Volti Subito (now press repeat)
From the outside, Falta Inc. is unassuming, set beside a dry cleaners and with a subtle sign placed in the corner of the window. On the inside it's not much different; it looks like any other waiting room, with several vaguely uncomfortable-looking chairs, most of which are empty, placed around the perimeter of the room; there's a coffee table in the middle covered in old magazines.
When Mikey walks in, the other other occupants of the waiting room are a middle aged, balding man, who is holding a garbage bag in his lap, and the receptionist, who is on the phone.
“No, I'm sorry, that offer's expired,” the receptionist says calmly to whoever he's talking to. “However, we do have a new offer on for Valentine's Day...”
Mikey approaches the counter and stands there awkwardly. The receptionist, whose nametag says Gabe, glances up at him, smiles politely, and holds up a finger.
Mikey waits.
“Of course... sure, I can fit you in then... two o'clock? Alright, see you then. You too, ma'am.”
The phone makes a click noise as it's put back in the cradle. The receptionist, Gabe, turns his attention to Mikey. “How can I help you?”
“I'm Mikey Way... I have an appointment to see a Doctor-”
“-Asher, yes.” Gabe hands him a clipboard with several forms on it.
“I just want to talk to her.”
“You still need to fill out the forms.”
Mikey sighs and sits down on the far side of the room. Full name: Michael James Way. Date of Birth: September 10, 1980.
“Falta Incorporated. No. I'm sorrry, that offer's expired. But we do have a new offer on for Valentine's Day. 15% off your first treatment. Sure. Sure. I can fit you in on Thursday of next week. At three. Okay, see you then.”
A young man pokes his head through the doorway behind Gabe, long hair swinging around his shoulders. “Gabe? Dr. Asher's ready.”
Gabe grins over his shoulder and beckons to Mikey. “Mr Way? The doctor will see you now.”
“You should not have seen this. I apologize.”
Dr. Asher plays with the card between her fingers, looking down at it with a small frown on her face. Mikey stares at her, waiting for her to explain, to tell him that it's an elaborate hoax or something, that it's not real. She doesn't say anything at all. She just sits there, seemingly lost in thought.
“This isn't real,” Mikey says, shaking his head. Dr. Asher looks up at him; he doesn't like the sympathetic look on her face.
“Oh, I can assure you, it's very real.”
“It can't be real. This doesn't happen in real life.”
She places the card down on the table and folds her hands together. “Our patient files are confidential, Mr. Way, so I can't give you proof, but once again, I assure you that our procedure is very real, and it works.”
He sits there staring at her, trying to take it in. Either everyone in this building was completely crazy, or he could walk into The Academy right now and Pete wouldn't know who he is. With a start, he realizes that's already happened.
“Suffice it to say,” says Dr. Asher, “that Mr. Wentz was not happy, and he wanted to move on. We provide that possibility.”
“Mr. Wentz was not happy and he wanted to move on. We provide that possibility,” Mikey mimics. He'd gone straight from Falta Inc. to Frank and Gerard's. His head is an absolute mess and he just wants his older brother.
“I know,” Gerard hums sympathetically, chopping up a French onion on the counter opposite Mikey. “Well, what can I say, Mikes? Pete's just... like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know.” Gerard looks up and gives him an earnest look. “Impulsive.”
Mikey looks at him stonily, because seriously. “Impulsive” does not explain this away.
“He probably decided to erase you, y'know, on a lark,” Gerard continues, turning to throw the onion into the pot on the stove.
“On a lark,” Mikey repeats monotonously. “Well, that's just fucking great.”
He ends up at Leow's 46th Steet Theatre. Pete had never taught him how to pick the lock; he bangs his hands against the metal door, body shaking with sobs, and hopes he's not making too much noise.
He can't help but think that Dr. Asher doesn't look all that surprised when he comes barging into her office the next morning. The secretary, Gabe, is chasing after him, yelling yet trying to maintain some sort of professional air, but Mikey doesn't give a shit. He doesn't care. He didn't sleep last night and he's exhausted and angry and heartbroken and he just doesn't care about being polite.
“I want it done,” he says to Dr. Asher.
“I'm sorry, Victoria, he just came barging in!” Gabe says breathlessly as he catches up. “I told him, pre-Valentine's Day is our busiest time and there are other people waiting-”
“That's okay, Gabe,” Dr. Asher interrupts with a small smile. “I'll see him now.”
“But there are people waiting!”
Dr. Asher turns to Mikey. “Mr. Way, please come in.”
She nods a dismissal to Gabe, who looks slightly crestfallen, and shuts the door behind her.
“Now, Mr. Way,” she says as she settles in her chair. “The first thing we need you to do is collect everything you own that has some association, any association, with Pete. Anything. Letters, photographs, souvenirs, whatever. You need to be very thorough with this, because we'll use these items to create a 'map' of Pete in your brain. You need to essentially empty your home, and empty your life, of Pete. And when the mapping is done, we'll do the erasing in your home at night. That way, when you wake up, everything is normal. It'll be as if nothing had happened.”
Mikey goes home. He rips pictures out of frames and photo albums. He takes magnets off of the fridge. He shoves letter and lyrics and silly little notes into a trash bag with a strange sort of relish, and he throws every album he owns by The Smiths in on top of them. A white denim jacket is dug out of his laundry basket and added to the mix; he pretends he doesn't falter putting it into the bag.
He feels a vindictive pleasure as he ties the top of the bag closed.
“February's our busiest month, because of Valentine's Day,” Dr. Asher says conversationally as she leads Mikey down the hallway to her office. She pauses to open a door labelled Mapping Room A.
There's a woman inside, seated in a chair with a strange-looking contraption placed over her head. She's laughing, watching a film reel of what looks like an opera performance, and she doesn't seem to notice Mikey and Dr. Asher standing in the doorway.
The guy with the long hair who Mikey'd seen on his first visit to the clinic is sitting hunched over in front of a computer next to the woman's chair. He stands up hurriedly when Dr. Asher clears her throat.
“Mr Way, this is William Beckett, one of our best technicians. He'll be working on you tonight.”
“It's nice to meet you, Mr Way,” says William politely. Mikey nods at him, his mouth set in a grim line.
“My name is Mikey Way and I'm here to erase Pete Wentz.”
His mouth feels dry as he says it. He licks his lips and shifts slightly in his seat.
“Very good,” says Dr. Asher, giving him an encouraging smile. “Don't let the recorder intimidate you. Just tell me about Pete.”
The tape recorder sitting in front of him is only intimidating now that she's mentioned it. Mikey sighs.
“Okay. Uh. Well. A couple of years ago, my brother, Gerard, and his husband, Frank, invited me to this concert at The Knitting Factory, and I had nothing better to do, so I went. And I met Pete.”
There's a sudden clatter behind them. Mikey turns and sees a flash of brown hair as someone stoops to pick up a bunch of dropped CDs, mumbling an apology.
“We'll start with the most recent memories,” says Dr. Asher as she checks his blood pressure. Mikey blocks her out as she starts explaining the technicalities of the procedure. He tries his best not to think of Pete's lips.
He's taken into Mapping Room C, which is almost identical to Mapping Room A. He tries to ignore how apprehensive he feels as the weird device is lowered onto his head.
“Comfortable, Mr. Way?” William asks as he presses buttons on his computer; Mikey bites back the answer he wants to give, which is “not really”, and nods stiffly.
“What we're doing here, Mr. Way, is actually creating a map of your brain,” William says. Mikey nods like that's a perfectly normal everyday occurance.
“Let's get started,” says Dr. Asher crisply. “If we want to get the procedure underway tonight we've got some work to do.”
There's a small table in front of Mikey. William adjusts it so it stands a little taller, more in Mikey's line of sight; he grabs one of Mikey's garbage bags.
“I want you to react to these objects,” he says, and places a stuffed bear on the table.
Mikey can't help but smile. “There's actually a funny story behind this one,” he says, thinking of summers and fairs and stupid overpriced games. “Pete-”
“Actually, I'll get a more accurate emotional read if you could refrain from talking, please?” William interrupts. “Just try to focus on the memories.”
Mikey feels like an idiot. “Sorry,” he mumbles.
“Healthy emotional readouts,” says Dr. Asher, peering at the screen of William's computer. “Healthy activity, that's good.”
“Here's another object.”
A broken Nintendo DS. A tattered black hoodie. Photos. Pete laughing. Pete smiling. Pete showing off a new tattoo. Pete in his bathing suit in a waterpark. Pete. Pete. Pete. Pete.
Everything is going fuzzy. Colours are blurring into each other. “Just try to focus on the memories.” William's voice sounds tinny and far away. Mikey feels like he can't breathe.
“Brendon, can you do me a favour?”
“Brendon, can you do me a favour?”
“Yeah?” Brendon looks up from where he's sitting cross-legged on the ground.
William frowns at his screen and taps a few keys. “Can you check the voltage regulator? See if the voltage is, y'know, okay?”
Brendon shifts over and looks. “Voltage seems fine.”
“Really?” William sighs. “I'm not wiping as clean as I'd like here. Can you check the connections?”
Mikey's sitting in Dr. Asher's office, a blood pressure meter wrapped around his arm. She's nowhere in sight. She's supposed to be here. She was here before.
He eventually finds her in Mapping Room C. “There you are,” he says in relief. “I was looking for-”
He cuts off when he notices that the person sitting in the chair with the contraption is himself.
“Next object,” says William. He places an LP on the table.
“I don't understand what I'm looking at here,” says Mikey blankly. “How am I here... but also there?” He blinks a few times. “Fuck. Deja vu. Seriously. Deja vu.”
Dr. Asher turns to him and removes the blood pressure meter from his arm. “Let's get started. If we want-”
“-to get the procedure underway tonight we've got some work to do,” Mikey finishes with her. “I'm in my head already, aren't I?”
Dr. Asher looks around. “Hmm, yes,” she says musingly. “Yes, this is about what it would look like, yeah.”
Mikey looks around in awe. “Badass,” he breathes.
“Very good,” says William. He puts the LP aside.
“We'll dispose of these mementos when we're done here. That way you won't be confused by their inexpicable presence in your home.” Mikey has to hold back a fistpump as he ssays exactly what Dr. Asher says, word perfect, in unison.
“Badass,” he says again.
“Aah, there we go,” says William, tossing his hair back. “Brendon?”
Mikey frowns. “Brendon?”
“Brendon?” says the Mikey in the chair.
“Can you check the red wire? I'm getting some kind of read off my own voice.”
Brendon nods. “Red wire,” he mutters. “Got it.”
“Brendon,” Mikey repeats. Brendon. Brendon.
He's sitting in the chair. Everything is hazy.
“Ah, notes. Those could be invaluable,” says Dr. Asher. William starts reading one out loud; he flickers in and out of focus, and his voice is distorted and strange.
“I don't know what to do. I met a guy. His name's Pete and he's amazing. I don't know what to do his name's Pete and he's amazing his name's Pete I met a guy I don't know what to do his name's Pete and he's amazing.”
Mikey's head feels like it's splitting open. He can hear screaming. It takes him a moment to realize it's him.
“Brendon, jesus!” William yelps as the Way guy jolts on the bed.
Brendon jumps, smacking his head on the table. “Ow! Fuck!” he groans. “What? It's fine!”
“You're gonna fry the guy! God!”
“Okay, jeez.” Brendon gets up and starts looking around the room again.
“This place is kind of a dump, don't you think?” he asks. “Kinda sad.”
“It's an apartment, Brendon.”
“Yeah, I know that, thanks.” He rolls his eyes. “It just feels kind of, like, lifeless.”
“Can we please just get through this?” William says in exasperation. “We have a long night ahead of us, and I just wanna get this done and go home and sleep.”
“Yeah, no, of course,” Brendon says hurriedly. He resumes his cross-legged position on the floor.
There's a few moments of silence, broken only by William clicking buttons, before William says casually, “Gabe's coming over.”
“I like Gabe,” says Brendon, seeming a bit sad. “He's a cool guy. I just don't think he likes me.”
William shrugs. “He likes you well enough.”
“Well, if Gabe is coming over, maybe I'll invite my boyfriend.” Brendon sounds pretty pleased with himself. “I have a boyfriend now.”
“Uh huh,” says William absently. “Cool.”
Brendon frowns up at him. “Didn't I tell you I have a boyfriend now?”
“Uh... no.”
“Oh. Well, I do.”
“Good for you, buddy,” William says sarcastically.
Brendon gets up and goes into the kitchen, where he pulls two beers out of the fridge.
“We gotta focus here,” says William, but he takes a beer anyway.
“Our situation is a little odd,” Brendon confesses. “The situation with me and my boyfriend, I mean.”
William snorts. “I bet it is.”
“Fuck off,” Brendon says indignantly. “Don't be an asshole.”
“Sorry.” William holds his hands up defensively, trying to contain laughter.
Brendon fidgets a bit. “You remember that guy we did last week? With all the tattoos?”
William raises an eyebrow and looks up, interest piqued. “Yeah, that's this guy's guy.”
Brendon sighs dreamily. “I kinda fell in love with him that night.”
William stares at him. “He was unconcious!”
“I know!” Brendon whines. “But he was so beautiful... and then the next day I kinda... went to his work and asked him out.”
“Brendon!” William looks horrified. “Do you have any idea how fucking unenthical that is?!”
“Is not,” Brendon mumbles sullenly. William sighs and goes back to clicking buttons.