Keep the Faith

The clock strikes one. The sound echoes through the empty halls of the hotel, and he wanders alone through the darkened passage ways with no direction or care. He had been doing this for a while now- walking around aimlessly through the blackness, with no sense of fear or desire. Just walking. In a dreamlike state that possessed no sense of coherent thought. He often wondered if he was, in fact, just dreaming. And he would wake up any minute, covered in the silk black sheets his brother had to have in every fucking room- to keep up with the image. What image? That they were trapped in the coffins, forced to breath in dead air like it was fresh? Like they were alive?

Then he thought…what if they were dead? What if this was his own personal hell? Forced to walk around these closing walls with no rhyme or reason? With no way out…with no sign of his friends and family. The thought passed through his head often. More often than not- though he would never utter those words to the rest of them. Never give those words a breath to live on, because then it would be admitting he had lost faith.

And what if he did? Wasn’t he allowed to loose faith in his brothers mindless ramblings of parades and saving lives. Ha. What a joke. Saving lives hadn’t really been his motive right? Maybe his brother’s- maybe. Maybe the others felt the same way. But not him. He had joined the band to support his fat worthless- his brother. To get the chance to play on the stage with millions of kids singing along to the words he helped create. To be under blaring lights and moving to the beat of his bass. He wanted that. For himself. Was that wrong?

He walked through the red double doors that lead to the formal dining area of the hotel. It was decorated as finely as the rest of the damned place- with gothic architecture, golden and red drapes and table clothes that reflected off the shiny wooded floors. He snorted when he thought about how much this room reminded him of that horror movie he and his brother used to watch late at night. The one with the where the husband goes insane and tries killing his own family with an axe. Goes insane from being trapped too long in a god forsaken hotel with a history in death. Isn’t that exactly how he felt? In that moment? Trapped for far too long, in a place too far away from his original home. Maybe he was not dead or dreaming.

He looked straight a head of him, and saw the bar. It had been empty of all its liquor- for his brother’s sake. Right? Because his brother was the one with the drinking issue. Not him. Or he did, it just wasn’t as serious because he was a bassist and not a singer- not important. He strolled over to the dark wooden haven, his boots clicking against the newly mopped floor. He took a seat at the stool and stared at his reflection in the mirrored shelves.

Did his fans- if he really had any- see what he saw? They saw what the rest of his friends saw; the little brother incapable of making toast without destroying the house. The boy who looks up to his older brother as if he was a god worthy of such a title of “hero.” He was awkward. Lanky. Stuffed in the background with the other two rejects of the band, so the Frerard parade could roll by. Would they be surprised to find out what he saw? Behind those dark rimmed glasses laid a boy who trying to claw his way out. Not a boy, a man. A man who could take care of himself. Who wasn’t the rejected brother of Gerard fucking Way. Who had a mind of his own. Who had dreams of his own.

Who was tired of being that man’s fucking shadow….

Clank

The sound was loud against the silence; it burned his ears. He brother his eyes down- there, next to his hand on the bar, was a small shot glass. He knitted his two thin eyebrows together, examining the crystal glass with…want.

And on cue a bottle appeared almost from air and started filling the small shot glass with murky brown liquid. Jack Daniels. His alcohol of choice when he was a drinker. Because he was a drinker. He was a fucking big drinker. A big fucker. Druggie. Remember? No of course you don’t. No one does.

“You want it.” A voice that sounded just like his called out, “Take it. No one will care.”

The boy looked at the glass, “Gerard will know.”

“Aren’t you tired of living behind his shadow?” The boy didn’t answer. “It wasn’t always like that was it?”

The boy brought his muddy hazel eyes to the source of the voice. Standing against the shelf was a man with eyes that mimicked his own. Eyes…he could only see the eyes. His face was covered in a white mask with a sad frown for a mouth. He was clad in a black tunic that resembled that of a marching band’s uniform. Black and white. Mostly Black. The man’s gloved hands were hand cuffed together. Chained to something else that he couldn’t see. Trapped. Behind the bar, covered in shadows.

“You were the pretty one, right?” The man said in his voice, “The popular one in school. The girls wanted you, right? The boys wanted to be your friend? When did that change?”

He pursed his lips, but didn’t say a word. They both knew that answer.

“Aren’t you tired…of being his shadow? Of being below him? What was he before you came to help? A loser. Right? A reject who lived in your parent’s basement and drew cartoons. Jobless. Hopeless. Worthless.”

“No…” he said weakly, “no…not really…not entirely.”

“You had the life, remember? You had the dream? And he stole it from you- stole it. It’s easy to say it was all him, right? That two towers crumbled and from the rubble and destruction came this band.”

“It’s the truth….”

“His band? Your band. You wanted to be in a band since before some maniac set fire to New York City.”

“So?” he shouted, “So, I didn’t have the guts to do anything about it back then! Gerard did…

Gerard, he gave up everything for the band. Right? Right? You can’t even say…no because it’s the truth. That’s the truth.”

The man straightened himself; standing tall…taller than the boy. “You are correct. You didn’t have the guts or the strength to fulfill your dream. Not without your brother, at least.”

It stung.

“I can give you the strength, I can give you the guts to go after your dreams, without your brother’s help. I can give you everything and anything you ever wanted. Fame and love. Beauty. Oh I can make you beautiful. More beautiful than your brother even- that’s how it was before he was a front man. You were the pretty one.”

The thought passed through his head like a quick stab of a knife. He could…couldn’t he? He could take back the life his big brother had stolen from him. Take back the dreams that had been crumpled and spat on. The truth could come out, finally. No more elegant lies and dolled up stories to raise the image of his self-loathing brother. He could come out on top, this time.

But when he thought about it…was that even the truth?

“I don’t know…”

“Let me put it this way, Michael James Way,” The man’s voice had changed… “Either you come with me, or I’ll shoot you in the head with this gun.”

Before he could even lift his head, the shot rang out. The bullet struck between his muddy hazel eyes; his glasses shattered. Blood erupted from the back of his head- brain matter and tissue splattered against the dusty wooden floors. Shocked. His hand slammed against the bar, his thick red blood oozed from the would, mixing with the spilled shot of alcohol….

And Mikey Way smiled, removing the mask; allowing his black hair fall over his eyes. He stepped on the bar, throwing one last glace at his fallen image. The shimmering liquid smiled at him; ensnared him. He hopped off the bar and walked out the blood red doors- his boots cackling against the floor….

And the clock strikes two.