The Enigma’s Anomaly

It can’t have been more than half an hour since this started when the big guy dunking me into the water throws me against the floor in frustration.

“Is it something I said?” I ask, when my head hits the hard ground with unimaginable pain. I need like a whole bottle of Advil to get me through the aching in my head, and I think I’m on the verge of falling asleep, but I decide to lift myself up to look at Banks. He’s out of focus and kind of looks like a big blob to me, but he’s still got some sort of form in front of me.

Right now, Banks looks exactly the way he had in my dream so long ago. At the time I hadn’t known it was him, but I know now, and he looks just the way he had before. His form is blurry, almost too much so for me to even comprehend him, but he is there, and his face looks like that of a monster.

I’d almost forgotten that Banks has no laugh lines. He only ever smiles when he’s watching someone suffer. I would never tell him, but he’s so scary like this. The way he looks like he’s miles above me, with spindly long legs that could step on me and take my life away. He’s a man of nightmares.

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Banks asks.

“I... no. I’m always talking. I was doing a sardonic narration when I came out of the womb,” I reply.

I’m pretty sure he kicks me in the stomach, but I’m pretty numb all over so I could be imagining it. With my eyes, I see he’s a lot closer to me than he was a moment ago, but the figure is so blurry that it could just as easily be the grim reaper and I wouldn’t know.

“Was uncalled for,” I murmur, grabbing my stomach, because yeah, he kicked me. The way that my breath, which was already coming out painfully, gets even harder is the sign telling me so.

“You’re going to tell me what I want to know. Even if I have to wait all night,” Banks says. I decide not to mention the fact that waiting all night would imply that the cops would probably show up. That could be beneficial for me.

“Where’d the other guy go?” I ask him, when I notice that the little manmade room is empty apart from myself and Banks.

“We’re going to have a little heart to heart, Mr. Iero.”

“Why do I get the feeling that that’s not a good thing?” I ask him, and Banks chuckles.

“Hey Banks,” I say, blinking my eyes, and pulling myself up onto my elbows, “your shoes really don’t match your pants.”

“Is that meant to offend me?” Banks asks.

“You’re rich, you really should be able to match your colors, or at least hire someone to do it for you,” I say, blinking furiously again. My hands are crammed into my back painfully, but I can tell that they’re no longer tied together. I don’t know why they aren’t but I’m sure I’m right. They probably figured that I’m too weak to run away. That might not exactly be untrue, I can’t feel my fingers. I try the best I can to wiggle my fingers, and I think I’ve got control over a few of them, but I can’t feel the others.

The more I blink the more of Banks I can see. I think I’ve gotten down to three or four different versions of Banks instead of several dozen. I can see the hairs on his head, and the black beady color of his eyes. I finally get Banks into one physical form, though it hurts my brain to have to narrow down on it.

My head is throbbing. It’s one of the most painful headaches I’ve ever had, if not the most painful. Drowning really hurts your head and messes your ears up. It feels like I have sludge trapped in my ears, but I can’t lift my hands to get rid of it.

It’s not as bad as when I got shot though, and that’s good. When I got shot I couldn’t move any of my limbs at all. Right now, I can tell my limbs will work if I just give it a little time, but I’m not sure I’ll have that time because I’ll probably be dead before that happens.

Banks is looking right at me, with his back turned to the curtained wall. I suspect that behind me is the real wall, concrete and hard, but lifting my head is far too hard to check. I want to just lay here, and mumble whatever I can think to say.

“Why are you making this harder on yourself?” Banks asks.

“You call this hard? You should try beating the second quest in Legend of Zelda. Now that is what I call hard.”

“I’m sick of the sarcasm,” Banks says.

“Then I’ll make it a point not to invite you to any of my Thanksgiving dinners,” I reply.

It’s then that I see him. Red hair all over the place. Eyes red and raw from crying, but still so much determination and life in them. He looks a tannish yellow under the light, and I don’t understand it, but he’s there. I see him looking directly at me, but he can’t be here.

Gerard looks like an angel, honestly he does. Maybe he is an angel, maybe he always has been. I blink my eyes a few more times because I can’t be sure he’s really there, but I know he’s not real anyway. Gerard’s just a phantom from my subconscious.

One minute he’s there, and the next he’s disappearing behind the black flowing curtains, and I feel my heart drop a little bit. I want to see him again, see his face, but he wasn’t there in the first place.

“Are you listening to me?” Banks asks.

“I was trying not to, but your voice is very hard to ignore,” I respond. I don’t know how I have the strength to muster up that haughty voice when I feel like a quivering mess right now. I’m so tired, I can barely keep my head up, but I get my elbows underneath me and I’m practically in an upright position by the time that Banks gives me another evil look.

The curtains move behind him and I see Gerard again. My heart sings a little bit, because I love seeing him.

“Gerard?” I ask blankly, I’m not in charge of my vocal chords at the moment.

“That’s what I want to know. Where is Gerard?” Banks asks.

The Gerard that I see, who can’t be there, lifts a finger to his mouth, and I try to figure out why a figment of my imagination is worried about being heard or seen. Why would it care? That’s not Gerard, it’s probably my brain trying to give me one last look at him before I die. That’s kind of sweet, I guess. Death is showing me the beauty of the man I’m dying for. It’s a good reminder, because seeing him makes me feel more rational. I don’t regret dying for him, especially when I’m looking at him. He’s just so perfect to me.

I forgot how pretty he was. Every time I look away from Gerard I forget just how gorgeous he really is. I remember his face, and I remember that he really is beautiful, but when I look back at him, I realize just how much I’d been underselling him. He’s so magical, I can’t believe more people don’t faint in his presence. I fawn all over him, myself.

“Gerard?” I ask again, and he gives me these warning eyes that are very detailed for a daydream, or whatever he is.

“Do you need more convincing?” Banks asks.

“Was that water supposed to convince me? Really? You’re people skills are not up to par, bro.”

The hallucination of Gerard smiles, and I’m glad to know that he appreciates my sass. I see him holding something, kind of long but I don’t know what it is.

Banks is pacing in front of me, looking anywhere but at the Gerard I see behind him. He looks so real and 3-D to me, but I guess that’s just because he’s in my head.

It happens so quickly that I’m not sure if I’ve fallen asleep or if I’m checked into Bellevue. What I see is Gerard, with what appears to be a plank of wood, hitting Banks over the head. He falls almost immediately to the ground, and my eyes follow him from the nearly inaudible whack on the head, to the soft thump on the ground.

“Sick,” I say, because I can’t think of another word, and then I’m aware of Gerard standing right in front of me. I think Banks is actually out cold. That was a good hit.

“Come on, Frank,” Gerard says, grabbing my hand and attempting to pull me up, but I’m like a bag of flour right now. My feet don’t work, and I’m a dead weight.

“Wait, are you real?” I ask, because his hand feels real, and I can feel him. It’s solid, and it’s trying to get me onto my feet.

“What? Yes, of course. Come on, Frank!” Gerard hisses quietly.

“No, you’re not real. I’m dead, aren’t I?” I can’t find a way to reason with myself that he’s real.

He’s whispering but manages to make it seem like he’s yelling. It might just be my headache that makes it sound like shouting though.

“Frank, fucking hell, stand up!”

“But-”

“Listen to me,” he pleas, trying to keep his voice down.

I frown, and make a moping face, but I let him help me up. I feel like a scarecrow with limbs made of straw, and my feet practically give out underneath me. It’s like they’re made of Jell-O.

Gerard catches me and that’s how I decide that he’s real and not just a fantasy.

“Gerard?” I ask him, and he nods, getting a hand to support me, rather uncomfortably.

“I gotta get you out of here, Frankie,” he says, when finally both of my feet are planted firmly on the ground.

“He’s not going to stay out of it forever,” I say, looking at Banks, who’s already starting to stir.

“That’s why we have to go,” Gerard says.

I whimper, because he tries to get me to move, but it’s really hard to do anything so physical.

“I’m so sorry to say this, but Frank, you need to move. If you don’t we’re going to die,” Gerard says, and I nod. He’s right, and I hate that he’s right. I need to make sure that he gets out of here. I don’t care so much about myself, but if Gerard dies with me I’d never forgive myself.

“Why are you here?” I ask him.

“Mikey found me, and let me free. Then he told me where they were holding him, and I wasn’t going to let you die all alone, Frank,” Gerard says dragging me to the edge of the curtains.

“This was very stupid of you,” I reply. “How’d you get in?”

“Side door. I waited until they were distracted, and then I snuck in here. The curtains are two layers thick, you can hide between them.”

“Nice,” I say, nodding a little bit.

“Wait here,” Gerard tells me, and he lets me lean against the real part of the wall, which is solid against my back. He peeks out into the warehouse behind the curtains for a few seconds and then looks to me.

“How many guys are out there?” I ask him.

“Four,” Gerard says, “and the exit is about ten feet away.”

“How close is the nearest guy?” I ask him.

Gerard looks out again and replies, “About five feet away. These curtains are heavy, he can’t hear us.”

“Gun?”

“He has a gun, yes.”

I grab my head, to try to get the banging to stop and say, “okay here’s what you’re gonna do. Take that wood that you used to hit Banks, and whack out the nearest guy, quickly so he doesn’t see you and neither does anyone else. Then drag him through the curtains.”

“What! Why?”

“We need his gun,” I say.

“Why?” Gerard asks.

“They don’t know that Banks is unconscious as of yet, so they’re not going to expect us to put a gun to his head and walk out of here,” I say.

“We’re going to what?” Gerard asks, looking terrified. He really should have expected this to happen, he’s the one who snuck into a place full of men with guns.

“We get ourselves a gun, and we’re made. Just knock him out, pull him in here, and we go from there.”

Gerard’s eyebrows draw together.

“Do I have to do that?”

“Who’s the one with the functioning limbs?”

“Oh shit,” he says.

“You’ll do fine. If you don’t we’re dead anyway,” I say, but that’s really not a pep talk.

Gerard says what I was just thinking, “thanks for the fucking optimism.”

“Hey, I love you,” I say biting my lip and batting my eyelashes.

“Yeah, just don’t handcuff me to anymore beds,” Gerard says.

“Well that kind of nullifies half of my kinks, you might want to reconsider that in the future,” I say.

“I swear to god, if you weren’t so cute, I’d punch you right now,” Gerard says, and then steps toward the curtains again.