Déjà vu

Michaela’s P.O.V
I couldn’t help myself, I swear I didn’t, but I let out a loud laugh as he said that.

No, I’m going to kill your father

I mean, really, who actually admits shit like that? Maybe on a really, really, bad ‘horror’ movie where it’s totally obvious the blood is fake and you can see the dead dude breathing. Not real life. No way.

Matt’s eyes shone with anger as I laughed, and continued to do so, and he lashed out at me again. My laughs continued as his hand made contact with my right cheek and then my left. That one line was the icing on the cake. What a fucking retard.

Gerard’s P.O.V
“We’re doing everything we can, sir. Just go home and let the professionals deal with this.” The cop told me and I sighed, leant my elbow on his desk, rested my chin on it and glared at him.

“Do you have children?” I asked forcefully.

“Yes, I have a 7 year old son.” He answered. I kept my glare, in fact, I think it grew.

“Then tell me what you’d do in my position. Would you go home and wait while the cops search the state of New Jersey for your son, when he’s been gone for 4 days?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but I really advise you do so, or you could be prosecuted.”

“For what?!”

“Wasting police time and intervention.” He answered. I opened my mouth to argue back but Frank placed his hand on my arm and dragged me up.

“Thank you for your time, officer, we’ll go home and wait for any news.” Frank said softly and pulled me out to the car.

He forced me into the passenger seat and I punched the dash board. It really wasn’t fucking fair. We had been in Jersey for 2 days, now, and no-one had been able to tell us anything. All we had gotten was the usual ‘go home and wait for us to do our jobs’ line. That fucking line deserved to be shot in the face and then run over by a tank.

Frank remained silent as he drove us down the road and turned left…no, right. Huh?

“Frank? Where the fuck are we going?”

“Did you really think we’re going home for the 3rd time running? Our daughter is out there, no matter what those ass holes say. We’re going to find her and I will rip Matt apart, limb by fucking limb.” He growled and kept his eyes on the road.

My jaw dropped. This was Frank Iero-Way; my husband of 10 years. The sweet-natured man who never made any hint of physical violence. The only time he showed violence was when a wasp stung him on the neck and he squashed it into the side of his neck. He then proceeded in squealing about the sight of the dead wasp being disgusting but that’s really not the point.

“Frank, baby, are you okay to drive?” I asked looking concerned. He sighed and nodded anyway.

“I’ll be fine. Where shall we start first? If history really is repeating itself, does that mean we go to Matt’s house first or to Melissa’s old apartment?”

“That dump? Frankie, that place has been abandoned for 2 years, the whole block is boarded up. It’s worth a shot but Matt’s a weary fucker…”

“I know but it’s the last place anyone would expect him to look, though, shall we at least try?” He asked quietly and I noticed his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“What have we really got to lose?” I asked stupidly.

“Michaela.” He whispered and I swear I saw a single tear fall from his right eye and drip down his chin.