Undertow [part 1b]

[silentdescant]

Undertow

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“I’m going out tomorrow,” Bob told him a few days after the second storm. “To the mainland. Gerard mentioned they needed paints, for their art.”

Frank nodded, looking up at Bob as he swirled the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Do you… Would you like to come with me?” Bob asked hesitantly. “I think you’re well enough.”

Frank thought for a moment, trying to remember the things he used to do whenever the Pencey pulled into a port. He found he had no real desire to leave the island, or Bob’s isolated house. There was nobody waiting for him at the port, and without his ship, he had nothing to offer anyone. Bob waited patiently for his answer.

“No,” Frank finally replied. “I’d like to stay here.”

Bob nodded immediately. “Should I bring you anything?”

Again, Frank took a moment to think and really consider Bob’s question. Bob didn’t like to talk a lot-he was obviously used to living alone-and what he did say was measured and planned. Frank tried to respond in kind, aided by the fact that he just didn’t feel like talking as he once had. Frank thought of the things he missed from being out at sea.

A lot of it, there was no way to get on shore. The gentle swaying of the deck was something only found on the water, for instance, as was the salty air and endless sky. Frank couldn’t help but feel a little trapped by the trees that stood back from the beach.

Most of all, Frank missed his daily routine. He missed writing in his log book, and rereading his fantasy novels for the hundredth time when he had a spare moment in the evenings. He missed the camaraderie with his crew, and the way they slurred through drinking songs on calm nights. He missed lying with Matt up at the bow of the ship with their coats stuffed under their heads as pillows, each of them making up constellations and the stories to go with them.

“A book,” Frank said, when he realized Bob was still waiting for him to respond. “To write in, I mean. Pen and ink. And do you have any novels?”

“I have a few,” Bob replied. “They’re in the trunk at the foot of my bed. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Frank said, giving Bob a small smile.

As Bob was just about to leave, Frank looked up and asked, “Did you tell them about me?”

“The Ways?” Frank nodded. “Yes, of course,” Bob answered casually.

“Wasn’t Mr. Way concerned about someone new staying on his island? He’s never even met me.”

“Gerard isn’t like that,” Bob said. “He’s curious about you, I think, but he would never force you to leave. I think he’s just waiting.”

Frank cocked his head, digesting the little tidbits he’d heard about this man. “Waiting for what?”

“For you,” Bob replied, as if it were obvious. “He’s careful of people’s emotions. He’ll introduce himself when you’re ready.

He turned away from Frank to pull his heavy coat over his shoulders. He then took his longest scarf from the hook by the door and wound it around his neck three times. He gave Frank a stern look when he turned back around.

“Be careful. Don’t hurt yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

“Bye,” Frank called after him, but Bob was already out the door.

Frank pushed himself up and limped over to the window seat, where he could watch Bob leave. There were clouds blocking the sun, but visibility at sea level was good, and Frank could see the opposite shore across the channel.

Bob sat down on the low seat in his boat and took the oars in hand. Frank guessed the distance to the mainland was a few miles, maybe less. Nonetheless, he was faintly surprised at the strength in Bob’s arms.

The wide boat pulled away from the dock quickly with Bob digging the oars into the water with smooth, even strokes. His face was tilted up towards the house, but Frank knew he wasn’t looking at the house. He probably wasn’t looking at anything. Frank watched him go until he couldn’t clearly make out Bob’s face anymore.

Frank wasn’t used to the quiet of being alone in the house. Even though Bob didn’t talk a lot, his presence was still substantial. Frank felt the subtle drain of loneliness without another person’s breath to counter his own.

***

Bob returned later in the day with two packages for Frank, both wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He carried a larger paper sack in his arms-it looked heavy-and told Frank it was for Gerard.

“These are yours. I’ll deliver this to the Ways and come back for dinner.”

Bob hadn’t even taken off his coat and scarf before heading out again, this time walking up the path and into the trees, away from the water.

Frank untied the string and peeled back the paper carefully. Inside the first package was a thick, lined notebook, bound in the type of smooth leather that would never last out at sea. Frank flipped through a few pages and stopped to trace the top line with his index finger. The paper was very good quality, and Frank was somewhat overwhelmed.

The ink and pens-a whole set of pens, not just one; what was Bob thinking?-were also quite obviously expensive, and Frank held them gently, placed them carefully back in the little box when he finished.

Bob didn’t strike Frank as a wealthy man. He said himself that he was employed by Gerard Way and lived on this island as part of his job. His little house wasn’t extravagantly furnished, and he repaired things like leaky roofs and squeaky chairs himself.

When Bob came back, Frank said immediately, “This is too much; I can’t accept this. I don’t have anything to pay you back.”

“You don’t need to pay me back,” Bob replied, unwinding his scarf and turning to hang it on its hook.

“But these are expensive,” Frank protested. He dragged his thumb along the edges of the pages.

“I’m used to buying the best,” Bob explained. “Gerard likes his supplies to be well-made; they last longer, he says. I wanted to get you something that would last, Frank.”

“But the money! I can’t repay this. I’m already taking your food and your home-”

“Frank, stop. I live here at Gerard’s expense,” he said quietly. “I buy food and clothes and art supplies with his money. He has a lot of it, Frank, and he believes in buying the best. So I bought the best journal and the best pens and they’re yours.”

“Gerard Way hasn’t even met me!”

Bob shook his head. “That doesn’t matter to him. He doesn’t expect to be paid back, either.”

Frank looked down at the book in his lap, confused. “I don’t understand. That’s not… Is that normal?”

Bob ignored him for a moment, puttering around the kitchen and filling the kettle to make tea. When he finished, he threw a new log on the fire and sat down in his armchair, across from Frank.

“He doesn’t pay me a salary,” Bob explained. “You’re right, it’s not normal. It’s like I’m living in their house, which I kind of am, in a way. This is his island, and I’m living on it. He pays for anything I need. And now you’re here, and he’s paying for these, for you.”

“But I don’t do anything,” Frank insisted. “You pay him back by ferrying groceries to and from the mainland. I just… sit here.”

Bob looked at Frank like he’d said something incredibly dim. “You’re injured, Frank,” he said slowly.

“I don’t want some rich stranger’s charity.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to be pitied-”

Bob put his hands on Frank’s knees, to get his attention. “Frank, listen. Gerard is going to let you stay here for as long as you need, or want. If you want to leave the island, you’re not obligated to repay him, but right now, while you’re still recovering, you don’t have to worry about it. Once you’re better, once you can walk again, you’ll meet him, and you can talk about what you could do for him in return.”

Frank stared at him.

“For now, accept the gift and focus on healing. Don’t worry about things like who’s paying for your food.”

Frank looked down at the journal again and touched the leather-covered spine. “It’s a really nice journal.”

“Yes.”

“I feel strange about accepting this,” Frank admitted softly.

“Think of it as a get-well-soon gift. You can thank Gerard for it when you meet him.” Bob paused, giving Frank time to object again. He didn’t, so Bob changed the subject. “How’s your leg?”

“Better,” Frank replied. “The medicine helps with the pain.”

“Good. I’ll make us some dinner.”

***

Frank put on several layers of Bob’s old clothes, packed up his new journal and pens, and told Bob very sternly to take him to the rocky beach. Bob looked him up and down, took in Frank’s stony determination, and nodded.

They walked through the edge of the forest, where the ground was hard-packed dirt instead of sand, and easier to walk on. Frank limped with each step, but Bob kept the pace slow. They were in no rush.

“Does the beach have a name?” Frank asked.

“None of the beaches do,” Bob replied. He bent down and picked up a long tree branch that had fallen to the ground. “Walking stick? I’ll carry your book.”

Frank gratefully handed over his new journal and took the walking stick from Bob’s outstretched hand. Just having something to lean on made walking easier. They trudged on in companionable silence for the better part of an hour.

“We’re probably getting close. Do you remember where you landed?”

Bob led Frank through the trees and out onto the white sand. He stayed right at Frank’s side, to steady him if the soft sand made him stumble. The trees were at their backs, and between them and the ocean was practically a wall of black boulders.

“This stretches on for a while,” Bob explained, “and tapers off towards my end of the island.”

They walked a short distance, and then Frank put his hand on Bob’s arm to stop him.

“I didn’t find anything, when I came here before,” Bob murmured, barely audible over the crashing waves beyond the rocks. “Not even driftwood.”

“But this is it,” Frank insisted. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that something-or someone-from his ship would be on the other side, but now that he was here, he had to see. “Help me climb up?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Bob hesitated.

Frank threw his walking stick to the ground and grabbed a handhold on the rock. “Then I’ll climb up myself.”

Bob was at his back instantly, giving him a boost up. It was much easier to climb the rock than Frank remembered from that night. But it had been dark and raining, and he’d been newly injured. His leg was almost healed, now, at least on the surface. Bob spotted him all the way to the top ledge, and then climbed up to sit beside him.

There was nothing caught in the rocks, and nothing out on the horizon. Frank exhaled slowly and listened to the monotonous crashing of the waves, and the hissing as the water splashed up and washed away.

Matt was somewhere out there, sunk to the bottom of the ocean because Frank couldn’t reach him in time. The rest of his crew was somewhere out there, too, because Frank couldn’t lead them out of the storm. He should be out there with them. A captain goes down with his ship, and yet Frank was the only person left alive.

“Can I be alone, please?” Frank asked, choking on the words. He had wanted to write in his journal about what happened to the ship and his men, and mostly what happened to Matt, but he knew he couldn’t do it now.

“I won’t leave you up here alone,” Bob replied gently. He put his hand on Frank’s knee.

Frank looked down at it, Bob’s large, gloved hand resting on the unfamiliar trousers, and then back out at the water. He didn’t acknowledge the tears suddenly streaming down his cheeks, and neither did Bob.

After only a few minutes, Frank started to feel like he was back underwater; he couldn’t draw in enough air without choking, and he felt so unbearably cold, with the wind biting every inch of exposed skin and the winter temperature chilling the rest of him, even through the heavy clothes.

Bob wrapped an arm around Frank’s shoulders and drew him in close, cradling him against his chest. Bob was warm, and he positioned himself so that he was blocking the worst of the wind. Frank buried his face in Bob’s scarf, not even trying to breathe. He just choked out more sobs and waited for the feeling to pass.

Only, he wasn’t sure it ever would.

***

Bob gave him time alone back at the house. Frank settled down at the end of the dock, his good leg pulled up close enough to his body to rest his journal on. He flipped the book open to the first lined page and looked out over the calm sea.

Frank started his log with a description of his ship, then the nature of their business, and then, finally, a crew manifest. He listed occupations beside the names; at least, as many as he could remember. He worked his way down through the ranks, heading the page with Matthew Cortez, First Mate, and trailing off uncertainly as he got down to the deckhands he’d only just hired for this voyage. He couldn’t even remember their names.

Frank turned to a new page.

12 November, he wrote. A storm heading in from the West chased us to shore. My plan was to hug the coast and let the wind push us toward the mainland, where we could go into port for repairs, but the storm was too much for the ship. The crew held her steady while they could. The onslaught of violent wind and rain tore the sails, and the waves pushed her under and cracked the hull. To the best of my knowledge, the Pencey broke apart under the weight of the water, and started flooding from the lower decks. What crew was left gathered on the top deck and followed my orders to abandon ship.

I knew there was no chance for the men once they jumped, but I couldn’t let them stay on a sinking ship. If I’d acted differently, maybe a few would have survived. Cortez and I were the last to go.

Frank paused, wondering how detailed his account should be. He remembered that night vividly. He remembered Matt’s hoarse voice calling out for Frank, and he remembered Matt’s hand clawing at the water as he was pushed under. Frank couldn’t put watching his best friend die into words.

Cortez didn’t make it off the ship. He was trapped and drowned, out of my reach. I couldn’t untangle the ropes holding me in time to save him. I lost consciousness as the ship was torn apart and the debris scattered and sunk. I washed ashore, injured, and found the aid of a man, Robert Bryar, living on this island.

I was the only crew member to survive the storm. No bodies or debris have come ashore to my knowledge. The Pencey, her crew, and her cargo are all lost to sea.

~ Captain Frank Iero, 27 November.

***

Once Frank could move again without being in too much pain, it was fairly easy to fall into a routine: Bob always woke early and started doing whatever chores needed to be done; Frank got up soon after and hobbled around the small kitchen, making breakfast. They ate together and then continued working in companionable silence.

Sometimes Bob went to the mainland for supplies, or visited the Ways. He always invited Frank, but Frank always declined. He wasn’t even sure why he was avoiding meeting Gerard; Bob had nothing but good things to say about him and his wife. He just wasn’t ready yet.

One day, Bob stayed at the table with Frank and gave him a long, considering look. Frank pushes his spoon around his bowl and stared down at the remnants of their breakfast, uneasy under Bob’s stare.

“Why won’t you meet him?” Bob asked, breaking the silence. He didn’t have to say who; it was like they were continuing a conversation they’d never even started.

“I don’t know,” Frank said honestly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

“Are you scared?”

Bob’s question wasn’t taunting or malicious, but Frank bristled anyway. He shrugged again and forced the words out. “Maybe. I want to stay here.”

“He won’t kick you out,” Bob said gently. “But listen, Frank… I’ve been thinking.”

Bob fell silent and Frank tensed, waiting for whatever unwelcome thing Bob was about to say.

“This house wasn’t meant for two,” he finished quietly.

Frank sucked in a breath and held it. He didn’t know how to respond, and he desperately didn’t want to leave.

“You don’t need to leave,” Bob continued quickly, as if reading Frank’s mind. “Of course you’re welcome here as long as you need. But you’re well enough now that you don’t need my help, and you should… You should consider what you want to do now.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Frank replied helplessly. He finally looked up to meet Bob’s apologetic gaze.

“You don’t have to leave,” Bob repeated. “I’m just saying that you should think about whether you want to stay on the island or begin a new life. It’s time you started to figure yourself out.”

Bob stood up from the table and cleared their dishes, leaving Frank in a stunned silence.

***

Later that week, Bob insisted that Frank accompany him to the mainland. He didn’t let Frank help him row the little ferryboat; Frank sat with his back to Bob instead, watching the cozy house on the shore shrink into the distance.

The steady rocking of the boat felt natural to Frank, and he was surprised to find how much he missed being out on the water. Even just feeling the salty breeze blowing through his hair was a comfort.

They pulled into a short, empty dock and Frank tied up the boat before Bob could protest. The city market was a couple of streets over and it only took them a few minutes to walk there. As they entered the main street, Frank was nearly bowled over by the amount of activity.

He’d known, of course, that this was a busy port city, but he was unprepared for seeing the familiar mix of sailors and merchants shouting out prices and brash insults. He felt both entirely at home in the environment and completely overwhelmed. He stayed close to Bob as they walked down the street.

Intellectually, Frank knew that he didn’t stand out. The tattoos on his arms identified him as a man who belonged here, and a slight limp wasn’t unusual or even noticeable to most of these people. He didn’t have a wide circle of acquaintances outside his own crew, so he wasn’t afraid of running into familiar faces. But he still felt as if everyone was watching him, as if they all knew what he’d been through, what he’d lost.

By the time they reached the doctor’s office, Frank was breathing harshly and glued to Bob’s side. Bob laid his hand gently on Frank’s lower back, guiding and comforting him, and Frank relaxed slightly once they left the busy street.

Bob led him through a hallway and into a sitting room outside what Frank presumed to be the doctor’s examination room. Frank lowered himself carefully into one of the chairs and sat perched on the edge rather than relaxed into the thick cushions. He watched somewhat apprehensively as Bob paced the room and finally knocked on the door.

A man not much taller than Frank opened the door a few moments later. He was dressed in a white coat and he had a sharp look of intelligence and determination about his face. He stepped aside to let an old man out, and then motioned for Frank and Bob to come in.

“Doctor, this is Frank Iero…” Bob began, helping Frank to his feet.

“Mr. Iero-”

“Captain,” Frank broke in automatically. It was a reflex, and guilt clogged his throat. He shook his head, waving off whatever apology the doctor was about to say.

“Please come in,” the doctor said instead. “I’m Brian Schechter. Friend of the family.”

“Whose?” Frank asked.

“The Ways and Mr. Bryar, both. Please, Frank, come in.”

Frank let out a breath and moved into the room, Bob right on his heels. It was stark and sterile, exactly what Frank expected doctors’ offices on land to look like. He was used to the ship’s medical officer, though; a few tables cleared aside, a curtain drawn across the cabin for privacy. The clean white and gleaming metal of this office made him uneasy.

Bob took Frank’s arm, squeezed it once as a subtle gesture of comfort, and helped him climb onto the table.

“How have you been recovering?” Dr. Schechter asked in a businesslike tone. His eyes scanned up and down Frank’s body, taking in everything from the oversized clothes to the white-knuckled grip Frank had on the edge of the table.

“Well enough, I think,” Bob answered for him. “Obviously he can walk again, without too much pain. Right, Frank?”

Frank nodded and Schechter seemed to approve. He gestured towards Frank’s waist. “Alright, then, take off your trousers, let me examine you.”

Frank rolled his eyes and unbuttoned the pants, shoving them down as much as he could without getting off the table again. Bob helped yank them off his legs, and then moved to the bandage Frank still wore around his thigh.

The doctor unwound the gauze and peered closely at the bruised skin surrounding the scab. He poked and prodded and Frank looked away; he didn’t want to see the wound, and he didn’t want to see Schechter’s reactions to it.

“Looks like you’ve done a good job keeping it clean,” Schechter muttered. “No infection, and it seems to be healing well. Don’t put too much strain on it, still; it’s at a fragile stage and could tear open again easily. If it does, I recommend putting in stitches to keep the wound closed. I’m frankly surprised it’s healed this well without them.”

The doctor re-wrapped the bandage and straightened up, giving Frank another once-over. Frank tried not to squirm under his gaze. Weirdly, Bob seemed even more nervous than Frank was, and kept shifting his weight and staring at Schechter apprehensively.

“I’ll let you get dressed,” Schechter said to Frank, “and Bob, I want to talk to you outside.”

Frank wasn’t sure what was going on, but Bob and the doctor disappeared into the sitting room, leaving Frank to struggle with the trousers on his own. He heard the quiet murmurs of voices on the other side of the door but he couldn’t make out what they were saying, and he resolved to ask Bob about it on the way back to the island.

***

It was evening before Frank thought to ask about the doctor. He and Bob were sorting groceries into separate piles for them and for the Ways, and he finally blurted out his question.

“It was nothing,” Bob replied, brushing him off.

“It wasn’t nothing. Is something wrong?”

Bob sighed. “It’s just that we’ve known each other a long time, and he was angry with me for not taking you to him earlier. He just wanted to tell me how much…”

“How much what?”

“How much better off you’d be if you’d seen him first, and I hadn’t tried to take care of you myself,” Bob finished bitterly.

“What do you mean, better off? That’s bullshit, Bob, that’s completely-”

“He’s right, though. I should have gotten his opinion. He’s a good doctor. You’d be better by now,” Bob said quietly.

“I am better,” Frank replied. “I swear to God, I am. Bob Bryar, you saved my life, and I won’t forget that.”

Bob tried to shrug him off, but Frank could tell he was mollified. Frank decided to push it even further and said, “I could go with you tonight, to visit the Ways. If you want.”

Bob finally broke into a smile, but he hesitated before answering.

“I want to meet them,” Frank said sincerely. “I’m ready to meet them, now.”

***

It was a short walk from Bob’s house to the Way Estate. The path through the forest was well-worn and clear of tree roots and debris, and as the island was generally flat, it didn’t put a strain on Frank’s healing leg.

The house was mostly hidden by the trees, so Frank didn’t understand how large it was until they were walking up to the front door. It was more of a mansion than a house; three stories tall in the center, tapering down to two and one floor in both directions. On the rightmost corner, though, there was a tower that poked up above the tree line. Frank stood and stared at the house until he heard the clank of the gargoyle-head doorknocker. He shook himself out of his daze and joined Bob on the front step.

A man Frank assumed was Gerard opened the door a few seconds later, smiling broadly. He was dressed sharply in a tightly-fitting black waistcoat and trousers, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loose but the knot was neat and straight. His hair was another story.

It was black as ink and reached his shoulders, though most of it was caught in a tangled mess on his head. A few strands fell over his forehead, where there was a dusky smudge of ink or charcoal. Otherwise, the man’s face was pale and smooth; he was much younger than Frank expected.

“You must be Frank!” he said excitedly, holding out a hand for Frank to shake. His eyes were sparkling and he seemed genuinely pleased when Frank took his hand and nodded. “My name’s Gerard,” he said, not letting go of Frank’s hand. “Bob’s told me about you. I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“Uh, yes,” Frank replied uncertainly. “He’s told me about you, too.”

Gerard finally let go of him and pulled Bob into a quick hug. “Good to see you again, Bob,” he murmured. When he stepped back, he opened the door wide and spread his arms, inviting them in.

“Linds!” he called. “Bob’s here. He brought Frank!”

“Be down in a minute!” came the reply from one of the upper floors.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Gerard asked, turning back to address both of them. “It wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Bob looked to Frank, who shrugged. Gerard waved away the question and lead them through the front entrance. They passed a wide, spiraling staircase and went into some sort of parlor room. Paintings lined the walls, some hung and some just leaning, both against the walls and the furniture. Gerard motioned for them to sit down.

Bob took an armchair. Frank moved to the sofa and Gerard sat down next to him, smiling brightly again. Frank couldn’t help but smile back.

“You’re much younger than I thought you’d be,” Gerard said at last.

It startled Frank into laughter. “I could say the same for you,” he replied. “How are you…” He realized abruptly that it was probably impolite to ask about Gerard’s obvious wealth.

Gerard glanced pointedly around the room. “It comes from being a Lord,” he answered. “My brother runs the estate we grew up in, but I took my inheritance and moved away, to start my own life. I like it here.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” Frank said, as sincerely as he could muster.

“Thank you!” Gerard beamed at him again. “My wife and I designed most of it. Of course the architects had to make everything livable, but… I think most of our intentions remained. I’ll take you on a tour, later.”

“Miss Lindsey,” Bob said warmly, interrupting them. Frank turned around, following Bob’s gaze, and saw a young woman turning the corner into the room. Bob stood up and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

She looked… oddly like Gerard, though Frank couldn’t mistake them as siblings. Like Gerard, she had jet-black hair, although hers was much better maintained, flowing like silk over her shoulders. Her dress was also like his clothes; a tight-fitting black bodice and white sleeves, rolled up to her elbows. Her skirt, however, was a deep, dusky red that matched her lipstick.

She smiled at Frank and sat down on his other side, taking his hand between both of hers.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Frank! Bob’s told us so much…” Her gaze dropped to Frank’s hand, the tattoos on his knuckles. She tilted her head, trailing off into silence. Her thumb grazed Frank’s knuckles, and then she pulled her hands away.

“Lady B is down for her nap,” she said to her husband, “and if she wakes, it’s your turn to sing to her.”

Gerard grinned like he just couldn’t help it. Lindsey pecked Frank on the cheek, leaned over him to ruffle Gerard’s hair, and then she stood up again and held out her hand for Bob.

“Come on, Robert, I’ve something to show you,” she said in a playfully solemn tone. Bob gave Frank a quick glance, to make sure he was alright with being alone with Gerard, and followed Lindsey out of the room.

“That’s my wife,” Gerard said unnecessarily, as soon as their footsteps on the stairs had faded. “She’s an artist-we both are. I’ve heard we can be… overwhelming, sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Frank replied. In truth, seeing Gerard and Lindsey together made Frank’s heart squeeze in a way he hadn’t really experienced before. He didn’t have much experience with families, or with women, not even his own mother. The women he knew were whores in the busy port cities, or merchant’s wives, endlessly waiting for their husbands to return. He looked to the door Lindsey and Bob had disappeared through. “She’s lovely,” he finished.

Gerard patted Frank’s knee lightly. “Come, Frank, let me show you the house.”

Frank was used to living in the tight quarters of the Pencey; whatever personal items he or the men had were small, easily stored. The Ways obviously did not have those limitations. Each room had a different theme. There was a large music room, with a harpsichord and a pianoforte and guitars and fiddles and other instruments Frank didn’t even know the names of, and there was a room full of thick swaths of cloth and drawers full of needles and spools of thread. A tiny, unfinished dress in navy blue fabric hung from one of the shelves.

“Lindsey likes making things for the baby,” Gerard explained affectionately. “I’d help her but I’ve stabbed myself too many times with those needles to be of any use.”

He led Frank through a maze of hallways-all of which had paintings and drawings hanging from the walls in abundance-to a library. Frank stopped short, looking around in wonder. This room had more books than the bookshops Frank visited on occasion, to replenish his supply of adventure novels. The shelves were tall enough to need ladders, and there was a wide table in the center with even more books and papers stacked on it.

Gerard turned back to face him. “Do you like books, Frank?”

“There’s so many,” Frank said softly.

“You’ve probably noticed that I like to collect things,” Gerard murmured. “Books are chief among my obsessions. I don’t know if Bob mentioned that I’m an author. My brother long ago convinced me to advance from bedside storytelling to published novels.”

“You write novels?” Frank asked. He stepped fully into the room, joining Gerard at the table. They stood across from each other, and Gerard leaned over it, pushing a book towards Frank.

“This is the first thing I ever published, before I met my wife and we started working together,” he said. “It’s an adventure story. I used to tell it to my brother when we were kids.” He caught Frank’s eye and smiled conspiratorially. “There are pirates.”

Frank grinned. “Really?”

“I’m sure they’re nothing like the real thing, but the stereotypes served my purposes well enough back then.” He watched Frank pick up the book and flip through the first few pages. “You’re welcome to borrow it.”

A note on the title page caught Frank’s eye. “You illustrated it as well?”

“One of my many hobbies,” Gerard replied casually.

“No wonder you’re rich,” Frank murmured under his breath, fanning through the pages until he came to one of the illustrations. It was an ink drawing depicting a man with a telescope, the ocean in the distance. Frank smiled. It was quite good. “Are the books popular?”

“They do well enough,” he said. “It’s not like I’m desperate for the money, but it never hurts to be paid well. I support a lot of people; they depend on that money.”

“Including me,” Frank said quietly, looking down at the polished wood floor. He put the book back down on the table.

“And you’re welcome to it,” Gerard replied, matching Frank’s tone. He came around the table and stepped into Frank’s field of view, then reached out and touched Frank’s arm. “For as long as you need or want, Frank, you’re welcome here.”

“You don’t even know me,” Frank muttered.

“Bob trusts you, and that’s enough for me. I’d like to know you, Frank.”

“I can’t do anything to repay you.”

Gerard hesitated for a few seconds; Frank glanced up and saw that his mouth was open, poised to respond. After a beat, he said, “Friendship would be payment enough.”

Frank broke into a slow smile. “I can do that.”

Gerard beamed at him and took his hand excitedly. “Come with me, there’s something I want to show you. I think you’ll like this.”

Gerard took him through another handful of rooms that looked like they hadn’t been used in a long time, and they finally came to the base of the tower Frank had seen from outside. The attached room was filled with wide drawers and a large drafting table. Gerard moved Frank to the side and opened a couple of the drawers, pulling out sheets of thick paper. Maps. He spread them out on the table and lit the gas lamp. Frank looked outside and noticed that the sun was setting; he’d been there for hours already.

“Come look,” Gerard murmured, bending over the table to peer closely at the map. Frank mirrored him, looking for things he recognized. It was the island, he realized.

Bob’s house was drawn to scale on the eastern shore, and the path through the forest was marked clearly. Gerard’s estate took up a significant amount of space on the map, positioned well into the trees but on the west side of the island. Beyond the house was a cove, blocked on two sides by jetties. The rest of the island didn’t have a lot of distinguishing features, and nothing was named. Frank saw the area with the black rocks extending to the north beyond one of the cove’s jetties, and on the south side of the island was a place almost completely empty of trees. Frank traced his finger along the coastline.

“The island’s only that large at low tide,” Gerard explained in a low voice. “It’s very flat, so when the tide comes in, the water comes up to here.” Gerard covered Frank’s hand with his own and slid it inland, until it almost met the marks of the trees.

“It’s a small island,” Frank murmured.

“Yes. It’s secluded.”

“Do you own it?”

Gerard nodded. “I do. One of the benefits of my status. I’m allowed my reclusive tendencies, as long as my brother and my lawyers make their appearances.”

“You’re so…” Frank trailed off, trying to think of a more appropriate word for ‘vibrant’. “Why do you like being by yourself?”

“I’m not well-suited for politics,” Gerard admitted. “I don’t think that way. I got tired of people questioning me, so I left.” He suddenly brightened up and took Frank’s hand again. “Come up with me, you can see the whole island from the tower.”

They trudged up the tightly-spiraled staircase together. It was built like a lighthouse, though Frank didn’t see any light at the top, only a circular room lined with windows. Gerard kept his pace slow, careful not to rush Frank.

The view from the top was breathtaking. The tops of the trees were several feet below, and they tapered off in all directions, allowing an unobstructed view of the entire island. Frank saw the beach Gerard had mentioned, a long, wide stretch of sand. The tide must’ve been out.

On the other side of the island, Frank found the black rocks. He could see the violent waves even from this distance. He followed them until they disappeared and saw a rocky jetty facing north, sheltering the mouth of the channel. Across it, Frank could even see the mainland, the buildings and the sails of the ships at the port city.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gerard asked, standing back. Frank nodded, unable to find words.

They stood up there until the sun had fully set, and then Gerard sat down on the floor with the gas lamp he’d carried up. Frank joined him after a moment.

“Will you tell me about yourself, Frank?” Gerard asked gently. “Bob said that you were a captain. You must’ve seen so much.”

Frank shrugged. “I’ve seen some, I guess. I’ve been around.”

“What was your ship’s purpose? What did you do?”

“We were just… just a merchant vessel, carrying cargo. We didn’t take passengers; we didn’t have the beds. She was a small ship, the Pencey. She was home, though,” Frank began, fighting not to sound too heartbroken. He reached into the collar of his shirt and fingered the pocket watch chain that hung around his neck, beneath his clothes.

“What was it like? It must’ve been amazing.” Gerard sounded duly amazed, and Frank had to remind himself that Gerard was a man who wrote pirate stories. He probably dreamed of living out at sea, finding adventure and exotic lands. Frank decided not to shatter his illusions and tell him about the long days with not enough food or drink, and the boredom of windless weather and no movement.

He focused on the better things. He remembered his crew, the camaraderie of playing cards and drinking games, and dancing to crude music on the good days. He remembered the wind in his hair, biting at his cheeks when he stood at the helm with Cortez. He remembered he endless stars at night, when darkness enveloped them.

Frank found himself spilling all of these things to Gerard, who listened attentively. Gerard didn’t ask questions, and that only made Frank talk more. When he mentioned Cortez, the words finally caught in his throat and shut him up. He couldn’t talk about Matt without acknowledging the crushing weight of sadness. He missed his friend desperately, constantly, but most of the time he was able to push those feelings to the back of his mind.

Gerard scooted closer to him and wrapped his arm around Frank’s shoulders. He didn’t say anything, just let Frank lean on him. Frank didn’t cry; he wouldn’t do that in front of this man he just met, no matter how kind he was, or how easy he was to talk to. They sat together for a long while; Frank focused on the flickering flame of the lamp and nothing else, and eventually he felt like he could move again without the world shifting under him.

Gerard stood and pulled Frank to his feet. “Are you staying for dinner?” he asked quietly.

“I’d rather be alone,” Frank replied, not meeting Gerard’s eyes.

“I understand,” Gerard said, and he sounded like he really did understand. He stayed at Frank’s side as they walked down the stairs and back into the map room. “Frank,” he said, “I want you to know that you’re welcome here anytime. I hope you come back soon.”

As they retraced their steps through the library, Frank looked around and gave Gerard a small smile. “I’m sure I will.”

Gerard picked up the book from the table, where they’d left it, and handed it over. “You’ll have to, to return my book,” he said smugly. He sobered, though, and continued, “You’re welcome to stay on this island as long as you want, Frank. I like you.”

Frank looked down at the book, stroking his finger along the spine. “Thanks,” he murmured. “For the book, and for, you know. Your hospitality. Everything.”

“You’re welcome,” Gerard replied sincerely.

They made their way back to the main living area of the house and found Lindsey and Bob in the kitchen. Bob was holding the baby girl in his arms, making faces at her, and she was giggling and pulling at his beard with her tiny fists. Lindsey noticed them first. She held up a block of cheese.

“Are you boys hungry?”

“They’re not staying for dinner,” Gerard answered gently. Lindsey’s face fell, just a little, but she nodded and came over to Frank.

“You’ll come back and visit soon, yes? I wanted to ask you about your tattoos.” She reached up and slid her fingers over the scorpion on his neck. Her fingers brushed the chain of the pocket watch but she didn’t comment.

“Of course,” Frank said, startled. “Of course I will.”

“He promised to return my book,” Gerard added. He took the baby from Bob and kissed her chubby cheek. “I see my girl woke up from her nap.”

“She did,” Bob replied. “And then she grabbed me and wouldn’t let go.”

“She loves you,” Gerard cooed. Frank smiled helplessly at the sight of the two men fawning over the little girl. Lindsey patted Frank’s cheek.

“Come on, I’ll see you out,” she said happily.

Bob had no trouble navigating through the forest in the dark of twilight. He guided Frank with a hand on his shoulder, or at the small of his back, to make sure he didn’t trip over a stray root or anything, and in no time, Frank could hear the sound of the waves lapping the shore.

“You didn’t want to stay?” Bob asked in a low voice, as they approached his house.

“I like them. Gerard, anyway. He’s…”

Bob gave Frank a quick smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“I talked to him,” Frank admitted quietly.

“He’s easy to talk to. He’s a good listener.”

“I didn’t want to tell him anything more. It was like I couldn’t stop myself, and I just…” Frank sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “I guess I’m not ready yet.”

Bob patted his shoulder and pulled him inside. “And that’s okay, Frank.”

***

Bob didn’t push Frank to visit the Ways again that week. He still made his trip to the estate with groceries and an expensive bottle of ink, but he didn’t invite Frank along, and Frank was grateful.

Frank genuinely liked Gerard, and he liked Lindsey from the few minutes he’d spent with her. But what he’d told Bob was the truth; around Gerard, Frank felt his innermost thought spilling out into the air, where anyone could see. He was absolutely sure that Gerard wasn’t manipulating him on purpose, but Gerard had the dangerous quality of making people trust him. Frank just wasn’t ready for that yet.

Frank’s trust in Bob had grown over time-a short time, yes, but it was a learned reaction to Bob’s presence. His trust in Gerard was immediate, indefinable, and strange. Frank couldn’t find reason in it beyond Gerard’s natural charisma, and that bothered him.

Gerard’s friendship was too tempting to pass up, though. Perhaps, once Frank had truly come to terms with his own experiences and his own grief, he could pay Gerard back in full. Until that time, he could wait and recover.

Gerard had practically offered the island as a place for Frank to settle, and Frank began to seriously consider making his own home there. He had no desire, at the moment, to return to the sea; all it brought were bad memories. His trip to the port had shown him how much of a coward he really was, and how badly he wanted isolation. Not even the draw of the salty wind in his hair was enough to pull him back to his old life.

He decided to ask Bob for advice.

***

“This house isn’t really made for two people,” Bob repeated, not meeting Frank’s eyes. Frank didn’t take that for anything other than what it was: truth.

Frank was completely mobile and healthy, and he and Bob had started stepping on each other’s toes in the cramped house. It was obvious that Bob was used to living by himself, and Frank, though accustomed to having other people afoot, wasn’t adjusting to his extended stay in Bob’s house very well.

“I know,” he answered simply.

“Are you thinking of leaving?”

“I don’t know,” Frank replied, somewhat honestly. He wasn’t sure, but he did have ideas.

“Where will you go?”

Frank shrugged. “Gerard’s made me an offer, of sorts. I just don’t know… I’m not like you, Bob, I don’t have services to give in exchange for his hospitality. I can’t repay him. I can’t do anything for him.”

“If Gerard’s made you any kind of offer, then that doesn’t matter,” Bob pointed out. “He’s a smart man, Frank, he surrounds himself with good people. And you’re one of them, now.” He paused. “If you accept, that is.”

“It’s tentative, anyway,” Frank replied, waving his hand. “I’m not sure I could stay. I just wanted to… ask.”

“You’re welcome as long as you want, you know that.”

“I do,” Frank said. “Thank you.”

***

Frank started going out during the day, to give Bob some time alone and to explore the island for himself. He kept Gerard’s maps in the back of his mind and poked through the forest, searching for landmarks and features the map hadn’t shown.

He felt a pull to the shore, though, and spent much of his time walking along the beaches. He visited the wide, sandy beach at low tide, just to see, but he spent much of his time along the north shore, where the coast was rocky and the water was a little rougher.

Most days, he tried to clear his mind. He thought he was doing well, not dwelling on the death of his shipmates. He felt happier, though the weight of grief was still unbearably heavy. Other days, Frank brought his journal out with him.

After a few weeks, he started gravitating towards the same spot on the north shore. He watched the waves beat against the jetty and lost himself in the little whirlpools the tide formed. He wrote in his journal about things that didn’t matter: the state of the sand, the sound of the wind in the trees. It was better that way.

***

There was nothing on the horizon but a layer of clouds, dark grey and thick, hanging low over the choppy waves. The water crashing onto the beach drowned out even the sound of the trees blowing in the wind. Frank was caught off-guard when a man suddenly sat down next to him. He was wearing a black suit with a decorative embroidered pattern around the cuffs, and his long legs stretched out in front of them.

“Who are you?” Frank asked in alarm.

“My brother said I’d find you here.”

“Your brother?”

“Gerard Way,” the man clarified. “My name’s Michael.”

“Oh. You’re his brother?” Frank shifted to face Michael head-on. The man wore glasses and a hat, and the tips of his hair fluttered against his forehead in the wind. Frank could see the resemblance to Gerard, vaguely.

“Yes,” Michael replied. “I’m here visiting Bandit.”

“Bandit?”

“His daughter. She’s almost a year old.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” Frank said, “I only met them once-”

“Understandable,” Michael interrupted. “Gerard and Lindsey mostly keep to themselves, and Bob says you do too. Is this where you want to live? Gerard says you sit out here a lot.”

“Wait, how does he know I’m here?” Frank asked shrilly. He looked over Michael’s shoulder, but couldn’t see anyone through the line of trees.

“He watches you sometimes,” Michael replied simply. “I like this spot. It would be nice for a house.”

Frank was more than a little unsettled by Michael’s statement, but he found himself nodding. Michael jerked his head in reply and stood up, brushing sand off his suit.

“Gerard gives you his blessing.”

“I haven’t even decided-”

“He’ll help you build a house here,” Michael cut in firmly. “He wants you to stay.”

Frank was again shocked into silence. He stared dumbly at Michael for a moment before finally nodding in agreement. Michael stood up abruptly and brushed the sand off his neat suit.

“I’ll see you, Frank.”

He disappeared as quickly as he’d come, and Frank stared after him in confusion. Michael was correct, though: this area would make an excellent place to build a house. The ground was firm up by the forest, and it gently tapered into a sandy stretch of beach before reaching the natural jetty that ran parallel to the mainland.

Bob’s little house faced the mainland along the island’s east coast, and the Ways occupied the westernmost shore, at the cove past the black rocks. This place was somewhere in the middle between them, on the north side of the island. It was a place Frank felt he could be comfortable.

He sat there for the rest of the evening and headed back to Bob’s house just before dark.

“I think I’ve found a place to live,” he announced. “Michael Way told me I should stay.”

“Mmm,” Bob hummed. “He mentioned he was going to introduce himself to you.”

“He’s an odd one,” Frank muttered.

“He knows his brother well, though. If he told you to stay, then Gerard wants you to stay,” Bob explained. He paused, then said, carefully, “I would like it if you stayed, Frank.”

Frank made his way around the small table and chairs and sat down on his cot. He nodded once. “I’ll stay.”

***

[part 2a]