The Black Parade

LAUREN’S P.O.V.

I walked into work with my headache still pulsating greatly behind my eyes, the warmth that had sprouted yesterday in the November weather was gone and leaves flew briskly about the thirty-five degree weather in London. I sat at my desk with increasing reluctance, I wanted to be out on the field, asking around, but I was stuck here, going through paperwork from the office massacre, some splattered with copious amounts of blood, some had to be scraped of body parts so that the mourning families would have as much of their beloved to bury, as possible. I wore plastic gloves, but the smell was still overpowering, disgusting, and reminded me of all that I had seen.

I had been questioning Vengeance So Sweet’s last victim at his bedside when his heartbeat monitor went flat, I watched him die, and I watched his lips move, heard the sound that he made: “Why?” That was all that he said, why indeed, why would such a tortured girl not get therapy or help, why wouldn’t she kill the right person?

Why was she not to be found?

I was almost certain that the Abigail girl was Mary Jane, it was just too obvious, was it not? Was I crazy to think that she might’ve even killed her co-workers, if one of them was going to tell? Why would she leave a note on her own desk, then? She seemed utterly shocked, perhaps I was just sick and tired of feeling sympathy for people and wanted to blame her, rather than comfort her. There’s someone out there who is more merciless of a killer and I’m wasting my time on a cold case, I’m an incomparable fool. This is one situation, where having a minor in psychology was just tiring and painful, because I over-think too much. It wasn’t always that way, when I was with him I was happy and I was alive, now I was only a mere shadow of my past prime. I was an empty shell that couldn’t even find a mere girl, a serial killer, but still a child. I would call her a woman, but that would be a disgrace to myself and many other women n the force that were brave, strong, and willful in the face of adversity.

I now realize that it’s been all day, the sky is darkened, and the kids are out. This is when I miss being a cop on a crazy Friday night, full moon beat, the adventure. I can’t take it anymore, I miss the adventure, I miss him, and that is the pitiful reason why I am more than usually in a drunken stupor. My partner, Anthony, walked over, with a purpose obvious in his swarthy stride.

“Lauren, I love you, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, so I need you to do something for me: go out have fun, and most importantly, get drunk with someone other than yourself. I’ve got a friend who’s just come back into town, he’s a drummer, you’re style of music, ya’ know, that screamer punk crap. Here’s his number.” He handed me a slip of paper and started to walk out, I grinned.

“It’s screamo, you bloody fool!” I shouted after him, he gave me a backwards wave and didn’t look back, just like my ex did…

BOB’S P.O.V.

I sighed and stared blankly into the empty depths of my new apartment, wondering where Gerard and Abbey had gone, but not really caring. My apartment was near to the guys’ but not near enough. They’re my family, I expect that Ray feels the exact same, but he didn’t have any other family, except for his brother, who was currently in someplace far off, but hopefully safer than before.

One of my good friends had just called me, saying that he had given someone my number, I sighed, hoping that I would finally meet someone that cared for me as the other guys’ girlfriends cared for them. It was doubtful, though. It was now common news that MCR was back in the open, but no one wanted to approach us, fans were even scared to wear our merchandise or blast their favorite song, due to the killer on the loose. We encouraged them not to, on the official website, they’re safety was one of our highest concerns, though Brian was attempting to convince us that we should have body guards on our backs all of the time, though not literally, of course. That would be quite awkward if they were on our backs…

Though we definitely know how to handle ourselves now, after dealing with dangerous criminals for a year and a quarter we all had fight skills deep engrained into our muscle memory. My cell phone rang; I picked it up wearily, “Hello?” I said cheerily into the receiver.

“I’m sorry, my partner, Anthony Brooks, you know him right?” said a hesitant female voice on the end of the line.

“We went to high school together.” I responded, wondering if this was the recipient of my number, from Tony.

“Tony gave me this number, this is really uncomfortable for me, but I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go out sometime?” I smiled, my heart leaped out of my chest, I could have practically jumped up out of my comfortable position on the sofa and done a small dance number in front of a camera. So goes the extent of my excitement.

“Yeah, sure.” I said calmly, which was shocking, into the phone, “When?”

“I don’t really know; how about I call you later and we can sort this out?”

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you then.” Here comes the arduous process of waiting for her to call me back, if she ever does, that is. I decided to fall asleep, bored at the prospect of anticipation for the inevitably impossible phone call, sighing to myself. For no one could hear, nor would they listen.

ABIGAIL’S P.O.V.

“That was… interesting.” I said, sprawled between Gerard, specifically his legs, the sheets, and the bed, in no particular order, as the entire bed was confused and messed, due to our recent less-than-innocent activities.

“I think that the word you’re looking for is kinky.” Gee whispered into my ear, which he then proceeded to tenderly nibble at, and suck on, until he finally made me moan, which was his mission accomplished signal. I felt as if I couldn’t move another inch, it was the next day, it was already dark, in between sex we had just lay here, and then gone at it again, heedless of any boundaries, just consummating our love for each other, again, and again, and again. And probably a few more times after that; if one thing was for sure, it was that I was going to be sorer than an old dude with arthritis in about five seconds. Needless to say, we’ve fucked more than anyone healthily should in a span of twenty-four hours. And we’ve only been here ninteen.

I then remembered what I had seen not forty-eight hours ago and was sickened, I felt dirty, to have been so selfish and self-serving when I should have been finding their killer… going back to what I was best at: vengeance. I stood up, though my bones and aches protested at the thought, Gerard looked at me quizzically; I simply walked into the bathroom and puked out my guts. He came into the bathroom and held my hair gingerly while I wretched and wretched, like I should have in response to the bloody scene that had assaulted my senses yesterday, but my reaction was certainly delayed, by a very long period oftime sex.

“What’s wrong, hun?” Gerard asked me, handing me a glass of water after I finished ruining my innards.

“I should be finding this killer, and giving him what he deserves, not having pointless sex.”

“Since when is our love pointless? I love you, I admit that this just got a bit out of hand and overdone, but it’s not at all without a point. I agree that what happened was horrible, but you are not killing anyone; I’ve worked too hard, as have you, for that to happen again. I love you too much for you to spiral down that dark path.”

“It’s my calling, I can’t live without it, it’s too strong now. I need to kill him, he’s so wrong. He killed Ray’s parents too, I still have contacts in the underworld, I can find him in no time!”

“That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do.” He told me off like I was a child, which I certainly wasn’t, I was old enough to take care of myself, I did it for years before I met him.

“I’m old enough to have sex multiple times with you, even though you're like nine years older than me, so how come I’m suddenly not old enough to make my own decisions?” He was speechless at my blunt reference to what we had just done, many, many times and ways. I kissed his lips briefly, in hopes to get him to either forget about it in sex or give in, he pulled away.

“If you’re planning to kill someone again I want nothing to do with you, no matter how much blood has been spilled by this bastard.” He looked away from me, at the fading tile of the bathroom floor.

“I’m doing this for you.” I said, grabbing my clothes and putting them on haphazardly, I left in a blaze, he just sat there, in all of his morality and ‘innocence.’ Tell me, was he not the one who just fucked me for almost twenty hours on and off? How was he the saint while I was the whore? Fuck this.

I stormed out of the hotel, still in a terrible fury; I walked to a telephone booth, though my stained clothes had, by then, been soaked by the rain that suddenly started to pour from the stars. I called a number that I’ve wanted to call since vengeance began to throb in my veins, when I began to need it, like an addiction, when I first arrived on Earth.

I called him, he had no name, and he told me where to find them the misnomers, the evil in this world. I walked to White Chapel, I killed a pimp, a rapist, a drug-dealer, and, out of mercy, I asked a drunkard if he wanted the pain to end, he wanted it so I ended his pain. I was thriving again, I was alive. This was where I belonged, not tied down to the man that Ilove loved