They Found You On The Bathroom Floor

Glaring Lights

Voices. Murmuring. To him? No. About him.

Coldness, dampness. On him. Rain? Tears.

Tears of his brother.

Tears of Gerard.

Frank had never seen anyone look so terrified. Gerard remained frozen to the spot as he was jostled on either side by officers, detectives and prison surgeons. A white cloth was laid over Mikey's forearm as he was lifted through the doors into the darkness outside.

Frank shifted on the spot, peering down at Gerard, searching desperately for the long lost remnant of life, seemingly ripped simultaneously from the Way brothers. He rested his hands on Gerard's shoulder.

Gerard didn't look up, didn't react to Frank's sympathy in any way, he just continued to stare at the bloodstained floor with cold, distant eyes.

The commotion had kicked up after Gerard had screamed.

The officer from earlier arrived, assessed the situation in seconds (for once) and threw open the cell doors.
Toro sat up, apparently confused as to what was going on as Gerard rushed over to Mikey, cradling the young boy in his arms as blood spilled from his forearm, the jagged metal still protruding from his wrist.

Frank shuddered, the bulbous beads of blood haunting his memory, as a mixture of voices echoed down the corridor, growing louder with every second.

"Where are they?"

"Who attacked who?"

"Can you give us the names of the deceased?"

Deceased

Gerard looked up, saw the situation as if from the wrong end of a telescope. The only word to bring him out of his reverie still resounding off the thin bones in his skull. Flashes bounced off the walls as a media crew rounded the corner, followed by a few policemen who were attempting to hold them back.

"People, people please!" A young blonde officer stepped up and ushered silence with her hands. The crowd's noise dulled to murmurs as she prepared for a speech, still blocking Gerard, Ray and Frank from the view of the cameras.

"There are no deceased," She began, and her audience began to mutter excitedly.

"But there was blood everywhere!" One man in a grey trilby shouted out, frowning as he scribbled notes with velocity. Gerard felt his own blood run cold as an image of a grey street, streaked with voluminous gashes of red dominated his mind.

The policewoman was continuing, seemingly undaunted by the outburst.

"We have reason to believe that an attack was performed at oh one hundred hours this morning," She said, "The victim is being transported to Jersey hospital, the attacker is..." At this, time seemed to slow, as Gerard's head worked out things one step ahead, "Is being held here,"

For the first time, the media caught sight of them all and charged at them, the flashes blinding, the shouts deafening.

"This way, guys!" Shouted the man in the trilby, "Over here! Come on! The public will need to be warned of you!"

Somehow, the flashes seemed to draw a little sanity back into Gerard's mind. He saw Frank's eyes dilate in the sudden brightness and stood, shielding him from the attention. His eyes roamed the corridor, taking in the blocked exits, the narrow winding hallways. But before he could seize Frank's arm and run, his own arm was grasped firmly, but by a thick ring of steel.

Gerard was handcuffed to a muscled officer, leering down at him with disgust. The officer pulled him from Frank, and back into the glaring light of the photographers,

"Wh-- What's going on?!" Gerard heard Frank cry, and saw the lady turn to him, her voice cutting through the air just as the words themselves cut into Gerard.

"Mr Way is being escorted to a class A cell," She spat, all politeness disintegrated, "I shouldn't be surprised," She added, and Gerard craned his neck around to look at Frank, to comfort him, or indeed, seek comfort, what greeted him however was the complete opposite of comfort as the police officer reported to the media crew her final line of the statement,

"I mean, he attacked his own brother!"