Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge-One/Two

Part One

Bert McCracken sat on the cold ground, drinking from a bottle of Jack Daniels and watching the moon.  It was almost Halloween, and Bert had an important task ahead of him.

Taking a swallow from his bottle, Bert felt the ground shake.  He moved about a foot to the right, then continued drinking.  After another few minutes, the earth cracked, then soil flew over Bert in a shower.  He brushed the soil off and looked at the dirty, bedraggled figure sitting on the grave.

“You look like shit,” Bert said in a matter-of-fact tone.  He stood up and waited patiently until the man pulled himself to his feet.  “But, being dead for almost a whole year, then having to drag yourself out of a fucking grave might cause you to be a little under the weather.”

“Who are you?” the man asked in a hoarse, unused voice.  “Who am I?”

“You,” Bert said, “are Gerard Way.  Or, that’s who you were a year ago, and, eleven days from now, you can be again.  Me, I’m Bert McCracken.  They tell me that the word for what I am is non-corporeal.  What it means is you see me, but no one else does.  I’m your guide until the task is completed or you fail.”

“What task?” Gerard asked.  “And what do you mean, I was dead?”

“It’ll all come back to you,” Bert said.  “I can only guide.  At this point, I can’t help.”  He looked critically at Gerard.  “Right now, I’m going to guide you to some different clothes.”

Gerard followed Bert out of the cemetery and across a street.  The street was deserted, and Gerard struggled with his lack of memory.  Bert walked purposefully down the street, and slowly the streets began to look more and more familiar to Gerard.  Bert finally stopped in front of a boarded up building.  “Here we are,” he announced.  He pointed at a loose board.  “You’ll need to go in that way.  You still have skin and meat on your bones.”

Gerard watched as Bert walked through the wall, then he pulled the board loose and climbed through.  The building was dirtier inside than out, and as Gerard looked around, he felt a searing pain in his head.  Falling to his knees, he clutched his head and let out a scream of agony.  When he opened his eyes, he could dimly see Bert leaning against a wall, but the majority of his field of vision was filled with what Gerard could only assume were his last few minutes on earth.  Four men were in the room with Gerard and his mind identified them—Paul Thomas, Billy Martin, and Benji and Joel Madden.  The four of them were taking turns kicking and punching Gerard, and Gerard heard Joel snarling at him while wielding a bloody bat.  “You’ll close it down or you’ll fucking die, do you understand?”

The vision faded away, and Gerard lay curled up on his side, feeling his body ache.  When he could catch his breath, he stood and stared at Bert.  “Rose Records,” he said.  “I wouldn’t close it.  So, they killed me.  Is that it?”

Bert shook his head.  “Yes and no.  They did kill you.  They beat you to death.  But not because you wouldn’t close.  They didn’t give you a chance to say no.”  Bert pointed at a closet.  “Clothes are in there.  There’s still running water.  Shower and change, then see how much you remember.”

Gerard walked slowly to the closet and opened it.  Several pairs of jeans and a few shirts were hanging in the closet.  There was also a small vanity with a cracked mirror in the room, and he walked over and sat down in front of it.  Looking into the mirror, he saw a pale face with wide eyes staring back at him.  His black hair was long and unkempt, and when he tried to run his fingers through it, he winced at the tangles.  At last, he stood and walked into the bathroom.  To his surprise, it was fairly clean, with a fresh bottle of shampoo and a brand new bar of soap.  Quickly stripping, Gerard showered, then dressed.  Walking back to the mirror, he stared at his long hair, then rummaged around in the vanity until he found an old pair of scissors.  He cut the excess length off of his hair, then walked out to where Bert was sitting on a crate, still drinking.  Bert looked at Gerard and nodded approvingly.  Gerard walked over, clutching an object he had found in his pocket.  “I’m dead,” he said to Bert.  “I was buried a year ago.  How am I here?”

“What do you remember about your life before you died?” Bert inquired.

“I had a girl,” Gerard said slowly.  He opened his hand and showed Bert the ring he had found in his pocket.  “This was hers.”

Bert remained silent, and Gerard closed his eyes.  “Becka,” he said at last.  “Becka Hamilton.  And I had a brother—Michael.  We called him Mikey.  And our group of friends—Ray Toro, Frankie Iero, and Bob Bryar.  They were all helping me with Rose Records before—before I died.”  Gerard’s words were coming more and more quickly as memories came flooding back.  “They kept trying to get me to sell Rose Records.  When I wouldn’t sell, they got pissed off.”  Gerard rose and began pacing.  After a few moments, he whirled and faced Bert.  “They killed me over a fucking record company?”

Bert remained silent, and Gerard let out a frustrated groan.  “Why won’t you say anything?”

“Because I can’t,” Bert explained.  “You have to find your own way through this.”

“What can you tell me?” Gerard asked.

Bert sighed.  “When you died, you died way before your time.  You were destined to do great things.  And someone—“  Bert glanced up and unconsciously crossed himself, then continued.  “Someone is fucking pissed off that you got killed.  So, you have a chance to avenge your death and come back.”

Gerard sat down in a chair and stared at Bert.  “Explain,” he demanded.

“You have eleven days until the anniversary of your death,” Bert said.  “During that eleven days, you have to avenge your death.  If you accomplish that task, you can step back into your life.  If you don’t, you go back to being dead.”

Gerard considered Bert’s words, then looked up.  “I can’t be recognized easily,” he said.  “I need to go to the costume store.”

“For what?”

Gerard smiled grimly.  “You’ll see.”

Part Two

Paul Thomas stood in the amusement park on the outskirts of town, waiting for it to close.  He had his eye on a particularly vulnerable couple—the young man was carrying around an impressively thick wallet, and the girl was a fragile, blond beauty.  For Paul, it looked like it was going to be a good night.

The couple headed to the parking lot, and Paul fell into step behind them, making sure he remained hidden in the shadows.  When he was sure he was alone with the couple, he pulled a gun from his pocket.  Just as Paul was about to speak, he was distracted by a dark figure gliding through the shadows.  There was something familiar about the figure, and by the time Paul was able to direct his attention back to his prey, the couple had entered their car and driven away.

“Fuck,” Paul muttered.  He looked around uneasily.  “What the fuck was that, anyway?”  He put his hands in his pockets and started to walk back to the fairgrounds.  Something moved in the shadows, and an icy wind blew, ruffling Paul’s hair and sending a shiver down his spine.

Just as Paul started to walk again, a slender, black clad figure moved into Paul’s path.  The figure’s face was ghostly white, with red-rimmed eyes, and Paul stuttered slightly before speaking.  “Who the fuck are you?”

Gerard smiled.  “You don’t remember me, Paulie?  Was I that fucking insignificant?”  He moved closer, and Paul’s eyes widened.

“Not fucking possible,” Paul squeaked.  “You’re dead.  You’re dead, we—“

“Killed me?” Gerard interrupted.  “You did, Paulie.  But guess what?  I’m back.  And you know what else?  I’m fucking pissed off.”

Paul’s entire body began to tremble, and at last, his nerve broke.  He turned to run, and felt a hard blow to the back of his head.  Paul crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, and Gerard tucked his pistol into the back of his pants.  Bending over, Gerard hoisted Paul over his shoulder and turned, striding resolutely.

Bert was waiting for Gerard when Gerard came and dumped the still unconscious Paul on the ground.  They were in the fair graveyard—a huge stockpile of old rides and fair attractions.  Gerard had erected a large wheel that had once been used for the knife throwing act.  Working quickly, Gerard fastened Paul to the wheel, then gave it a spin.  Paul’s eyelids fluttered, then his eyes opened wide.

“Where the fuck am I?” he demanded.

Gerard stepped back and pulled out his gun, checking the clip, then reached out and spun the wheel again.  “It isn’t that much fun staring down a loaded gun,” he said softly, then fired.

Paul’s screams echoed into the night.

Part Three

Detective Jepha Howard stood outside the yellow crime scene tape and surveyed the scene inside.  He was silent for a long time.  At last, he said, “Someone was trying to make a statement here.”

“Really?” Detective Peter Wentz inquired, sarcasm thick in his voice.  “Do you think?”

Howard ignored Wentz and stepped over the crime scene tape.  He walked toward the wheel, where the victim, Paul Thomas, was being taken down and put into a body bag.  There were dozens of red roses scattered over the ground around the wheel, and Howard carefully picked his way through them.  Wentz followed, and when he stood beside Howard, Howard asked him, “Have you ever seen gang symbolism like this?”

Wentz shook his head.  “Never.  No known gang uses roses.  And this wasn’t a random gang murder.  This was personal.  Carefully thought out, and this guy wasn’t killed right away.  Whoever did this played with him first.”  Wentz looked thoughtful, then said, “The roses.  Something about the roses…”  He shook his head.  “I just can’t remember.”

Howard looked around in distaste, then sighed.  “Let’s get to work.”

Part Four

Becka Hamilton stood in front of the grave of Gerard Way, a bouquet of roses in her hand.  As she knelt to place them by the headstone, she glanced back at Mikey Way, who was leaning against the car and looking anywhere and everywhere except at the grave.

Gerard crouched on a thick tree limb a few yards away, watching the scene.  After a few minutes, he asked Bert, “Do you know how often they come out here?”

“Every Sunday,” Bert answered.  He was sitting on the branch, drinking from a small bottle of tequila.  “Mikey always comes with her, but he can’t bring himself to go to the grave.  Becka’s strong—she was able to resume some semblance of a normal life.  You dying—it fucked Mikey up bad.  He wandered the streets until Becka found him and made him move in with her.  She’s been taking care of him since.”

Gerard’s jaw tightened, but he remained still and quiet until Becka and Mikey drove away.  Then, he jumped down and walked towards his new home.  Bert walked beside him and at last, Gerard asked him, “If I avenge myself by midnight on the eleventh of November—“

“Actually,” Bert interrupted, “it’s by 11:11 pm on the eleventh of November.  That’s the exact time of death.”

“That’s just fucking weird,” Gerard said.  “11:11 on 11/11.”  He shook his head.  “Anyway, when and if I do it, I’ll be—real again?”

“Yes.  You’ll be able to resume your life.”

“Then I’ve got something to do tonight.”

Part Five

Billy Martin stared at the television set in the bar in shock, then yelled out, “Benji!  Joel!  Paulie just got himself fucking whacked!!”

Joel Madden looked up from where he was nuzzling his girlfriend Hilary Duff’s neck.  “What the fuck are you babbling about?”

“It’s all over the fucking news.  Someone killed Paulie, and they didn’t just kill him.  They tortured him first.”

Ray Toro was silent behind the bar.  The members of the Good Charlotte gang were regulars at the bar, and there was a tense relationship between Good Charlotte and most of the bar employees.  It was widely conjectured that Good Charlotte had been involved in Gerard Way’s death the year before.  The bar’s employees consisted mostly of friends of Gerard’s.  Nothing had ever been proven, but Good Charlotte seemed to make it a point to frequent the bar as often as possible.

Becka walked up to the bar and gave Ray an order.  Glancing at the television, she asked, “What happened?”

“Paul Thomas is dead,” Ray answered.

“Big deal,” Becka muttered.  She put her drink orders on her tray and carried them to Joel’s table.  Mikey was clearing the table next to Joel’s, and as he turned to carry his tray to the back of the bar, Joel stuck his foot out and tripped Mikey.  Mikey fell hard, the empty glasses shattering on the floor.  Joel, Billy, Joel’s brother Benji, and Hilary began laughing as Becka quickly sat their drinks down and knelt to help Mikey.

“You OK, Mikey?” Becka asked quietly.  She and Mikey swept the shattered glasses into the tray Mikey had been carrying.  When they got to their feet, Becka put her hand on Mikey’s shoulder.  He gave her a small smile, then continued back to the kitchen.  Becka turned and picked up her own tray, giving the occupants of the table a venomous look.  Hilary acted as if she was going to get up from the table, and Becka stared at her.  “Come on,” she said in a low voice.  “Come on, you plastic Barbie doll bitch.”

Ray quickly left the bar and steered Becka away from the table.  “You can’t,” he told her.  “You’ll get fired, which you can’t afford, and it’s too dangerous to fuck with them.”

Becka clenched her fists.  “They had something to do with—“

“I know,” Ray interrupted, pitching his voice low.  “But this—this is no good.  You know it’s not.”

Becka sighed.  “I know, Ray.  I know.”  She glanced at Mikey, who was carefully disposing of the shattered glasses.  “Mikey hasn’t even talked since it happened.  This really fucked him up, Ray.  Gerard was all he had.  And they—they took that from him.  I know it.”

“You know it.  I know it.  Frankie knows it.  Bob knows it.  And, even though he hasn’t said anything, I think Mikey knows it, too.  But getting into a fight with Joel Madden’s little slut girlfriend—that will not help anyone.”

Nodding, Becka calmed down and rubbed her eyes.  “I just miss him, Ray.  All the time.  It never goes away.”

“I know.”  Ray was quiet, then motioned to the door.  “Bones is leaving.”

Becka watched as Billy left the bar.  When the door opened, she saw a figure move across the door.  Her eyes widened, and she ran to the door.  She pushed the door open and looked around.  At last, she came back inside, a puzzled look on her face.

“What was that all about?” Frank Iero asked, sitting at the bar.

“I thought I saw....”  Becka’s voice trailed off, and she shook her head.  “It couldn’t have been.  It’s not possible.”

Part Six

Gerard watched as Billy Martin left the bar, walking unsteadily down the sidewalk.  Gerard was crouched on top of a tall brick fence, and Bert was sitting beside him.  When Bert saw Billy weaving down the sidewalk, he snorted disdainfully.  “Stupid fucking punk.  Can’t hold his alcohol.”

Gerard glanced at Bert.  “You ever think you might hold yours a little too well?”

Bert shrugged.  “I’m a ghost.  Doesn’t matter what the fuck I do.”

Gerard shook his head.  Then, he jumped down from the wall and moved quickly across the street.  He was silhouetted momentarily against the light from the bar door, and Bert watched with interest as Becka burst through the door.  She looked both ways, then slowly went back into the bar.

Gerard moved quickly, staying hidden in the shadows.  He kept Billy in his sights, but stayed far enough behind him to keep Billy unaware of his presence.  He could feel the fire of anger burning in the pit of his stomach; Gerard had seen the exchange involving his brother Mikey.  That had made him angrier than anything that had ever happened to him—even his own death.

Billy sauntered down the sidewalk, drinking unsteadily from a beer can.  As he approached an apartment building, he stopped under a streetlight to finish his beer.  Gerard glanced up at the streetlight, and it popped with a loud noise, plunging the street into darkness.  Billy looked around uneasily, then hurried into the building.

Gerard walked up to the door and shook the handle.  The door was locked, and Gerard stepped back, looking up at the darkened windows.

“Fourth floor, fifth window from the right,” Bert offered helpfully.  “And you can climb walls now.”

Gerard looked at Bert in surprise.  “You’re fucking kidding, right?”

“Try it.”

Gerard walked to the wall and looked up, counting the windows.  Taking a deep breath, he put his hands on the wall.  Pulling himself up, he began to climb the wall.  “Cool,” he thought to himself.  Moving quickly, he made his way to Billy’s window.  The window was locked, and it appeared as though Billy hadn’t made it to the room yet.

Gerard gripped the lock and broke it easily.  Sliding the window open, he climbed into the room and looked around with interest.  The room was surprisingly clean, and Gerard pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  Lighting one, he settled in the only chair, waiting patiently for Billy to reach his room.

Billy Martin opened the door to his room.  When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he started in surprise when he saw a familiar figure sitting in his chair, holding a glowing cigarette.

“Who the fuck are you?” Billy finally blurted out, struggling to keep his voice from trembling.

Gerard dropped his cigarette on the floor and stepped on it as he stood.  As he moved forward, Billy shrank backwards against the wall.  Gerard smiled.  “What’s the matter, Billy?” he asked.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Billy crouched on the floor, whimpering.  His eyes were wide and filled with tears.  “I don’t know who the fuck you are,” he said.  “Just get away from me, what the fuck do you want?”

Gerard rolled his eyes and knelt beside Billy.  “I can’t believe you’ve forgotten me so quickly, Billy.  It hasn’t even been a year.  You really don’t remember me?”

Billy didn’t answer; he curled into a smaller ball and sobbed aloud.  “Oh, shut the fuck up,” Gerard snapped, waving his hand at Billy and rising to his feet.  To his surprise, there was silence, and he looked curiously at Billy.  Billy’s eyes were filled with terror, but he appeared to be unable to speak.

“Interesting,” Gerard said, almost to himself.  He looked at Billy again, then reached down and grabbed Billy’s arm, pulling Billy to his feet.  Billy stumbled behind Gerard, then fell into the chair Gerard had vacated.  He appeared to be trying to speak, and Gerard waved his hand again.  Words began to tumble out of his mouth.

“You’re fucking dead, you can’t be here, we fucking killed you—“

“I’ve heard all this before,” Gerard said, waving his hand again.  Billy’s voice disappeared, and Gerard turned his back on Billy.

“What to do with you?” Gerard mused aloud.  “Paulie made a lot of noise.  We can’t have you making a lot of noise.  But, it doesn’t look like you’ll be making too much noise.”  Turning around, he spun a silencer onto the muzzle of a pistol.  Panicking, Billy bolted out of the chair and ran for the door.  In two long strides, Gerard had Billy by the scruff of his neck and threw him back into the chair.  Lifting the pistol, Gerard used it to hit Billy across the temple, breaking the skin.  Blood streamed down Billy’s face, and Gerard knelt until he was eye to eye with Billy.

“Your friend Paulie got off easy,” Gerard said in a low voice.  “I’ve learned a few things since Paulie.  You and your friends made me suffer.  That was bad.  But you made my friends and family fucking suffer.  So you know what?  You and your friends?  You’re going to suffer, too.”  Gerard hit Billy on the other side of his face and soon, Billy’s features were a crimson mask.  When Billy was barely conscious, Gerard sat on the edge of the bed, using the ragged end of a blanket to clean his gun.  When it was cleaned to his satisfaction, Gerard pointed the gun at Billy.

“Now, you get once chance,” Gerard said.  “If you answer me, then I fucking put you out of your misery.  You don’t answer, I make it slow and painful.  You only get one chance.  Are you ready?”

Billy didn’t answer, and Gerard backhanded him.  “I said, are you ready, you scumbag motherfucker?”

Frantic nodding from Billy, and Gerard smiled.  “Now,” he said softly, “I know you and your little friends weren’t smart enough to think of this little scheme all by your lonesomes.  Who put you up to this shit?”  Waving his hand, he said, “Come on, Billy.  Talk.”

“I can’t,” Billy whimpered.  “She’ll kill me, I can’t tell—“

“Billy, we’ve been over this,” Gerard said patiently.  “You’re going to die.  You can either tell me what I want to know and die quickly, or keep being fucking stupid.  Want to know what I do to fucking stupid people?  I’ll tell you.”  Gerard leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “First, I’ll shoot off your fingers.  One by one.  Then, a bullet through each wrist.  Then—“

“OK, OK, I’ll tell you, I’ll fucking tell you,” Billy sobbed.  He looked down at the floor and spoke, almost inaudibly.  “Gwen Stefani.  It was Gwen.”

“Gwen Stefani?”  Gerard’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Fucking Gwen Stefani?  Why?”

Billy shook his head, and Gerard quickly lifted his pistol and pointed it at Billy’s hand.  Billy quickly began talking again.

“She runs Bombshell Records.  A lot of her bands were talking about trying to get out of their contracts with her and going to Rose Records.  She sent us over to persuade you to sell.  It—it went a little further than it was supposed to.”

Gerard sat quietly, then nodded and patted Billy on the head.  “You did good, Billy.”  He stood up.  “On your knees.  I’ll make this quick.”

Billy nodded, his face resigned.  He got on his knees, and Gerard leveled his gun at the back of Billy’s head.  Two shots, and Billy toppled over, an almost peaceful look on his face.


Part Seven

Howard and Wentz stood in Billy’s apartment, staring at the wall.  After a few minutes, Wentz spoke.  “This is new.”

“Yep,” Howard replied.  He looked at the floor and commented “More roses.”

“The writing on the wall,” Wentz said.  “Looks like blood.”

“Check into the Hotel Bella Muerte,” Howard read aloud.  “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Beautiful death,” Wentz replied.  He looked down at Billy Martin’s body.  “He looks almost peaceful, doesn’t he?”

“Nothing peaceful about murder,” Howard said.  He knelt beside Billy and looked at him closely.  “Two shots, point blank to the back of the head.  It’s almost like he was welcoming it.”

“What would make someone want to be shot in the back of the fucking head?” Wentz asked.  He shook his head, then walked outside and lit a cigarette.  When Howard joined him, Wentz exhaled a cloud of smoke and said thoughtfully, “Remember the Way case?  The murder about a year ago?”

“Yeah.”  Howard lit a cigarette as well, then said, “Paulie and Billy were suspects in that murder.  We could never prove anything, so they walked.”  He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Roses.  Didn’t the Way kid run Rose Records?”

“Yeah,” Wentz replied.  “And didn’t the kid have a brother?”

“A brother.  And a girlfriend.  And friends.”  Howard put out his cigarette.  “Maybe we should pay them a visit.”

“I think,” Wentz responded, “that is a very good idea.”

Part Eight

Gerard let himself into Rose Records’s abandoned building, stripping off his shirt as he went.  When he headed to the shower, he heard Bert’s voice.  “Productive night?”

“One fuckhead put out of his misery, and one very valuable piece of information.”  Gerard turned on the water, then stepped out of his pants and into the shower.  Speaking over the sound of the water, he said, “You seem to know a hell of a lot about everything.  What do you know about Gwen Stefani?”

Bert was quiet for a minute, then asked, “What do you know about Gwen Stefani?”

“I asked you first.”

“Don’t want to bore you by telling you shit you already know.”

Gerard turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist.  “Well, from what I remember, she inherited Bombshell Records two years ago.  When she took over, all of her clients started leaving—she apparently gave them a lot of shit.  A few of them came to Rose Records before . . . .”

Gerard’s voice trailed off, and he shook his head.  “Anyway, Billy Martin told me that Gwen Stefani ordered them to persuade me to sell her Rose Records.  It went too far and they killed me.”  Gerard took off his towel and found a pair of black boxers.  After putting them on, he sat down on a bare mattress and said, “He was ready to die after he told me that.  He was more scared of her than of dying.”  He stretched out and looked at Bert curiously.  “OK.  Now what do you know about it?”

Bert leaned back and stared at the ceiling.  “She rules the local recording community with an iron fist.  People do what she wants when she wants it done.”

“Hm.”  Gerard lay back and stared thoughtfully into the darkness.  After a few minutes, he stood up.  As he began to get dressed, Bert sat up.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Bert asked.

“Just out.”  Gerard pulled on his boots and laced them.  “I’ll be back soon.”

Bert watched until Gerard was almost at the door.  Just as Gerard was about to leave, Bert spoke.  “G?  You might want to be careful.”

“What?”

“About who sees you.  Don’t tip your hand until this shit is over.  If you don’t finish, you stay dead.  You don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

Gerard considered Bert’s words, then nodded.  “I’ll be careful.”

Part Nine

Wentz and Howard stood outside the door of a large, old warehouse.  Checking his notepad, Howard shook his head.  “This is it.  Michael Way’s last known address.”

Wentz lifted his hand and knocked firmly on the door.  After several minutes, a slot on the door opened and a pair of deep brown eyes looked out.  “Who is it?”

“Detective Jepha Howard and Detective Peter Wentz, Stoketon PD.  We’d like to speak to Michael Way, please.”

The eyes looked at Wentz and Howard suspiciously, then the voice spoke again.  “Let me see some identification.”

Howard and Wentz pulled out their IDs and badges and held them up.  Soon, they heard a lock click and the door opened.  A young woman with long blond hair stood in front of them.  “He’s here,” she said, “but talking to him is going to accomplish squat.”  She narrowed her eyes.  “What do you want to talk to him about, anyway?”

“May we speak to him, please?” Howard asked politely.

She shrugged.  “I’ll go get him.”

Outside, Gerard watched as the two detectives entered the house.  When he saw Becka in the doorway, he felt his heart pound and his breath almost stopped.  He had to restrain himself to keep from just running to the door.  He satisfied himself somewhat by moving close to an open window to hear what was going on inside.

Inside, Wentz addressed Mikey, who was sitting in the corner of a ragged couch.  His eyes were unreadable behind his glasses as Wentz spoke to him.

“Mr. Way, could you tell me where you were two nights ago, around eleven pm?” Wentz asked.

Mikey simply looked at Wentz, his expression not changing.  Wentz was quiet for a moment, waiting, then he spoke again.  “Mr. Way?”

“You’re wasting your time,” Frank said from a chair across the room.  “He hasn’t said a word in almost a year.”

“Ever since Gerard Way was murdered,” Howard said.

Mikey jumped as though he’d been shot, his eyes wide and hurt.  His lips trembled slightly, and he jumped up and headed out the door into a downpour of rain.  Bob, who had been sitting quietly, watching the exchange, got up and went after him.  Becka stood and approached Wentz and Howard angrily.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes flashing fire.  “Ever since Gerard was murdered.  His brother was beaten to death, and you and your co-workers didn’t do shit to find out who did it.  Now, I don’t know what the fuck you want with us, but until you have a warrant, get the hell out of my house.”

Wentz and Howard looked at each other, then Wentz spoke, his tone now less official.  “Look, Miss-?”

“Hamilton,” Becka snapped, her arms folded.

“Miss Hamilton.  Look, two of the suspects in Gerard Way’s death have been murdered.”

There was silence, then Ray spoke in a hushed voice.  “Two?  I knew about Paulie, but who—“

“Billy Martin,” Howard said.  He hesitated, then asked, “Does the phrase Check into the Hotel Bella Muerte mean anything to any of you?”

Ray’s face went white, and his jaw clenched.  Frank’s eyes widened, and he said, “That was a lyric to a song Gerard wrote.”

“Where did you hear that?” Becka asked.

“It was written in blood on the wall of Martin’s apartment,” Wentz replied.

“Holy shit,” Ray whispered.

“That’s why you came here,” Frank said.  “You think one of us—“

“All of you are suspects,” Wentz admitted.

“None of us could have done it,” Ray said, shaking his head.  “If what they said on the news is right, all of us were together at work when Paulie’s murder happened.”

“We will be checking that out,” Howard said, then looked musingly out the window.  “Where do you suppose your friends went?”

Outside, Gerard moved into a dark area away from the building as Mikey burst through the door, Bob following close behind.  Mikey skidded to a stop, breathing heavily as rain poured down.  Bob caught up with him and put a hand on Mikey’s shoulder.

“Mikey, come on back inside,” Bob said softly.  “You’re going to fucking freeze to death out here.”

Mikey looked back and shook his head.  He was shivering violently, but when Bob tried to guide him inside, Mikey jerked away fiercely.

Gerard watched intently, feeling hatred building in his heart.  It didn’t matter any more what had happened to him; all that mattered was what his family was going through.

And for that, Gerard vowed, he would exact revenge.

Part Ten

Joel and Benji sat in a corner of the bar, watching the door with apprehension.  They were talking in hushed tones.

“Paulie and Billy,” Benji said.  “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know, but it’s fucking weird,” Joel replied.  He looked around nervously.  “What if one of us is next?’

“Don’t talk like that,” Benji retorted.  “No one wants to kill us.  That’s just—just fucking stupid.”

Just then, the door to the bar opened and a man walked in carrying three boxes—one large and two small, narrow ones.  The man approached the bar and spoke to Ray, who was washing glasses.  A confused look came across Ray’s face, and he gestured—first towards Becka, then towards Benji and Joel.

Becka was cleaning a table in a far corner, and the man approached her.  She straightened up and looked curiously at him.  “Hi,” she said.  “May I help you?”

“Are you Becka Hamilton?”

“Yes.”

“Delivery for you.”  He handed Becka the box and she took it.  When she had taken the box, he turned and left, heading across the room towards Benji and Joel.

Frank finished the song he was playing, then walked over to Becka.  “What’s this?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Becka replied.  She pulled the ribbon from around the box and opened it.  Black tissue paper covered the contents of the box, and when she removed the tissue, her eyes widened and her face went white.  “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

“What?” Frank asked.  Mikey and Ray had joined them by this point, but Becka was oblivious.  She held the card that had been enclosed in the box, her hand trembling.

“Roses,” Ray said in a hushed voice.  “Red roses.  In black paper.”  He turned to Becka.  “What does the card say?”

Unable to speak, Becka handed the card to Ray.  Ray took it and read it aloud.  “And will your love burn me, baby?  Burn a hole right through my heart.”

“It’s from a song called Lunacy Fringe,” Becka almost whispered.  “When I met Gerard, the first thing he said to me were those very words.”  She stood up and folded her arms, pacing back and forth in front of the table.  “I—I just don’t know what to think.”

Across the bar, the delivery man stood in front of Benji and Joel.  “Delivery for Joel Madden and Benji Madden.  Who is who, please?”

Joel hesitantly raised his hand.  “I’m—I’m Joel Madden.”

“Then you must be Benji.”  The delivery man handed each of them a box, then turned and left.  Joel and Benji stared at the boxes, then Benji grabbed his box from the table.

“This is fucking stupid,” Benji snarled.  He ripped open his box, then dropped it as though it had scalded him.  The box contained a single red rose wrapped in black tissue.  When Joel opened his, the contents were identical.

“There’s a card,” Joel said.  He pulled the card from the box.  Opening it, he read aloud, “Got you in my sights.”  His eyes widened, and he stared at Benji.  “Wh-what does yours say?”

Benji opened his card and read the contents.  “Can we settle up the score?”

“It’s the fucking guy who killed Paulie and Billy,” Joel said in a hoarse voice.  “We’re next, Benji, he’s going to fucking kill us, I know he is.”

“Just shut the fuck up,” Benji snapped.  He stood up.  “Come on.  We’re going to see Gwen.”

To Be Continued