Voices

I look him in the eyes as even the gun is shaking in my hands. My finger is on the trigger. He grins at me in that completely insane way of his. It makes him look like he just escaped from the mental hospital. He must be insane and I’ve just never noticed it before. That would explain everything, wouldn’t it?

“Don’t do this Gerard,” I warn. The cold autumn wind is blowing my hair into my face and drying my tears on my cheeks. The moon is full, casting an eerie light. The forest is dark and filled with shadows. My boots are caked with mud and stained from the moss. A twig snaps in the distance but I don’t turn to look at the source of the sound. All of my focus is on my boyfriend who is starting to laugh manically.

“Do you think I’m afraid of you Frank? Do you think you’re so tough? You’re nothing but a pansy. You won’t shoot me. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m going to skin you alive for this Frank,” he threatens.

His words send shivers up my spine because I believe him. He probably would skin me alive and then use it to create that sick type of art he loves so much.

Everything that happens next is fast. Time suddenly picks up and I react instantly. He lunges towards me, long legs crossing the distance in a few heavy strides. I close my eyes and whisper “I’m sorry.” Then I pull the trigger. The sound is so loud in this silence that it hurts my ears. I breathe and count to three. There are birds squawking and leaves rustling but no sounds from him. I force my eyes open.

He isn’t moving. He isn’t breathing. His eyes are wide open but he sees nothing. There is blood leaking from his chest and pooling around him. In the darkness it looks black. I suppose that’s fitting for someone like him.

I would have never thought this is how it would end. When we met a year ago he seemed so good. He was weird but so am I. I thought he was perfect. He was nice to me and when he smiled he looked cute. He washed his hair back then so it wasn’t all greasy and he looked cool with those sunglasses on.

“You got a smoke?” he asked me, leaning against a brick wall. The collar on his jean jacket was turned up and his hands were in his pockets.

“Yeah,” I nodded, digging into my own pockets immediately. I held the pack out to him and he took a cigarette. He lit it quickly and inhaled.

“Thanks man,” he told me.

“No problem,” I replied. “I’m Frank…Frank Iero.”

He nodded. “I’m Gerard Way.”

“Cool…”

“Do you like coffee Frank?”

“Sure, of course,” I answered a little too eagerly.

“Good,” he grinned. “Let’s go get some.”

We bonded instantly over our love of music. He told me all about how he could sing and wanted to start a band. I loved the idea of being in a band and I told him I could play guitar. We agreed we’d meet up again soon to check each other’s music out. I still remember that day. I checked out a lot more than just his music. He sang and I played. We worked on some lyrics. We told each other about our lives. Then we got drunk and made out on his couch.

Things went that way for months. Somewhere along we tried to make it official. He cheated on me with some chick. I found him with her and my heart broke. “I think I’m going to be sick,” I stumbled out of the room.

“Frank wait! Damn it!” I could hear him trailing after me. He walked into the living room in a pair of boxer shorts. “Don’t go Frank.”

“You cheated on me!” I shouted. Tears came even though I didn’t want them to. I felt pathetic.

“She didn’t mean anything to me,” he said as the girl sneaked past us out the door.

“Why? Why would you do this to me?” I demanded. “I’m not good enough for you? You had to go fuck some chick?”

“I’m sorry Frank. I was drunk. It won’t happen again. Please…” he hugged me tightly.

“Promise me Gerard,” I begged desperately.

“I promise baby.”

It was shortly after that when I started to notice some strange things going on. He would shut himself into his room in the basement and I wouldn’t see him for days. He wouldn’t even answer my calls. So I’d go over there and find him in the dark covered in paint and charcoal. He said it was normal for artists types like him to get into a zone like that. I never really got to see much of his art. He would make up excuses saying the art sucked and he was going to throw it out or since some it wasn’t finished then I couldn’t see it yet.

Sometimes we were watching the news together while eating dinner and he’d just get so lost in one of the stories that he wouldn’t hear a word I said. I found him reading the newspaper once and he was laughing. I asked him what he thought was so funny and he just shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he told me. When I walked by I caught a glimpse. I expected to find the comic section open or something but it wasn’t. He was laughing at a murder case.

After things just kept getting weirder and weirder it really made me wonder about him. I needed some answers. So while he wasn’t home I went into the basement to see his art. It was gruesome to say the least. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. It was sick. I know that every artist has their own taste and all, but this disturbed me. They were these realistic paintings and drawings of murders. He was a talented artist but was this what he thought about all of the time? Why would he choose to paint these things over and over again?

I didn’t know how to confront him about it so I just kept an eye on him. As I watched the news more often I started to realize that these scenes were actually murders that had happened. He was painting and drawing these actual cases. What was his fascination with death? I loved Gerard but this just wasn’t normal. It was very unsettling. I tried to mention it to him but he got so angry. He threw his dinner plate and it shattered against the wall. It almost hit me.

“I’m sorry Frank. I didn’t mean to,” he apologized. “I just don’t understand why you’re questioning me. You know how important my art is to me.”

“I’m sorry,” I was shaking as I bent down to clean up the plate. I never brought it up to him again.

The worst of it didn’t come until recently. He was really excited about this drawing he’d done of himself. He was showing me and I’d noticed a new painting that he was working on. It seemed almost finished. Another murder scene featuring a young woman with blond hair. She was pictured in the middle of a dark street, a street lamp shining onto her lifeless body. She was bleeding out from several places, maybe she was stabbed. And there was a baby crying in a stroller beside her. Right next to the painting on the dusty shelf there was a teddy bear. A little teddy bear that I’d never seen before and it nearly stopped my heart. Where had he gotten that bear?

I didn’t have to wait too long to find out. The next night as we ate dinner the news came on as usual. A few stories in, they talked about the woman who had been stabbed. They showed a picture of her depicting her to be the same as I’d seen in the painting. The news reporters went on to say she’d been taking her son for a walk. He was a fussy baby and it was the only way she could get him to sleep sometimes. The body of the baby was found mutilated on someone’s doorstep. The picture of the baby when it was alive showed the baby hugging a teddy bear. It was the same teddy bear I’d seen in the basement. Gerard had painted that photo before the news story had even been on the television so he would have had any way of knowing about it unless… I had to run to the bathroom to throw up everything I’d eaten then.

I put as much distance as I could between Gerard and me after that. I felt as though I was trapped in a nightmare. How could this be happening to me? Surely this was a mistake. But I knew it was true. I had to tell someone. I had to get away from Gerard. But how did I get away and tell someone without him killing me first?

Halloween was approaching. It would be my birthday. He told me he wanted to do something special for me. He decided he would take me for the weekend to his friend’s cabin. “You don’t have to do that. I’d rather just stay at home,” I tried to change his mind. I didn’t want to go on a vacation into the middle of the woods alone with him.

“Are you refusing my gift Frank? I thought you loved me. Don’t you like spending time with me? I’m trying to be nice here. It’s going to be special,” he argued.

“I do love you. I’m sorry. I’ll go with you.”

I didn’t see any other option. If I said no I’d only make him angry and then he might kill me too. Then again, if I went on this trip he still might kill me. I was running out of options.

So here we are today. As the sunset he asked if we could go on a walk. He was determined to take pictures with his new camera in just the right lighting. It was getting dark and I tried to convince him to go back to the cabin. He got angry. I got scared. So I pulled out my gun. He just kept coming closer and I warned him.

I fall to my knees beside his body. I can’t believe this is my life. I killed my own boyfriend. The really sick part of this is, I did love him. I loved him even after I knew what he’d done. I just kept thinking of those good times we shared in the beginning before this all went so horribly wrong. But that doesn’t matter now.

I can hear wolves howling in the distance. They’re getting closer. I pull the hood on my hoodie up and run. I reach the cabin and slam the door shut. I collapse onto the bed and cry some more. What am I going to do now? How can I explain this to anyone? At some point I fall asleep. I’m too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

In the morning I take a shower and try to relax. I try to think about what to do. And it’s then that I hear his voice. He’s laughing. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

I scream and slip on the wet floor. I hit my head on the way down and everything goes black. When I wake up a few minutes later the water is starting to get cold. My heart is racing like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. I look around in a panic. He’s dead isn’t he? He isn’t here. I just imagined it. It’s stress. I’m still so tired. I need to get out of here. That’s all.

I turn off the water and dry myself with a towel. I pull on a pair of sweatpants quickly then go find some aspirin for my head. I swallow them with some water and breathe deeply to calm myself. I don’t feel hungry at all but I know I have to eat so I sit down at the table with a bowl of granola.

I hear it again. That unmistakable voice… “You’re smarter than I thought Frank. But still not smart enough. They’re going to catch you. And you’ll have nothing to prove yourself with.”

“Where are you? Stop it!” I scream, placing my hands over my ears.

“I’m dead Frank. Or don’t you remember? You killed me. They’re going to put you in prison. You won’t do well in prison. Guys like you never do.”

“Leave me alone…please…go away,” I cry. Why is this happening to me? I’m going crazy just like him. I can hear his voice but he’s dead. I know he’s dead. This doesn’t make any sense.

“I’m not going anywhere. But you are. You’re going to be locked up.”

“No,” I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I’m innocent. I didn’t do anything wrong. You…you killed those people. You were going to kill me.”

“You have no proof.”

“Those paintings….that teddy bear…I saw it in the basement.”

Again he’s laughing. I hate the sound of it. “I burned it all before we left. I’m no idiot Frank.”

“No, you’re lying!” I yell. This can’t be happening. Dear God why is this happening? Somebody help me…

“It’s true. Go and see for yourself. You have no proof.”

I can’t sleep because I keep hearing him laughing. When it’s morning I make the drive home. I go right to the basement. And it’s empty. “No!” I scream, falling to my knees. “No! You bastard!” Tears spill down my cheeks.

“They’re going to find you now Frank and lock you up. You’ll never be in a band or anything. Your mom and dad will be so disappointed to know their son’s a murderer. You killed your own boyfriend.”

“I’m not a murderer! It was you! You killed all those people,” I insist.

“You keep telling yourself that but it’s not going to do any good. Go ahead and try telling the cops now. They won’t believe you.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” My whole life is ruined. All of my dreams are gone. There is no hope. He ruined everything. Why did I ever get myself into this mess? Why did I date him? Why didn’t I go to the cops sooner? And now he’s haunting me. He won’t go away. He’s never going to leave me alone.

“Because Frank…isn’t it obvious? I never really loved you.”

I don’t know how long I lie on the floor crying. It’s dark when I drag myself up off the ground. I sit in the bathtub with my clothes still on. The water begins to fill the tub. I lie back and close my eyes. I can still hear him laughing as I slide the razor across my wrists.