The Enigma’s Anomaly

“Hurry up, Frank!” Gerard yells.

“Give me a minute!” I holler back at him.

“I’ve given you three hours, just hurry your ass up! I want to go,” he complains for the millionth time. Really, I should be the one complaining, but he’s an annoying little bastard who cares way too much about me.

“Need I remind you that I fucking died Gerard,” I say, “for like a whole minute.”

“Oh you’re exaggerating it was only a few seconds.”

I stick my head out of the door to look at him with narrowed eyes, “and how many times have you died, Gerard?”

“Touché.”

“But he’s not wrong, Frank. We’ve been waiting for like hours,” Mikey complains. He’s got his body laying across the hood of the car looking jaded from the long wait.

“You could help,” I spit at him, “I’ve got a bullet hole in my chest and you’re being entirely unhelpful.”

“I’m not that desperate to go that I want to exert energy,” Mikey says, not moving.

“I’ll help,” Gerard says running over to me and he grabs the suitcase in my hand. I’ve been trying to underplay the whole bullet thing for the past few weeks because it makes Gerard worry, but it still hurts like a bitch. I can’t move my arm without feeling it, and it stings to have to lift things with my right arm. My left arm isn’t to great either, but it’s working better then it’s counterpart.

At least the stitches are out though because they’d have made this almost impossible. I’m still getting sick of being so weak.

“You okay, Frankie?” He asks me as he takes the luggage from me which makes me sigh in relief.

I frown at his question. The one time I let it show that I’m in pain and he’s already gotten to worrying. I hate all this babying I’ve been getting. I like that Gerard wants to take care of me, but I’m not six. If it was really that bad then I’d say something. It really is fucking bad, but I keep my mouth shut. This whole dilemma is already troublesome enough.

“I’m fine, Gerard. Really,” I tell him with a fake smile. I don’t feel horrendous, I just ache all over. Mentally, I’m pretty good at the moment it’s just so hard to move around.

“You’re lying,” he says assuredly. Gerard is way too good at picking up on that which makes it so much harder to try not making him concerned.

“Gerard I’m not going to get any better if I let you do everything for me. It’s bearable, okay? It hurts, but I’m still functional.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t do things, I’m saying that some things you need help with for now.”

I sigh, but I just let him walk away with the suitcase and he stuffs it in the trunk.

It’s not the nicest car in the world. We only had a few hours to pick it out so it’s better than nothing, but I do wish we’d gotten something nicer. I don’t know shit about cars so I have no idea what type of car it even is. Something that was reasonably priced at a used car lot. I think the only criteria that we were looking to fit was ‘good mileage’, ‘regular looking,’ and ‘doesn’t smell bad’ so it’s successful on all three accounts.

It’s a dull black color, not shiny, but not dirty either. Inconspicuous is what I’d call it, which is ideal. We didn’t want a car so fancy that you take notice of it, but also not a car so trashy that it catches your attention.

Mikey is splayed across the hood looking bored as ever, and I’m just standing here moping, like I always seem to be doing nowadays, outside the hotel room door. I’ve felt useless for the last three weeks doing absolutely nothing but lounging about in various beds. Hospital beds, hotel room beds, Gerard’s bed, and I’ve been told that I’ve visited a few gurneys as well.

I don’t really remember much of what happened after I was shot. I remember hurting but I don’t remember what the pain was even like. I’ve blanked on just about everything, including my apparent J.M. Barrie ramblings. The last thing I remember about what happened in the motel room was kissing Gerard and then wrestling for a gun. That’s it though. I have nothing else but Gerard’s word to go by.

One good thing I’ve learned since the incident is that I’m not as fucking stupid as I thought I was. When I told the motel receptionist to call the police, she did, and that’s what saved my life. If the police hadn’t been called the ambulance wouldn’t have gotten there on time and I’d have died for real.

Also, it was a stupid thing to do to try and take the gun from that guy, but I feel a little better about the fact that it wasn’t my finger that pulled the trigger. They found no gun powder residue on any of my fingers which means that the guy who tried to kill me is the one who ultimately shot me. It’s still my fault of course for getting shot in the first place, but it worked didn’t it? I’m still alive, and so is Gerard so I’d call it a success.

After I blacked out, the ambulance came, Gerard was apparently covered in my blood, and I was brought to the hospital. I died for a grand total of 29 seconds before pulling through. I guess that in a lot of ways it’s being shot that’s kept the three of us alive for three weeks. The hospital had people staffed to watch over my room for the entire time of my stay which was up until yesterday when I was released. Mikey and Gerard kept it safe by never venturing too far from security.

The twenty-four hour guard meant that no one came to finish the job, thus my still-beating heart.

As soon as we left the hospital yesterday we went to the police station where they offered witness protection program to the three of us. I don’t really blame Gerard for refusing it though, because he’s come so far with his career that giving it all up now wouldn’t be worth it. Instead, we’re taking an extended vacation to the middle of nowhere. The North Country isn’t really my idea of fun, but it’s secluded enough and we really have no other choice.

The North Country is just fancy talk for upstate New York, where we’re going to be hiding out, possibly indefinitely. Gerard’s still going to write his comic, but from up there where he’ll mail it to his editor. We’re forbidden from writing any return addresses on anything, or telling anyone where we’re going. I wouldn’t say ‘forbidden’ actually, but that’s what the police advised. We’re basically trying to eliminate ourselves from the grid. Banks can’t get to us to finish the job if we’ve disappeared and that’s what we’re doing. Disappearing.

I don’t know if I want to disappear but it’s too late now. I’ve been shot for the cause, so there’s no turning back. As soon as we get in that car and drive, we’re not looking back. I hope we do come back sometime in the near future, but not until Banks is dead or in prison obviously.

It’s not witness protection it’s just victim vanishing. I guess it’s the best we can ask for, and this way we’re safer than if we were to stay in New York.

It takes another ten minutes before Gerard decides that we’re ready to go.

“Mikeyway if you don’t get up from the hood of this car right now then I swear to god I will drive off with you right there hanging from the windshield wipers,” Gerard says.

“I’m moving! Jeez, calm down,” he says in response and peels off the hood leisurely.

I stare at him contemptuously, and when he stands up to look at me I give him a wink and say, “dibs on shotgun.”

“Fuck you,” he says.

I smile, but accept his words and find my seat next to Gerard.

“I haven’t owned a real car in years,” Gerard says.

“If you can even call this shit-wagon a real car,” Mikey says after reluctantly getting into the backseat.

“Stop being so negative, you’re making everything sound awful,” Gerard says as he looks at Mikey from the rearview mirror.

“Sorry, sorry. I just hate road trips. Especially night road trips,” he replies. I can’t say I blame him. It’s almost seven and the sun is starting to set, but the police tipped us that it’s best to leave at night, and to leave from a place that no one is going to be looking for us at.

Gerard and Mikey decided to rent a hotel room because of that, but it wasn’t in use almost at all because Gerard had constantly been at the hospital with me by my bedside. I can’t complain about that in the slightest, because it always made me happy to wake up with his hand in mine.

Gerard hesitantly starts the car, and he looks at the wheel like it’s completely foreign to him.

“You okay?” I ask him.

“Mm, yeah. It’s just scary to leave. I don’t know when we’re coming back. Or if, we’re coming back.”

I take his hand and try my best at a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry, we’re coming back,” I say.

Gerard blinks a few times back at me, but he looks a little better at hearing the words even if they’re just an empty promise.

“Ew, brother in the car. Brother in the car!” Mikey shouts from the backseat.