Return To Sender
009.
They leave the hotel at three o'clock in the morning, with the moon high in the sky and Band-Aids plastered to the cuts on Mikey's fingers. Frank is whistling and twirling the keys to the hotel owner's crappy Honda, showing no sign of agitation that he was adding on to their now substantial list of crimes. He hands the keys to Mikey and motions for him to start the car while he stored their minimal luggage, including the radio Frank had librated, in the trunk.
There was some kind of liquid on the keys and he wipes them on his bandages, not noticing that they were stained with red.
The roads were almost empty and they drove in silence. Mikey tried turning on the radio to kill the quiet but Frank slapped his hand away and that was the end of that. There appeared to be no set destination; the sun came up and still Frank drove, so far that Mikey was sure they couldn't be in New Jersey anymore. Eventually he falls asleep, waking up only when he feels the car slow to a stop. The sun is going down and he looks around frantically, trying to figure out where the fuck they are.
"Frank, what is this?" he asks, gazing up at the neon signs around them, at the whores visible in alcoves. "Are we in New York City?"
"Close, Atlantic actually," he replies, grin on his face and cigarette hanging from his lips.
"What the hell Frank?" Mikey asks, too busy taking in all the noise and lights to yell. "That's in the south of Jersey, you said we were going north."
"Well I changed my mind," Frank abruptly snaps, tossing his smoke out the window and accelerating through the green light. "Why does it fucking matter where we go?" Mikey winces and scoots towards the door, tilting his head against the glass. When he'd first met Frank, everything in his life had seemed almost perfectly lined up, like he'd been wanting since he'd first realized the insignificance of his existence.
But now, they were fucking criminals on the run from the law for murder. If they were ever caught, it was the death penalty for sure. Even if it'd been Frank that had physically committed the murder, Mikey knew he could get life for aiding and abetting. But was he supposed to do? He was more afraid of what would happen to his life without Frank than of what would happen if they were caught. He'd go back to being a invertebrate, missing his backbone, a zombie. He couldn't do that; now that he knew what living felt like, he refused to get rid of it.
"Where are we gonna go?" he asks softly, reaching out and laying a hand on Frank's shoulder. Frank grins again and takes one hand off the steering wheel and brings Mikey's to his mouth, laying a kiss on it that would have made a woman swoon.
"Wherever you want," he murmurs, giving Mikey a brief look that is almost enough to make Mikey jump across the seat and straddle him.
"Don't worry, your chance for that will come later," he answers to Mikey's unspoken wants, sending him a wink and returning his eyes to the road. There's a peculiar warm sensation spreading through his body and Mikey leans back in his seat, giggling like a little girl.
The moment is almost enough for him to forget that the man in the seat beside him is a murderer.
Almost.
***
They drive to the outskirts of the city, Frank's eyes darting back and forth as he looks for a good spot to dump the car. Eventually they find a rest area that is situated on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and they remove their two backpacks from the trunk and shove it over the edge, hearing but not seeing the splash as it hits the water.
"So, what now?" Mikey asks, staring down into the abyss, trying to imagine the vehicle slowly sinking underwater. Frank's hands, covered with the blood of at least two people, are warm on his hips and he feels his body loosen up, nearly making him collapse to the ground in a heap. He can feel lips kissing his neck while those hands start ghosting along his skin, effectively answering his question.
"I wanna go down to the beach," Frank murmurs, fingers removing Mikey's belt and tossing it to the ground.
"Then take me there."
The only light comes from the moon overhead but that's enough for Frank as he leads Mikey down a path a hundred feet down the road, avoiding rocks and tree roots like he's lived there all his life. By the time they get to the bottom, Mikey's pants are almost falling down and all he wants to do is let Frank have his way with him. As soon as the cold dirt beneath their shoes turns to sand, they hit the ground, already tearing each other's clothing off. Frank's nails dig into his back and he responds by biting his lip hard enough to fill both their mouths with blood.
They're completely alone, with only the ocean watching as they become one.
***
Mikey doesn't know how long they've been lying there in the sand, looking out at the water, but the sky is just beginning to lighten on the horizon and the moon has almost disappeared. They can hear a seagull up on the cliff, yelling for food. The ocean caresses their toes soothingly and Mikey sighs contently, biting Frank's ear lobe gently.
"We should probably get dressed soon," he murmurs and Frank rolls on top of him, nuzzling their noses together.
"Why? Wouldn't it be funny to see the look on people's faces?" Mikey glares and Frank stands up, brushing sand off his back. He walks into the ocean up to his waist and ducks his head under, removing grime from his hair. By the time they get their bodies dried and back into their clothes, the sun is up and a few early morning commuters are driving by, paying no attention to them as they walk hand in hand down the road, hair still damp.
"Why don't we go to Canada?" Mikey asks, giggling as Frank flips off a woman in a obscenely red convertible. "We could hide out up there someplace."
"We wouldn't get past the border," Frank replies before screaming curse words at a tractor trailer. "We'd be better off trying to get to Mexico. It doesn't snow there." Without any warning, he stops and grabs Mikey's wrist, twirling him around so they're face to face.
"Do you love me?" he whispers urgently, bruising Mikey's skin with his fingers.
"Yes."
"You don't have a clue what love is. But I love you too." Another car approaches but this time, Frank releases Mikey's wrists and sticks his thumb out, a symbol known all over the world. The vehicle, a Toyota with peeling mauve paint, pulls over and the driver sticks his head out the window, grinning despite the unreasonable hour.
"Where you two headed?" He takes a sip from a travel mug and the scent of coffee wafts out into the air.
"Oh, just into the city," Frank answers, gesturing vaguely in the direction they'd came the night before.
"Well, you're in luck, I work there. Hop in!" Both of them clamber into the back seat, Mikey feeling slightly uneasy. He has no idea what the hell Frank is planning but a feeling deep in his gut tells him that something very bad is about to happen. They ride in silence for a few moments until the driver finishes his coffee and glances back in the rear view mirror, grin still present.
"Did you two hear about that motel owner upstate? They found him with his throat slashed, the letter opener still in his neck. Gross eh?" He snorts and picks up his mug before remembering it's empty and settles on tossing it onto the passenger seat. That feeling in Mikey's stomach has infiltrated his throat and he's afraid he'll vomit all over the interior. Beside him, Frank smirks, already engaged in conversation.
Mikey looks down at his now wilting bandages and they're covered in blood.
There was some kind of liquid on the keys and he wipes them on his bandages, not noticing that they were stained with red.
The roads were almost empty and they drove in silence. Mikey tried turning on the radio to kill the quiet but Frank slapped his hand away and that was the end of that. There appeared to be no set destination; the sun came up and still Frank drove, so far that Mikey was sure they couldn't be in New Jersey anymore. Eventually he falls asleep, waking up only when he feels the car slow to a stop. The sun is going down and he looks around frantically, trying to figure out where the fuck they are.
"Frank, what is this?" he asks, gazing up at the neon signs around them, at the whores visible in alcoves. "Are we in New York City?"
"Close, Atlantic actually," he replies, grin on his face and cigarette hanging from his lips.
"What the hell Frank?" Mikey asks, too busy taking in all the noise and lights to yell. "That's in the south of Jersey, you said we were going north."
"Well I changed my mind," Frank abruptly snaps, tossing his smoke out the window and accelerating through the green light. "Why does it fucking matter where we go?" Mikey winces and scoots towards the door, tilting his head against the glass. When he'd first met Frank, everything in his life had seemed almost perfectly lined up, like he'd been wanting since he'd first realized the insignificance of his existence.
But now, they were fucking criminals on the run from the law for murder. If they were ever caught, it was the death penalty for sure. Even if it'd been Frank that had physically committed the murder, Mikey knew he could get life for aiding and abetting. But was he supposed to do? He was more afraid of what would happen to his life without Frank than of what would happen if they were caught. He'd go back to being a invertebrate, missing his backbone, a zombie. He couldn't do that; now that he knew what living felt like, he refused to get rid of it.
"Where are we gonna go?" he asks softly, reaching out and laying a hand on Frank's shoulder. Frank grins again and takes one hand off the steering wheel and brings Mikey's to his mouth, laying a kiss on it that would have made a woman swoon.
"Wherever you want," he murmurs, giving Mikey a brief look that is almost enough to make Mikey jump across the seat and straddle him.
"Don't worry, your chance for that will come later," he answers to Mikey's unspoken wants, sending him a wink and returning his eyes to the road. There's a peculiar warm sensation spreading through his body and Mikey leans back in his seat, giggling like a little girl.
The moment is almost enough for him to forget that the man in the seat beside him is a murderer.
Almost.
***
They drive to the outskirts of the city, Frank's eyes darting back and forth as he looks for a good spot to dump the car. Eventually they find a rest area that is situated on a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and they remove their two backpacks from the trunk and shove it over the edge, hearing but not seeing the splash as it hits the water.
"So, what now?" Mikey asks, staring down into the abyss, trying to imagine the vehicle slowly sinking underwater. Frank's hands, covered with the blood of at least two people, are warm on his hips and he feels his body loosen up, nearly making him collapse to the ground in a heap. He can feel lips kissing his neck while those hands start ghosting along his skin, effectively answering his question.
"I wanna go down to the beach," Frank murmurs, fingers removing Mikey's belt and tossing it to the ground.
"Then take me there."
The only light comes from the moon overhead but that's enough for Frank as he leads Mikey down a path a hundred feet down the road, avoiding rocks and tree roots like he's lived there all his life. By the time they get to the bottom, Mikey's pants are almost falling down and all he wants to do is let Frank have his way with him. As soon as the cold dirt beneath their shoes turns to sand, they hit the ground, already tearing each other's clothing off. Frank's nails dig into his back and he responds by biting his lip hard enough to fill both their mouths with blood.
They're completely alone, with only the ocean watching as they become one.
***
Mikey doesn't know how long they've been lying there in the sand, looking out at the water, but the sky is just beginning to lighten on the horizon and the moon has almost disappeared. They can hear a seagull up on the cliff, yelling for food. The ocean caresses their toes soothingly and Mikey sighs contently, biting Frank's ear lobe gently.
"We should probably get dressed soon," he murmurs and Frank rolls on top of him, nuzzling their noses together.
"Why? Wouldn't it be funny to see the look on people's faces?" Mikey glares and Frank stands up, brushing sand off his back. He walks into the ocean up to his waist and ducks his head under, removing grime from his hair. By the time they get their bodies dried and back into their clothes, the sun is up and a few early morning commuters are driving by, paying no attention to them as they walk hand in hand down the road, hair still damp.
"Why don't we go to Canada?" Mikey asks, giggling as Frank flips off a woman in a obscenely red convertible. "We could hide out up there someplace."
"We wouldn't get past the border," Frank replies before screaming curse words at a tractor trailer. "We'd be better off trying to get to Mexico. It doesn't snow there." Without any warning, he stops and grabs Mikey's wrist, twirling him around so they're face to face.
"Do you love me?" he whispers urgently, bruising Mikey's skin with his fingers.
"Yes."
"You don't have a clue what love is. But I love you too." Another car approaches but this time, Frank releases Mikey's wrists and sticks his thumb out, a symbol known all over the world. The vehicle, a Toyota with peeling mauve paint, pulls over and the driver sticks his head out the window, grinning despite the unreasonable hour.
"Where you two headed?" He takes a sip from a travel mug and the scent of coffee wafts out into the air.
"Oh, just into the city," Frank answers, gesturing vaguely in the direction they'd came the night before.
"Well, you're in luck, I work there. Hop in!" Both of them clamber into the back seat, Mikey feeling slightly uneasy. He has no idea what the hell Frank is planning but a feeling deep in his gut tells him that something very bad is about to happen. They ride in silence for a few moments until the driver finishes his coffee and glances back in the rear view mirror, grin still present.
"Did you two hear about that motel owner upstate? They found him with his throat slashed, the letter opener still in his neck. Gross eh?" He snorts and picks up his mug before remembering it's empty and settles on tossing it onto the passenger seat. That feeling in Mikey's stomach has infiltrated his throat and he's afraid he'll vomit all over the interior. Beside him, Frank smirks, already engaged in conversation.
Mikey looks down at his now wilting bandages and they're covered in blood.
♠ ♠ ♠
The end is near.xo.