Status: Active
The Fallen
o11
About three hours later
Gerard’s P.O.V
I had the T.V on, which I thought was weird because I never watch it. I just close my eyes and sort of listen, but only when it’s the news. Often enough, I listen to deaths and robberies and shit. I try to place myself in the perpetrators point of view. I draw amazing pictures in my mind of their reasoning behind the crime, whether it be a tortured past or a missing a loved one, whatever I come up with based upon what I hear. I am a listener.
The anchorwoman is in the middle of a story about the death of a woman of thirty, the killer was her twenty five year old brother. I painted a picture in my head of the two years ago, when she was fifteen and he was ten, and she locked him in a closet for two whole days. Ever since, He’s carried a vendetta.
I was in the middle of these thoughts when Mikey came into my room, cell phone up to his ear, saying, “Alright, alright, calm down and here he is. Don’t talk to him like you were talking to me, though, or he’ll kill you. Yes. Here he is.”
Mikey held the phone out to me.
I stared at him for a long moment, “Who the hell wants to talk to me?”
I was surprised at how grave Mikey looked when I asked that, “You’ll see.”
I took the phone, “Hello?”
“Gerard, I need you to come over here so I can talk to you.” I recognized Frank’s voice from the other line.
“What do you have to say that you can’t tell me over the phone? We’re already talking.” I asked, truly curious now.
“I know what you are.” And the line went dead. My eyes went huge and my jaw dropped. I threw Mikey’s phone across the room. Mikey, who had stood there the whole time, started spouting obscenities and dove to rescue the phone.
“What the hell, Gerard!? What did he say to you?”
“ He knows, Mikey. He knows what I am.”
Gerard’s P.O.V
I had the T.V on, which I thought was weird because I never watch it. I just close my eyes and sort of listen, but only when it’s the news. Often enough, I listen to deaths and robberies and shit. I try to place myself in the perpetrators point of view. I draw amazing pictures in my mind of their reasoning behind the crime, whether it be a tortured past or a missing a loved one, whatever I come up with based upon what I hear. I am a listener.
The anchorwoman is in the middle of a story about the death of a woman of thirty, the killer was her twenty five year old brother. I painted a picture in my head of the two years ago, when she was fifteen and he was ten, and she locked him in a closet for two whole days. Ever since, He’s carried a vendetta.
I was in the middle of these thoughts when Mikey came into my room, cell phone up to his ear, saying, “Alright, alright, calm down and here he is. Don’t talk to him like you were talking to me, though, or he’ll kill you. Yes. Here he is.”
Mikey held the phone out to me.
I stared at him for a long moment, “Who the hell wants to talk to me?”
I was surprised at how grave Mikey looked when I asked that, “You’ll see.”
I took the phone, “Hello?”
“Gerard, I need you to come over here so I can talk to you.” I recognized Frank’s voice from the other line.
“What do you have to say that you can’t tell me over the phone? We’re already talking.” I asked, truly curious now.
“I know what you are.” And the line went dead. My eyes went huge and my jaw dropped. I threw Mikey’s phone across the room. Mikey, who had stood there the whole time, started spouting obscenities and dove to rescue the phone.
“What the hell, Gerard!? What did he say to you?”
“ He knows, Mikey. He knows what I am.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I apologize on how short this is, but the next one is going to be so packed with info I didn't cram it in here. Like I said, next chapter will be really long. Love you all, Comment.