Return To Sender
012: The End.
An article from the Englewood Evening Star, entitled "Suspect in Local Murders Found in Atlantic City."
Local teenager Michael Way, a suspect in the murders of his brother Gerard Way and gardener Juan Hernandez, has been located after a search of four days.
Michael's body was found on a beach just outside of Atlantic City by a passerby at approximately eight o'clock this morning. The passerby, who wished to remain anonymous, was walking their dog when they found Michael lying face down in the sand, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a wound to the stomach.
Police also made a gruesome discovery at the scene; that of a garbage bag containing the dismembered body of a unidentified man, who was "recently killed" according to a police officer who also wished to remain anonymous.
Michael is currently in protective custody at an undisclosed hospital in the Atlantic City area. Police Chief Eric Roberts said that "his injuries are not life threatening, but he has not yet regained consciousness."
Michael is also currently suspected in the murder of a Cherry Hill resident, Geoffrey Parish, who was found two days ago in the office of the motel he owned with his throat slashed...
***
A patient file from the Ashcliff Psychiatric Institute.
Case Number: 456098
Patient Name: Michael James Way
Date Committed: November 19th
Patient is to be held at the facility indefinitely, under orders of a judge. Has been charged with and convicted of four murders in the New Jersey area, but deemed not criminally responsible by reason of insanity. Transferred from New Jersey State Prison of Trenton. Was quiet in prison but showed sudden streaks of violence, resulting in the hospitalization of a fellow inmate who tried to sexually assault him. Was in solitary confinement for last two months before being transferred to Ashcliff.
Patient has showed no signs of violence since being committed. He is polite to the orderlies but as of yet, has had no contact with other patients, pending approval from Dr. Wickenheiser to be moved to a lower security wing.
Patient spends most of his days "waiting for Frank to come back." He has told myself and other doctors that Frank is the one who committed the murders, that he is his former lover. He says that it is only a matter of time before Frank comes back to visit him. Patient is delusional and often wakes in the middle of the night from vivid nightmares. Patient also occasionally bites himself to the point of bleeding, which has led to numerous straitjacket applications.
Patient has a panel review on the first of January to determine if he is fit to move out of solitary confinement and into the level four wing.
***
The moon was shining in through the envelope sized window in Mikey's cell. There was absolute silence surrounding him, suffocating him. When he swallowed, it seemed to echo throughout the room. His back was against the padded wall, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes wide like a frightened animal.
Tonight was the night. He could feel it in his bones that tonight was the night Frank would return for him. The hair on his arms was standing up underneath his ugly white shirt made of some synthetic material. The room was cold, colder than usual.
He knew that Frank had a reason for disappearing. After all, he'd stabbed him, he'd wanted to be free. It was only right that Frank would abandon him, let him take the fall for all those men Frank had killed. He told the judge, the lawyers, anyone who would listen, that Frank had been the one who'd did it and every time, they looked at him with some odd emotion in their eyes. They looked at him with pity and he could only assume that it was because they knew he was innocent. Even when the judge said that he was deemed "not criminally responsible due to insanity," he knew it was only to appease those fanatics who thought he was a murderer. He wasn't a murderer, Frank was, but Frank made him do bad things.
It had been Frank who had told him to kill the man in prison while the trial was going on. Mikey has been having a shower, minding his own business, when someone had come up behind him and laid their hand on his stomach. Their hand had been hairy, with greasy yellow fingernails that pressed into his flesh.
"Hold still, small fry," they'd grunted and that was when he heard Frank, speaking as clearly as if he'd been standing right beside Mikey.
"Rip his fucking throat out." Mikey didn't remember anything after that until the guards were pulling him off of the much larger man. Blood was pouring from one of his eyes and deep gouge marks criss-crossed his throat. When Mikey looked around as he was being dragged away, Frank was nowhere to be seen.
The door of his cell was creaking open. Mikey stood up, in the patch of light from the moon, his pale skin and white clothes nearly blending in with the walls. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his hands were shaking, he was covered in beads of sweat.
When Frank slid in, a dark shadow, everything stopped. Time itself stopped. Mikey's heart stopped. Frank was grinning, hair dangling down in front of his eyes. His jeans were torn and his t-shirt was filled with holes, through which his skin was visible. As he stepped closer, Mikey saw that one of his bottom teeth was missing.
"Hello Mikey," he said, voice more of a hiss then anything. "Did you miss me?"
"Yes," Mikey whispered, the word catching in his dry mouth. "I knew you'd come back for me."
"Of course I would," Frank said, giggling. He reached out and ran his hand down Mikey's cheek, leaving a faint trail of dirt on his immaculately clean skin. "I'd never leave you behind Mikey. But I had to wait until the timing was right to come save you." With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a scalpel, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Holding Mikey's wrist, he traced it across his skin, drawing a small red line.
"Where are we going?" Mikey asked as Frank took his other hand, looking up at him with those loose eyes Mikey always hated.
"Mikey, we're going home." He giggled again and leaned up, lips pressing against the corner of Mikey's mouth.
"We're going somewhere where I exist."
From wrist to wrist to neck, the scalpel slices through layers of tissue paper skin, exposing major arteries. Blood drips onto the white floor, staining it like an artist's canvas. Mikey gurgles and clutches his throat, sinking down the wall and leaving a streak of blood behind him.
It's only then when he realizes that he's truly alone.
Local teenager Michael Way, a suspect in the murders of his brother Gerard Way and gardener Juan Hernandez, has been located after a search of four days.
Michael's body was found on a beach just outside of Atlantic City by a passerby at approximately eight o'clock this morning. The passerby, who wished to remain anonymous, was walking their dog when they found Michael lying face down in the sand, unconscious and bleeding profusely from a wound to the stomach.
Police also made a gruesome discovery at the scene; that of a garbage bag containing the dismembered body of a unidentified man, who was "recently killed" according to a police officer who also wished to remain anonymous.
Michael is currently in protective custody at an undisclosed hospital in the Atlantic City area. Police Chief Eric Roberts said that "his injuries are not life threatening, but he has not yet regained consciousness."
Michael is also currently suspected in the murder of a Cherry Hill resident, Geoffrey Parish, who was found two days ago in the office of the motel he owned with his throat slashed...
***
A patient file from the Ashcliff Psychiatric Institute.
Case Number: 456098
Patient Name: Michael James Way
Date Committed: November 19th
Patient is to be held at the facility indefinitely, under orders of a judge. Has been charged with and convicted of four murders in the New Jersey area, but deemed not criminally responsible by reason of insanity. Transferred from New Jersey State Prison of Trenton. Was quiet in prison but showed sudden streaks of violence, resulting in the hospitalization of a fellow inmate who tried to sexually assault him. Was in solitary confinement for last two months before being transferred to Ashcliff.
Patient has showed no signs of violence since being committed. He is polite to the orderlies but as of yet, has had no contact with other patients, pending approval from Dr. Wickenheiser to be moved to a lower security wing.
Patient spends most of his days "waiting for Frank to come back." He has told myself and other doctors that Frank is the one who committed the murders, that he is his former lover. He says that it is only a matter of time before Frank comes back to visit him. Patient is delusional and often wakes in the middle of the night from vivid nightmares. Patient also occasionally bites himself to the point of bleeding, which has led to numerous straitjacket applications.
Patient has a panel review on the first of January to determine if he is fit to move out of solitary confinement and into the level four wing.
***
The moon was shining in through the envelope sized window in Mikey's cell. There was absolute silence surrounding him, suffocating him. When he swallowed, it seemed to echo throughout the room. His back was against the padded wall, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes wide like a frightened animal.
Tonight was the night. He could feel it in his bones that tonight was the night Frank would return for him. The hair on his arms was standing up underneath his ugly white shirt made of some synthetic material. The room was cold, colder than usual.
He knew that Frank had a reason for disappearing. After all, he'd stabbed him, he'd wanted to be free. It was only right that Frank would abandon him, let him take the fall for all those men Frank had killed. He told the judge, the lawyers, anyone who would listen, that Frank had been the one who'd did it and every time, they looked at him with some odd emotion in their eyes. They looked at him with pity and he could only assume that it was because they knew he was innocent. Even when the judge said that he was deemed "not criminally responsible due to insanity," he knew it was only to appease those fanatics who thought he was a murderer. He wasn't a murderer, Frank was, but Frank made him do bad things.
It had been Frank who had told him to kill the man in prison while the trial was going on. Mikey has been having a shower, minding his own business, when someone had come up behind him and laid their hand on his stomach. Their hand had been hairy, with greasy yellow fingernails that pressed into his flesh.
"Hold still, small fry," they'd grunted and that was when he heard Frank, speaking as clearly as if he'd been standing right beside Mikey.
"Rip his fucking throat out." Mikey didn't remember anything after that until the guards were pulling him off of the much larger man. Blood was pouring from one of his eyes and deep gouge marks criss-crossed his throat. When Mikey looked around as he was being dragged away, Frank was nowhere to be seen.
The door of his cell was creaking open. Mikey stood up, in the patch of light from the moon, his pale skin and white clothes nearly blending in with the walls. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, his hands were shaking, he was covered in beads of sweat.
When Frank slid in, a dark shadow, everything stopped. Time itself stopped. Mikey's heart stopped. Frank was grinning, hair dangling down in front of his eyes. His jeans were torn and his t-shirt was filled with holes, through which his skin was visible. As he stepped closer, Mikey saw that one of his bottom teeth was missing.
"Hello Mikey," he said, voice more of a hiss then anything. "Did you miss me?"
"Yes," Mikey whispered, the word catching in his dry mouth. "I knew you'd come back for me."
"Of course I would," Frank said, giggling. He reached out and ran his hand down Mikey's cheek, leaving a faint trail of dirt on his immaculately clean skin. "I'd never leave you behind Mikey. But I had to wait until the timing was right to come save you." With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a scalpel, the blade glinting in the moonlight. Holding Mikey's wrist, he traced it across his skin, drawing a small red line.
"Where are we going?" Mikey asked as Frank took his other hand, looking up at him with those loose eyes Mikey always hated.
"Mikey, we're going home." He giggled again and leaned up, lips pressing against the corner of Mikey's mouth.
"We're going somewhere where I exist."
From wrist to wrist to neck, the scalpel slices through layers of tissue paper skin, exposing major arteries. Blood drips onto the white floor, staining it like an artist's canvas. Mikey gurgles and clutches his throat, sinking down the wall and leaving a streak of blood behind him.
It's only then when he realizes that he's truly alone.
♠ ♠ ♠
The ending is up to you to interpret, but, if you'd like to hear how I interpret it, feel free to message me.So, this is the end of Return to Sender. I hope you enjoyed the ride and I can't believe it's actually over. This is one of my favorite stories I've written and I hope you liked it. Thank you to all who've subscribed, read and commented, it means a lot. <3 I do have one last thing to ask; if you haven't commented so far, would you be kind enough to drop a line saying how you liked it?
I love you all. xo.