fic: In The Walls (8/8)

[thesamefire]

 
Headers & Main Post - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Bonus Content



With Frank absent, Bob and Ray start trying to work out what was bothering Bob about the timing of the bridge in "House of Wolves". There's not much for Gerard to do there so he settles down in a nearby armchair and pulls his knees up to tuck under his chin, wrapping his arms around his legs. It's still really goddamn cold in the ballroom. They've all stopped commenting on how cold the house is and started going around in two and three hoodies at a time, but he knows it still bothers them.

Now that they're taking a bit of a break from playing, Gerard finds himself uncomfortably alone with his thoughts. He's been bottling a lot up the last weeks, an overwhelming mix of stress and self-doubt and fear, and his hold on it isn't so great right now. Pouring his heart and fucking soul into the new song must have stirred it all back up. It's a lot, too much all at once, and the bottle is starting to crack. He's tired of fighting against it, so he slumps back in his seat, blank and focused inward, half-listening to Ray and Bob, and he lets it crack.

It's not long at all before something starts nagging at him. Something someone said- something Mikey told him, sometime before he left the house. He can't quite remember what it was, but he's got a sneaking suspicion that it's important, that he should tell the guys about it. But what was it?

Gerard frowns. Maybe he should call Mikey and ask. Actually, they should call Mikey anyway; they need to play him the new songs and get his input and let him know that they're still waiting for him and they hope he's doing okay. Gerard uncurls out of his chair and walks over to stand next to Ray.

"Hey," he says.

"What's up?" Bob asks.

"I was thinking we should call Mikey," Gerard says, deliberately casual like it's not a big deal or anything.

"Yeah?" Ray looks up from where he's fiddling with something on the front of his guitar.

Gerard takes a breath. "I want to play the demos for him."

"That's a really good idea," Bob says.

"We should all do it together," Ray says. He's already lifting his guitar strap over his shoulder and setting the instrument down on its stand.

"That's what I was thinking," Gerard agrees. "I'll go get Frank, then meet you guys in the front hall?"

"Sure," Bob nods.

Gerard gets lost in thought before he even leaves the ballroom; the half-memory of an earlier conversation is still bothering him and he can't help but feel that if he concentrates on it just a little harder, he'll be able to pin it down and figure out what exactly about it he needs to remember.

He's most of the way to the kitchen when he hears the shouting. It's Frank, and it's coming from somewhere close. Gerard pushes down the terrified thoughts of not again, not again, and forces himself to concentrate. It sounds like it's a little further ahead, and he breaks into a run.

It's not long before he sees it-there's a door that isn't all the way closed. The shouting is louder now than it was before and it sounds like it's coming through the open door. Gerard gets hit with a wicked sense of déjà vu as he stops just outside the room.

He peeks around the door frame, and sure enough, he's found Frank-and an enormous white dog, standing between Frank and the door. They're staring each other down, and Gerard has never seen Frank looking so intense, not ever. Gerard watches as Frank keeps trying to circle around the dog, presumably to get to the door, and the dog keeps standing right in Frank's way, growling low and making Frank back off again.

"Frank?" Gerard hisses. He's trying to avoid catching the dog's attention but Frank doesn't seem to hear him either. "Frank, what's going on? Are you okay?" Still no answer. Gerard tries waving-maybe the motion will do it-but that doesn't work either.

The realization that he can see through the dog hits Gerard like a shock-but it's true; the dog is translucent, like a ghost. He feels a surge of relief. It's not real! It can't hurt Frank, can't hurt anyone! But then he remembers the night Frank showed up at his door, bleeding from a bite that must have come from this very dog, and he's not so sure anymore.

The dog takes a step towards Frank.

Frank takes a step back.

The dog takes another step forward. Shadows seem to be pooling around its feet with every step, and the way it's moving, all coiled tight and efficient, is like it's stalking its prey. Gerard's mouth goes dry as he watches Frank's shoulders come up as he tenses, clearly preparing for a fight.

Frank tries circling around the dog again but the dog just shifts sideways, blocking Frank's path to the door once more.

The dog is toying with Frank. Gerard suddenly can't breathe.

And then when Frank takes another step to the left, the dog leaps at him with no other warning than a flick of one ear. Frank gets his arms up to protect himself-and just in time; Gerard watches the dog's teeth dig into Frank's right forearm, right in the meaty bit by his elbow.

"Fuck!" Frank shouts, grimacing in pain.

"No!" Gerard cries out. He starts running forward-he can't keep standing there not doing anything-but something pushes him back. It's not like walking into a solid wall at all. It's more like- like a fucking forcefield, Gerard thinks a touch hysterically. "Frank!" he yells desperately, throwing himself forward again only to get pushed back once more, harder than before. He can't believe he's stuck here, helpless, watching one of his best friends get torn up by some fucking ghost dog that shouldn't even fucking exist.

Gerard watches as Frank grabs his arm instinctively, pressing down on the big flap of skin the dog tore up. Frank winces as blood wells up under his fingers and drips to the floor.

"Fuck you," Frank spits at the dog, even as it falls back and sits down again in front of the door.

"Gerard?" someone yells from down the hall, and it takes Gerard a moment to realize that it's Ray. "What's going on?"

Gerard shakes his head, unable to get his mouth working or any words to come, and frantically waves him over. Bob's with him too.

"Is that a dog?" Ray asks, confused. He makes like he's going to walk into the room but then stops dead-whatever was keeping Gerard out must be keeping all of them out.

"I can't get in!" he gasps. "There's something there."

"No there isn't," Bob snaps at him. He steps forcefully into the doorway and almost gets knocked off his feet when he hits whatever it is that's blocking them. "Okay, what the hell," he says angrily.

"Is Frank bleeding?" Ray's voice is thin. He sounds scared.

All they can do is watch as Frank and the dog stare each other down. It looks like the dog is smiling. Gerard feels like he's holding his breath for the long, long minutes they're frozen in place before the dog finally moves again.

Gerard watches, rapt and horrified, as the dog growls, long and low and ominous, and it flattens its ears against its head. Then it tenses up, rearing back on its haunches like it's about to attack. Oh fuck, oh shit, he thinks desperately.

Bob sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and then pushes forward, like he's trying to break down the forcefield like it's any other door. He looks angrier and angrier each time it gently pushes him back.

Frank keeps staring the dog down.

And then the dog springs.

Frank tries to get his arms up again, but he doesn't make it in time before the dog hits him right in the chest, paws-first. The dog's teeth close on Frank's shoulder, and the noise Frank makes is anguished and awful. Frank staggers back as the dog falls away, propelled by the momentum of the impact, and he only just barely keeps his feet. He's practically backed into the corner of the room. He puts his hands on his knees and slumps forward, practically doubled-over, and even across the room Gerard can see the way his chest is heaving, hear the wheezing sound of it, as he tries to catch his breath. There's blood running down his arm and chest from the wound in his shoulder. Gerard wants to throw up everything he's ever eaten.

The dog is still between Frank and the door.

Gerard holds his breath again, totally involuntarily, as he waits for something terrible to happen. But there's no movement, just Frank and the dog facing off yet again.

Finally, Frank straightens up, slowly and gingerly, one hand pressed to the side of his chest and the other pressing against his shoulder to try to stop the flow of blood. He takes a deep breath, then another, and his hands fall away as he squares his shoulders. "Hey, you want a piece of me?" he asks as he takes a deliberate step towards the dog. "Come get me, motherfucker," he taunts it. It's such a Frank thing to do that Gerard feels his heart lift for a moment.

The dog flickers briefly, momentarily so translucent it almost disappears, but then it's back, solid and opaque and crouched low. A low, eerie growl is the only warning anyone gets before the dog launches itself at Frank again.

Frank throws himself sideways, like he's hoping to dodge the dog and get a clean line at the door.

He's not that lucky.

The dog hits him, not dead on but from an angle, and Gerard has a clear view of the dog's claws, curved and wickedly sharp, tearing through Frank's shirt and into his ribs as Frank falls to the ground, the dog still on top of him, leaning in again with long, bloody teeth. Frank screams, shrill with pain and frustration and fear.

Gerard's stomach cramps and he retches twice before he fights the nausea down-there's so much blood-but he can't move, can't look away. Ray's hand comes up and flaps for a moment like he's about to cover his eyes but then thinks better of it. Instead he puts his arm around Gerard's shoulders and pulls him close. Bob is coiled tight, making small, jerky movements like he's about to explode from the force of his contained rage. When Gerard grabs hold of his arm, he takes a deep breath but doesn't relax.

They watch as Frank tries to push the dog away, but the dog doesn't budge. Frank flails, trying to reach up to gouge at the dog's eyes or something, but he can't quite reach.

The dog starts panting then, its tongue lolling out one side of its mouth as it breathes. A drop of pink spit rolls off the end and lands on Frank's cheek.

Frank turns his face away, and it leaves him looking straight at the door. Gerard sees Frank's eyes go wide, like he's just noticing them all clustered around the doorway for the first time. Frank looks at them for a long moment before he looks back up at the dog. He stares at it for a moment, and then he shoves as hard as he can, visibly putting every last bit of strength he has left into it.

The dog staggers and steps sideways, losing its balance for only a moment.

But that moment is clearly all that was needed. Gerard feels a strange vibration against his skin, and the feeling of whatever force was blocking them from all from entering the room is completely gone. Bob practically falls into the room, and Gerard and Ray are right behind him.

All of a sudden Gerard is struck by the undeniable sense of evil radiating off the dog. He can feel it, cold and oily, on his skin. And the room is cold, so cold, cold like Mikey's room had been, and he has to fight down the urge to turn and run.

Frank is out from under the dog now and rising unsteadily to his feet, but the dog still stands between Frank and the door-and his back-up, now.

"Hey, motherfucker," Bob yells at the dog.

The dog's ear flicks back towards Bob, but it doesn't move otherwise.

"Yeah, you," Bob goes on angrily. "Fucking look at me when I'm talking to you."

The dog turns its head to look at Bob, far enough that they can see one of its big yellow eyes staring right at them.

Bob crosses his arms over his chest. "You want to fight?" he asks the dog, then takes a step towards it. "Come pick on something your own size, you pathetic piece of shit."

Gerard glances over Frank. He looks focused, tensed up like he's about to make a break for it the first chance he gets.

Bob takes another step forward. Gerard shifts a little further back towards the door. Ray holds his ground in front of Gerard. "What are you waiting for?" Bob says tauntingly, and it's only now that Gerard hears a note of fear creeping into his voice.

The dog turns to look at Bob again, its tail swishing angrily, and that's when Frank moves, darting sideways to skirt around the dog.

He doesn't make it.

The dog whips back around and lunges at Frank, claws extended and teeth snapping. Blood sprays out from where it hits Frank's chest, and the force of it knocks Frank clear off his feet to land heavily on his back in a limp heap. Gerard is expecting Frank to get up once he gets his wind back, to sit up and keep fighting, but he doesn't.

Then Gerard sees all the fresh blood soaking through Frank's shirt, the grey cast and slack expression on Frank's face, the odd angles of his limbs where they're spread on the floor.

Frank doesn't move and doesn't move and doesn't move.

The world goes silent around Gerard, like a heavy curtain dropped down over his ears so all he can hear is the roar of his own blood in his veins. He sees Bob throwing himself at the dog but it's like it's happening in slow motion. Bob's mouth is open like he's screaming. His fists are up. He's moving forward, reaching out, lunging for the dog.

The dog sits on its haunches in the middle of the room, its face and paws smeared in blood. It's panting, grinning.

Bob's fist passes right through the dog's head and the dog disappears, blinking right out of existence. There one moment and gone the next, and it stays gone as the seconds tick by.

Without the dog in the way, Gerard has a clear view of Frank's body sprawled on the floor, limp and bloody and unmoving. Even from across the room, he can see the gaping hole in Frank's shirt and the raw mess of a wound showing through. His arm is all torn up too, and fuck, fuck, there's just so much blood. Gerard's stomach drops out and he throws himself across the room, falling hard to his knees at Frank's side as he reaches for Frank's hand. He clutches it tightly, lacing their fingers together.

The silence around him turns into an overpowering buzzing in his ears, and all he can see is what's immediately in front of him.

Frank.

Tears drip hot down his cheeks as he runs his thumb over the back of Frank's hand and tries not to look at the blood caked to Frank's skin and quickly rubbing off onto his own. Frank's hand is still warm in his. Gerard wants to sit there and hold it until it gets cold and nothing is going to stop him.

He just watched Frank- just watched it happen. Right in front of his eyes. Didn't lift a fucking finger. He stood there and watched and didn't even fucking do anything, even when he could have. He was too fucking scared, he wanted to run away. It was Bob who did something, Bob who even cared to try to defend Frank, and by then it was too late, too fucking late, and-

"Gee?" Frank croaks, then squeezes his hand weakly.

"Frankie!" Gerard gasps. The buzzing noise drops off, and it gets much brighter in the room all of a sudden, warmer and less grey. His knees are suddenly killing him and he notices that his clothes are covered in blood, but it's not important, nothing else is except Frank. He's alive. "You're alive," he says dumbly, like hearing it out loud makes it more true.

"Yeah." It comes out as a whisper but it may as well be a shout from the rooftops to Gerard. He lifts his free hand to stroke Frank's hair back away from his face.

"You're not dead," Gerard says. Like it's still not registering. Like he isn't sure anymore what's real and what's just a trick.

"I'm not dead," Frank wheezes, and then, fuck, he laughs. It's the hoarse edge of a chuckle, but it's still a laugh. "Not that easy." Gerard can hear the wonder in the words, though, like Frank is as surprised as Gerard. Frank is pale-too pale-but there's still the sparkle in his eye that Gerard recognizes, and that's what really convinces him that Frank is okay.

"Not dead," Gerard repeats, his eyes locked on Frank's face.

"Blacked out, I guess." Frank moves again, rolling up onto his side. He swears and grimaces, and he goes even paler-if that's even possible, which Gerard would have doubted if he hadn't just seen it. "Fuck," Frank hisses through clenched teeth. "Fuck, that hurts."

"Are you okay?" Gerard asks, suddenly scared again. Frank is still bleeding and it's everywhere-maybe Gerard should be trying to do something, maybe he should be ripping his shirt into bandages like they do in the movies, maybe he should be running for help, maybe he should be doing a lot of things-but he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know where to start, can't even bring himself to let go of Frank's hand.

Frank looks down at himself, then reaches across his body with his torn-up right arm to run one finger very carefully around the edge of the wound in his side. He's flinching away even as he touches, but he's got this grim determined look on his face like nothing else is going to happen until he's checked himself out. Gerard can barely bring himself to watch; Frank's flesh is torn up and mangled like it's just meat, and his wounds are all still oozing blood. There's so much of it soaked into Frank's shirt-it barely looks real, Gerard thinks, it's so vivid and intense that it looks more like someone went overboard with corn syrup and food colouring. "I guess," Frank finally says, uncertainly. "I have to be, right?"

"Yes," Gerard tells him fervently. "You have to be."

Then Bob is kneeling next to him at Frank's side, his hands coming to rest lightly on Frank's shoulders as he stares intently at his face. Gerard can feel how hard Bob is shaking and he doesn't blame him one bit for needing to touch Frank, to prove to himself that he's okay.

"I'm here, Bob, it's okay," Frank says weakly, but doesn't make any move to keep Bob from whatever he's looking for.

"I thought- I thought you-" Bob's voice is thick and he's barely getting the words out.

"I'm not," Frank tells him, quiet but sure.

Gerard can feel Ray hovering behind them, tense and nervous, so he twists around to face him and says, "Hey, where'd you leave the first aid kit?"

"It's still in the kitchen," Ray says, "I'll go get it."

It's only a few minutes before Ray comes back, and he settles on Frank's other side and starts unpacking the first aid kit methodically. "I tried calling 911 but the call wouldn't connect," Ray says, his voice shaky. "We have to figure out how to get out. We need to get you to a doctor as soon as possible."

Frank grunts. "I'm okay," he insists.

Ray lifts one eyebrow skeptically. "You passed out and you're bleeding everywhere. You need stitches."

"But I'm okay now," Frank says stubbornly. He struggles to sit up, and doesn't even try to hide the way he's wincing through the pain. It's like he's daring them to disagree. He finally gets settled in a more-or-less upright position, and then his lip curls up as he looks down at himself, like he's only just seeing all the damage for the first time.

"We need to get you patched up, and then we can get you out of here," Ray says gently, like a peace offering against his earlier suggestion.

"We can't get out," Frank says, and the resignation in his voice breaks Gerard's heart.

"We'll find a way," Ray says firmly. He sits down next to Frank, then peels open a package of gauze and lifts Frank's right arm. "And when we do, I am taking your ass to the hospital."

"So what happened?" Bob asks, cutting Frank off before he can argue with Ray. "I mean, we saw part of it, but I thought you were going to make a sandwich."

"I was," Frank says. "I was on my way when the dog basically-" he breaks off into a round of rattling coughs, and he's wincing in pain even after they subside. "Ambushed me in the hallway and pushed me in here."

"Oh my god," Gerard breathes. His stomach is still all twisted up and tied in knots, and Bob looks similarly rattled. Ray's mouth is set in a tight line as he finishes taping down a bandage around Frank's arm.

"That's fucked up," Bob pronounces. Frank nods, and lifts his arm to inspect Ray's handiwork.

"Yeah," Frank agrees. "I wouldn't believe it except for-" he waves his arm at them, and Gerard can see the speckles of red already seeping through the gauze. He looks away quickly.

"Can I get in there?" Ray asks, standing up. Gerard and Bob move apart to give Ray some space to get at Frank's injured side.

Frank starts taking off his shirt, but grunts in pain and stops before he even gets it halfway up his chest. Ray tsks and reaches carefully for one of the holes in Frank's shirt, sticking his fingers through and taking hold of the fabric to rip it carefully off Frank's body.

Gerard stares down at the floor. He can't look; he doesn't want to see any more of Frank's injuries than he has to.

"I think you missed your calling as a nurse," Frank jokes.

Ray rolls his eyes and looks like he's about to say something when he cuts himself off, flinching visibly as he finally sees the full extent of the damage. "You're going to need a lot of stitches," he says gloomily. "I don't know if I can do anything other than cover it up to keep it clean until then."

"Whatever you can do is fine," Frank tells him. "But can you do it fast? I hate sitting around, I feel like I'm waiting for the dog to come finish the job."

"We won't fucking let it," Bob says darkly. "Nobody's going anywhere alone until we're out of here."

Nobody says anything to that, but Gerard can tell they're thinking the same thing.

"Maybe Mikey will know how to get out of here," Frank offers cautiously, like he's half-expecting them to jump on him for saying it, or for bringing Mikey into it.

"We were actually about to call him," Gerard says.

Frank's relief is visible on his face. "Yeah?"

"If we can get the fucking phone to work," Ray mutters darkly.

"We were going to play him the new song, but I think we need to have a serious talk, too." Gerard can't quite bring himself to meet anyone's eyes as he says it.

"What's going on, Gerard?" Ray asks gently.

"He told me something, right before he left," Gerard says, still looking down at the floor between his feet. "He said something about the house, there's something wrong with it. Like it's out to get us or something. I didn't really believe him, then. And when I talked to him last week, he said-" he breaks off, suddenly too choked up to go on. He looks over at Frank, at the streaks of blood across the lines of the tattoos on his torso, at the determined look on his ashen face. He looks back down at his own hands, rust-red with Frank's blood, and he curls his fingers into fists. "He said something bad was going to happen, and if he was here he could maybe stop it."

"Gerard," Frank starts, reaching out to take Gerard's hand again, but Gerard shakes his head and Frank stops just short.

"I should have said something sooner," Gerard goes on miserably. "Maybe we could have done something, maybe this never would have happened." The guilt is gnawing away at his insides and he still can't look at anyone.

"Gerard," Frank says again. He puts his hand firmly over Gerard's, and this time Gerard lets him.

"You know Frank didn't actually die, right?" Bob points out reasonably.

"But he could have!" Gerard is sure he isn't imagining the way Frank's hand gets tense against his at the words.

"But I didn't," Frank insists, "and that's all that matters. That and getting out. So we're going to go call your brother and see what he has to say, okay?"

"Okay," Gerard agrees sullenly. He sighs. Right now it looks like his choices are that and giving up-and after everything they've gone through, there's no fucking way he's going to give up. When he finally forces himself to look up from the floor, Frank smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

They wait for Ray to finish taping the last layer of gauze over Frank's ribs, and then Bob and Gerard help Frank to his feet. The four of them make their way to the front hall, walking as quickly as they can while half-carrying Frank, watching each others' backs and keeping a lookout for anything strange or untoward the house may be trying to pull on them.

But nothing happens on the way and they make it to the front hall unscathed. It takes a couple minutes to find the phone-Bob ends up spotting it behind a fake potted plant sitting between two weird wooden carvings, which is nowhere near where Ray says it was when he tried to call 911 half an hour earlier. It takes them another minute to figure out where the speakerphone button is, but then they're ready. Gerard crosses all his fingers before he dials, desperate for the call to go through.

When it rings, he almost falls over from the rush of relief.

The phone rings four times before Stacy picks up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Stacy," Gerard says, his mouth suddenly dry. "It's Gerard. Is Mikey there?"

"He is. Are you doing okay, hon? You don't sound too good."

"It's been a hard day," Gerard hedges. It's not a lie, not technically, but he's omitting an awful lot of truth and he doesn't like having to do it. "Talking to Mikey will do some good, I'm sure." And that, at least, is the whole truth and nothing but.

"I'll go get him," Stacy says softly.

The few minutes it takes for Mikey to pick up an extension are maybe the longest in Gerard's life. "Hello?" he asks. He sounds groggy.

"Hey, it's me," Gerard says. "Us, actually, you're on speaker. Did we wake you up?"

"No," Mikey says, and then they can hear him yawn. "I was just dozing."

"Sorry," Ray says.

"So, um," Gerard starts, and then pauses.

"What?" Mikey asks warily.

"Remember how last time I called, you said, uh, you said you thought something might happen?"

"What happened?" Mikey's voice is cold and tight, all traces of sleep gone already, and he sounds truly scared.

"We're all alive," Gerard says to ease into it, and Mikey makes a noise of impatient frustration. "But Frank just had a close call."

Even through the low-quality crackle of the speakerphone, he can hear Mikey's sharp hiss of breath. "What happened." The words are flat, bitten off, like Mikey is barely holding onto himself.

Frank pokes Gerard in the shoulder. "Jesus, stop torturing him." He fills Mikey in as best he can. Gerard can hear the strain of it in his voice and he can see how hard it is for Frank to be holding himself upright, even with the support he's getting from Bob and Ray. They really, really need to get out of the house and get Frank medical attention. He frowns as Frank downplays the extent of his injuries as his summary wraps up.

"And we want to leave, but we kind of can't," Frank sighs as he finishes his story.

"We've all tried," Bob adds.

"I knew this would happen if I left!" Mikey practically shouts.

"You did?" Frank asks, incredulous.

"I knew- I knew-" It sounds like Mikey is hyperventilating; they can hear the rapid, asthmatic wheezes crackling out of the speaker. Gerard wishes he could reach through the phone to rub his back like he used to do when they were kids.

"How?" Bob asks, incredulous.

"I had a feeling when I was there and then I looked into it and it's the house, there's something wrong," Mikey says all in a rush, like he cant get the words out of his mouth fast enough. "It's always trying to drive the people in it crazy, pretty much. Like, it tries to get people to turn on each other, turn on themselves, that kind of thing. It doesn't like to let people go once it's got them." The words are slower by the end, like Mikey's managed to get himself back under control, if only just barely.

"Why didn't you tell us before?" Frank asks plaintively.

"Would you have believed me, then?" Mikey answers Frank with his own question.

"I would have," Frank says immediately, and then he leans too far to one side and almost falls over, but Ray leans in and catches him just in time.

Everyone else is silent.

"You know I'd be making so much fun of you if I hadn't just had all kinds of weird shit actually happen to me, right?" Bob finally says.

"Yeah," Mikey agrees. He sounds so heartbreakingly small and dejected. "And I really wish that wasn't the case. I wish you guys hadn't had to go through that." He heaves a sigh. "I can't help but think I could have stopped it-I should have tried."

"What could you have even done?" Frank asks. Gerard can hear the It's not your fault implicit in the words.

"Can it wait?" Bob cuts in impatiently. "We really need to get out of here before we can have story time."

"I still don't know why we're actually trapped in the house, though," Ray adds.

Mikey sighs again. "I don't know how it's doing it, but as best I can figure, the house won't let you go until it gets what it wants."

"Great," Gerard mutters.

"We'll figure something out," Mikey says. It sounds like a promise.

"I fucking hope so," Frank says, looking pointedly down at his arm. More blood has seeped through the bandages since they've been on the phone, and Gerard looks away quickly.

"We will," Mikey insists.

There's a palpable nervous tension as they fall into silence. Gerard can't stop thinking about all their failed attempts at leaving, wondering how the hell they're ever going to find a way to do it if walking out isn't going to work. Then he thinks about what Mikey said, until it gets what it wants, and he gets an idea.

"Do you think we can, I don't know, trick the house into letting us go?" Gerard wonders out loud.

"That's not the worst idea ever," Frank says, "but how?"

"Mikey said the house wants something from us, right?"

"Right," Mikey confirms.

"So what does the house want from us?" Gerard asks.

"Our sanity?" Ray asks.

Bob snorts. "It won't be much longer, then."

"That's not quite it," Gerard says. It doesn't feel right.

"It already got blood, and lots of it," Frank grumbles.

"Your pain," Mikey says suddenly.

"Hasn't it gotten enough of that already?" Frank asks, waving his arm at the phone even though Mikey can't see it.

But that's not quite it, Gerard thinks-and then it clicks, and fuck, that's it, that makes so much sense. "Not that kind of pain," Gerard announces. "It wants all the dark shit in our heads. It wants to pull it out and let it loose and watch it destroy us."

"So, what?" Bob says. "Are we going to take turns spilling our guts while we wait for a sign from on high?"

"No," Gerard says. "We're going to play."

"What?" Frank asks, incredulous.

"You felt it, right? When we were playing earlier? I know it can't have been just me." Gerard gestures widely, like he's trying to encompass all of them, all their music, all the emotion he felt earlier, in a single movement. "If we can do it again..." He trails off as he looks at their faces. They want to believe him, he can see it, but-

"It can't be that easy, can it?" Ray gives voice to what Gerard knows they've all got to be thinking.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to try, right? If it doesn't work we're still stuck in here, but we'd be stuck anyway."

"Did you write something?" Mikey's voice crackles out of the phone, and, oh, right, there was a reason they were going to call him in the first place.

"Yeah!" Ray says. "We did it today. We were actually going to call you to play you the demo, but then things happened, and..." He looks around at them as he trails off. "Anyway, we have something." He steps over to the little table where his laptop is sitting-he must have left it there when he was waiting for Gerard to get Frank from the kitchen-and pushes a few buttons, then carries it over to set it next to the phone. "I hope this sounds okay," he says.

"Mikey?" Gerard says as Ray finishes setting up.

"Yeah?"

"This song is for you," he offers awkwardly, and then motions for Ray to hit play.

There's a hiss and a pop, and then the music starts. The levels on the recording are all off and it definitely needs a bassline and it's not polished or anything yet, just a single take off the floor, but Gerard can feel the power of it even though it's playing out of crappy little speakers.

They all stand still and silent as they listen to the song playing. Even for a shitty recording it's incredibly moving, and Gerard would be embarrassed by all the raw emotion he hears in his own voice if it weren't for the fact that everybody else seems equally as struck by it as he is.

The silence after the music ends is somehow both very heavy and very light. Nobody moves or says anything, like they're waiting for Mikey to say something first.

"That was... guys, that was unbelievable," he says. The speakerphone does nothing to hide how choked-up he sounds. "You really wrote that today?"

"Really," Frank assures him. "Crazy, right?" Even through the strain in his voice, Gerard can hear how proud he is.

"Yeah," Mikey says. "And I think Gerard is right. With a song like that? That's got to work."

"You sure?" Bob says uncertainly, like he doesn't want to be the one to say it.

"No," Mikey says simply, "but I believe it will."

"You're such a cheeseball sometimes," Frank tells Mikey fondly.

"Like you aren't," Mikey retorts. "So, listen," he says, suddenly dead serious. "Don't hang up. Go back to your instruments and play the song again. Give it everything you have, even more than before, more than you think you have. Remember what the house wants, and focus on that."

"What do we do if it works?" Ray asks nervously. "Like, what about all our gear and the stuff upstairs? We can't just leave it..."

"Brian and Stacy can go and get it all packed up," Mikey says.

"Won't they-" Frank starts.

"They'll be fine," Mikey says. "They won't be in the house nearly long enough for it to be a problem."

"Okay," Bob say firmly. "Let's go."

It's a short walk back to the ballroom but it seems to take forever to Gerard. He's more than a little afraid of the hallways around him; it feels like the walls are leaning to smother him. It feels like all the faces in the portraits are leering at him, mocking him. He can barely bring himself to look up from the floor to make sure he's still surrounded by his band. But soon enough they're standing in front of their set-up, taking deep breaths and bracing themselves for whatever is about to happen-or not happen.

Frank grimaces and hisses through his teeth as he tries to lift his guitar strap over his head, and Ray steps over quickly to help. Frank winces when the guitar first bumps against his chest, and his mouth is set in a tight line as he adjusts the strap. He takes a few deep breaths and then carefully starts running his fingers along the fretboard, like he's feeling out the song, making sure he can still play. He finally nods, satisfied with whatever he's found, but a moment later he's leaning heavily against an amp stack like he can't hold up the added weight of the guitar for more than a few moments. He sighs and waves off Ray and Gerard as they approach to help, and then takes a halting step towards the chair still sitting just off the circle of their instruments.

The relief on Frank's face is crystal clear when he sits down, but then he's frowning again. "This isn't right," he grumbles, gesturing at the chair, himself.

"It's okay," Gerard reassures him. "Whatever it takes, just play."

Frank hesitates a moment but then nods at Gerard, and he shifts around in the chair until he's sitting right at the edge and his elbows are clear of the chair's arms.

It's only a few moments more before they're all in position, and then Bob is counting them in.

Right from the first note out of his mouth, he thinks about Mikey. He thinks about what he said in the heavy room, how he looked when he broke down in practice. The way his long fingers rested so lightly on the Ouija board, the look on his face when he was interrupted. He remembers being so concerned about the way Mikey was skulking around the house, how much he worried and how little sense it made.

He sings so hard he almost chokes on the words as they leave his mouth. It feels like every muscle in his body is tensing and straining like he's trying to add his physical strength to the emotion pouring out.

He thinks about sneaking into Mikey's room and how that horrible discovery was almost worse than not knowing at all. He feels the acrid reek of vodka against the back of his throat, and the cravings he's been so carefully pushing away rush back to assault him all at once. He steels himself and pushes them away again, hard and fierce, stronger than he ever has before.

During his break after the second chorus, he plants his feet to steady himself and he looks at his bandmates-his brothers-each in turn. Ray is bent over his guitar, his legs stretched wide in a low stance as he shreds the solo for all he's worth. Bob is flushed and sweaty and his arms are a total blur as he drums hard, throwing his whole body into it. Frank looks pale and clammy, his face tight-he's clearly fighting through the pain to keep playing, struggling to stay upright. But he's playing, they all are, and when Gerard starts singing again it's like the words are lifted straight out of his gut to carry up and on further than they ever have before.

He thinks about the dreams he's been having, remembers the dead staring faces and the scorching heat. He remembers Bob's face when he finally admitted that the house was freaking him out, and how shaky and pale Ray was when they got him out of the locked room. He remembers the sight of blood, so much blood, and the fear in Frank's eyes when he was facing down the dog.

If he thought the song had been intense before, it's nothing compared to how it feels now. The power in their earlier rehearsals is like the flicker of a candle compared to the fire raging in them now, crackling and burning in every note. Gerard isn't sure if he's imagining the sudden heat in the room or if it's real, but he's sweating all over, breathing hard.

He can see the swimming pool like a perfect photograph in the front of his mind, its surface rippling gently and reflecting the moonlight, and he remembers the siren song of its pull and the heat of his need to breathe in its water. He sees all the faces he saw in the mirror, young and old and sick, and he can almost feel the bite of shards from the mirror that blew up in his face.

The weight of it all-all the fear, the doubt, the terror, the self-loathing, the despair, everything that's been building ever since they got into this godforsaken house-is suddenly unbearably heavy, and just like that the floodgates open and all the hurt and the shit breaks over him like a tidal wave, ripping through him and leaving him raw. He sees it all, feels it all, knows it all deep inside, and he lets it all go.

There's an electricity around them now, and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck is standing up almost straight. It feels like sparks thrumming through his veins, his flesh, his brain. He feels the music on his skin, and something else too all of a sudden-there's a profound coldness breathing down his collar, settling in his fingers and toes.

The ballroom is always cold but it's never been such a bone-deep chill. It's a sharp, horrible contrast to the heat he was feeling just a minute earlier. His sweat freezes against his skin, sudden searing pinpricks that threaten to distract him from his focus. The chill creeps into his torso and he feels the sharp bite of real fear when he realizes how close it is to his lungs, his heart. The cold is searing, agonizing. It's all he can do to keep singing to push through it. He cuts a glance sideways and it seems like everyone else is fighting against the cold too, and oh fuck, this is going terribly, horribly, awfully wrong and they're all fucked. It's taking all he's got left to simply breathe, let alone get the air out to sing. But he keeps pushing because he has to. He's not giving up, not now and not ever, and the breath it takes to sing the final chorus is like ice in his lungs.

Nothing you can say can stop me going home.

He feels lighter now than he has in a very long time, in body and spirit both, and there's a tiny spark in his chest that's growing bigger and bigger with every breath, with every heartbeat.

And then the cold is gone, just like that, disappearing along with the last notes of the song.

He realizes that he's crying-they all are. They're four matching faces, tear-streaked and puffy-eyed and red, determined and unyielding. Seeing them all standing there, alive and fighting, feels like the greatest thing that's ever happened to him.

"Did you guys all feel that?" Ray asks, flexing his hands as he looks down at them like he's marveling that they still work.

"Yeah," Bob says, and frowns thoughtfully as he rolls his shoulders.

"Do you-" Frank starts, then stops. He's struggling to get his guitar off, but then stops, detaches the strap from the end of his guitar and lets the strap slide off his shoulder. He puts his guitar down on the floor and turns to face them all, making eye contact with them one at a time. "I'm leaving," he announces. "I don't know what just happened or what the hell that was, but I know that we beat it and I really think we need to get out now."

Gerard doesn't know what kind of sign he was expecting to tell them that they're free to go, but maybe this warm triumph he's feeling is exactly what he needs to break out of the house. "Let's go," he says, and the spark in his chest flares to life, filling him with warmth from head to toe.

Bob helps Frank to his feet and the four of them walk across the ballroom, not in a nebulous group like they'd taken to doing but in a single-file line, following Gerard. Gerard turns to look at the painting of Daisy as they pass, and her canvas form has moved again: it looks like she's waving goodbye. That's got to be my sign, he thinks in a giddy rush, and he holds his head a little higher as they leave the room.

When they reach the front hall, Gerard glances over at the phone. The little speakerphone light is still lit, and he's about to say something to Mikey when Frank shouts, "We're getting the fuck out!"

"Go," Mikey urges, and then there's a click. They leave the dial tone behind as Gerard leads them out the front door.

He almost hesitates on the front step, suddenly bombarded by memories of Mikey leaving and of their ill-fated previous attempt to escape. But he pushes the memories aside and he carries on. He takes a deep breath and glances back at Ray, Frank, and Bob, and then walks purposefully down the front walk and down the driveway.

And then they're lined up in front of the gate, staring it down very much the way they did the last time they tried to leave. But no, it's different now. They've got a sense of purpose they lacked before, and Gerard, at least, is feeling this strange inner calm that's been growing ever since he stepped out the front door.

It's the moment of truth. Somebody has to push the button and open the gate, or not.

"We ready?" Gerard asks.

Everybody nods.

"Who should do it?" Gerard turns to look at them as they stand there. Ray and Bob are holding Frank steady on his feet and they're all tense, like they're ready to fight or run.

"You should," Frank tells him, his voice unexpectedly strong. "It's your plan." He sounds proud as he says it, like all his belief in Gerard has already been validated. Ray and Bob both nod their agreement.

"Okay," Gerard says. He takes the last few steps to the little booth standing at the edge of the drive and takes a steadying breath, and then another. "Here goes nothing," he says, and reaches out and presses the button firmly.

Nothing happens right away, and his heart sinks. He turns back to them, ready to face their disappointment.

And then the gate swings open silently.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"Run!" Ray shouts, and they all make a break for it.

Gerard's heart is beating hard in his throat as they cross the threshold of the gate and spill onto the street. They come to a stop in the middle of the road, wide-eyed and gaping, reeling from the sudden rush of escape.

And then Frank throws his arms around Gerard and hugs, gasping, "We did it, we did it, we did it," into his chest. He clings tight as he collapses into Gerard, unable to hold himself up any longer. Gerard takes a step back as he catches Frank's weight but he doesn't let go. He holds on for all he's worth, trying to be mindful of Frank's injuries and not accidentally touching anything that would hurt him.

He looks up and sees that Bob has an unnaturally huge grin on his face and Ray just looks dazed, staring down the hill at the lights and blinking like he can't believe what he's seeing.

A car honks at them as it rounds the corner and catches them in its headlights, and they're all jolted out of their dazes to scramble out of its way. They watch it go and then turn to face each other, and a heartbeat later they're all hugging, all four of them a tangle of bodies and arms and hair and warm breath. Gerard sniffs, trying to hold back the tears of relief that are threatening to break free, and Ray squeezes his shoulder and smiles at him, his own eyes wet at the corners.

"I already feel like I just dreamed everything," Bob says as he pulls back a little to stare at the Paramour's roof, which rises ominously over the fence and trees ringing the property in.

Ray nods. "But we didn't. It happened."

"And I'll have the sick scars to prove it," Frank says, sounding a little too gleeful about it for Gerard's liking.

"We should call Mikey back," Gerard says. "Fuck, did someone bring their cell?" He pats himself down but he knows he doesn't have his with him.

"I've got mine," Ray says as he digs it out of his pocket. He thumbs through his contacts and hits send, then pushes another button. The sound of the phone ringing crackles out of the tiny speaker of Ray's cell.

"Hello?" Mikey picks up after a ring and a half. "Guys? Please tell me you're out."

"We're out," Ray tells him, and there's no mistaking Mikey's sigh of relief as it comes through the phone.

"Thank fuck!" He's all choked up like he's been crying, but the relief in his voice is clear. "I called an ambulance for Frank, it should be there any minute."

"Good," Ray says, and Frank sags in relief.

"Hey, Mikey? How did you get out, anyway?" Gerard asks him suddenly. He was so caught up in the immediacy of their problems and their total inability to leave the house that it hadn't occurred to him at all until this very moment to wonder how Mikey had managed to leave.

"Well, I hadn't been in the house as long as you guys were," Mikey says. "And I had Daisy helping me."

"Isn't she dead?" Ray asks, confused.

"What, her ghost let you out?" Frank sounds skeptical.

"More or less," Mikey says. He sounds like he doesn't expect them to believe it, and Gerard wishes they could go back in time to a point where they'd all just laugh instead of taking him seriously without a second thought.

"I feel like I'm missing something obvious," Ray sighs. "What the fuck is wrong the house?"

"I've been trying to figure that out," Mikey says. "I don't know the whole story, but I've got a pretty good idea."

"You're going to tell us, right?" Frank asks.

The line goes quiet except for the noise of some papers getting shuffled around on Mikey's end.

"So as best I can figure out," Mikey finally says, "there's something wrong with the house itself, it's not really a haunting thing."

They all turn as one to look at the house. Gerard bites back a gasp as one of the lit-up windows suddenly goes dark.

"What is it?" Frank asks when he realizes that Mikey didn't finish the thought.

"Dunno," Mikey says. Gerard can practically hear the shrug. "The couple who had this house built, I think the guy was crazy and that might have something to do with it." There's something in Mikey's voice when he says crazy, but it's there and gone so fast Gerard can't pin it down.

"Oh, great," Bob mutters under his breath.

"There were a lot of rumours that he killed his wife, and guess what, they're true." Mikey sounds kind of disgusted.

"What?" Bob spits. "That's terrible."

"He apparently..." Mikey stops, clears his throat. "He beat her to death and then covered it up by putting her in her car and sending it over a cliff." His voice gets more and more faint as he goes on, and the last few words are barely choked out. "She's buried in the backyard, and her ghost is trapped in the house. Where she died."

"I thought you said it wasn't a haunted house?" Frank says. Gerard glances over at where Frank is leaning against Bob, and it looks like he's starting to get some of his colour back-not a lot, but some. Gerard can't help but think that it's because they're free of the house.

"She was never the problem," Mikey sighs.

"Was the guy's name Antonio?" Ray asks, and there's something in his voice that makes Gerard turn to look at him. Ray looks pale and sort of stricken, and he's picking at the cuff of his hoodie nervously.

"Yeah," Mikey affirms nervously. "Why?"

Ray's hand curls into a white-knuckled fist. "That's what I heard," he says. "It's got to be. Oh my god."

"What happened?" Mikey asks.

"When I was stuck in the room, before you guys got there, they were- the ghosts were talking, and the woman called the man Antonio."

"Wait, what?" Mikey asks urgently.

Ray quickly recounts what had happened in the locked room, and Mikey sucks in a breath when Ray is done. "Anything happen to anyone else?" He sounds really upset, like he's making himself ask because he has to know and not because he wants to.

"Yeah," Bob says, then clears his throat. "Something tried to kill me in the shower."

There's quiet for a moment, and then Mikey says, "That's very Psycho."

"That's what your brother said," Bob says, shaking his head.

"I bet," Mikey says. "Gerard? What about you?"

"Not like them," Gerard shakes his head. "I was having real awful nightmares, but nothing was out for my blood." But then he remembers the night he walked out to the swimming pool, gets a flash of the deep longing he'd felt to have the water close over his head and fill his lungs, and he starts to wonder if maybe that's not true, after all.

Ray shoots him a look like he knows exactly what Gerard is thinking, and Gerard shrugs at him in return.

"You said before that you could have done something," Frank says, obviously trying to change the subject.

"There are a few things," Mikey says cheerlessly. "I mean, things were okay when I was still in the house, right? I found ways to communicate with Daisy's ghost-she wants to help people, save them from having her fate, I guess." He pauses for a moment. "Okay, this is going to sound totally crazy, but I swear it's true."

"I'm pretty sure at this point that nothing is going to be any more unbelievable than what's already happened," Gerard tells him.

"Point," Mikey notes dryly. "Okay, so Daisy-her ghost-she wanted to help us. So I guess I was... channeling her protection? I don't know how else to describe it."

"Was that what you were doing when I saw you with your Ouija board?" Gerard asks, the pieces suddenly coming together for the first time.

"Yeah," Mikey says. "I'm still sorry about what happened, by the way."

What happened? Frank mouths at Gerard, who ignores it. He can't even think about that yet, not right now.

"Who knew your obsession with that stuff would ever come in useful, huh?" Ray says lightly, and Bob makes a sound that's half-grunt, half-chuckle.

"I did," Mikey says primly. "So yeah, when I was there I was a focus for her help, so nothing really bad could happen. But after I left..." He trails off, and Gerard is sure he's thinking about what they told him. He just wishes Daisy's protection had extended to Mikey's troubles, too, but maybe that wasn't something she could have helped. "Well, you guys know what happened. The house was trying to feed off your fear, pretty much." Mikey is quiet for a few moments, and then he says, "Did anybody- god, I hate to even ask this, but did anyone... attack anyone else?"

"Not physically," Bob says carefully. The look on his face says he remembers exactly what they all said to each other the night they fought, and he looks like he thinks that maybe they would have been better off if they had actually hit each other instead.

There's silence after that as they all mull it over, try to digest what Mikey said. It all rings so true; Gerard doesn't doubt any of it, especially not when Mikey sounds so sure.

Mikey clears his throat. "But you guys are out now and okay?" It shouldn't be a question but it comes out as one anyway. Gerard thinks it sounds like Mikey really needs the reassurance, like he'd never forgive himself if it were anything less than completely true.

"We are," he says as emphatically as he can.

"Okay," Mikey says, a little reluctantly.

"We are," Gerard says again, and Frank and Bob chime in their agreement. "Hey, can you tell Stacy we're going to need somewhere new to stay?"

"Can do." And Mikey sounds better now. Maybe not all the way, but he's getting there. "I can do that now. But don't hang up, okay? Just... stay on the line a while. Please."

"We can definitely do that," Gerard promises.

"Thanks," Mikey breathes.

A flicker of movement catches Gerard's eye, and he looks over and realizes that the gate has already closed behind them.

"I hear a siren," Bob says, and sure enough Gerard hears it too, getting louder and louder as it approaches. It's not much longer before he sees the flash of red-and-blue lights cutting through the dark as the ambulance starts to drive up the hill towards them.

They stand together to wait, bleeding and exhausted but holding each other up. The ambulance finally pulls up in front of them, and in the moments of silence between bursts of frantic noise as the paramedics get Frank on a gurney, Gerard can hear it like a heartbeat:

Not broken.

Not beaten.

They're alive.