The Enigma’s Anomaly

“No thanks I’m good,” I say.

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Banks replies. Somehow I knew he was going to say that.

“Yeah, but we’re fine where we are sir, have a nice day,” Gerard stutters.

Banks looks from me to Gerard maintaining a cool composer and I envy his skill to look so relaxed. I mean, he’s probably here to put a bullet in both of our brains, but he just looks so chill about the whole thing. Even I don’t have that much self-control, but then again I’m human, unlike this man.

He won’t be the one to kill us though, that’s not how men like him work. No reason for him to pull the trigger when there are other people to do it. Physical evidence is one of the biggest issues with the world nowadays, because it is so simply indisputable. There’s not much you can do to deny it if your DNA is found on a dead guy, and Banks isn’t stupid enough to take that chance. That’s what middlemen like myself are for.

The thing about being placed at a crime scene is that you can’t deny it. If the proof is there, then there’s no lying your way out of it. Alibis can be bought and often are, but if your fingerprints or hair or anything else is there, then it’s too bad for you.

I just think it’s a little ironic that Banks probably has no idea who or what I am. This man hired me to kill Gerard, but I just ended up falling in love with him. Part of me almost wants to thank him for that, but mostly I just want to give him a black eye.

“And what will happen if we refuse to follow you?” I ask him. I know how to play this game. We’ve got no reason to go anywhere with him unless he’s got a little incentive for us. It’s not the good kind of incentive though, it’s the life or death kind, which is always the bad type. Anything life or death really is pretty upsetting.

“I think you’ll find that you want to do what I command,” Banks says and then smoothly hands Gerard a small envelope, that can’t have anything good inside of it.

Gerard’s hands are shaking like a bitch. His fingers are practically vibrating as he breaks the seal on the envelope and peers inside. His face is already a mask of terror so I see no difference in it after he looks at the contents, but the fact that his face does stay the same is just as disconcerting.

“Come on Frank, let’s go,” Gerard says, and he grabs my hand for support. I dislike the way he looks so petrified right now.

“Sure, okay,” I say and I hate that I’m playing all my cards. Banks has known me for about twenty five seconds and he’s seen my entire hand already. My weak spot is Gerard and he knew that already, but I’m not doing myself any favors by proving it. I’ll be damned if I leave Gerard alone with this guy though.

Gerard hands me the envelope as we follow behind Banks who walks elegantly out of the bar. I actually kind of admire the way his presence emanates grace and poise. He could be miss congeniality because he’s just so mellifluous.

Gerard worked for this guy which is a little freaky. He’s so nonchalant about the fact that he’s leading a former employee and said former employee’s boyfriend to their foreseeable demise, and I’m in no way serene about the situation, but I do wish I had such resolve.

He guides us out onto the street where a pristine black car is waiting by the curb, and I just know it’s going to drive me to a horrible place, but it is at least a damn sexy car. You could feed an entire third world country with the amount Banks paid for that car and have enough left over for a trip to Barbados.

There’s a driver who I can see from the window but I can’t see him clearly enough to describe his features. I have to wonder if he knows that he’s transporting us to our execution. I have no doubt about that though. This isn’t just a little stroll for kicks, this is a funeral procession of which I’ve already had enough of for a lifetime. You should never even have a funeral procession for yourself and be alive to see it.

“Death Cab for Cutie,” I whisper as the door is opened for us.

“Is now the time for jokes?” Gerard asks as he’s ushered in by Banks.

I make cold eye contact with Banks whose expression is nothing more than pleasant and I have to wonder how many ants this guys killed as a child. He probably had a magnifying glass collection.

I climb into the car and situate myself next to Gerard who’s still trembling like his own personal earthquake.

“Now is the best time for jokes,” I answer him and he takes an unsteady breath. He grabs my hand and his hold is so tight that it hurts. I allow him to abuse my hand though because I understand the fear. Gerard’s no idiot, he knows as well as I do that this has a bad ending no matter what.

I remember the envelope still in my grip, and I have a difficult time trying to get it open before Banks enters and sits in front of us. It’s one of those cars that has seats facing each other like a limo, only smaller. There’s also a small little nook in the seat next to Banks that’s quite possibly got a mini-refrigerator of some sort. I would be impressed by his wealth if he weren’t using it to institute my untimely death.

I only have one hand to get the papers out of the envelope, because of Gerard’s grip, but my heart stutters a bit at what’s inside. Sadly, it’s not a note telling me that everything has been a prank and this is all some TV show, because what’s actually inside is a photo which is pretty self-explanatory. It’s Mikey from the scope of a sniper gun. He’s just in his apartment with the window open, and he probably doesn’t even know he’s being watched, but the message is clear. We go with Banks or he dies.

“So Gerard, long time no see,” Banks says cordially. It makes my spine tingle.

“Mhm,” Gerard says in response.

“How’s life treating you then?” Banks asks.

“How about we cut the shit, and you tell us how much longer we have to live, okay? I’ve had enough of the patronizing,” I say.

“Now Frank, don’t you think you could be a bit more polite?” Banks asks. I have to question whether he knows my name because Gerard said it or whether he actually knows who I am. I hope it’s not the second option because I’m not sure what he’d turn up and if he’d notice that I haven’t actually had a stable job in my entire life. I guess I have one now that’s being saved for me in case I don’t die, but that’s looking more and more distant by the hour.

“You know, I’ve never been the most polite, and it’s never bothered me before so I don’t see why it should bother me now.”

He smiles wickedly and my blood curdles. I really do not like this guy, and he’s kind of terrifying. I don’t even blame Gerard for blackmailing him, I’d give him hell too.

“Please don’t kill Frank,” Gerard whispers to Banks, barely loud enough to be audible.

It pinches me painfully to hear those words in more ways than one. For one thing I don’t want Gerard to be making bargains for my life, and another thing is that I don’t like seeing him so hopeless like he’s already given up. I’m not stupid, I can’t do anything to save Mikey right this instant, but there’s still time. We might not die. We’ve both escaped death, there’s no reason we can’t do it again. The number of times it’s happened just makes me believe that someone is looking out for us, may it be a supernatural force or something completely organic, it just inclines me to think that we have at least somebody on our side.

“I don’t want you negotiating for me, Gerard. I’m perfectly capable of doing that myself, but I won’t.”

“Please, Frank, I don’t want you to die with me. I really don’t, and I know you want to look after your pride, but I’m just not in a position to care about that. I don’t want you dead.”

“I’m not going to kill anyone,” Banks says, but I know he just means that he won’t do it personally.

“No, you’re going to hide behind you’re little puppets and have them do it for you. You’re a coward! You can’t get your hands dirty because you’re afraid.”

“Is that so?” Banks asks with a snide grin, “and what else do you think of me?”

“That you’re far too power-hungry and it blinds you to morality. What makes you think you have the right to pass judgment on other people lives? I say nothing of my own worth, but how does it feel knowing that you’re destroying the life of someone who is of so much more value than you? You are a monster. A savage, calamitous monster. No one has the right to trade any life for another, and it lucidly shows what type of a character you are to think you have that power. Your wealth is you’re only tool and you use it to play god. That makes you so far beyond evil that both heaven and hell look upon you with unreserved revulsion. You don’t even belong in hell, you feculent ingrate! You belong in Purgatory with all the monsters that still don’t hold a flame to your maleficent insignificance.”

Banks looks at me with vulturine eyes like slits. His stance is strong and sharp, having changed from cool and relaxed to this more natural predatory persona.

I continue insulting him the best that I can with the confidence I didn’t know I possessed, “You’re an odious, rapacious scumbag who I can do nothing but look down upon. In death I still come up a winner and you a dud, because I at least do not stoop as low as the incendiary bitch that you are.”

Banks looks at me ravenously for a few seconds before leaning back in his seat and smiling. I don’t like the look on him. It makes me shiver.

“Quite the novelist you’ve picked up for yourself, Gerard,” Banks says.

I smile back at him and chide, “journalist actually.”

“Yes, I know. I read your article Mr. Iero.”

“Don’t call me that. If you’re to call me anything at all, I’d prefer your majesty,” I say, and Gerard kicks me warningly. I know I shouldn’t be trying my hardest to piss him off, but it’s so fun. I’m only telling him what he already knows. There’s no way to live with that weight and not think about it, I know from experience.

“Then I will not address you at all,” Banks says.

“Too late,” I point out.

The windows are darkened so I can’t see what’s outside, but the car comes to a standstill and my hand almost breaks with how hard Gerard’s holding it.

Banks is the first one out, and I see Gerard reach for the door on the other side, but when he pulls the handle it doesn’t give. The other side of the door is locked so the only way out is to walk past Banks.

“Don’t worry Gerard everything’s going to be okay. I’ll keep you safe,” I tell him but it’s a groundless statement. I have no way of actually keeping him alive right now, but I wish I did. I kiss his cheek before stepping out of the car and making eye contact with Banks again. Our height difference seems to be nonexistent when I look at him because of the intensity that backs my eyes.

I want to kill this man so much. I want to stab him, or strangle him like he did to me in my dream. I want to watch the life escape him, and I wouldn’t feel any remorse. I would enjoy it actually, seeing his lifeless body fall limp like a rag.

If I don’t get the chance to make him pay then I am going to haunt his ass so fucking ruthlessly that the Winchester’s won’t even be able to stop me.

Gerard is more than reluctant to come out of the car and it takes him about a minute to get his legs to stop shaking enough for his feet to stand on them. I don’t even look to see where we are until he’s standing by my side.

It’s a dumpy motel. Pay by the hour probably. I’d also bet that we’re not in a good part of town. I know New York well enough to say with certainty that this isn’t the Bronx, but it ain’t Brooklyn either.

“Is this the part where you drug us and make it look like a murder-suicide?”

Banks says nothing, but he winks and then gestures for us to walk forward. I allow myself to pull Gerard and myself to a slow lag behind Banks, which puts him in front of us. As soon as we enter the motel my stomach churns. It smell old and derelict like it’s appearance would suggest, and it’s the last place that I’d want to be found dead, but we don’t always get to choose that location. I wish it were classier though. The plaza would be nice.

The place doesn’t have many rooms and all the keys to each of them are on a board behind the desk which would make any of them easy to break into if you put your mind to it. I quickly evaluate how many keys are missing and groan because there’s only five checked out rooms out of about forty.

There’s a woman reading a magazine behind the front desk looking very uninterested in anything and she doesn’t even look up when we enter. My heart beats faster than I could have ever anticipated and I realize that I’ve literally got nothing to lose. People never realize how risky it is to put a person in a situation where they’ve got nothing to lose, but that’s when you see the scariest shit happen.

It’s now or never, I guess, so I let go of Gerard’s hand and I step on my shoelace intentionally. This results in a very theatrical and demeaning fall flat onto my face.

Banks only pauses to look at me for a moment before he continues to walk, but my plan worked and the woman looks down at me from her place behind the rat-eaten desk.

“Call the police,” I whisper to her, quiet enough that I’m sure Banks didn’t hear me. I don’t have time to check if she heard me or not before I haul myself back up and find my place a half step behind Banks.

Gerard’s hand replaces itself in my own and I give it a small squeeze to hopefully reassure him. We walk all the way to the other end of the motel and I think back to the board with the keys and realize that ours is nowhere near the other four rooms in use, by design most likely.

“After you, gentleman,” Banks says and he holds out the door to room 36 for us. The numbers are painted onto the green door with chipping white paint so that it looks more like 35. I have no desire to see what a hooker motel room looks like, but I guess I don’t have a choice. As soon as we enter the room the door shuts behind us.

Banks did not enter the room like I thought he would, and I turn to look at the door and see a completely different man altogether. He’s dark-skinned and looks bored. There’s a heavy 12mm pistol in his hand that I do not want to be pointed anywhere near my head, but that is where he’s aiming it.

“Alright boys, I’m going to explain to you how this is going to work,” the man says with a lighter voice then I’d expected.

I look around the room quickly as he explains that Gerard is going to shoot me and then himself.

The window is closed but it looks dirty and gross, and the curtains aren’t pulled together properly so that there’s still a glistening of natural light flooding into the dim room. The bed is grotty and I don’t even want to think about how many people have used it for acts that were not intended to include sleep.

The man explains that he’s going to ‘help’ Gerard pull the trigger on me, and the way he won’t allow Gerard to handle the gun without supervision, but I don’t think he understand that Gerard wouldn’t be able to shoot him if he tried. Gerard isn’t capable of shooting me either, but he wouldn’t shoot another person to save his own life. This man has nothing to worry about from Gerard. I’m a different story though.

I’m not sure what exactly he’ll use, but I know that ‘help’ means drugs. Probably a rape drug, because it needs to be something that won’t be detected in the bloodstream. I’m not too fond of the whole scenario.

The thing that this man doesn’t know is that he’s got a skilled assassin in the room. He’s holding the gun so carelessly that I could grab it so easily if he would just stop swinging it around like that. He talks with his hands just like Gerard does, but not in an adorable way like Gerard, so there’s really no way for me to get it from him without him having time to shoot me.

As soon as he’s done explaining I breathe out loudly to try to clear my head. I am not going to die here. This is not where I want to die, and certainly not so lazily by this man.

“Kiss me,” I mouth to Gerard when the guy walks over to the broken looking table to grab whatever supplies he needs.

“What?” Gerard mouths back obviously wondering why I’d think of making out at a time like this.

“Just do it,” I respond.

Gerard looks petrified but he doesn’t argue. He actually goes for it way more than I’d predicted. He grabs me and pulls me tightly into his embrace then kisses me furiously. Gerard’s hold is needy and mine probably is too, but I forget to care. It’s wet and heated, but that makes it all the more amazing. I almost forget where I am for a long moment. Almost.

The gun points into my back and I tense up which makes the kiss stop.

This is my only chance. The gun is motionless and firm as it’s pressed into my back with such intent so I take a deep breath and make my move. If I fail then I’d have died anyway.

I reach around my back and spin in place. Then I make a grab for the gun and feel it in my clasp. It’s heavy and familiar like an old friend, but I don’t spend too much time dwelling on it so I handle it like a hot potato.

When the man tries to take it back from me, I push him away. I can’t let him have it because that will mean that I’ll definitely die, and I don’t have the heart to let that happen at the moment. I’m scared out of my mind and I see a dumb yet effective way out.

This is a trashy hotel. The beds are the cheapest that money can buy, so is the TV, the carpet, the wallpaper. Everything is dirt cheap which means that the windows shouldn’t be shatter proof. I dodge the man’s prying hands and I toss the gun as hard and fast as I can at the window.

The weapon leaves my hand, but not before going off.

I hear the shattering of glass and I see the man looking at me with fury, but then I’m falling. I don’t know what’s just happened. All I know is that a bullet has left the barrel of that gun and I have a sneaking suspicion as to where it went.

The feeling is like a hammer. My body starts burning like some part of it has just been hit hard with a mallet, but all my senses are jumbling up together so that I don’t even know where I’ve been hit.

I know that I’ve been shot, and I guess it’s my fault but I forget about that when the back of my head slams hard against the floor.

I hear footsteps, wheezing, trampling, pounding, screaming, heaving, but all I see is a blur.

This pain is a hard thing to quantify. It’s all at once and it’s unbearable. Never have I been in so much discomfort before.

I see a blurred image of the man running out of the hotel door, and Gerard looking down at me like I’m a child in a crib or something. I look at my hand and cringe a little when all I see is blood. Lots and lots of blood. It’s a deep red, and there’s way too much of it to be safe.

“Frank? Frank!” I hear Gerard screaming my name. I hear his pleas, and the desperation, but my eyes are already glossing over, and my brain waves are fleeting.

I feel like a burning candle next to an open window. The wind is blowing in yet the flame of the candle still persists, still clings to life, but it’s only a matter of time before it extinguishes. I’m the candle and my brain is the flame, with the air blowing in and all I can do is blink slackly, trying to find strength to keep burning, but it’s too hard.

I don’t want to be awake right now. I want to go to sleep and wake up somewhere else. Somewhere that’s not here, where my body isn’t pounding furiously with pain. I feel the blood flowing to the spot where I’ve been shot, but I don’t actually know where that is. I haven’t a clue, because it feels like it’s everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“Frank? Stay with me, yeah? Stay awake please,” he asks, or begs. I can’t actually tell because it sounds faint. I can’t hear him over the waterfall of blood pumping in my ears.

I’m also having a hard time remembering my name, and what’s happening. It feels like this is all I am, or all I’ve ever been. Just this searing hot painful mass of endlessness. I can’t find it in me to rationalize what’s happening. All I can think of is hurt. Hurt and tiredness pounding into my head without interruption.

“Gerard I...” my voice mumbles. I have a hard time believing that that was my voice because I don’t recall sending a message to my vocal chords, but I recognize it as my own.

“Frankie, stay awake. It’s going to be okay, okay?”

“...So tired,” I whisper.

“Just please don’t sleep. Frank? Do not fucking die, you can’t die. I will never forgive you if you die right now.”

“Please,” I ask, but I don’t know why I ask him for permission. It seems like such a strange thing to need consent granted for. I’m not sure what I’m even asking for. I’m not sure what death sounds like right now. Comforting? It’s so easy to think that a person’s will to live is stronger than the easiness of death, but it’s completely fictional. My will to live is not stronger then the drag of death. Death right now sounds merciful.

I want this pain to go away, it’s unbelievable. My whole existence feels like it’s dangling on a string and my grip is slipping. I’m afraid to let go though, like letting go of the string will drop me into an abyss, but it’s so tantalizing that I’m finding it ever harder to turn down.

“No, I forbid you to die,” he says and I don’t see him. I hear him, but my eyes aren’t working. I see hazy light, and nothing else. I can’t even feel my body, it’s like I’m just an entity whose only reality is agony.

“It hurts so bad, Gerard! No one ever tells you that it hurts,” I scream feeling the icy pain coursing through me.

“You’re not dying, Frankie,” he tries to tell me but I don’t believe him.

“Why does it have to hurt? I want it to stop, Gerard! Make it go away. Make it stop,” I beg, and I’m finding it hard to keep conscious. I can’t see anything. I feel like I’m drifting aimlessly in the air. I can’t feel the ground or anything aside from this awful suffering.

“Death isn’t an option, Frank.”

“To die would be an awfully big adventure.”

“Don’t you dare go quoting fucking Peter Pan on me, fuckface,” Gerard says and I laugh partially, but I’m not all there. I’ve got one foot in reality and the other in existential oblivion.

“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing the voice out with every ounce of strength I have.

“No Frank, please!” he screams and I hear the ‘please’ loud and clear like he’s screaming it with his whole body. I feel shaking, but I doubt it’s my own. Somewhere Gerard’s holding me and he’s shaking, as well as crying, but that’s on a whole different plane then the one I’m on.

“Love...” I’ve forgotten the other word I’m looking for and my eyes feel flooded, but I can’t tell if I’m crying or not, “you.”

“I love you too,” Gerard says, and with that I’m gone. No more thinking, no more hurting, no more anything. No more me. No more Gerard.