Ignite These Somber Flames

Nine years prior, 1997

After school, Marlowe typically waited for Frank at the Mt. Woodson Park. The park stood two blocks away from Belleville High School. Frank attended the private, catholic school, Queen of Peace. Marlowe finished school at three o’clock while Frank’s school concluded fifteen after. Every week it was a new book in her hands as she waited for him. This week’s book was East of Eden, a novel Frank read in his sophomore year of school. Marlowe jumped into his car as soon as he pulled up in front of the park.

“No Carson today?” Frank asked as he pushed the door open for her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion, not sure what he had said but then it hit her. “Oh, no,” she murmured in response. “Told him about the deal I made with your mother.”

The corners of Frank’s lip flipped upward. Although it was true Marlowe made a deal, it no longer became a requirement that she spend every Monday, Wednesday, or Friday at the Iero household. Marlowe transformed herself since the deal was struck. In fact, Marlowe became a more model student than Frank. Frank took great pleasure knowing Marlowe chose to spend Friday night with him instead of her boyfriend.

He turned on his signal, merging onto the street again. Marlowe stuck her nose back in the pages of the green, hardcover book. Frank turned the volume back up. One of the boys in his band made him a mixtape filled of heavy metal. Frank didn’t know how Marlowe could read with the music; she never complained. Frank appreciated Marlowe’s reclusiveness. She didn’t feel the need to fill the air with useless conversation nor she tried to fit in; Marlowe was simply herself.

The duo ascended into house when Frank’s forest green Jetta pulled into the driveway. Marlowe was the first one into the house. The rest of the band pulled up on the sidewalk, shouting at Frank to help them out. Marlowe pretended not to hear their calls. Not to be rude, but because she reached a vital part of the novel. She wanted to finish it before she had to be polite and put her book down to greet the boys.

The house was empty when she entered it. Frank mentioned in the car ride over that Linda was away in New York for the weekend for a business conference. The Iero house was a simple one-story with a basement. Band practice commenced downstairs in the basement. Without lifting her nose from her book, Marlowe made her way down the stairs, knowing the layout of the house perfectly. She found the couch with ease and laid down, her body taking up the entire width. She crossed her legs and held the book above her head.

The boys trickled down the stairs, shouting hellos to Marlowe. She waved a hand in the air. It had been Frank who pulled the book from her hands; he stuck a finger in her spot. “Frank Anthony Iero!” She bellowed as she shot up into the air; her arms crossed over her chest. “You better not have lost my spot!” Her words were armed to disarm him but the way her brows furrowed at him only made Frank’s grin grow an ego.

“Come be human and socialize,” he teased her.

“Quit being an asshole and I’ll consider it,” she fought back.

“Stop flirting and help us,” one of the boys shouted. Both Frank and Marlowe’s heads whipped towards him; their faces turned multiple shades of red. The hand that held the book, dropped to Frank’s side. Marlowe took the chance to pull the book away.

“Don’t, I have your spot,” Frank said too little, too late. Marlowe huffed at him before plopping herself back down on the couch, this time her legs crossed in front of her. Frank bellowed before walking back to the other boys. He picked up his guitar, tuning it before the boys began practice.

Marlowe finished East of Eden before practice ended. She looked on as the boys wrapped up the end of their practice. She offered no help as the boys packed up their instruments. Instead, Marlowe fiddled with the split ends of her hair, pulling them off as if they were the petals of wildflowers. She tucked a strand behind her ear. The other boys waved good-bye as they headed up stairs and Marlowe smiled back at them.

Frank bounced over to her, covered head to toe in sweat. “Whatchya think of the set?” he beamed at her. Frank had such youthfulness to him after playing. Perhaps it was because his adrenaline was up, and that in turn meant Frank was more upbeat.

Marlowe shrugged her shoulders playfully, “It was half decent,” she couldn’t keep a smile off her face. Frank mirrored her grin, except his became more devilish. He lifted his hands up, the tips of his fingers found her sides. “Frank!” She shrieked with laughter.

“I know you liked it even if you won’t admit it,” he smirked at her. Frank sat on Marlowe, using his weight to keep her pinned down. Marlowe did her best to wiggle around, shrieks of laughter continuing. One swift move, and Marlowe knocked Frank off balance: what she had not calculated was his face crashing into the sofa right next to her face.

Frank, quick to react, placed his palm by the side of Marlowe’s face. One more inch, and Frank’s lips could easily have landed on Marlowe’s. Silence filled the gap between the two; they awkwardly tried to look anywhere but each other’s eyes. He almost pushed himself back up before something caught his attention. Frank nearly missed it. Had he not been inches away from her face, he would have. It was something you couldn’t see unless you knew what to look for. The skin on her left temple was slightly raised. The faint bruising surrounded the bump. Flecks of green and yellow sprinkles her high cheekbone. Frank extended his hand out and lightly brushed the tips of his fingers across it. Marlowe winced away from him the moment his fingers came into contact with her cheek.

Marlowe hoped he was having a moment, feelings running high; but she knew it wasn’t true when his eyes were stuck on her cheek. “Frank,” she warned as she turned her head to the side, disrupting his view of her left cheek.

Frank resonated, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Marlowe sheltered her face away from his baring eyes. She squirmed underneath him; the close proximity caused her discomfort.

Frank jumped off the sofa and craned his neck as he watched Marlowe sit up. The placement of the bruise suggested someone took a swing at her days prior. “Who hit you?” Frank fumbled to find the proper words.

“No one.” It was an obvious lie. Marlowe knew Frank didn’t buy it. “Just drop it,” she sighed. She wouldn’t meet Frank’s stare.

“Did,” Frank paused. He had some idea who could have inflicted such a wound. “Did Mr. Fletcher hit you, Marlowe?” He asked unsteadily. Frank thought back how Marlowe missed school all week since she was supposedly “sick”. He asked Liam earlier this week and he seemed reluctant to talk about it: the same way Marlowe acted now.

Marlowe flinched when Frank said her foster father’s name. “Does Liam know?” Frank continued to ask questions.

Of course Liam knew, Marlowe thought. Liam had his abdominal punched in; he had a fractured rib cage to prove it. Marlowe interfered when she came home Monday to find Liam and Mr. Fletcher fighting in the living room. She stepped in at the moment Mr. Fletcher swung his fist. Liam already prepared to block it but no one anticipated Marlowe’s interference. Liam and Marlowe agreed it was best to keep quiet; things would be easier if no one talked about it.

“I said drop it, Frank,” Marlowe growled at him; her eyes met his for the first time. “And don’t go opening your mouth to your mom either.”

“What do you mean?” He barked back at her, his blood boiling now. “If Mr. Fletcher hit you, this is serious.”

“If you really want to help, you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut,” Marlowe’s face was inches from Frank’s. Her eyes burning through his, and an expression Frank couldn’t make out stood still upon her face. She was either warning or begging him.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please take me home, Frank,” Marlowe breathed as she turned away from him, heading towards the stairs.

Neither one spoke the entire car ride. There was no music or book to ease the unbearable silence between them. Marlowe stared out the window, her hair down and shielding her face. When Frank pulled up in front of her foster home, she turned towards him. “Promise me you won’t say a word to your mom,” she begged.

“I promise,” he sighed.


Frank meant to keep his promise. The weeks that followed the incident in his basement kept him up all night. The images of Liam and Marlowe bruised beyond belief filled his head. He would have nightmares of finding their bodies, beaten to death.

Frank felt he didn’t have much of a choice. But there’s always a choice; and Frank made up his mind. He decided to tell his mother. She sat in the living room, a stack of paperwork on the table before her. Her glasses sat at the tip of her nose, a pen in hand. Frank stood in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. He waited, contemplating if he should follow through or not. He pictured Marlowe’s face as she told him not to tell his mother. She was afraid of something; but of what, he thought.

Linda saw her son just standing there. “You okay?” She asked him. “Frank, What’s wrong?”

He closed his eyes, mentally he apologized to Marlowe; but this was for the best. “Mom, I have something important to tell you,” he said as he stepped into the living room.


The morning had not been gentle on Frank. He woke up in Marlowe’s bed, alone with an excruciating headache. Luckily for him, Marlowe left aspirin and a water bottle on the nightstand. He stood up, pulling on a pair of pants and a shirt he found draped nicely over the chair. He stumbled into the kitchen finally; his hands shielded his eyes from the late-morning sun.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” Liam laughed, sitting at small kitchen table with Gerard and Mikey. A mug of coffee placed in front of everyone as well as empty plates. “There’s a breakfast burrito in the fridge for you: soyrizo, guacamole, and potatoes.”

Frank murmured thanks in return. He grabbed the burrito from the top shelf, stuck it in the microwave for a few minutes before sitting down at the table with the boys. The burrito disappeared in no time as the rest of the boys talked about the plans for the rest of the week. They talked about possibly going out again tonight and camping the remainder of the week; the boys only had three and a half days left before home. But Frank didn’t pay much attention; he was more focused on curing his hangover.

“But you need to shower before we head out,” Liam commented towards Frank.

“I can smell you all the way from over here,” Gerard laughed. “Bro, you stink of a club that doesn’t have a ventilation system.” Gerard stood up, stacking everyone’s plates on top of each other, and placed them into the dishwasher.

Ray wandered into the kitchen, his cellphone in his hand. “Marlowe texted me saying we can head out whenever we’re ready,” he relayed. “Told her we were waiting for Frank to get up, but now that you’re up...oh my god! You stink!” Ray’s free hand flew over his nose and mouth. Damage was already done. “Someone had too much fun last night,” his voice altered into a high pitch tone.

“Alright,” Frank grumbled. “I get it. I’ll hop in the shower now, you assholes.” Frank kicked the chair out from under and made sure to flick Ray’s afro on his way out.