Let Me Kiss the Bride

It was 5:41 on a warm Wednesday afternoon in the basement of an abandoned house that Gerard Way ended his life.

He lay peacefully on its mildewed wood floor with eyes closed and iPod blasting through his earbuds, his position allowing for his feet to point eastward--the direction that one may think to find a dog facing in death. As if he were welcoming the earth to take him and let him become one with it.

His house, of which he shared with no one, was left with lights on and television going so as to not arouse suspicion of his absence and, through the years, thrived without its human inhabitant, despite the dust that began to collect in and around it.

Having not spoken with family and friends for a prolonged period of time, worry spread like an infection. A search party was sent after the missing man, who lived in Los Angeles, California, which was across the country from Belleville, New Jersey, the town where most of his family resided.

After years of searching with no luck, the heartbroken Way family and the police departments of both Los Angeles and Belleville decided to end the search. On March 22, 2013, a closed-casket funeral was held in memory of Gerard Arthur Way, who hadn’t been contacted or heard from for a total of twelve entire years.

His house went into foreclosure after posthumously failing to pay his bills, and it was sold at a low price to a young man who was in the process of receiving a college degree in the hopes of becoming a psychotherapist, and the abandoned house of which the missing man died and wasted away in was demolished, its remnants burned and thrown away.

To many, Gerard’s story ended with the lowering of his empty casket at the much-publicised funeral.

Oh, how they were so, very wrong.

-----

“Frank…”

The young man sat up in his bed, awoken by the soft voice that called his name. His hazel eyes darted about the dark bedroom, breathing heavily in anticipation of seeing an armed murderer about to kill him. However, he was, as far as he knew, alone. The only inhabitant of his home.

He wore nothing but his plaid boxers as he pushed the blankets off himself and scooted off the memory foam bed, reaching for his cell phone. With a shaking hand, he typed his boyfriend’s number into the cell and pressed call.

“Frankie, love,” Aric said sleepily. “It’s two in the morning, darling, you’re s’posed to be sleeping. What’s wrong?”

“Aric,” He whimpered, almost inaudibly, “I heard the voice again. It was calling my name, Aric, I swear. There’s someone in my house.”

“Are you sure they’re in your house? Even so, perhaps it’s a friend just pulling a prank, dear.”

“No, it isn’t a friend. I know it’s not. I’m scared, Aric. Can you please just come pick me up? I don’t wanna stay here another night.”

“Frankie, haven’t you any idea what time it is? I can’t just leave Eileen here to go pick you up.”

“Then take her with you! Eileen’s only four, it’s not like it’s gonna do any long-term damage to her.”

Frank heard him sigh. “Eileen’s my daughter, and as her father, it’s my job to take care of her. I can’t leave her here nor can I disrupt her sleep because you feel uncomfortable in your new house. I’m sorry, darling, but I just cannot do that. You have a car, too, don’t you? Drive here yourself if you feel that uncomfortable.”

Frank gulped as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “I don’t...I don’t know, Aric, I’m just so afraid. I don’t even know what of.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie, but you’re just going to have to deal with it yourself. Goodnight, love.” With that, he hung up.

Frank stared down at the cell phone in disbelief. How dare he hang up on him when there’s probably someone in his house that could come and kill him? It could be some murderous old man with a chainsaw and a ski mask!

He was on the verge of tears. Eileen, he thought bitterly. It was four years ago that Aric cheated on Frank with a woman and got her knocked up. Eileen was the product of an affair that never should have happened, yet Aric had the audacity to put her first before Frank. Always Eileen. Eileen this, Eileen that, Eileen is hungry, Eileen is tired. Frank was sick of it. Frank had him first. Frank should be put first before Eileen.

And now, a murderer could be in Frank’s home ready to kill him and Aric still fusses over Eileen’s eight hours of beauty rest. How chivalrous.

The only reason Frank still tolerated Eileen was because Eileen’s mother was dead. Squashed by a truck on her walk to work just a month after Eileen was born.

Frank pondered all this as he pushed himself off the bed slowly so as to not make noise. Tiptoeing to the bathroom, he rummaged in the drawer underneath the counter for the gun he kept there. Once he found it, he gripped the weapon tightly until his knuckles turned a sickly white.

“You...you’d better be afraid,” he called out timidly into the darkness of the hallway, hoping to intimidate anyone that could be lingering about.

Pictures of Aric and Eileen were hung here and there along the house as the only source of life, the naked white walls seeming to squeeze together in the night, leaving Frank breathless and anxious. Upon entering the living room, he tripped here and there on moving boxes left to unpack.

He turned the light on and squinted, feeling almost blinded by the brightness.

Nothing was out of the ordinary.

The only sound he could hear was the whirring of the wind outside and the trees smacking against the side of the house. The branches made eerie scratching sounds that echoed through the almost-empty home.

Frank sighed. He could have sworn he heard a voice. He could have sworn someone was there, yet now he felt foolish as he stood by the bare wall leading into the kitchen, his heartbeat slowing and head throbbing.

He scolded himself for such childish irrationality. You’re going to school to become a goddamned psychologist, Frank, he thought to himself. You should know better than this. You should know better than to freak out at every little thing you hear.

Thunk. The sound of the lock turning and the front door opening jolted Frank back into panic mode, and he pulled out the gun and ran to the stairs, ready to shoot. “Frank,” a croaking voice said. Frank couldn’t tell if it was the same one he heard in the bedroom, if it was the intruder. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, Aric’s silhouette came into view, hands up in the air and car keys dangling from his pocket. “Jesus Christ, Frank! What are you doing?!”

Frank lowered his aim, the colour draining from his face as he realised he was about to shoot his boyfriend...in a pair of boxers...at two o’clock in the morning. “Aric! Oh my God, Aric, what’re...why...why are you here?!” He rushed to his bedroom to grab some trousers. Aric followed him.

“You seemed really upset on the phone. After I hung up, I felt really bad. I thought, ‘What if there really was someone in his house,’ y’know? So I woke Eileen up and told her that we’d come pick you up and then head home.” He scratched his head awkwardly as Frank buttoned his trousers. “Are you okay? Do you still want to leave?”

“Baby,” said Frank, as his words sunk in. He felt bad for being angry with Aric. “I didn’t--”

Just then, a piercing scream rang through the house, causing both Aric and Frank to jump with fright. “Frank Anthony Iero, get out of my house!” It was the same voice Frank remembered hearing in the bedroom.

A book flew across the room and hit Frank’s back--hard. He hit the floor, his knees grinding into the rough, vomit-coloured carpet. Like a boomerang, the book spun around and soared straight into him once more, this time hitting his face.

Blood streaming from his nose, Frank yowled in pain and fear. Aric, not knowing what to do, pulled Frank by the arm to try to get him to move. He wouldn’t budge. As he clutched his swelling face, he yelled, “My nose! It’s fucking broken! It’s broken!”

“Frankie, love, get up! We need to leave!” Aric tugged at Frank’s arm. “Everything’ll be okay, just get up, love, get up!”

The lights in the house began to flicker ominously, the book dropping to the floor and the air seeming to become colder and denser. The house assumed a horror film-like aura, of which the two men did not like one bit.

Frank cowered into Aric’s chest like a timid dog, sobbing into his shirt. It was in that very moment that he began to question his sanity.

It was in that very moment that he began his downward spiral.