Watch Me.

In the afternoon of the same day, Frank was sitting by his desk, one leg propped up on its worn down wooden surface and the other resting on a pile of dirty laundry next to it, guitar in lap and TV set on mute. His nimble fingers were strumming away to some tune he probably picked up in a cat food commercial because that was how lame it sounded and eyes locked to the flickering images of the news program. He’d been like that ever since Mikey left him with promises of bringing his brother over for a formal introduction.

There was nothing new about the murder and while those gruesome pictures lingered on the screen, Frank’s mind wandered into all possible directions and his mind was called to attention by a familiar sound just as the photo of that blood-spattered smiley face shone up the shaded room. Frank shivered and shut off the TV then sprinted downstairs to get the door.

By default, before meeting somebody new, he ran a hand through his hair just to give it that messy, “I never brush my hair” look and licked his slightly chapped lips – he should probably stop biting them some time soon, he thought, like he always would upon repeating that tiny action.

The white door swung open as he turned the knob and pulled them towards himself and two identical but entirely different faces glanced down at him, their image melting on the sides as the parching heat poured in from the outside.

Mikey was the taller and the skinnier one, that was for sure. And in a lot of ways, he looked like the big brother here, not the other one. The other one, Gerard would be the name, was still taller than Frank which wasn’t to be taken as a surprise taking Frank’s astounding lack of height into consideration. His hair was slightly longer and shaggier than Mikey’s and it wasn’t brown, it was black, probably dyed that way. The tips of their noses were identical, there were some similarities around the mouth yet the lips were completely different as were their expressions. Gerard’s were slightly open and in a straight line while Mikey’s were stretched out into a very disturbing smile. Frank glanced up into their eyes, first into Gerard’s and then into Mikey’s and scratched the back of his head awkwardly, realizing just how much time he’d spent studying them both when he should have just focused on the eyes, they told so much in Mikey’s case, but in Gerard’s it was like staring into a mural made of green and yellow opaque glass trying to see what was on the other side. Little creases appeared around them as Gerard’s lips finally twisted into a small greeting smile.

“Um, sorry guys, my mind wanders easily these days,” Frank mumbled as a lame-ass apology for staring way, way too long and finally stepped aside to let them in.

Floorboards creaked under their combined weights as they moved through the house to finally settle down by the kitchen counter. Frank spied a pen stashed behind Gerard’s right ear and a squished cigarette pack in the front pocket of his paint smudged button-down shirt.

“Sooooooo… Yeah, Gerard, Frank, Frank, Gerard,” Mikey chirped, “Consider yourselves formally introduced,” he said and shrugged, still sporting that bright, disturbing smile. “You guys take it from here, it’s not like you’re pathologically shy or anything,” he added when both Frank and Gerard looked at him, shrugging.

To Frank, Gerard seemed as a sort of an easy-going, quiet guy who didn’t require much talk about nothing, and he was partially glad for it because he wasn’t sure that he was fit to carry out a decent conversation at the moment anyway. He really ought to start sleeping properly again. Perhaps lay off the coffee and smoke less… Frank sighed and decided to leave the life improving decisions for when he was either drunk or the New Year’s… when he’d be drunk as well. Oh the irony.

“You guys seen all the murder-fuss on the TV yet? It happened just around the corner and it weirds me out,” Frank casually mentioned while staring off into the distance, slowly rocking back and forth on his chair.

In the corner of his eye, he caught Gerard pulling out that pack of cigarettes from his front pocket and putting one between his lips, licking the tip beforehand. His eyes focused on Frank and the younger boy turned to face him completely.

“You mind?” Gerard asked, wiggling the cigarette with his lips.

“Only if you don’t share,” Frank smiled and helped himself, fishing the worn down box from Gerard’s shirt. The elder smiled as smoke whirled out of his nostrils.

“The murder,” he then started, “I dunno, it’s sorta freaky, you know?”

Both Frank and Mikey nodded quietly.

“I mean,” Gerard proceeded, “like you sad, Frank, it happened just around the corner and all that, but the freakiest thing by far is that yellow smiley face badge, I dunno if you guys noticed. Like, I’m willing to stake my life on it that it’s some serial killer’s handy-work.” He puffed another ball of smoke and glanced at Frank for a second before standing up and jumping to sit on top of the counter.

His feet dangled half a foot above the floor and he swung them back and forth, playing with the burning cancer stick in his mouth. Hair fell over his face and in that moment Frank was reminded of someone he was sure he had already met. That feeling pestered him for another few moments before it faded into oblivion when his mind wandered in its usual fashion.

“You guys are dull, there’s way too much silence in this room,” Mikey complained, and Frank and Gerard, both men of so very few words obviously, shrugged and put out their cigarettes in the sink.

“Go hang out with the rest of the cheerleader squad,” Frank mocked him with a soft smile. “Sorry, Mikes, I’m kinda beat today, didn’t get much sleep last night, at least you know how it is.”

Mikey laughed and punched Gerard’s shoulder. The punched boy scrunched up his face in mute protest. “What? It’s not like I put a knife to your throat and forced you into watching them with me!”

“Your threat about playing my guitar all night long seemed a tad bit more painful than dying young and pretty,” Mikey retorted dryly and Gerard crossed his arms over his chest.

“It really wouldn’t be pretty, no matter how I did it, butthead,” Gerard replied and chuckled.

Hours passed quickly in carefree amusement. The three boys lounged around Frank’s bedroom now. Mikey settled on the floor, his back to Frank’s bed where Gerard lay motionlessly, his right arm scathing the hardwood floor, fingers drumming against it in a steady rhythm.

A sort of a light, lazy, summer air hovered above them, the atmosphere was soothing and relaxed, but two of the boys carried an inner turmoil that brewed slowly inside them.

Frank sat on the floor, opposite his bed, back to his old amp. His body was relaxed and in his mind he was far away, if he closed his eyes, he would probably look fast asleep. But his eyes were far from looking soft and mellow, they were clouded by a restlessness that emanated from somewhere deep inside of him, an inner rampage of questions revolving around a yellow badge.

Gerard toyed with the pencil that used to rest behind his ear. He doodled something on Frank’s wall absentmindedly, unaware of both Frank and Mikey staring at him. Frank didn’t really care much when it came to the fact that he was doodling all over his white wall, but it had struck him as fairly odd that Gerard didn’t exactly pay much attention to the surface he was drawing on in the first place. His eyes weren’t even focused on the pencil, his mind was miles away. In that moment, he reminded him of someone else again, someone with the same black hair and same peculiar eyes.

Mikey elbowed Frank’s ribs and apologized quietly, “He sometimes gets like that,” the boy scratched the back of his head. “Erm, it’s not my story to tell, but he has his reasons to get lost inside his head so easily, “ Mikey finished with a sigh. “I’d pay good money to have just a glimpse of how it is in there.”

The pencil snapped in half once the boy in question turned his head toward the two youths.

“Never say that again, Mikey, please.”

Gerard sat up and put his hands against the sheets then jumped up and stood petrified, staring at his skewered palms. Frank followed his movement and joined him, taking his right hand into his, black splinters protruded from every square inch of its pale surface. The bedding was blood stained and the wall was marred by an image that made Frank sick to his stomach.

The Comedian.

The raven-haired, older boy opened his mouth and out came a whispered rush of apologies, “I’m such a fucking weirdo, right? I’m sorry Frank, I’ll paint the thing over tomorrow and get you new sheets, I’ve no idea what came over me, these murders just keep plaguing me, it’s too much, I’m going.”

Before Frank’s mind processed the things said, Gerard was out of his home and in the backyard of his parents’ house, smoking with shivering hands.

Mikey joined his friend in looking puzzled and worried, but they never referred to the incident again.