Killing's Just A Game

I lift the hood of my car, only to receive a lungful of thick, gray smoke. To any normal person, I would look like a poor, sweet girl with engine troubles. However, it was actually quite the opposite.

My eyes are bloodshot from staring at the computer screen all night. I took Matt's warning into consideration and did some serious research on My Chemical Romance for around eight hours. I scanned through multiple fan fictions, browsed dozens of biographies, and watched countless videos on YouTube. I even went so far as to run a credit check on every band member. In the end, I concluded that Frank Iero seemed like the most outgoing guy. Therefore, I decided to use him to wiggle my way into the group.

Once I was finished gathering information, I called Jimmy and had him bring me one of the firm's "show cars". These are basically old cars that we've borrowed and modified. All it takes is the touch of a button, and smoke comes pouring out from under the hood for nearly an hour. They are an extremely effective gadget when used properly.

So this morning I got up extra early, made myself look gorgeous, and drove my show car all the way from Manhattan to Belleville, New Jersey where Frank lives. That brings us back to my current location, bent over my hood in front of Frank's house.

In an exasperated way, I slam the hood down on the car and march up to Frank's front door. I take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. A few minutes later, I hear a shuffling on the other side, followed by the door swinging open.

"Um...can I help you?" a very sleepy looking Frank asks. My breath catches in my throat and I can't seem to choke out any words. The way his hair flops over one eye, the way he's chewing on the corner of his mouth; it renders me speechless. I knew the guys in this band were good looking, but this is insane. Mentally slapping myself, I recover.

"Yeah. Can I use your phone? My car broke down and my cell phone is dead," I answer, giving him a slightly pleading look.

"Uh..." Frank mumbles, glancing over my shoulder at my steaming car and then back to me. I bat my eyelashes at him and sigh. It works like a charm.

"Sure, come on in," Frank murmurs.

I smile graciously at him and follow him into the house. It's surprisingly modest for an apparently famous person, and I can't help but wonder why he doesn't find somewhere nicer to live. I guess all rock stars don't live in kick ass mansions.

"The phone is in here," Frank says, leading me into the kitchen. I thank him and seat myself at the breakfast bar. He leaves to give me some privacy, and I dial Jimmy's number.

"Hey, Jimmy!" I cry when he answers the phone, putting on an act in case Frank is eavesdropping. "You would not believe what happened to me this morning. My stupid car broke down in Belleville. I know, I know. Can you please come get me? I don't know, like a mile north of the Phillips 66. There's only one gas station in the town, Jimmy. You could see my car smoking from state away. Okay, okay. Thank you."

Frank comes back into the kitchen and starts making coffee.

"Did you get a hold of anyone?" he asks.

"Yes, my brother. He's totally peeved at me, but he'll get over it," I respond, rolling my eyes for dramatic effect.

"Well do you want to hang out here until he shows up?"

"Oh I don't want to intrude," I quickly reply. "I could always just wait by the car. He should only be two hours."

"Don't worry about it. I need the company," Frank jokes, pouring the prepared coffee.

"Thanks. I'm Melanie Kane, by the way" I smile, almost genuinely, as he passes me a cup.

"Frank Iero," he replies. "So what brings you through Belleville?"

I tell Frank my rehearsed speech about visiting a friend of mine in Trenton, and how I was driving back to New York City where I live with my older brother, Jimmy. Much to my surprise, Frank actually listens to what I have to say. This makes me nervous. Was I sounding convincing? Why was he staring at me like that? And why the Hell am I worrying? I've been in this occupation for years, I have no need to get all worked up now.

Once I'm done with my speech, Frank and I move on to more generic topics. By the time Jimmy arrives, almost three hours later, Frank and I are talking like old friends.

When Jimmy rings the doorbell, Frank jumps up to answer it and I accidentally drop my cell phone on his kitchen floor. I walk over to the door, upon hearing Jimmy's voice.

"Hey, Baby Sis," Jimmy says cheerily, "Having some car trouble?"

"A bit," I answer, making sure to blush a tad.

We stand there in the doorway and chat for a few minutes. Jimmy has loaded my car onto a trailer, pulled by Paul's diesel truck. Before we go, I make a point of giving Frank a hug and thanking him for his hospitality. The second the door is shut, we run to the truck and scramble inside. We're nearly half a mile away when Frank steps outside to return my lost cell phone to me.

At this point, I smile to myself. Two things could happen now. Frank could either go to the trouble of looking me up in the phone book and returning the phone to me; or he could throw it away. I was planning on the latter, ready to instigate plan B after a few days of silence.

Little did I know, that Frank Iero would do so much more than I expected.