she asks.
What the fuck kind of question is that?! Who asks someone that? Fuck. That is why she is evil. I am no longer referring to her as Dr. Morgan, she shall be Dr. Evil.
I don’t reply to her statement. I feel my chest tighten as she forces me to think about the brother I have destroyed. I have spent a lot of time coming up with ways to not think about Mikey, but Dr. Evil pushes the topic every time she sees me.
“Gerard?” Dr. Evil presses.
“I don’t know!” I say defensively. To be honest, I don’t even remember hurting Mikey, so I have no way of knowing whether I had been in my right mind or not.
Dr. Evil watches me carefully and I quickly smooth out my facial features. I can’t let her see how much pain it causes me to think about Mikey. “So, you don’t think you’re crazy, Gerard?”
“Crazy is a very strong word,” I object nonchalantly, and study my fingernails. Acting nonchalant is one of the walls I have built. It is very effective. I need to give the impression of being indifferent and in control. Being in control is the very opposite of crazy and I can’t be both.
Dr. Evil looked surprised. “I’m using your word, Gerard,” she said. “You were the one who used the word in the first place when you told me you weren’t crazy. In fact, I don’t think you’re crazy at all. I think you’re sick.”
My wall of nonchalance weakened slightly at the word ‘sick.’ Markman often tried to convince me that I was sick. Frank tried to do the same thing. I’m not sick.
Sickness implies weakness and weakness implies that I am not up to the challenge of carrying these secrets. Jasper is wrong; I am not a pathetic and weak choice for a secret keeper. I have kept the secrets safe for years. I’d pay a lot of money to know of anyone else who could do a better job than that. Most secret keepers barely last six months, but not me.
I clench my fists together tightly. “I’m not sick,” I say, weighing each word heavily and spitting it out like it is poison.
Dr. Evil nods. “So, you’re not sick, and you’re not crazy?” she asks.
Exactly.
“Then why do you think you are here?” she continues casually.
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” Her calmness is frustrating.
“I honestly have no idea.” That’s a lie.
“Yes, you do.”
“No, seriously, Doctor -.”
Dr. Evil shakes her head at my protests. “Yes, you know exactly why you are here. Tell me.”
“No.” I know exactly why I’m here, but I won’t ever admit to it.
“Tell me.” Her voice is firm but she is still unwaveringly composed. I hate her. She is going to make me say something I’ll regret.
I beat my fists down on the armrests of my chair. “No, stop it.”
“Tell me.”
“Because I destroyed my brother! Okay?!” The words exit my mouth before I’m fully aware of them.
Dr. Evil goes silent as I practically shake with anger. That is private information. She has forced me to admit that to her. How dare she use her abilities on me? She has powers. She has no right to make me say things like that.
“Destroyed?” Dr. Evil says softly.
I stand up from my chair and march out of the room. I will not be subjected to questioning about Mikey. Dr. Evil has no right to know how soul-consuming and gut wrenching my guilt is. That’s private.
I am here in Brock because I am a monster.
I make my way to the cafeteria and sit down at an empty table. I don’t have a table of my own here. I don’t like having to sit at a new table for every meal. I hate it, but I can’t control it. I don’t dare challenge anyone in this place. They all look and act like they could kill me with their bare hands.
At Bluestone, people respected me and feared me. They left me alone. I had a reputation. But here in Brock I’m the new guy, and everyone knows that the new guy gets treated like shit.
I pull my sketchbook out of my jacket and hold it loosely in my hands. A second later, it is ripped from my grasp by one of the other patients. He darts away from me as I lunge after him.
“What have we got here?” he says patronisingly and flicks through the pages. Panicked, I scramble towards him, but he runs away, putting the table between us. “Oh, who’s this?” he asks and holds up an incomplete sketch I’ve done of Frank. “He’s so pretty.”
“Give it back!” I exclaim, and lunge unsuccessfully across the table towards him.
“He looks like he could be one of the purple people. Is he? My girlfriend was one of them. She had purple skin. That’s why she died.”
“That’s why you killed her,” I snarl and wrench the sketchbook from his hands.
He shrugs. “She was one of the purple people. She wasn’t human. Humans don’t have purple skin, dickhead.”
“Misha, leave Gerard alone.” An orderly finally notices Misha’s harassing and comes over to put an end to it. “Go and sit at another table.”
I shoot a filthy look at Misha as he wanders off. I’m not a dickhead. He’s the dickhead. And Misha? What kind of fucking stupid name is Misha? I sit back down at the table and smooth down the pages Misha has crinkled. I stop running my fingers along the creases to stare down at the picture I’d drawn. I miss Frank so much.
I hurriedly close my sketchbook and tuck it back inside my jacket as a nurse approaches my table. She thrusts a tiny paper cup in my face, which I accept obediently. Then, like I’ve done for the last week, I throw the pills into my mouth and pretend to wash them down with a small swig of water. After deftly hiding them both under my tongue and up next to my gum, I open my mouth to the nurse for inspection. She looks into my mouth more carefully than usual, but upon seeing no evidence of my deceit, she moves away to poison the next patient.
As soon as her back is turned I quickly spit the tablets out into my hand before they disintegrate in my mouth, and stow them away in my pocket. The next chance I get I’ll flush them down the toilet. It’s too easy.
I’m startled as Brendon suddenly appears next to me, and I discreetly withdraw my hand from my pocket, setting it down awkwardly on my leg. “May I sit?” he asks, indicating the seat opposite me.
I shake my head. “No, I’m saving it for someone.”
Brendon looks rather bewildered at my answer. It’s almost as though he thinks it’s completely outrageous for me to suggest that there is someone in this shithole that would willingly elect to share a table with me.
“Who?” he asks stupidly. Well, everything he said is stupid; he is stupid.
“Jesus,” I say casually, and begin picking bits off the empty Styrofoam cup in front of me.
Brendon looks down at the seat as though Jesus is actually going to appear. “Oh,” he says eventually. “Good joke.”
I look up at him, wearing my best disgusted look. “Does my choice to believe in a deity and his son amuse you? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to discriminate on the basis of religious belief.”
Brendon’s professional demeanour disappears. He makes a big show of letting go of the back of the chair I’d saved for Jesus and then striding off. I grin to myself and move to pull my sketchbook back out. But, before I do, I make sure Misha is nowhere near me. If he dares to touch my things again I’ll punch him in the eye socket. Why the eye socket? Because it fucking hurts like hell - Bert taught me that. I’ve just finished putting the shading onto my unfinished Frank picture when Brendon reappears. He sits down in Jesus’ seat and raises an eyebrow.
“You’re not religious,” he says triumphantly. “You don’t even believe in Jesus.” He looks so proud of himself for figuring it out.
I shrug. I’ve managed to delay his sitting by almost five minutes, so I’m happy. I don’t care that he knows I was lying about saving a seat for Jesus. I think it’s my indifference to his gloating that irritates Brendon more. I don’t understand how this man is a doctor. I personally won’t consider him a doctor; he’s more akin to pond scum in my opinion. I like the phrase ‘pond scum.’ It reminds me of a lot of people: Bert, Dr. Evil, Ray (okay, only sometimes), Dr. Leto….
“Gerard, I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Brendon says.
I ignore him.
“I’m working here at Brock full-time now. I’m going to be on your case for…well…for a long time, okay, Gerard? So, I think you need to start acknowledging me as a doctor. But, more importantly, you should start acknowledging me as someone who wants to help you.”
I make a loud scoffing noise before I can help it. Brendon is trying to be the bigger person here and I feel slightly guilty about mocking his attempts to bond with me. Brendon doesn’t look hurt though. In fact he looks invigorated.
“You don’t think I can help you?” he guesses as he tries to interpret the reason behind my jeering.
“Of course you can’t help me,” I tell him condescendingly. “Markman couldn’t, what makes you think you can?”
He doesn’t reply because he has no answer. I nod, satisfied, and use my index finger to artfully smudge a line on Frank’s forehead.
“How’s Frank?” he asks casually, pointing to my sketch.
I shoot him a filthy look. How the fuck would I know how Frank is?! Brendon must realise he’s crossed a line because he quickly stands up and leaves. Either that or he successfully interprets my filthy look as a warning about his imminent face reconstruction courtesy of my fist.
I’ve barely been alone for ten minutes before Dr. Evil comes along to inform me that a group therapy session is about to commence and my presence will be required. I roll my eyes and follow her over to where a ring of chairs has been assembled. I sit down cautiously in an empty chair, warily watching the other patients. They seem disinterested in my existence and attendance at the group session, much to my relief.
I will never admit out loud to anyone, but I’m scared. I’m frightened of the other patients. They are exponentially crazier than anyone I’ve encountered at Bluestone. I want to go back to Bluestone more than anything. I want to see Frank again and fall asleep next to him. Hell, I wouldn’t even be opposed to seeing Markman again. At least she doesn’t use magic to force me to share my feelings.
Dr. Evil’s extraction ability is the main reason why I’m exceedingly apprehensive about this session. I don’t want her to make me say something in front of these nutcases that I’ll regret. I wipe my sweaty palms on the blue cotton pants I’m wearing. I scowl at the faint smudge my dirty hands make on the material. Another thing I hate about this place is the complete lack of privileges I have. I have nothing. I can’t go outside. I’m not allowed to get snacks from the cafeteria, and I’m not allowed to wear anything other than the standard issue clothes they’d given me on my first day. I’d woken up already wearing the light blue pyjama pants and the white shirt. I don’t even know what happened to my jeans.
They were my favourite jeans. If I’d been awake when they took them I would’ve fought fiercely to keep them.
I’m also forced to wear slippers. I told every nurse and every orderly that would listen that I don’t wear slippers but they didn’t care. It was ridiculously unfair. You shouldn’t have to “earn” clothing privileges. Decent, age appropriate clothing in mental institutions should be considered a basic regulation. I make a mental note to speak to my father about using his influence to create such a regulation.
Dr. Evil has begun the session already, but I’m not paying attention. Instead, I’m studying my fellow inmates. Misha is sitting very still in his chair, listening very intently to the doctor. His jet black hair is laden with an unnecessary amount of hair gel, which is doing little more than keeping several spikes vertical. Next to Misha is an older woman named Jess. I overheard her arguing with an orderly last week who thought it was unnecessary for her to take two servings of dinner with her back to her table every night. She quite clearly stated to the orderly that one was for her and one was for her husband who would be joining her shortly. Her husband was remarkably hungry for a man who’d been dead for twelve years.
“You’re all going to die.”
My head snaps up to stare at the tall young man who’d stood up and announced his prediction to the group. I don’t know his name, but he is wearing a black shirt covered in grotesque pictures of real human skulls, so I decide to call him Skull.
Dr. Evil looks concerned at Skull’s announcement. “Jonas, that is not appropriate,” she says, and indicates for him to take his seat. His name is Jonas? What a stupid name. I decide to continue referring to him as Skull.
“Of course it’s not appropriate, but it’s true,” Skull argues and remains standing. He turns and starts pointing to each person in turn. “You’re gonna die.” He points to the next person. “You’re gonna die, too. And you.” He points at Jess. “You too. I’m going to kill you all.”
My mouth goes dry. Skull now seems like an incredibly appropriate name for this psychopath. Why is the doctor letting him threaten everyone? I swear if he points his bony finger at me I will snap it in half.
“Jonas, stop it. You’re not going to kill anyone.”
“I’m going to kill everyone,” Skull insists, and points to the next three people in the circle. I am next. If he dares to threaten me I’ll show him and everyone else how much of a mistake it is to mess with Gerard Way. “And I’m gonna kill you!” he says blatantly, jabbing his finger in my direction. I freeze. I don’t leap out of my seat and snap his finger like I planned. Fear keeps me glued to my seat. “And….” Skull stops suddenly and slowly turns back to look at me, as though he can sense my intense hatred for him. “Oh,” he says, his eyes growing incredibly wide. He looks surprised. “My mistake. I’m not going to kill you,” he says, speaking directly to me.
What the fuck is going on?
“No. I won’t get a chance to kill you. They’re going to get you first. Fuck that,” Skull grumbles. “So unfair.”
Without thinking, I launch myself out of my seat and throw myself at Skull with all the strength I can muster. I catch him by surprise, grabbing him by the throat and pin him up against the wall, pushing us out of the circle of chairs.
“How do you know about Them?!” I snarl, my hand compressing his windpipe as hard as I can. I am fully aware that I will get no answer whilst I’m choking him, but it feels too good to stop.
I’ve barely been holding his throat for a few seconds when hands wrench me back. I don’t fight; I hate being sedated. Being sedated fucks with my head for hours. Skull massages his neck gingerly and spits at me. “You scared, fag?” he rasps spitefully. “Are you scared because They’re gonna get you?” He runs his finger across his forehead, simulating slicing it open.
I lunge towards him again, but the orderlies pull me back and drag me off in the opposite direction. Everyone else in the circle is now standing, watching me with interested looks on their stupid faces. Dr. Evil looks positively shocked. I bet she thought she had me all figured out. Nobody figures Gerard out.
“How do you know about Them? ” I shout as two orderlies grab at my arms with the intention of removing me from the room.
Skull doesn’t reply. He just sneers at me, one hand still clutching his throat.
I don’t struggle against the orderlies as they escort me back to my room. They lead me inside and sit me down on the piece of wood they pass off as a bed. “You going to behave yourself?” one of the orderlies asks.
I nod dutifully just so they won’t think it necessary to strap me to the bed. They leave, and I am left alone and terrified.
How the fuck does Skull know who Theyare? I have not told a single person in this place about Them. I haven’t even mentioned Them to Dr. Evil. Of course she knows about the Them situation, Markman would’ve written about it quite extensively in my file. But, is Skull Their spy? Is he the spy that Jasper warned me about? Is Skull one of Them? I lie down on my bed and curl up in the foetal position facing the wall. I spend a lot of time in this position. I want to be tough but really I’m a fucking pathetic piece of shit who’s destroyed his brother and lost the love of his life.
My door opens and my heart rate instantly increases as I irrationally consider that it could be Them coming in. I don’t dare roll over to look. My visitor sits down on the side of my bed. I decide that it is Dr. Evil, purely due to the fact that her petite frame barely lowers the side of the bed at all.
“Gerard,” Dr. Evil begins. I feel triumphant that I’ve successfully guessed who it is. I keep my eyes shut and don’t acknowledge that she has spoken. “You should not take Jonas’ threats seriously. He has been threatening to hurt people every single day since he arrived over two years ago and yet he has never done anything more than squash an ant. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
She has it all wrong. I’m not afraid of Skull. I’m afraid of Them. I can deal with Skull. I can deal with him calling me a ‘fag.’ But, I can’t deal with the fact that he knows that They are coming to kill me. I can’t deal with the fact that Jasper was right. I am going to die. Soon. I know I am. I know things, remember?
“Gerard?”
I lie very still until Dr. Evil leaves the room. Maybe she thinks I’ve fallen asleep? I don’t know. I don’t care. All I care about is staying alive…and Frank.
I eventually end up falling asleep. I don’t dream. I haven’t had a dream in a long time. I’m not sad about that fact - my dreams usually involve blood or dead brothers or dead lovers. I awake suddenly to the sound of someone calling to me. They’re telling me that I have a visitor. I decide it must be a mistake. I don’t get visitors. Frank is on the other side of the country and no one else cares about me.
I pretend to still be asleep and eventually the nurse disappears. Maybe she’ll tell my visitor to come back. I wonder if my visitor will be Lindsey. Maybe Lindsey is here to prepare me for my murder trial? The door opens again a short time later and I hear the sound of expensive leather shoes tapping against the linoleum on the floor. The person sits down on the edge of my bed, too, but definitely outweighs Dr Evil.
“Gerard?”
My father is my visitor. What a surprise. I won’t call it a pleasant surprise. I’ve decided that I’m not particularly fond of my father - he’s practically condemned me to die by sending me to this place. I ignore him as well. I much prefer to pretend to be asleep than converse with him.
My father grasps my shoulder firmly and rolls me over so I’m on my back and looking up at him. I’m not expecting this sudden action and I instinctively open my eyes. I take one look at his judgemental face and try to roll back over. He isn’t pleased with me for doing that.
“Gerard,” he scolds, and pins my shoulder against the mattress so I can’t move. “Don’t be rude.”
I don’t make a retort or roll my eyes. I just stare up at him, defeated.
“How are you?”
“Fine,” I lie. I am not fine. I am going to die soon. I wonder if I will have a chance to say goodbye to Frank. Maybe I should write him a letter.
My father realises suddenly that he’s holding my shoulder very tightly and lets go. I roll back over to face the wall.
“Oh, Gerard,” my father sighs, frustrated. “I was advised that you might not be ready to see me again.”
“Were these advisors the same people that advised you to forget about me while I was in Bluestone?” I ask suddenly, looking back over my shoulder.
My father looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t forget about you. I was advised that your recovery would be easier if I wasn’t around.”
I bite my lip and shake my head, betrayed. “Of course you did. Thank goodness you have someone to think for you. Oh, hey, what do they advise you to have for breakfast tomorrow?’ I ask sarcastically. “Or, what if they advise you to have eggs, but you feel like cereal? Do you have to have the eggs?”
My father knows he deserved it. He’d deserted me. “Gerard, I’m so sorry.”
“I never had a single visitor. Ever. You know, I actually thought I was orphan with no family who’d been left in the care of the state. But all this time I was your son, and you never came to see me.”
An uncomfortable silence falls. I will never forgive my father for abandoning me. Of course he had every right to, considering what I’d done to Mikey, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
“I’ve got to go,” my father says, breaking the silence. He touches my shoulder gently. “Is there anything I can get you?”
I decide to seize the opportunity and ask about my clothes. “Can you make them let me wear my old clothes?” I ask.
“Oh, no, Gerard, that is something you’ve got to earn. I’m sure you will get your old clothes back as soon as you earn it. No more fights,” he says light-heartedly.
I sigh and tug on the itchy cotton shirt. “I can’t wear these,” I object.
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re itchy and they’re ugly.”
“So? Behave and you’ll get jeans in no time.”
I don’t have time. I’m going to die. I’ll be damned if I die wearing a pair of slippers. “I don’t want to die in these clothes,” I say crankily.
My father looks alarmed. “Gerard, you’re not going to die. Why would you say that?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Yes, I am. They’re going to get me any day now.”
My father becomes very confused. “Them? Gerard, no! No! They’re not real. Okay? They’re a delusion. They’re the reason you hurt Mikey. Remember? They are not going to hurt you because They’re not real. Okay?”
I don’t expect my father to understand. No one understands. They are real. They are coming to get my secrets and there is no stopping it. Even Skull knows there is no stopping it. They are going to get my secrets and the world was going to end.
I pause suddenly, a brilliant idea shooting through my head. I might not be able to stop Them and I sure as hell will be useless against stopping Their brutal entry into my brain. But I can control what happens after they get my secrets. I can stop the world from ending. I can’t save myself, but I can save the world.
My father leaves, and I resume my staring at the wall. I know I can stop the world from ending - I’m just not sure how I will do it.
I don’t leave my room for dinner that night, or for breakfast the next morning, and it takes the nurse threatening to put a red dot next to my name before I drag myself to the cafeteria for lunch. Red dots are the worst thing you can get in this place. White dots are the best. If you get fifty white dots, you move up a category and get awarded a privilege. If you get more than five red dots, all of your white dots get erased; you move down a category and lose a privilege. I already have three red dots and even though I don’t have any privileges to lose, I don’t particularly want to be that guy that reached five red dots in his first week.
White dots are awarded for everything from using manners to helping clean up the art room. I only have one of them and Brendon only gave it to me when he saw me pick up a piece of trash up off the floor. I’d only picked up the piece of trash because I thought it might’ve been a note one of the other patients had written. I was hoping there would be some gossip on it I could use as leverage. I’d received my red dots for choking Skull, swearing at Brendon and throwing my slippers out the tiny bathroom window on my first day.
They ended up giving me a new pair of slippers straight away so my efforts to dispose of the shoes went to waste, but it was still worth it. I really want to know what the gardener thought when he found them in the shrubs.
I eat my lunch as quickly as I can and kept my eyes down the entire time. I know people are looking at me. There isn’t a lot of excitement in this place; I’d figured that much out in the first twenty-four hours. My fight with Skull yesterday is probably the most entertaining thing that’s happened in a while.
As soon as I’ve forced the peanut butter sandwich down my throat, I stand up and make my way back to my room. I’m only metres from the door when someone jumps in front of me, blocking my path.
“Hey!” I don’t understand how anyone can be anything other than miserable in this prison. This kid’s enthusiasm makes me ill.
I try to step around the kid but he moves with me. I take a deep breath and try to stare him down. “Move,” I demand rudely.
“I’m Pedro,” he says and sticks out his hand. I blink at him. I’m not here to make friends, especially not with someone named Pedro.
I take another step to the right but Pedro mimics me, still intent on stopping me from passing. “Fuck off,” I say angrily.
“What’s your name?” Pedro persists, his hand still extended in a greeting gesture. “If you tell me I’ll let you pass.”
I consider his acne-covered face. Is he lying? Will telling him my name be detrimental? He should already know who I am. My name is up on the Dot board for all to see. My name is the one with all the red dots next to it. You certainly can’t miss it.
“Gerard,” I say bluntly.
Pedro grins. “Nice to meet you, Gerard,” he says and pushes his hand out further, seeking a handshake. I don’t see the harm in shaking his hand so I firmly place my hand in his and shake it hard, trying to intimidate him. Pedro suddenly reaches out with his other hand, gripping my wrist and pulling me off-balance, tilting towards him. He wrenches my hand free and holds it tightly, his dull eyes studying my palm intently.
“What the fuck?” I object, and snatch my hand back.
Pedro looks frustrated. “I just wanna read your palm,” he says, and reaches out to take my hand again. I hurriedly stick my hands in the pockets of my pyjamas.
“Fuck off,” I say bitterly, and start to walk away.
“It’s called Palmistry. It’s a legitimate art,” Pedro informs me, jogging to resume his place in front of me. He shoves his palm into my face. “See that line?” he asks and runs his finger down the centre of his palm. “It’s called the Line of Heart. It tells you all about your emotions, especially love. Have you ever been in love? I bet I can tell from looking at that line.”
I pause and look down at Pedro and his infectious enthusiasm. Palmistry is a complete joke. Surely you can’t tell if someone is in love from a line on their hand? “Go on then,” I say patronisingly, and present him with my left hand.
Pedro holds my hand tightly and runs his fingers softly down my palm. “See that one?” he says, his fingers deftly tracing the top line on my palm. “That’s your Heart line.” He looks up at me and smiles. “You’re in love,” he says resolutely.
“Yes,” I admit awkwardly.
“With a boy,” Pedro continues.
My eyes widen. “You can tell that from my palm?” I say, astonished.
Pedro looks amused. “No. Jonas called you a fag. That only means one thing around here, you know?”
“Fuck Jonas,” I grunt, embarrassed, and pull my hand away.
Pedro snatches my hand back. “I’m not done,” he says disapprovingly and goes back to studying my palm. “Now this next one is your life line. It tells you when you’re gonna die.” He lets go of my hand to show me his. “See?” he says and points out his own lifeline. “This tells me that I’m going to live to be sixty-seven. I’m going to die of a myocardial infarction.”
I’m ninety-five percent convinced that Pedro is full of shit. The other five percent is dubious but incredibly curious. I am going to die soon. Nobody knows that except me. If Pedro is a legitimate palm reader, he’ll be able to tell me how soon I am going to die. I present my palm to Pedro and request he read my life line.
Pedro looks concerned. “Gerard, most people don’t want to know when they’re going to die. Or how. It’s heavy stuff, man. It’ll cut you up. I told Mel she was going to die in exactly one week and guess what happened a week later? She died.”
“Do it,” I order.
Pedro reluctantly holds my palm and examines it. Then, after about a minute he freaks out. He drops my hand like it’s a grenade and steps away from me fearfully.
My own fear escalates. “What?” I say urgently. “What did it say?”
Pedro clutches his head. “Gerard!” he says in a panic. “You don’t have one!”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I demand, my heart beating rapidly. I stare down at my palms, seeking answers.
Pedro looks around nervously. “Gerard, you don’t have a life line.”
Is Pedro saying that I was already dead to begin with? Am I a zombie? I don’t understand.
“Death is coming for you, Gerard!” Pedro starts running away from me like I’m going to kill him. He glances back at me only once.
“Wait!” I call and hurry after him. “How am I going to die?” I beg. I need to know. I want to be ready.
Pedro hesitates for a second. “Your brain is going to explode, Gerard. I’m so sorry.” He runs off, leaving me standing outside my room in shock.
I take a step sideways to support myself against the wall. My knees have gone weak and I feel faint. My brain is going to explode. Even Pedro knows that They are coming to cut into my brain. I don’t have a lifeline; I’m already dead. I quickly haul myself to my feet and go looking for Dr. Evil. I need to convince her to transfer me to another facility. I need more time to think of a way to hide from Them forever.
Brock is very different to Bluestone in that the doctors are not readily accessible. At Bluestone I could march into Markman’s office whenever I liked. But at Brock I have to speak to a receptionist.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks, looking at me over the rims of her glasses.
“No, but it’s urgent. I need to see the doctor. Immediately. It’s a matter of life or death.” Literally.
The receptionist shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Morgan isn’t available right now. Would you like to leave her a message?”
“No!” I say crossly and stamp my foot on the ground like a child. “Please, just five minutes.”
“What’s the matter, Gerard?” I glance up to see Dr. Evil looking at me from her office doorway. I force myself to calm down. I take a breath. “I need to talk to you.”
Dr. Evil nods. “Okay, come in,” she says pleasantly and beckons me forward.
I heave a huge sigh of relief and hurry into the room. I take my seat on the leather couch. Dr. Evil pulls a chair closer to me and sits down.
“I’m quite surprised you wanted to talk to me,” she says. “You’ve not shown any interest in it in the past.”
“I need to be transferred,” I say bluntly, ignoring her jab at my usual lack of participation in therapy.
“Ah,” Dr. Evil says, nodding as though she had been expecting me to say that. “Because They’re coming to get you? Correct?” She’s mocking me. She doesn’t understand how powerful They are as an organisation. She doesn’t understand that the world is at stake here.
“Yes,” I answer, my hands twisting together painfully. “How did you know?”
“Your father told me that you were under the impression that They were coming to harm you,” she says, her eyes drilling into me.
How dare he tell her anything! He has no right. I push the urge to complain about him down. I have more important things to discuss. “So, when can I transfer? I’ll go anywhere.”
“I’m not transferring you,” Dr. Evil says.
I shut my eyes and count to ten. Once I open them I repeat, “I want to transfer. When can I leave?”
Dr. Evil shakes her head. “You’re not going anywhere, Gerard. I’m sorry.”
I mutter a stream of curse words under my breath. This is a disaster. Why doesn’t she understand what was going to happen?
“Gerard, I want you to read something.” Dr. Evil pulls a piece of paper from a drawer in her desk. She hands it to me. I read the first few lines in disgust:
‘Types of Schizophrenia: Paranoid Schizophrenia - These persons are very suspicious of others and often have grand schemes of persecution at the root of their behaviour. Hallucinations, and more frequently delusions, are a prominent and common part of the illness.’
“Sound familiar, Gerard? Grand schemes of persecution? Remind you of anything?”
“If you’re referring to Them, you’re wrong,” I say spitefully.
“Am I?” Dr. Evil asks. “Has anyone else ever seen Them, Gerard? You claimed that They’ve visited you several times now. Why did no one else ever see Them? Gerard, you described Them as an army of soldiers. Why has no one else ever seen an army of soldiers traipsing around the facility?”
Isn’t it obvious? “People are blinded by their own problems. Why would they care about mine?” I say.
“Yet, Frank never saw Them either? Wasn’t Frank there on one occasion when you thought They had found you? Weren’t you holding him when They put a gun to his head?’ Why didn’t he see Them? He cares about you. He cares about your problems. He should’ve seen Them. Yet, he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t see Them because They were never there to begin with?”
My eyes are wet with tears. I don’t want to listen to this. I don’t know why Frank never saw Them. I’ve never thought about it before. He was always telling me They weren’t real. Maybe they weren’t. “Why did I see Them if they weren’t really there?” I ask. I’m so confused. I don’t understand. I am so ridiculously crazy. I don’t know what is real anymore.
“Because you have a mental illness called schizophrenia. You have hallucinations. They are a hallucination. Jasper is a hallucination.”
“But Pedro said…” I begin and Dr. Evil looks exasperated.
“Did he say you were going to die?” she asks.
How does she know that? I nod cautiously.
“Pedro told me I was going to be mauled to death by a bear whilst camping when I was thirty-five years old. Guess how old I am now, Gerard?” she asks.
I wonder if it’s a trick question. I don’t want to say an age that’s too extreme. I don’t want her to be mad at me for saying she looks older than she is. I shrug instead.
Dr. Evil folds her arms. “I’m turning thirty-eight in about two months time. I’ve never seen a bear in my entire life and I hate camping.”
“So?”
“So? Pedro makes things up. He lies. He likes to scare people by telling them when they’re going to die. Did he tell you how he himself was going to die? He told me he was going to die at the hands of modern day metropolitan cannibals. Very imaginative.”
He told me he was going to die of a heart attack. That little fucking dickhead. How dare he make shit up about me? I glance down at my palm and at the lines. I don’t know which one is my lifeline, but it probably wasn’t nonexistent like Pedro had claimed. Maybe I’m not already dead after all.
“Let’s not get distracted now, Gerard. Do you understand what I mean when I say you have Schizophrenia?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about this,” I say, placing my hands over my ears. I don’t want to hear her say that word again: Schizophrenia. It is all Markman ever talked about. It was always: I have this disease or I have an illness. She had really been trying to tell me I was defective - but I wasn’t. My brain is perfect - that’s why I was chosen to keep the secrets. I would never have been chosen if a disease affected my brain.
“Gerard,” Dr. Evil says gently, and pulls my hands away from the sides of my head.
“Are you going to transfer me?” I ask. Dr. Evil shakes her head. I stand up. “I’m going back to my room,” I say, and walk out. I pause at the door and looked back at her. “To die,” I add for dramatic effect.
I spend the next three days in my bed curled up and facing the wall. I wait for Them. Dr. Evil comes and sees me almost ten times. She tries everything to try to get me to leave my bed but I refuse. I am going to wait here until the end.
I have resigned myself to it now. I haven’t the slightest clue of how I am going to save the world, but I don’t care too much about it anyway. I still haven’t written my letter to Frank either. I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I’m thinking about him. Probably not.
As I lay in my resigned state, fighting sleep, I decide to search back through my memories. I find one from my first few weeks at Bluestone. We had been watching a movie. I couldn’t remember the title. All I knew was that it was a horrible romantic comedy. There was one scene, however, that stuck in my brain. The lead female character had fallen asleep on the bed and her love interest had come over and I remembered very clearly that he woke her up by kissing her devotedly on the lips. Then she woke up and they lived happily ever after. It was a shit movie.
I used to think that things in movies never happened in real life. But I was obviously wrong. Why was I wrong? Because Frank is kissing me awake right now. Even though my eyes are closed I know it is him. I can smell him. He smells amazing.
I open my eyes and wrap my arms around Frank, hugging him impossibly tight. I pull him off me and lay him down on the mattress. Then I lay down almost on top of him, kissing him properly. I stop only long enough to ask him, “Why are you here?”
He shrugs. “Dr. Morgan told Dr. Markman that you were really depressed. Then Dr. Markman told me that you were really depressed, and that maybe I should come to visit you. And I said yes.”
“I’m not depressed,” I object weakly. I could be, I have no idea. I will deny it anyway.
Frank bites his lip. “Well, you are talking about the fact that you’re going to die, Gerard. That’s pretty depressing.”
“It’s true.”
Frank doesn’t reply or argue. He just grabs the back of my head and pulls me in closer so he can kiss me again.
“How are you?” I interrupt. It’s not that I don’t want to lie here forever and make out with Frank. It’s more that I have a lot of things I need to discuss with Frank before he has to leave. He can’t stay long. Visiting times in this place are very short, especially for people like me who have no privileges.
Frank nods. “I’m good,” he says.
“Don’t lie,” I warn, and Frank looks annoyed.
“So I’m not allowed to be good?” he says.
“You’re allowed to say you’re good when you’re not.” There is no way he can possibly be good. When I last saw him he was still very broken.
Frank pushes me off him and sits up. “How do you know how I am? You don’t know anything about how I’ve been for the past two weeks.”
“That’s exactly the point!” I insist. “It’s only been two weeks. Nothing can happen in two weeks.”
Frank looks angry. “A lot can happen in two weeks,” he objects.
I don’t believe him. “Like what?” Maybe he made a new friend. Maybe he met someone new. Maybe this person was more than a friend. Maybe he’d found someone new to love.
“A lot, okay?”
I just nod. I had failed. He is still so broken. I thought I’d managed to fix him but I’d failed. I failed just like I failed at everything else I’d ever done. I was even going to fail as a secret keeper.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asks. He’s good at figuring out when I’m in pain.
I sit up against the wall, pulling my legs up to my chest. “I failed.” I’m such a loser. I don’t know why Frank came here to visit me. I don’t understand why he would come and see me at all. I told him that I could fix him and he let me fuck him, trusting that it was the only way to fix him.
Frank suddenly grabs my hand and presses it to his chest. “What are you -?” I say. Last time someone grabbed my hand I ended up finding out my brain was going to explode.
“Shhh!” he says loudly, and places two fingers over my lips. “Do you feel that?” he asks. He shuffles closer to me so my arm isn’t stretched as awkwardly.
At this exact moment I’m really quite baffled as to what Frank is trying to convey to me. I shake my head but it doesn’t put Frank off. Instead he removes my hand from his chest just long enough to lift up his shirt. Then he presses my hand to his chest again, but this time there is no clothing between our skins. “Do you feel that?” he asks again.
“I can feel your heart beat?” I say slowly, confused.
Frank smiles. “Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“My heart is beating, Gerard.”
I nod. “Well, yeah, if it wasn’t you’d be dead,” I say sensibly.
Frank sighs. “Gerard, I’ve been waiting for my heart to start beating again for almost two years.”
Oh. Oh. He hadn’t been talking in the literal sense. I feel rather stupid.
“I’ve been waiting for as long as I can remember. It stopped because I felt like I’d died. I felt so disgusting and dirty and ashamed and abused and my body shut down. I didn’t want to live anymore and I felt like my heart just stopped as a result. It’s been stopped so long that I thought it was going to stay that way forever.” He looked thoroughly miserable as he revisited the memory. He poked me in the arm. “But then you came along with your stupid theories and your stupid face and you kept doing things to me!” He pushed my hand harder up against his chest. “You came along and you kept making it beat for a few seconds and for those precious seconds I would feel alive. But then it would stop and I’d go back to being dead again.”
I slowly raise my free hand to touch his cheek.
“Then it started again. Don’t you remember? You asked me if my chest was hurting? It wasn’t hurting. It was the best feeling in the whole world. Gerard, I’m not dead anymore. I can feel my heart all the time. I feel alive, all the time. Gerard, you….”
“I fixed you,” I say in disbelief.
“Yes,” Frank says quietly. “Gerard, I’m good. I’m going to be okay.”
I reach out and pull Frank into my arms. I don’t think Frank knows truly how much it means to me to hear him say that. I’m not going to die worrying about Frank anymore and that comforts me immensely.
Frank hugs me back, tighter than he ever had before. He is hugging me goodbye. “Markman is discharging me,” he mumbles into my chest.
I don’t have anything to say. Instead I press my lips to the side of his head and hope he won’t see the tiny tear that is slowly trickling down my cheek. I have fixed him. I had broken Mikey but I have fixed Frank. I feel like I have repaid some sort of karmic debt to the universe. I must’ve known all along what I had done to Mikey. It must be why I was so intent on finding a way to fix Frank. All this time I have been trying to find a way to forgive myself for breaking Mikey.
“I love you.”
I pull Frank away from where he had buried his face in my chest and kiss him. I don’t care that he can see my stupid tears and my weakness. I love him more than anything. I fixed him.
“I love you,” Frank repeats, his lips still pressed to my own. It’s him who had said it the first time. He loves me.
Frank stays wrapped around me until the nurse comes to make him leave. Now he’s standing by the door, his hair tousled and his shirt bunched up around his waist.
“Bye, Gerard,” he says sadly.
“I love you,” I remind him and he smiles blissfully.
“See you later?” he asks, opening the door.
I shake my head. I won’t see him later. Frank bites his lip and nods. “That’s right,” he says, remembering my disclosure about my impending death. “Well, just know that I love you, okay? I love you and I’m going to be okay. Okay?”
I nod. Frank stands up on his tiptoes to kiss me one last time before leaving.
I touch the door, pining like a teenage girl. My heart feels as though it is simply too full to break, but I can feel small cracks forming already. I don’t have time to dwell on my last ever encounter with Frank, as I see my shadow against the door flicker as though someone has crossed in front of the window, blocking the light.
I spin around, my eyes searching the window fearfully. Several more dark shapes dart across in front of the glass. One figure lingers just long enough for me to see his white mask. My mouth goes dry and my heart rate doubles, but I don’t freeze. I suddenly know how I’m going to save the world. I know things, remember?
I wrench open my sketchbook and set my pencil down onto the paper. I write down exactly twenty-four words. These twenty-four words are going to save the world. I scramble back to my feet and open my door. I’ve barely taken three steps towards Dr. Evil’s office when someone calls my name.
I spin around to see Markman walking towards me. I have never been so happy to see that woman before in my entire life. I walk to meet her, still clutching my piece of paper tightly in my hand.
“Gerard,” Markman says amiably. I figure she is pleased to see me out of my bed.
I have no time for niceties. I fold the piece of paper up into a square about half the size of a playing card and hold it out to her. “Do not open this or read this until after I die,” I order.
Markman looks surprised. “Pardon?” she says, glancing down at the piece of paper.
I push it into her hand. “Please do not read this until after I’m dead. If you read it before it’ll ruin everything. Do you understand?”
Markman touches my arm. “Gerard, why are you talking about dying?”
“Promise me!” I exclaim, and glance around nervously. They are coming. They were outside. I have no more time.
Markman accepts the piece of paper cautiously. “What is this?” she asks.
“Do not read it until I’m gone. Do you understand?”
She nods. “Of course,” she says. “But Gerard, you know you are going to outlive me by many decades, I’ll never get a chance to read it. I’ll be gone when it’s eventually your turn.”
“My turn is tonight,” I says firmly and start walking away. Markman follows me into the cafeteria. I see Skull sitting at one of the tables. He looks up at me and smirks.
I know at that moment that he is Their spy. He is the one Jasper warned me about. I am going to kill him before They kill me.
“Gerard!” Markman is persistent. I’d forgotten how persistent she is. Normally I can deal with it, but right now? I’m ready to push her to the ground. “What is this? If you don’t tell me, I’ll open it.”
I know she’s probably suspicious that the paper is a suicide note. She probably thinks that with all my talk about dying, I’m planning to off myself. I would never kill myself. I could never do that to Frank; that would be selfish. But, I don’t want her to read it so I turn to face her.
“It’s one of my secrets,” I say in a low voice so Skull won’t hear.
Markman’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “And you’re entrusting one to me? Why?”
“Because you are the only one who can handle it. You’re strong and you’re intelligent. Frank wasn’t ready. I couldn’t burden him. I’m sorry to burden you, doctor, but I couldn’t let Them get them all. If that happened….” I pause and shot a venomous look at Skull. “The world would end and everyone would die. Frank would die. I didn’t want him to die.”
“Gerard, no one is going to die.”
“He is,” I say, before throwing myself at Skull. Skull is waiting for me. He’s been waiting for me for weeks. He leaps to his feet as I run towards him. I clench my hands into fists and smash one into Skull’s face. He is knocked backwards. I don’t have a knife or a gun so I will have to make do with my hands. I am very good with my hands. Skull leaps back to his feet with his arms raised protectively in front of his face. I swing out with my right fist again but I don’t get a chance to do any damage. Someone has grabbed a hold of my biceps and is tugging me backwards. I twist around, trying to escape their grip and only manage to succeed in hurting myself. Skull has not yet been restrained and he takes a step towards me. He grabs the side of my head and smashes it down hard onto the metal table. The ensuing blackness is terrifying.
***
When I awake, I can’t move my arms. I can feel them but I am strapped so tightly to the bed I can barely move an inch. I try to move my legs but find them tightly restrained as well. I have no idea where I am. The room is completely empty except for the bed and me. The walls are white plaster and the roof is high. The solitary window in the room is up high as well, completely unreachable by a human. This would comfort me if it weren’t for the fact that They aren’t human. My head isn’t throbbing at all. This surprises me. I expected to be in a lot of pain after Skull smashed my head into that table. Fucking dickhead. At least I managed to get one good punch in before his friend stepped into to restrain me. His nose was bleeding - maybe I’d broken it? The thought pleases me. A broken nose will suit his ugly, traitorous face.
I shut my eyes for a minute. Frank is going to be okay. I could see it in his eyes. He is alive again. I have done that. I have fixed him. I open my eyes and am not surprised to see Jasper leaning against the wall.
“You,” I say bitterly. I have been waiting for him.
“Me,” he says haughtily and looks up.
I follow his gaze and flinch as glass falls from the shattered window above my head. I listen to the shards as they fall to the ground, and watch as They start slithering through the window and down to the ground. They look exactly like I remember. Yet, I’m not afraid as I watch Them fill every inch of the room with their dark bulky forms and featureless faces. I’m not afraid because I know I have beaten Them. They don’t know it yet but I have and it allays any fears that I might’ve had.
Their leader steps forward from the masses and stands at the side of my bed. He smirks at me, the lips on his mask twisting into position.
“Hello, Gerard,” he says softly in his unforgettable raspy voice. I see Jasper sneer in the background. “Are you afraid?” he asks as he leisurely slips a scalpel from a pocket on his bulletproof vest.
I shake my head and his smirk wavers. He recovers quickly though and lightly touches the scalpel to my forehead.
“You’re wasting your time,” I force myself to say. I lied before. I am scared. I am terrified. I am pretty sure I am going to wet myself. I’ve faced Them before, but I’ve never been so helpless and never this fucked.
“Oh?” the leader says, amused, and runs his gloved finger down my cheek.
“I gave one away,” I say and shoot Jasper a vindictive look.
The leader’s smile vanishes completely. “You’re lying,” he says immediately and turns to look at Jasper.
Jasper steps forward and points his finger at me. “You’re lying. You would never give one away! I told you that you would die if you ever told anyone. Two people cannot know the same secret! You’re lying. You’d be dead if you’d given one away.”
“Well,” I say stonily. “I guess you’ll have to have a look and see, won’t you?”
The leader immediately steps forward and grabs a handful of my hair to keep my head still. Then he slides the scalpel across my skin like he is cutting into butter.
It is the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. It feels like I am being kicked repeatedly in the head. The pain is throbbing unbearably through to the back of my skull. My consciousness keeps wavering erratically as the leader cuts his way in and starts to pull out the precious secrets I have been protecting my entire life. I feel the nausea rise up suddenly and I barely have enough time to turn my head and vomit onto the pillow. The leader seems possessed as he searches through my head. I know he is counting the secrets but he won’t be able to count them all. He is never going to find number nine. Number nine is gone. It is currently in the possession of Markman. She hasn’t read it yet, but as soon as she finds out I’m dead she will, and the secret will have been passed onto someone else.
Do I feel guilty about endangering Markman by giving her the secret? Yes, I feel ridiculously guilty. But she is the only other option. I could never have given one to Frank. These secrets take up all my energy and in the end, they’ve taken my life. I could never do that to Frank. I love him too much. Markman can look after herself. Plus, Jasper thinks that I hate Markman, and he would never suspect that I would entrust one of my secrets to her. Without all the secrets, They can’t do a thing. The world is safe. Frank is safe.
The leader roars in fury as he realises that I haven’t lied. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to force myself to stay awake. I keep falling deeper and more sporadically into unconsciousness. I feel like I am free falling into darkness, even though my body is strapped impossibly tight to the bed. Then just when I think I’m going to descend into the eternal darkness, I jerk awake to the sound of Jasper and the leader arguing violently. The rest of Them are moving restlessly in their perfect rows as they too realise that their two-decade long search has come to an abrupt and unfavourable end.
Every time I jerk awake it’s like I have reached the end of a bungee cord. I blink rapidly and my heart beats frantically as it struggles to cope. My eyes water from the severity of the pain. I desperately wish I would stop jerking back into consciousness. I wish the bungee cord would just snap.
Their leader looms in my face. “Where is it?” he shouts, and grasps my chin tightly to make me look at him. I blink furiously, not quite comprehending his words. I struggle feebly, but suddenly realise that the entire left side of my body has gone worryingly numb. I can’t control the left side of my face at all and my vision keeps blurring. I feel strange. I can feel the tears spilling from my eyes. I don’t understand what is happening to me.
I do understand, however, that I am dying.
The leader keeps yelling and screaming in my face but I can’t make myself understand what he is saying. It sounds like he is speaking another language. I’m not afraid of him anymore.
I fall again but this time I realised that I’m not falling anymore; I’m being pulled down. They are pulling me down into the eternal darkness. My brain keeps pulling me back up but I know it can’t keep it up forever. Eventually my brain will give up. When that happens They will have me. Forever.
I smile to myself as I think of Frank. I think about him as that bungee cord finally snaps and I fall. This time I know I’m not going to jerk back up. My brain has given up. This time They have me. I know They have me. I know I’m not going to wake back up. Not this time. Not ever. I know it.
I know things.
Remember?
Epilogue
________________________________________
A/N: Will post epilogue as soon as humanly possible.
Thanks for reading, you're all champions.