Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points 9/9
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Later in the evening Frank sneaks back to the house, dodging bodyguards and finding comfort in the shadows under the porch. He peers through the porch railing, his heart skipping a beat when the door opens and Pete walks out, Gerard following close behind him.
Pete is saying, "You have come a long way already, Gerard, but now it's time to make your choice: your old life for a new one with me. The things we could do together… When it all goes down, trust me, you will want to be on my side."
"Your side? I don't understand --"
The tension in the moment breaks when Bob plops down next to Frank, panting heavily from his jog uphill. Frank gives him a quick glance, motioning for him to be quiet then turns back to the unfolding scene.
Pete grabs Gerard's arm, pulling him closer, too close for comfort. Frank clenches his fists at the first sight of struggle, just as the clouds sift and thunder rumbles in the distance. He clutches his dagger tightly, takes a few quick breaths and then goes for the kill, lunging for the preacher.
"It's suicide,” Bob hisses, yanking him back to the safety of the shadows. “Didn’t you see all those guards out there?"
On the porch Pete and Gerard are still talking, Pete now as if on a frenzy, the earnest look on Gerard's face completely wiped out and replaced with confusion and fear.
"He hasn't seen you yet and we want to keep it that way until we have a plan, remember?"
"Fuck! I don't care."
"Think what'll happen to Gerard, to all of us if we're not smart about this. You're not being smart right now. We can't fuck this up. Gerard's a big boy, he can take care of himself."
And as if on cue, Gerard wrenches his arm from Pete's grip and whisper-yells, "get off me, God, what's wrong with you lately?" He pushes Pete aside before he marches back into the house, banging the door closed behind him.
Pete stares after him, rubbing his hands together, pulling at his joints.
Frank has an uneasy feeling in his gut all the way back to the carnival, and he tosses in his bed for hours, not able to sleep.
--
Pete's pacing in his room in the morning before going down for breakfast, scritching at the itch on his neck. His shirt still unbuttoned, the edges hanging on his hips like a pair of limp arms. A loose thread on the back of his collar is irritating his skin.
There's a scab on his jawline where he cut himself shaving last night, the blood trickling down the column of his neck had been blue like the murky night sky, a drop of it escaping into his shirt collar, soaking into the sharp white fabric.
He runs his fingers along the hatchet resting on his dressing table, the blade freshly sharpened even though the rest of it looks old and worn out. It had been resting on his pillow last night when he finally retreated into his room, and he asked Ashlee about it but she kept quiet, even when her eyes betrayed her.
Heavy steps carry through the open doorway, and then Gerard's head peers into the room, cautiously, like he doesn't want to be seen. He notices Pete's bare chest and stumbles back noisily, their eyes meeting in the mirror as he hastily apologizes for not knocking. Buttoning up his shirt, Pete can sense Gerard's tension like too oppressive air; it fills the whole room. The thin white fabric poorly hides his tattoo, the silhouette is still visible under the shirt.
"Was there something you wanted?" Pete asks, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles.
Gerard stammers, his eyes still fixed on Pete's chest. "I uh, I came to tell you that breakfast's being served now."
"Thank you. You can let Ashlee know I'll be down in a minute."
"Um, yeah, okay, I'll do that."
"Hey, Gerard?" Pete calls after him, stopping him in his tracks. "There's a loose thread on the back of my collar. It's driving me insane. Would you mind?" He holds his razor out for Gerard, going to sit in his chair.
Gerard hesitates, but slowly makes his way to Pete, taking the razor from his outstretched hand. Pete follows Gerard's motions as he fumbles with the small blade. He bends his head down, baring his neck, curious to see what Gerard will do with the blade.
Gerard steps behind him and for a moment Pete thinks Gerard's gonna slice his throat open, but the moment passes and then the irritating thread is in Gerard's hand instead of sticking out of his shirt.
"There you go," Gerard says, handing him back the razor over his shoulder. "Was there something else?"
But something in Gerard has changed. He doesn’t seem as meek and gullible as Pete first pegged him for. What if he tells someone about the tattoo? Would the Okies realize something’s not right?
"I'm afraid so, Gerard," Pete says, standing up from his chair and turning around to face him. He’s made his decision. Gerard has to be silenced. "You really should have knocked."
The door slams closed behind Gerard and the room goes dark like all the light suddenly got sucked out through the windows. Pete calls for help, reaching out to the guards outside, burrowing into their minds.
"Peter? Holy shit, your eyes," Gerard gasps, stumbling backwards and then reaching for the door, struggling to open it. Pete looks at himself in the mirror, black bleeding over the white of his eyes, face flushed, adrenaline making his blood thrum.
The men come running and grab Gerard by the arms. Together they march him down the stairs and out of the door into the bright daylight.
"The storage," Pete says, and the men nod their heads, start steering Gerard down the hill towards the small building behind the row of tents. But he puts up a fight, squirming and struggling against the men's hold, almost breaking free. Pete grabs Gerard by the neck and kicks him in the ankle, satisfied by the uncontrolled wail that escapes Gerard's throat.
"Come on, hurry up, we can't be seen," Pete barks out orders, and the men manage to drag Gerard into the small storage, pushing him in and locking the door. Pete stands by the door for a while, listening to the angry yells and the door rattling by the joints. "I really am sorry, Gerard," he says, and the door jolts violently. "I was hoping it wouldn't have to go this way."
"Let me out you son of a bitch," comes Gerard's muffled voice through the cracks in the wood, and Pete shakes his head, stepping away from the door.
"You know I can't do that. I can’t let you tell everyone about me, all those innocent believers. They can’t know the truth."
He leaves a guard standing by the door, giving him instructions to shoot everyone who tries to break in. Up on the hill he hesitates going back in the house. The weather is gorgeous, and he's been dying to check out the cherry trees that Ashlee's waxed poetic about ever since they moved here. So he heads to the backyard, marveling at the beauty of nature all around the house, smiling at a swallowtail blinking across his vision. The whole world could burn and wither, and there'd still be fresh grass and exuberant plants growing in the wild of his backyard.
And then he sees it. In the distance. Rising from the dust like a strange garden full of exotic plants. A carnival has set camp near the valley, and Pete has a strong sense of deja vu, like he knows this carnival better than the backs of his hands, only he can't really grasp at the thought, and it makes him worry.
"It can't be," he says to himself, running his eyes down the long round shape of the Ferris wheel, mapping it into memory. "Can it?"
--
Frank's had a restless night. When he returned from the valley with Bob, everyone was already asleep, all the trailers dark and silent. Bob had wanted a night's rest before they did anything else, convinced that they'd come up with a good battle plan in the morning. Frank had watched him climb up to Tegan's trailer, her meeting him behind the window for a kiss and then both disappearing from sight. It made him ache from loneliness, and all he wanted was for Gerard to be alright.
When the sun finally starts creeping up the skyline, Frank gets up and shakes the sleep out of his body with a quick shower -- the cold water from the drum trickling down his shoulders, making him shiver from cold. He dresses up, amazed that no one else is awake yet, and trudges towards Tegan's trailer, leaning up against the frame of it as he waits for Bob to come out. If he clears his mind and concentrates on listening, he can hear the couple inside talking and make out Gerard's name.
"Are you still sweet on him?" Tegan's asking, and then Frank has to press even closer, not wanting to miss Bob's response.
"No."
"You love me?"
There's a pause that Frank thinks lasts forever, and then finally, Bob's voice saying, "Yes, I do."
"You better," Tegan says with a bright voice, and then everything's quiet again. Frank sinks down, his back sliding against the trailer until his ass hits the ground. He studies his fingers, then presses his head in his hands, reeling. No one's really been able to tell what's really going on with Bob and Tegan. Frank's only ever seen Tegan with girls before, and Bob's never shown any real interest to anyone except for Gerard. He knows they've been close ever since the night in Babylon, when so much bad happened, taking comfort in each other. Bob helping her to come in terms with Sara's death and Tegan taking care of him, easing his loneliness, making it easier to let Gerard go. He knew they cared for each other deeply, he just hadn't guessed that Bob might be in love with her.
Then the door opens and Bob is there, not looking all that surprised to see Frank.
"Iero, you been here all night? Don't be a creep," he says sheepishly, like he's wondering whether Frank heard their talk, then looks almost regretful as he starts wrapping up his healed wrist with the support strap, a habit he hasn't learned out of yet.
Brian and Ray join them and they all entrench themselves in the trailer and share a gut-punching pot of coffee, Frank growing more agitated by the second, the caffeine kicking in and inciting his worry.
He paces around in circles, hands digging into his scalp and twisting his hair. "Fuck fuck fuck, what the hell am I gonna do? There are guards everywhere. And now that they all know something's up, there's no way I'll get anywhere near the preacher without someone noticing."
"First of all," Brian says calmly, gripping Frank's arm to make him stop his pacing, "you need to stop talking about this like you're on your own. We're all here for you. You're one of us, remember?"
Frank nods slowly, something so true and genuine in Brian's whole presence that Frank has no choice but to believe him. "I remember."
"Good. Alright then. We'll think of something, don't worry."
"We will set that son of a bitch a trap," Bob says suddenly, joining in the conversation. He had grabbed his baseball from his pocket before perching on Ray's rickety table, and Frank watches as he makes a fist around it and chucks it above his head, catching it when gravity catches up with it, bringing it down.
"A trap?" Ray asks, eyeing the baseball warily as it bumps against the ceiling.
"Brian, do you think we could persuade the preacher to let us open the carnival? Y'know, to entertain their believers?"
A slow grin spreads on Brian's face and then quickly changes into a nasty sneer. "Oh yes, I think we could definitely do that."
Frank sits back in his chair, resting his head on his hands, and closes his eyes as the plan begins to unfold before him.
"How exactly does your… thing work?" Brian asks after a while. "You just heal people by touching them?"
"It's not that easy. I can't just go to a sick person and heal him without any repercussions. I don't really even heal people, I just transfer energy. From one person to another."
"So, what you're saying is, to heal someone --"
"I have to hurt someone else."
There's a short moment where Brian just looks spooked. Then he shakes himself out of it and starts grinning instead. "Well, that's pretty goddamn perfect."
"You wanna fill us in?" Bob prompts, rolling the baseball between his palm and thigh.
"Oh yes. I'm thinking we get the good preacher ride your Ferris wheel. I could take Bert and Lindsey with me to meet the preacher and his sis, and offer them free tickets to board Romance. I'm sure we can charm that bastard into taking those tickets, and once they're up in the air, Jimmy and Frank will start their revival show. Francis Saint Anthony makes his second coming, although this time you're gonna be healing for real." Brian grins at Frank, his face pink with excitement.
"And once he's stuck in the Ferris, you'll be able to milk his energy, to heal all those people inside the tent.”
Frank looks down at his hands. “I don’t know if I can choose where to take the energy. I’ve never tried healing with people so close to me. I’ve always been afraid I’d accidentally hurt someone in the process.”
“Then you’ll practice,” Bob says, standing up. He cuts his finger with his pocketknife and holds it out to Frank, blood pearling on the wound. “Pick someone in here and try it out.”
Frank sighs, staring at Bob through his lashes. “Come on,” Bob eggs him on, and he takes Bob’s hand and closes his eyes, focusing on everyone in the trailer. There’s a muddy ball of energy where Ray and Brian are standing, but he can’t quite distinguish one from the other.
“This is pointless,” Frank says, opening his eyes. “I don’t know who I’m taking it from.”
“What about when you healed that little girl? We were standing just behind you.”
“Yeah, but I had a hold of her mother. It was easy to know where I could take the energy,” Frank says, trying to heal Bob’s bleeding thumb with the energy from Brian and managing to give them all small cuts on their fingers.
“Ah,” Brian and Ray gasp in unison, looking at their fingers as the cut on Bob’s thumb stitches shut.
“So. More practice then?” Bob asks, raising his eyebrows.
They practice all afternoon, Frank getting more and more frustrated as time passes. He’s managed to heal all the small cuts they’ve made on their bodies, but knowing whose energy he’s transferring is still a mystery to him.
“One more time,” Brian says, blood pooling on his palm, and Frank sits back on the chair, his eyes slipping shut.
And there it is. He can sense Ray in one corner of the trailer, a buzzing ball of light, and Bob on the other end of the table, his energy strong and friendly. Brian is standing in front of him, sharp and electric, his energy denser than Bob’s, capricious and fickle to Ray’s calm ball of light.
He focuses on Bob, and draws just enough from him to get Brian’s palm to stop bleeding, opening his eyes to see if he’s done it right.
“Did --? Did you do it?” Ray asks, blinking slowly.
“I -- I think so,” Frank says, his gaze flitting between Brian and Bob, excitement thrumming in his chest.
Brian is grinning at him as he cuffs Frank on the head, ruffling his hair. “Knew you had it in you, kid!”
“I feel less tired, too. I think, before, I must have transformed some of my own energy into people while I was healing them. I just took it anywhere I could get it. I didn’t know how to control it,” Frank says, amazed at himself. “But I think I figured it out. I still need more practice, but I think I know how to do it now!”
“Great,” Bob says, reaching out to squeeze Frank’s arm. “I was getting tired of making myself bleed.”
“Ditto,” Ray quips, and Brian nods, plonking in a chair.
“So. I guess the only thing left to do is killing the preacher,” Frank says, his good spirits dying as fast as they came.
"Don’t worry, Frank,” Brian says, giving him a reassuring look. “The preacher's coaxed all these people into the valley just by the power of speech. The man's all talk. But you, my friend, you're the real deal.”
“After they see what you can do for them, they're gonna leave their preacher alone with his empty words,” Ray pipes up.
“And, of course," Brian adds with a look Frank's gotten all too familiar with, "we're right here, ready to collect their money. Seven thousand Bible thumpers for us to scavenge on. Plus one rotten minister.”
"What about Gerard?" Bob asks after a beat. "What're we gonna do about him?"
"Nothing," Frank says, albeit uneasily.
"What?"
"We do nothing for the time being. Look, it’s just. It'll be safer that way for everyone. We can't let him accidentally blow our cover. We follow through with the plan, then get him when I've taken care of that son of a bitch preacher, before we all get the hell out of here."
"What if Gerard is dead?"
Frank balls his hands into fists, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat. "If Gerard is dead then God help them all in this valley. Every single last one of them."
Outside the trailer, Brian more or less explains the plan to the rest of the crew who all look various shades of doubtful.
"It all sounds well and good," Jimmy steps up to say, "but I doubt our girls would get a good crowd out of these Bible thumpers."
"You're right," Brian says. "You'd be going dark."
"What? You know we can't afford to do that. C'mon, Brian, we've been struggling ever since we lost Sara. We have to start earnin' again. We need the money. The girls are all ready. Hell, I just talked to Tegan not an hour ago and she was thinking the same as me, she was all ready to get down and dirty with Linds."
"You're going dark," Brian repeats. "This is not something we're going to discuss."
"Fuck you! So what, your word's the fucking law now? I thought we were a democracy."
"Listen, this is something we are going to do. For Frank. We help him out with this thing and then, when it's all done and finished with, we'll talk."
"Why should we do anything for him? What has he ever done for us?" Jimmy demands. "Ever since we met him, things've gone to shit. That guy's nothing but bad luck as far as I'm concerned."
"Jimmy, come on," Lindsey says, touching Jimmy's arm. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"What's Frank done for us? I'll tell you what he's done. He's saved my life," Bob speaks up. At this point Frank seriously considers walking away from the conversation. It's getting too much, he can already feel everyone's eyes on him. And it's strange, having Bob defending him so fiercely, all the negativity between them long forgotten.
"He's done what now?"
"The man whose child got killed some time ago came to seek revenge for his wife's death. He and a couple of his friends. Beat me to a pulp, dunk me in tar and left me in the sun to die. Frank saved my life, and when he did that, he also fixed my wrist," he says, loosening the support strap, throwing it to the ground. "The bone's not sticking out anymore. I can throw ball better I did in my best days."
The carnies look shell-shocked.
"So everything people've been saying about him, all the things he did… They weren't just trying to pull my leg?" Jimmy asks, eyes wide as saucers.
"I was there," Tegan says with a strong voice, removing herself from Bob's side and going to stand next to Frank. She gives him a gentle, encouraging smile and laces their fingers together in an act of support. "Frank saved his life."
It's an odd moment; everyone's looking at Frank in various shades of awe. Jimmy's mouth is agape, Maja's shaking her head amazed, Dan looks less dazed than usual and Lindsey's shooting Jimmy knowing glances, like she's known all along what kind of man Frank really is.
"So," Brian says, finally looking pleased. "Anyone still got something to get off their chest?"
"I have a question," Jimmy says after getting his voice back. His tone is hard, all the awe disappeared from his face, and Frank braces himself, dread pooling in his stomach, already guessing where the conversation is steering to. "If you're so powerful, why didn't you do anything to help Sara? Or Mikey? What about them?"
Frank makes a show of shuffling his feet to hide the fact that tears are prickling in his eyes. It's a valid question, but Frank had hoped no one would think to bring it up. He wishes he had a good enough answer to give, not to Jimmy but to Tegan. And to Gerard, too, even though he knows there's nothing he could have done there, and he would have done everything for Gerard and Mikey.
"Mikey was just ash and pieces of black corpse," Bob says. "I don't see how Frank could have done anything to save him."
Jimmy runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, relenting a little. "And Sara?"
Frank turns to Tegan, balling his hands into fists, fingernails pressing into his skin. "I'm sorry about her. I'm so sorry, Tegan. I -- I was scared. I didn't want anyone finding out about me. And I just. I didn't know how save her without hurting everyone else in the process."
Tegan's eyes are wet, tears gliding down her cheeks. "But you figured it out," she says, looking at Bob. "Eventually. You figured it out."
Frank nods his head shakily, staring down at his shoes, shame burning hot on his neck and cheeks. "Eventually."
"I'm glad you did figure it out. Otherwise Bob would be dead too. You saved his life," she voices, going to wrap Frank into a loose embrace. "I don't know what I would have done --" she looks around, sighing heavily, "what any of us would have done -- if we had lost him too," she whispers, letting go of him, her eyes sad but not resentful. And it's all Frank needs, all he needs to carry on. He doesn't give a flying fuck what Jimmy thinks. All that matters is that Tegan doesn't seem to hate him.
--
Around the time for afternoon coffee there's a knock on the door. Pete lays the newspaper he had been reading from on the table, wipes the ink from his fingers on his trousers and lets in a motley gang of three, following them bemusedly into the living room where they're already setting fort.
"How can I help you," Pete asks, eyeing the attractive woman who's pulling a shaggy little man into her lap.
"I'm Brian," the other man says, offering Pete his hand to shake. "That's Lindsey and Bert."
"You're carnies," Pete says, just wanting to get to the point, curious to see where this is going, although he can already guess. These are Frank's people.
Brian's smirk doesn't waver. "That's right. We're parked just above the valley. You saw the trailers?"
Pete grins, shaking his head, thinking about Gerard in the storeroom, how powerful he had felt forcing him there. Against Pete, Gerard hadn't stood a chance. "When I was admiring the cherry trees my sister’s been taking care of in the garden."
"I think I've seen her around," Bert quips, rocking back on Lindsey's lap. "She's one hot mama."
Pete stares at this ruffian, the messy scruff of his beard and the challenging sharpness in his eyes. The three of them are starting to irritate him now that the novelty is wearing off. "Was there something you wanted?"
"We're here to make you a proposition," Lindsey says, pushing Bert out of her lap as she stands up.
"A proposition?"
He watches as Lindsey saunters to him, adding a swing to her hips. Her smile is wolf-like, and Pete can't decide whether to be intimidated or turned on by her. He's a little bit both. "You spread the word about our carnival, and we let you and your sister ride the world's best Ferris wheel for free."
"My sister's afraid of heights," Pete says. "And I'm not a kid anymore."
She slides her hand down his chest and presses her lips to his ear, whispers, "Just do it, baby. I'll promise to make it worth your while."
"Linds, stop harassing him," Brian says amusedly, then turns to Pete. "What do you say?"
And of course Pete will say yes. Something's definitely going down. Frank's got his carnies all working for him, and this is it. This is what he's been waiting for all these months. They have a trap set up for him and he's going to play into their hands for now, to find out what they're all made of.
He sees the trio out, shaking Brian's hand and promises to show up tomorrow with his sister for a day of laughs and enjoyment. "Until we meet again," Lindsey winks, touching the small of Pete's back before exiting through the door.
"Later," Pete murmurs to himself, watching their retreating backs.
When the morning finally comes, Pete takes the hatchet from his dressing table and stuffs it under the waist of his pants. He checks himself in the mirror before walking downstairs, dragging Ashlee from the breakfast table, anxious to see the carnival up close and finally face Frank.
"You have to realize you're walking into a trap," Ashlee says, struggling to keep up with Pete's stride, her arm linked tightly around Pete's elbow.
"Of course," he says, the carnival looming in the close distance like an odd little town. He grins, taking it all in. He knows this place. Memories of his childhood in the carnival and Ozzy's betrayal have been flooding back to him all through the night. And oh, but today. Today Frank gets to pay for Ozzy's mistakes. "'Course I know it's a trap, but how else would I ever get a chance to meet our Frank? It feels like I'm the only one he hasn't met face-to-face. And I'm curious." Pete increases his pace even more, so eager to see what the carnies have got cooking for him.
When they reach the carnie gates, Brian greets them with faked smiles. "You can't possibly imagine how happy we all are that you came," he says to Pete, holds Ashlee's hands in his for a moment and introduces himself to her. "Miss Simpson. I'm glad you're here as well."
"I wouldn't miss this for the world," she says and glances at Pete who's been all smiles today. His smirk doesn't waver, even when Brian leads them to the Ferris wheel. It looks weatherworn and rickety, the ruby red paint peeling badly off the metal railings and the top of the seats. The word Romance is painted on the frame with careful, steady handwriting that Pete recognizes as Gerard's. He hides that thought deep inside him, doesn't want to risk Frank finding out where Gerard's locked up.
"Shall we?" he asks his sister, and she goes white, gripping his arm tighter.
"Is this thing safe?" she asks Brian nervously as another man starts steering Pete and her into the ride. He introduces himself as Bob Bryar as he takes the tickets from Pete and checks them. It's all a show for Ashlee's benefit, Pete realizes. He could give Bob lint from his pocket and he'd still be riding the 'wheel.
"You have nothing to worry about, miss," Bob grins widely, giving her an encouraging pat on the back, then helps her up on the seat next to Pete, clanking the safety rail closed and locking them in. "I'll personally make sure you're safe," he assures her, glancing at Pete out from the corner of his eye.
As the ride kicks into motion, Ashlee's grip on Pete's arm tightens. Irritating carnie jingles drift into his ears and his belly makes a whoop as they rise up to the sky. Sweet sugary smells from the cotton candy stand waft to his nose, and he takes in the area, sees balloons and the carousel, little kiosks propped up on both sides of the main tent. People are pouring in, lured by the shaggy, spindly man in a top hat standing by the tentway. There's a poster behind him announcing a revival session with Francis Saint Anthony, his picture painted with meticulous care.
So this is their plan, Pete thinks as the ride suddenly stops and they're left sitting in their cramped seat high up above the ground. Bob and Brian are staring up at him, faces twisted into unnerving smirks.
--
Inside the tent the show is about to start. Frank's on the side by the curtains, his palms sweating, waiting for Jimmy to call him up on stage. All those people in the audience are waiting for a miracle, and maybe this time Frank can give them one. He’s spent all his free time practicing his skill, healing cuts and bruises and resurrecting small animals. It’s not in the same caliber as what’s awaiting in front of him, but all those small successes have managed to reassure him more than any of the pep talks Brian and Bob have churned out in the course of the days.
He glances at one of the posters that Lindsey put together, the pictures Gerard painted for the first revival show as her reference pieces. Her style is softer and warmer than Gerard's, and Frank thinks her talent is going to waste in this dusty old carnival.
Jimmy's voice is getting louder now, and so's the crowd. He's back in his tight tails, his hair slicked back over his skull like an animal carcass. Ozzy's dagger rests comfortingly on his hip, grounding him, giving him strength.
As soon as he takes the stage, a wave of confidence washes over him, and suddenly he realizes he can do this, he can do everything. He has the power to destroy Pete, knows what he has to do, and he's not gonna blow up his chance. He can't let Pete destroy the world, can't let those visions become reality.
"I want everyone sick to get to that side," Frank voices out, motioning to his left. "Ah, this is stupid," he murmurs, shrugging out of his tight jacket as he steps down from the stage into the crowd, messing his hair with his hand. He loosens his bow tie and chucks it to the ground, then opens his cuffs and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbows.
He searches the crowd as it settles into two halves, eyes coming to rest on a young, pale woman who's coughing into a dirty-white rag. "What do you have?" he asks her, although he thinks he already knows. The sight isn't anything new to him.
She looks up at him with grey, watery eyes, struggling for an even breath for a while then says, "The doctor said dust pneumonia."
Frank nods, his heart going out to her. "What about you?" he points to an old man who's sitting in a wheel chair, a checkered blanket covering his lap.
"Diabetes took my legs," he says, pulling away the blanket.
Frank stares at the stumps for a while then kneels down next to him, taking his hands. "I can't give you your legs back, but I can cure your disease."
He stands up, still holding onto the man's hand. He rests his other hand on the pale woman's shoulder. "Everybody, join hands like this. I need everyone to be connected."
--
Ashlee's starting to show early signs of a panic attack. Pete puts his hand on her knee and tries to calm her down. He knows they're trapped up here, knows they're not getting down any time soon.
He looks down and notices William Beckett talking to Brian, two of Pete's bodyguards with him. They haven't noticed Pete yet, and he considers drawing their attention to him. But before he can react, a splitting sensation tears through his chest and he collapses in the seat, groaning from pain.
"Pete? What's wrong?" Ashlee cries, holding onto the safety railing when Pete trashes in the seat making it wobble.
"Grahhhhhh." Pete presses down, ripping his shirt open and clawing at his chest, the sharp pain unbearable. He struggles for breath, feeling faint and tired, like all the energy is being drained from his body.
Ashlee starts calling out for help, but Pete's bodyguards are busy fighting Brian and Bob. Everything's slipped into chaos. Pete watches with muddy eyes as Brian struggles with a guy twice his size, almost managing to knock him down until he gets a hard blow to the head. Then it's two against one and Bob goes down easily, slumping next to Brian's unconscious body.
Pete regains some of his energy when he's back on the ground, drawing it from the people around him. He straightens up and pushes William Beckett aside who's started hovering over him, telling him to look after his sister instead.
He stumbles towards the tent, snarling at Frank's face staring at him in every poster he sees. Inside the tent people are in some sort of religious frenzy, praying and celebrating, their voices full of hope and amazement. And at the center of everything stands Frank, his hands resting on a man's chest, healing him, drawing that energy from Pete.
He grits his teeth as he falls to the ground, resting his hands on his knees. He just needs to concentrate, needs to clear his mind. It's starting to get better already, and he manages to get the pain to stop, manages to draw a little bit of that stolen energy back to him.
"Frank," Pete thunders, and Frank jumps, dropping his hands from the man's chest.
--
"I've been waiting for you." Frank pants, trying to regulate his breathing. His heart is flapping against his ribcage like a frightened bird. His fingers bump against the dagger on his hip, checking that it's still there, while he keeps his eyes on Pete, attentive of his every move.
"Let's take this outside," Pete grits out, his eyes like lumps of coal, his tattooed chest heaving under his open shirt. He turns on his heels and runs out of the tent, and Frank swallows hard, taking after him. The people in the tent are in various stages of bewilderment, calling out after their preacher and Frank.
Outside he notices Brian and Bob sitting up and rubbing their heads.
"Frank?" Brian asks, and Frank stops, drawing out his dagger.
"Can you get Gerard?" he says, following Pete with his eyes. He's running in the direction of a cornfield, disappearing amongst the tall stems. "Once I've dealt with Pete, I want us to get the hell away from here."
"On it," Bob says, pulling Brian to his feet. "Don't worry, we'll find him."
Frank nods, flashing them a grateful smile.
When he steps into the field, everything is eerily silent. Only the rustling sounds of the plants in the wind and under his shoes carry to his ears. Crows take off into flight and rattle the cobs for a while. He tries to look for signs of Pete but the plants are even taller than him, growing so thick that Frank has to struggle to get through.
He walks past a scarecrow and thinks he must be somewhere in the middle of the field.
The leaves sigh behind him, and then there's a loud whack!, sharp pain beginning to bloom on the back of his neck.
His knees give out and he falls to the ground, head swimming, struggling to keep his eyes open.
Pete steps into his view, his whole being emitting dangerous energy, Maja’s hatchet in his grip.
"Surprise," Pete says, and lunges at him.
Three things happen. Frank manages to brush off the pain from his shoulders as he draws energy from the plants around him. He rolls to his side and Pete just misses him, planting face first into the leafy ground. Frank fumbles with his dagger that almost slips from his sweaty, shaky hands. He manages to get a steady grip of the handle just as Pete is getting up, and he lunges at Pete, stabbing him in the back, aiming between his shoulder blades but hitting somewhere in the vicinity of Pete’s right kidney instead. He stumbles back, watching Pete's white shirt turn blue as he bleeds through it.
"Holy shit, he wasn't lying about the blood," Frank breathes out, squeezing the handle of his dagger so tight his hand hurts. "What the hell are you?"
Pete groans, struggling to sit up. He shrugs out of his ruined shirt, the wound on his back healing up before Frank's eyes. "I'm your worst nightmare," he says, stumbling to his feet. "Now run."
Frank dashes through the field, heavy cobs of corn swatting him in the face, their crisp leaves scraping cuts on his skin.
He hides behind another scarecrow, heart pounding wildly, and when Pete comes running past him, Frank trips him up and starts stabbing at him, everywhere he can reach. He’s wild and frantic, but Pete gets a few hits in as well, swiping the hatchet at Frank’s stomach, making him howl in pain.
"Die already! Why won't you fucking die," Frank yells as Pete grabs his throat, Pete’s inky blue blood making his hands slippery.
He gasps for breath, Pete's hands tight around him, pressing at his Adam's apple and closing up his windpipe.
Frank's starting to lose focus. His head feels like lead, the skin of his face numb and too warm. He fixes his eyes on Pete's chest: the tattoo's important somehow, if only he could remember, if only he could think.
He's choking, the back of his throat spasming and spit dribbles out of his mouth, landing on Pete’s face. He can’t tear his eyes away from the tattoo, even when dark spots start exploding in his vision. He thinks about Ozzy as he's slipping away, and how he never told Gerard that he misses him. He wonders what will happen to all his friends when Pete kills him, and hopes that they won’t try anything that’ll put them in danger, although he knows that they probably will.
Pete is smiling at him, hands squeezing impossibly tighter. Frank’s stomach burns where the blade cut him, and he doesn’t think he can hold on much longer. And then Pete starts to talk, his voice loud and deep and drilling into his brain. “And I heard the noise of thunder. And I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, ’come and see’. And I looked and behold, a pale horse. And his name that sat on him was Death. And Hell followed with him. “
Frank gasps for breath, and it wheezes painfully through his narrow windpipe.
“Save your prayers, Frank. They can’t help you now. Once I’m done with you, I’m gonna tear your little carnival apart, piece by piece, one carnie at a time,” Pete grits out like he can read Frank’s mind.
Something snaps in Frank at Pete’s complacent voice. He drops his heavy hand on Pete’s face and starts clawing at his skin anywhere he can reach. A hot flash of anger flares up inside him when he thinks about Pete hurting his friends, adrenaline kicking in. He can’t let Pete hurt anyone else. He can’t let him win.
Wonderful, pure energy blooms just under his palm on Pete’s warm skin, and he starts drawing it into him without really even realizing it, like his body knows what his mind can’t remember anymore. And it’s like a rush of air to his lungs; the dark blotches clouding his vision clear, and his head feels surprisingly light. In a moment of clarity he stabs the dagger in Pete's chest, splitting the tattoo where the tree's branches separate from the trunk, and Pete lets go of him, crying out from the pain.
Frank falls to his knees by Pete's side and draws air in shaky stutters, watching as Pete thrashes and wails. Blood gushes from the wound, dyeing the crumbled stems and leaves under his body midnight blue.
"I'm sorry," Frank croaks, rubbing at his throat, because Pete's eyes have turned back to brown and there’s genuine fear in those eyes. The river of blood is slowly turning purple, then crimson, and as Pete draws his last breath, he grabs Frank's hand and squeezes it, face relaxing as life drains out of him. "I'm so sorry."
He meets Ashlee at the edge of the field. Her face is wet with tears like she already knows that her brother is gone. She doesn't say anything to him, but she touches his arm gently as she passes him, and Frank watches her for a while until the stems block her from view.
Back in the carnival the rousties have already started clearing up the area, taking down the tents and loading them up in trailers. Only the main tent and Romance are still standing tall, and Frank finds Dan and Jepha smoking in the shadow of the large Ferris wheel, leaning against each other, shoulder’s touching.
"Everything alright?" Dan asks mellowly, like he's completely oblivious to everything that's taken place here, but his eyes are sharp and attentive.
"I think so, yeah," Frank says, and Jepha frowns, eyeing Frank's stomach. Frank looks down at himself and gasps, running his hand down his wet shirt, checking himself for damage until he remembers that he already took care of the wound. "It's nothing," Frank says, but he understands how gruesome he must look. His shirt is bloody and sticking to his skin, but the cut's just a distant memory. "I healed myself in the field. I'm fine."
"All's good?" Jepha asks and Frank nods; his chest feels light again, the pressure that's been building up all these months is finally letting go.
"All's good."
"No more evil preacher?"
Frank shakes his head and gives them a rueful smile. "No more evil preacher."
Jepha nods and smiles, closing his eyes against the sun.
"Have either of you seen Gerard? Or Brian and Bob?"
"Sorry, man," Dan says, and Frank realizes there's real worry in his eyes.
"Shit. I was hoping they'd all be back by now."
Maja walks out of the tent and joins them, looking irritated, her eyebrows drawn in a sharp line. “They headed that way,” she says, pointing at the valley. “Brian and Bob.”
Jepha slinks up from the ground and turns back to Dan, yanking him up by the hands.
"Let's go, then," Dan says without a beat, dusting his jeans.
And Frank is so grateful, but there are people still looming by the tent that he thinks deserve some kind of explanation.
"Jimmy and Lindsey are taking care of it now," Maja says, following Frank's gaze. "I already got most of them out, but I couldn’t deal with all those lunatics anymore."
"We're Gerard's friends, too. We wanna find him just as much as you do," Dan points out. He throws his arm around Frank's shoulders and starts walking him in the direction of the valley, not giving him a chance to protest.
The valley's mostly vacant, although some Okies are standing out by their temporary homes, looking worried and confused, waiting for their preacher to return from the carnival. Frank hopes no one will stop them to ask what happened; he doesn’t feel like explaining them that their ‘Messiah’ is gone.
They find Brian and Bob outside the Simpson's house, and Frank can't conceal his worry anymore when he realizes Gerard is not with them. He gets a bad flashback to the first time Gerard went missing and he couldn't find him even after driving for hours.
"Where the fuck is he? He can't have just disappeared!"
"Get yourself together, man," Bob says, gripping Frank's arms. "We'll find him."
"Come on. Let's get moving," Brian says. "There's still places left to be checked."
As they're walking down a trampled path, Jepha fixes their attention on a small structure standing in the distance. It looks like a storage room, small and windowless but still big enough to fit a car or dozens of boxes. There's a man by the door with a rifle on his shoulder, looking bored and annoyed but still attentive of his surroundings.
"What do you think?"
"Worth checking out," Brian replies, and they go around the back, sneaking close while trying to keep out of the guard's line of sight.
"We can take him," Bob hisses, and Frank nods, his heart hammering in his chest. He just knows Gerard is in that storage space. He has to be.
"Hold on a sec," Brian whispers, stepping in front of them. "Let's be smart about this. He has a gun."
"Fuck that," Maja says. She’s picked up a heavy, fist-sized stone and looking at the guard with one eye closed, taking aim. She chucks the stone before Brian has a chance to react, and it hits the man in the head, causing him to stumble to the ground.
"Well. That works." Brian jogs up to him and grabs the rifle while the guard struggles to sit up with one hand pressing against the bloody bruise on the back of his head. Brian aims the rifle at the man, releasing the safety catch with a click. “Don’t fucking move.”
The guard grumbles, putting his hands up in the air, and Maja grabs the thread of yarn holding her hair up and ties the guard's wrists together behind his back.
Bob and Jepha are trying to kick down the door. The hinges whine and rattle, but the door won't budge.
"Gerard?" Frank calls out, and Gerard's voice sounds behind the door, relieved but frantic to get out.
"Gerard? Stand back," Brian warns. "I'm going to shoot the door open, okay? Let me know when it’s safe to shoot."
“Okay,” comes Gerard’s muffled reply. “Go for it.”
Brian cocks the rifle and pulls the trigger, the lock blowing off after a couple of shots to it.
Gerard's leaning up against a wall, keeping the pressure away from his left foot.
Frank runs to him and throws his arms around his back, smushing his nose into Gerard's neck.
"I thought I'd never find you."
"Really? Because I was sure that you would." Gerard squeezes him tight but soon pulls back, worry in his eyes. He holds Frank at an arm’s length and pales at the sight of Frank’s stomach. Frank looks down at his cut shirt, blood sticking it to his stomach. It looks somehow even worse now that the blood has started to dry and turn brown. The cut is wide, spanning the fabric from side to side.
“Shit, Frank-“
“No, Gee, god. I’m okay. I took care of it. I’m fine,” Frank jumps to reassure him. Gerard pushes his hand into Frank’s shirt through the cut, touching his skin, fingertips grazing his healed stomach. He exhales shakily and wraps Frank up in a tight hug, pressing his face in the crook of Frank’s neck.
“He did that to you, didn’t he? Jesus.”
“M’fine, Gee,” Frank mumbles, bunching up Gerard’s shirt in his fist. “I took care of it.”
Brian’s grinning at them both, looking kind of proud, and he grabs Frank's shoulder, patting him on the back. "You did good, kid. I mean it."
“You did good too,” Frank says, and he means it more than they’ll probably ever realize. “All of you.”
"Come on," Bob says, throwing his arm around Brian's shoulders as he starts steering him out of the storage, Maja, Jepha and Dan trailing behind them. "I think we should be ready to get on the road by the end of the day. I don't know about you, but I could use a change of scenery."
Gerard's smiling at Frank, and when they're alone he slips his hand into his, rolling his thumb over Frank's fingers.
"You're hurt," Frank says and Gerard shakes his head, squeezing Frank's fingers tight.
"It's just a sprain. I'm fine. You were right about Peter. I should have listened to you, I was being stupid."
"You were grieving," Frank breathes out, searching Gerard's eyes while Gerard tugs him closer. “You thought he was helping you.”
"Yeah, well I still should have known better. And being locked up in this storage-“
"Why’d he do it?" Frank demands, hot anger flaring up inside him as he thinks about Gerard locked up and alone here. The storage is dark and messy, there are spider webs in the corners and the space is cramped with cardboard boxes so there’s practically no room to breathe.
"When I figured out he wasn't what he claimed to be, I guess he didn't want me exposing him or something."
"He fucking locked you up here."
"I saw Mikey," Gerard says, his voice thick with emotion. "He -- he appeared to me when I felt the loneliest, keeping me company, making sure I was okay. He still thinks the world of you," Gerard smiles, eyes shiny like wet glass.
"Gerard," is all Frank knows to say.
They spend the rest of the day sitting on the back of Brian's truck, watching their friends packing things up, getting ready to leave. Frank’s finally back in his dungarees and a clean shirt, and Gerard’s ankle is wrapped up and supported with a scarf. The sun is slanting shadows on Gerard's face, and the light breeze ruffles up the short hairs on the crown of his head. He doesn't appear as sad as before he left the carnival, but sadness is still present in him, lurking just under the shell he has built around himself. Frank knows Gerard isn't putting up appearances because of him, his grief has simply taken a new form. He just needs more time to heal. Mikey's death is still too fresh on everyone's memory. But at least now he's with people who genuinely care about him, people who love him; he's come back home.
They’ve lit a tealight candle for Mikey, and it’s softly burning in the cup of Gerard’s palm where he can protect the flame from the wind.
“I couldn’t bring myself to do this earlier,” Gerard says, staring at the candle. “I just wanted to forget everything,” he trails off, blinking fast, tears caught in his lashes. But after a beat he says, “One thing Peter was right about: I should never have tried to shut Mikey out of my mind. I don’t ever wanna forget him.”
Frank drapes his arm around Gerard’s shoulders and pulls him in, careful not to jostle him too much so that the candlelight stays alive. He presses his cheek against the side of Gerard’s head and looks at the flame, marveling at how brightly the tealight burns.
"Listen, I know what you said about the carnival, and how only bad things happen here," Frank starts, and he realizes that he's nervous, his heart beating fast against his chest. "But you are back, right? Everybody misses you, everybody wants you here. This is where you belong."
Gerard turns to look at him, his wet lashes dusting his cheeks. He studies Frank closely for a while like he’s searching for something, gaze so intense Frank has to struggle to hold it. A small smile has started to ghost Gerard’s face, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes as it grows wider. "I'll tell you what,” he says, shrugging out of Frank’s arms as he carefully places the candle on the plywood bed. The delicate flame flickers wildly for a while but doesn’t blow out. “I'll stay if you stay."
Something warm and bright blooms in Frank’s chest and it tugs a huge grin out of him. He lets out a relived chuckle as he holds out his hand for Gee to shake. "Deal," he says and then can't help but throw his arms around Gerard again, pulling him in for a tight hug. He presses his cheek on Gerard's shoulder and bunches his shirt in his fist, just holding him close. He feels a kiss on the top of his head, and then Gerard cups his neck, thumb tracing the shell of his ear.
"You'll be okay," Frank says, cupping the wing of his shoulder blade. "I just know you will."
Gerard nods, squeezing Frank's shoulder. "We'll both be okay. I know I shouldn't have run away like that. I missed everyone as soon as I left, but I couldn't go back either."
"I get it, you needed a change of scenery. When my mom died, I couldn't stay at the farm either. I felt like I was suffocating there. And then you guys found me, and now I can't imagine being anywhere else."
Gerard is smiling softly, and there's something proud in his gaze that makes Frank feel warm and welcome. "I'm glad you stayed with us."
"Me too," Frank grins, and just then they see Brian and Bob heading their way, all smiles and easy banter.
"Ready to go?" Brian asks, and Gerard nods, beaming at him.
"You wanna get in a trailer?"
"Nah," Gerard says, pulling back a little, finding a comfortable spot on the back of the truck and settling there. "I think I'm gonna stay out here with Frank."
"As you wish," Brian nods and crosses to the driver's side, getting in and waiting for Bob to take the shotgun seat.
"We're all happy you're here," Bob says. He seems almost embarrassed, and he's taken to rubbing his healed wrist again like he needs something to do with his hands. "And that means both of you.”
A wide smirk spreads on Frank's face, and he clutches his chest mockingly, snickering at Bob. "Bob, I'm touched."
"Shut up," Bob says, rolling his eyes.
Frank jumps down from the truck and throws his arms around Bob, hugging him tight.
"There, there," he says as Bob makes an indignant noise at the back of his throat, patting him on the back.
"I hate you," Bob says, and Frank smiles, nodding his head.
"I know, I know. And if by 'hate' you mean 'love', I hate you too."
"Okay, get away from me, little man," Bob says, pushing Frank aside, but he's smiling, dimples and all.
Frank settles back by Gerard's side as Brian starts the truck, resting his head on Gerard's shoulder. The days are starting to catch up with him and he feels suddenly very tired, like he could sleep all through the rest of the day, and the following night under the open, starry sky. And for the first time in months, he doesn't feel afraid of falling asleep. He's looking forward to it here with Gerard on the back of the truck as the carnival moves on.
index | <<