A *** Most Foul

Frank Iero lied soundlessly in his bed pretending that he was in a deep rest as his counterparts snored inches away from him. How long would it take for them to realize something was wrong with his dark and devious mind? And how long would it take before he would have to cease the reoccurring pounds of his non-relenting heart?
Sitting up with little idea as to why, Frank strolled speedily into the kitchen of the one bedroom hotel.
“You should really eat something,” cooed that sleek voice that always wrapped around Frank’s head in the night.
“I’m not hungry,” protested Frank, his eyes filling up with moisture. “I’m not…”
The voice hadn’t always been in Frank’s mind; it had only just appeared when Frank had started touring in his new band, ‘My Chemical Romance.’ Ever since then, the voice took control and said horrible things about Frank’s friends – sometimes even demanding that Frank murder them.
“Just shut up and eat something,” clawed the voice, warping its torturing ways around Frank’s inner-thoughts.
“I don’t want to eat something!” blubbered Frank, his eyes a darkened shade of amber. Frank fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around his body – hugging it with all his might. For some reason, when he did this maneuver, he felt safer; as if the voice couldn’t get to him… that he was safe wrapped in his own arms.
A warm feeling daunted over the cold feeling at the present moment, but Frank still felt uneasy. Panting hard and unwavering, Frank heard footsteps enter the kitchen.
“Frank… Frank? Are you all right?” called a sincere voice from afar.
“There’s the spare!” rasped the voice, clinging to Frank’s mind.
“NOOOOO!” screamed Frank, clawing at his head, nails digging into his own skin. “STOP TORMENTING ME!”
More footsteps. The voice, still rasping. More screams – more noise. “MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE!”
“Frank! Frank!”
Frank could barely see the room anymore – it was spinning. He could hear everything at once. A raspy voice repeating the redundant chant that it always did, and the screams of his fleeting friends, ambling their way to his haven of utter destruction.
“FRANK, WAKE UP!”
Frank’s eyes opened painfully to the light. A weary Gerard Way stood over him, a concerned ogle carved onto his face.
“… Frank … you walked in your sleep again,” said Gerard, his hands holding down Frank as if he were a perilous prisoner.
“I—I did?” panted Frank, his voice a voice he did not recognize.
“Yes, you did,” interjected Mikey, a dubious tone about him. “And you spoke in tongues…. Again.”
Frank came to the realization that all of them were stunned, appalled, and extremely bothered by the events that had just unfolded… the events that took place every night. The voice. The screams. The constant calls for help. They all were beginning to wonder, thought Frank. Is he really insane?
Gerard lifted Frank up as if he were a degenerate paralytic and sat him up on a chair. “Your eyes have dark circles under them,” stated Gerard, an inquisitive expression detailed on his face.
“You look very ill,” added Ray, a disquieted idiom lingering on his facade. Gerard simply rubbed Frank’s shoulder and stared at him. Frank felt warm when Gerard touched him, but the voice – the voice was something else.
“How dare he touch you!” it rasped. “He hurt us! He hurt us both… and you allow him to touch you? Kill him.”
Frank twitched, but shock off the urge to scream. “Frank, I think we need to talk,” affirmed Mikey, an unremitting gaze that sunk into Frank.
“You need help,” began Mikey, his voice tinted with little commiseration. “I think you should stop touring with us – but only for a…”
Gerard waved his hand in the air, and shot Mikey an ill-omened stare. “That’s quite enough of that talk,” stipulated Gerard quietly, his eyes brushing over Frank. “Frank is our rhythm guitarist. We need him just as much as we need you, Mikey.”
Frank breathed in heavy sighs, and embraced himself again. “But Gee – ” commenced Ray, a worrisome glance pacing Frank’s way. Ray paused for a moment, and shoved his hand in his pockets, looking down. His eyes wouldn’t meet Frank, but everyone had their eyes on him.
“Don’t you hate it how that coward acts so noble on the outside, but when he needs to say it, he acts like a fool!” the voice raged.
Gerard removed his stare from Ray, and walked away from Frank. “Enough of this talk. We’re about to be famous. We’re almost there. The Revenge of the Bullets tour is our only hope. Frank’s under a lot of pressure. He just got in the band, give him some time!”
“How sweet,” mocked the voice. “He cares? This is new… he didn’t seem to care when he was fucking with Bert that night…”
“Ugh,” moaned Frank swiftly, taking his hands to his temples and rubbing them roughly. Mikey, Ray, and Gerard gawked at him momentarily, but Gerard continued to pace monotonously back and forth throughout the kitchen.
“Sooo… we’re in this together. This band was meant to save our lives. I know it saved mine after my battle with alcoholism. And I couldn’t have made it this far without Frankie. We’re not going to ship him away to get help when he can get it right here! With us!”
There were hesitant moans as Mikey and Ray left the room. Bob came out haphazardly and gazed at Frank, an unsettling stare in those eyes.
“What’s he looking at!” ordered the voice. “What is he looking at?”
“Everything all right?” solicited Bob as he glowered at Frank – a demoralizing scowl.
Gerard nodded earnestly. “Yes, everything’s fine, Bob. Go back to bed.”
“Look at that fat ass… Bob, huh? The fool… what the fuck gives him the right to glower at us like that? Fucking douche… we should dispose of him. I think he’s onto us. As do I think that Mikey kid. Let’s kill all these dwebes… or no? Fine, we’ll just fuck up little chubby chaser over there…. Gerard pretty boy Way.”
Gerard went to the fridge and pulled out some milk and cookies. He took out two glasses and poured them shyly while humming ‘Thank You For the Venom’ – Frank’s favorite MCR song.
“Here you go,” said Gerard, handing Frank a glass of milk. “You should drink up. We need to talk.”
“Talk, huh? Howabout you go die. Fucking lard ass. Who the hell do you think you are with these cookies? Hmm? Fucking fat ass… I’d kill you right now if cookies weren’t in the perimeter.”
Gerard awaited a reply, but got nothing but a stare – a cold stare that bothered him. Gerard bit his tongue. He had noticed the changes in Frank – the way he talked. The way he walked. The way he ate. And simply, the way he was.
He knew something was in Frank’s mind. Something that was degenerating him from the inside out – and he knew why this something was there. The thing that he didn’t know, was how to banish it before all of his band turned their backs on Frank, left him for good… he couldn’t allow that to happen. Not after what he had done to Frank. Not after what he had said to Frank. And not after what Frank had seen that wintry, October, night.
“Frank, I know you’re not yourself,” blurted out Gerard, his tone extremely solemn. “And I know why. I know you’re upset about what happened with Bert and I and – ”
“COY!” it screamed. The voice was enraged; it always was when this subject was brought up. “Play the ‘I’m so sorry game’ again. We’ll never buy into it.”
Frank’s head lifted itself up – a spark of something in his amber eyes made Gerard cease his talking. Both amber eyes were not as energetic as usual – they were darkened with a chestnut red. Gerard had this bizarre feeling he was looking into the eyes of someone else. Someone who didn’t want him there at all.
In a sudden spontaneous act, the hotel door opened. Wayne Stubbs entered, his gray hair matty and his cold, piercing, cobalt eyes filled with intent.
“What in da world are you guys doin’ up? You gots a show in an hour! I usually have to wake y’all up in a hurry.”
Gerard gulped and nodded to Wayne casually. Wayne felt a tinge of something wrong in the air, but he didn’t say much. He just motioned to Gerard to leave the hotel room with him momentarily – leaving Frank alone with his thoughts.
“They’re gone,” rang the voice in a piercing high-pitched tone. “Time to chat, Frankie-boy.”
--
“Dat boy is crazy!” cried Wayne, his fists balled up, and his eyes towering over Gerard.
“He’s just not himself.”
“NOT HIMSELF? Gerard, you saw what he did on stage last concert. You went to kiss him for that prison song – and do you remember what he did?”
Gerard exhaled softly. “Yes, I do, Wayne… he threw his guitar down… he….”
“He began smashin’ it. Smashin’ it, Gee! Dat guitar cost money – it was his, even! He’s losing his grip, Gee. You gotta do something and you gotta do something fast or else I’m signing him off your Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge record deal.”
Gerard’s eyes froze in mid-position. “You can’t, Wayne. You just cannot do that.”
Wayne blinked and tilted his head. He looked at Gerard – he was suddenly colorless, his eyes filling up with dampness.
“What… what’s gotten into you, boy? Your band mates all agree with me on ‘dis one – he’s a nutjob!”
Gerard bit his lip so hard it bled. “I can’t let you do this, Wayne. It’s all my fault why he’s acting this way… all my fault.”
--
Frank sat still on the chair in the kitchen – his hands clasped, his eyes closed. He was thinking about high school: Elizabeth Furgerson.
She sat in front of him in math class – blonde hair, jade eyes. She had the sweetest smile he had ever seen. She was popular; she always chewed bubble gum and she painted her nails a crimson red.
He was back there, at St. Lucas High School… his eyes pressed on the back of her head; he was thinking long and hard about how pretty she was. He could feel himself getting excited. He was wondering what went on in her mind.
Pop. She must be popping her bubble gum again, thought Frank. She’s so brazen.
Pop.
He felt his heart start to sped up. He wasn’t paying any attention at all to Mr. VanHourne, his Pre-Algebra teacher. All he could think about was Elizabeth. He wanted to call her Lizzie, just once. Like all her friends. But he was nervous. After all, a girl as beautiful as Elizabeth was bound to have someone – and, of course, she did. His name was Curtis Brockman. And he was the one who pummeled on Frank each and every day.
Pop.
She’s so amazing, Frank thought, his eyes closing. I want to kiss her. Just now.
That’s when a cold feeling swept over Frank – an icy feeling, like the hand of Death grabbing hold of him.

“Do it. Kiss her.”
It was the voice – it had been with him longer than he had thought. Longer than he could have possibly imagined.
Frank opened his eyes, his heart beating wildly. “I’m losing my mind,” he spoke in a shaky tone. “What—what if I just act out of sheer will like I did then…? But then…. At so much more cost… I’ll…. kill Gerard….”
“You sure as hell will,” interpolated the horrid voice in a shrill and dangerous tone. “You’re going to set that bastard on fire. You’re going to kill him, Frank. And I’ll make sure of it… Just like I did when you wouldn’t kiss Elizabeth. You’re so weak…”
Frank’s eyes welted, his heart plunged. “Shut up—please, why do you hurt me so much…? I—love Gerard! He’s made some mistakes, but he’s only human—I—I….”
“You what?!” demanded the voice, its shrill tone rising higher now. “You love him? LOVE HIM?! After what he did to you… do I have to bring back the memory?”
“No, please –”
“I think I do…”
“NO, I DON’T WANT IT!”
“SILENCE!”

It was rainy. The grayness in the sky hung around the air. It was Halloween. The wind was calm; the weather, relatively mild – but the tension in all of MCR’s midst hung dry.
“Wow, tonight is the big night!” declared Frank enthusiastically. “Halloween Fest and my birthday – twenty four… gah, I feel old… Hey, Gee…? Gee?” Frank snapped his fingers to his aficionado who was sitting inaudibly in the corner, barely listening to him.
“Yeah, I’m here…. And yeah… cool stuff, I guess.”
Frank felt a little twinge go up his spine. “Aren’t you excited? We finally get to have a night to ourselves at the club… you, Bert, and The Used, have all been out a lot lately getting ready for the next album. It’ll be fun – just you and I celebrating my b-day.”
“Yeah. Fun, I guess.”
Frank winced a little, seeing apathy in Gerard’s eyes – apathy towards him. It hurt so much to see his lover barely acknowledging his existence. It’s just the alcohol, Frank kept saying to himself. As soon as we get to the party tonight, it’ll be just like old times – right?
“I’m going to go play Playstation with Mikey. Mmmkay? See you tonight, Frank.” Gerard trotted off leaving Frank’s spirits dampened – his eyes, filled with total and utter hurt.

The memory raced through different imagery, and finally hit the spot where the voice wanted it to hit: the Halloween Fest.
Orange and black lights invaded the scene. Music blasted from different speakers, entering people’s ears – but Frank, the once excited Frank, sat by himself at the bar, gaping at his watch. Gerard was late – and with every minute that passed by, Frank’s heart sank.
“Can I get you something to drink?” asked a spiffy tone. Frank’s eyes met the eyes of a blonde girl with jade green eyes.
“My God – Frankie, is that you?”
Frank’s eyes were still in shock at the presence that preceded his glance. “Elizabeth…?”
“Yeah! It’s me. Goodness, I haven’t seen you – how many years? Why, eight. How have you been, Frankie?”
Frank’s amber eyes danced along Elizabeth’s body, but he kept hold of what was going on: Gerard was missing. He was alone with a girl he used to adore. And time was flying every second.
The two got into talking back and forth about their lives. “Mmm hmm, I started working here awhile ago. Just to pay for college tuition. And you?”
“A band… ‘My Chemical Romance.’”
“For real?! That’s you in there? Oh em gee…. I had no idea!”
“Yeah….”
“So, real dark, huh?”
“Not as dark as others…”
“Hehe… you okay?”
Frank’s eyes were glazing over at the tedious conversation. He felt putrid; he was worried sick about Gerard, but there she was – his dream girl. And she seemed extremely intrigued in him – why shouldn’t he take advantage of this? Have some fun with her? It was his birthday, after all.
“Yeah… I’m all right, Elizabeth… thanks for asking.”
Elizabeth was beaming now.
“Call me Lizzie,” she whispered. “Listen… I get a break in five minutes… a dance? A drink? A hook-up, perhaps?”
Frank gulped – he was certainly tempted. She was as beautiful as ever. She was willing to have some fun. So why not? Gerard wasn’t there – Gerard was missing out. After all, their relationship had been so one-sided lately. It was about Gerard and his alcohol problems. Why couldn’t he have fun?
“Frankaaaay? What do you say, punk-boy?”
Frank swallowed.
No. He couldn’t do it. He loved Gerard – even if he was being a selfish fool these days. He had to do what any boyfriend would do.
He touched Elizabeth’s hand, and softly caressed it.
“Eli—Lizzie, I…. I’m expecting someone tonight. But I—you’re amazing. And if things were different, I mean – ”
Elizabeth raised her right hand in the air. “Frank, I know you’re upset about what happened at St. Lucas… I’m sorry, I… it was wrong… I… I should go.”
Elizabeth walked to the back of the door, paying no more heed to Frank. Frank sat meagerly at the age of his seat – his heart beating fast.
“It wasn’t about that…” he mouthed. But she was already gone.

Hours went past as Frank sat in solitude. He watched dancers dance, and people rave majestically. All was going in slow motion – where was Gerard? Was he all right? What was going on? Frank pushed himself away from the bar table and got up to his feet. His eyes surveyed the room: no Gerard. He could lucidly see with the utmost positively that Gerard wasn’t there because only two people were left, slow dancing – the fest was over.
And Gerard hadn’t showed up at all. Frank felt eyes on him – he knew Elizabeth was watching him walk out of the building. He knew she was thinking, “He really must still be angry about what happened…” and he knew, he knew he had totally demolished any chance of the two ever being together again.

Frank stuck his key into his car, turned it in the ignition, and started the vehicle flawlessly. It started up nice and easy, and Frank began to turn on the radio. “Thank You For The Venom” blasted throughout his car – suddenly, he found himself in tears.
It was the song that he and Gerard had written together for the first time – his favorite song. Frank pulled over to the side of the road – whimpering frenziedly; his eyes, an empty miasma.
“I’m so worried! What if Gerard is hurt or injured – I better get going…. I mean, he would never miss my birthday… he loves me.”
And he began to race faster now… up the road…

The colors of the road sharpened as Frank’s eyes were lifted out of the memory fleetingly.
“… Stop, please. I don’t want to relive this,” begged Frank.
“You have to see to it to get your venom! Soon, Frank… soon. You’ll be thanking ME for the venom!”

Blasted away from the kitchen. Miles away from the voice, Frank was there again – the My Chemical Romance trailer. The lights were out – and Mikey’s, Ray’s, and Matt’s, cars were all gone – but Gerard’s 1956 T-bird was still parked out front. Frank walked to the trailer at a snail's pace.
He headed to the door and unlocked it summarily. He walked in, brushing a little bit of hair away from his face.
“Gee? You in here? Gee?”
Frank’s footsteps creaked on the elderly trailer floor. He moved quietly to Gerard’s cot, where he found Gerard lying there languidly.
“Oh, Gee….” sighed Frank in relief. “You must have just over drank.”
“Heh, with me that is,” shot a bashful voice. Frank turned around, aghast, to see Bert McCracken, the lead singer of The Used, in his midst.
“What—what are you doing here?” gasped Frank, his eyes steadily observing McCracken.
“Gee and I were… umm… how shall we say it bluntly enough for little tiny Princess Frankie to understand? Fucking each other all night.”
Frank gulped and backed into a cot-side table to his left. “What—what?”
“Yeah, I know. Shocking, huh? Gracious sweets… Frank Iero, you are pretty damned slow. Do you know how long we’ve been fucking?”
Frank could see that McCracken was drunk – he smelled the booze on his breath. He took it in. This is a nightmare, he thought desperately. Gerard would never do this to me – or would he?
All those long “meetings” with The Used.
All those long “conversations” with McCracken.
And all those long nights away from Frank, when he was “working” on the prison song with McCracken.

Oh, thought Frank childishly. It makes sense now.
Bert stumbled over to Gerard who lied in his bed soundlessly. “Wake up, peeps. You know who’s here, angel-face? Iero.”
Gerard moved a bit and then struggled to get up – his eyes ditzy.
“Oh… shizzz… Frank…. Yeah, hi…. What’s up…. Let’s…. oh. You look really sad. What’s the matter…. Frank?”
Frank just stood there – his jaw open, his eyes clawing away the tears.
No, he thought. No. He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
Or would he?

… “Yes, he would,” chafed a voice.

The world was spinning again. Frank was back in the kitchen – clawing as his scalp, ripping at his hair.
“Ughhhh….” he moaned. “Leave me alone…. I don’t want vengeance.”
“Yes, you do. Pardon me for – ”

“FRANK! Don’t make me slap you silly on a biscuit!” intruded an invasive voice. Frank’s eyes were blurry, but he saw Bob standing over him – his strong hands gripping his dainty shoulders.
“Frank! … Frank? You there?”
Frank felt like a rag doll in distress as Bob shook him.
“Yeah, I guess….”
Bob shook his head at him and murmured something incoherent.
“Listen, you… what demon bull are you pulling here?” he barked, sending a shifty glare to Frank.
Frank knelt on his knees and just began to whimper – no denying it anymore. He was frightened. He needed help – any help. Any help at all.
Bob looked taken aback by Frank’s sudden show of sorrowful humiliation. “Bob…. Bob…”
Bob wrapped his arm around Frank’s shoulder and let him lean on him humbly. “Whatsamatter, boy? You look… you look dead.”
Frank wiped his eyes and simply laid his head on Bob’s lap.
“Bob… I need help… there’s a voice. It’s my mind. Bob… help… it wants me to – it wants me to – ”
Bob gripped Frank’s mouth and held it shut as the two hid under the kitchen counter. Wayne and Gerard entered the room.
“Talk some sense into ‘em….” snarled a demure Wayne. “Make ‘em sane again… I don’t care what your love life has to do with it – he’s gone mad. And we need our rhythm guitarist back.”
Gerard just nodded, and crossed his arms. “It’s my fault he’s like this way… I can’t think of an easy way to get him back the way he was… can you?”
Wayne just sneered and disregarded Gerard’s edgy comment – he had had enough of Gerard’s stand-offish ways for one night. He stormed out of the hotel room, slammed the door, and left Gerard standing there.
Bob held Frank’s mouth shut – Frank didn’t move any part of him: his ears alert to the sound of Gerard’s footsteps heading to the bedroom.
Gerard shut the door as Bob released Frank from his grip.
“All right. Now listen up, little boy… What I just heard you say wasn’t you talking – you were speaking in tongues… You’ve either totally lost your mind – or you’re secretly worshipping the Devil – but get this. Suck it up. We got a show in fifteen minutes – get your act together, boy… I don’t want to see whatever you’ve become on stage today… I want to see you. Frank Iero out there. Understand?”
Barely getting the gist of what Bob was saying, Frank nodded. Bob shot him a glance – this time, not a fumed one, but a compassionate one. Bob scarcely did that for anyone.
Frank knew, that in order to end this, he would have to kill the voice.
And to do that – he would have to kill himself…
---
“MCR! MCR! MCR!”
The crowd was chanting. The lights were drowning the stage. Frank could feel a bead of sweat roll down his face – he was so hot from the lights he could barely breathe. Gerard was in the front of the stage, waving his hands around, shouting out to the crowd.

“HEY YOU LOT FROM THE U.K!”
“HI, GERARD!” they retorted.
“We’re gonna get sexy for a minute – WE ARE. MY! CHEMICAL! ROMANCE!”
More cheers. More screams. More shouts.
“WE LOVE YOU, FRANKIE!” one voice shouted. Frank’s eyes looked around in the audience searching for that voice.
Do they know how desperate I am? he conjectured.

“We’ve got a song – that we definitely want to play for you first. It’s ‘Give ‘Em Hell, Kid’ … but we want to play something else. You see my friend Frankie over here?”
Gasps, awes, and shouts of “KISS!” filled the air. Frank gazed up, his eyes sweaty and hazing in the humidity. Gerard was lingering his way over to Frank.
“He’s a little depressed, you know?”
“AWWW!” one girl shouted. The crowd began to awe, and Frank felt his face heat up. His face was hot from embarrassment, and a trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.
“We’re going to play the song … Thank You For the Venom… For Frankie.”
Frank felt his heart race… Gerard was coming closer… Mikey was rearing up his bass… but he couldn’t let the song commence – he just couldn’t.
He had to get it over with quickly.
He had to.
Just end it.
“No… don’t play,” huffed Frank, tears invading his eyes. Gerard ceased his commencement of singing and just gazed at Frank.
“Frank… what’s wrong?”
Frank fell to his knees halfheartedly and grabbed hold of his guitar.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” screeched the voice within his mind.
“Gerard, I am so sorry… but I’m going to have to do something…” Frank laid his guitar down. Gasps and screams filled the air – everyone had their eyes on Frank.
“Frankie…? What—what are you doing?” mumbled Gerard, his eyes observing Frank’s hands. Frank began to carefully undo his guitar strings – unhurriedly. They were sharp… and he seemed to be struggling to get them off without hurting his fingers.
“Frankie…?”
Frank ripped off the sharpest string that was on his guitar – the fifth one. It cut his hand, and the laceration was placid, but stung.
“STOP!” yelped the voice, dependent in nature.
But Frank took the guitar string and placed it on his neck.
“Bye, Gee… I never really meant it when I said I hated you after my birthday when I found out about you and Bert. I could never hate you.”
“Frankie… what… what are you doing?”
“Good-bye… I loved you.”
And in an instantaneous moment – Frank cut his throat with his own guitar string.
Crimson blood poured down and the obscurity became his. The last thing Frank Iero ever heard was, “FRANKIE, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

And then he departed this world and left onto the next – leaving the voice behind.