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Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge	By : Tricey Category: My Chemical Romance > General Views: 792 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of My Chemical Romance. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge
- 1
Disclaimer: I do not own nor personally know anyone in MCR or Good Charlotte. Nor do I have any affiliation with Gwen Stefani, Hilary Duff, Bert McCracken, or any other celebrity mentioned in this fiction.
Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge
The hole you put me in
Wasn’t deep enough
And I’m climbing out right now
It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish
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 hear 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.”
Hallelujah, lock and load
Thank You for the Venom
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.
This is how we like to do it in the murder scene
Give ‘Em Hell, Kid
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.”
Lay down, mark the grave
Cemetery Drive
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.”
But I miss you more than I did yesterday
Give ‘Em Hell, Kid
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.”
They gave us two shots to the back of the head
And we’re all dead now
I Never Told You What I Do For a Living
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 once 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.
Check into the Hotel Bella Muerte
The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You
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.”
Call her Black Mariah
Hang ‘Em High
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.”
Until the cops come
Or by the last light
The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You
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 when 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.
Love is the red the rose on your coffin door
Thank You for the Venom
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 when 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,” Joe 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.”
That girl’s not right in the brain
Hang ‘Em High
Gerard watched as Joel and Benji left the bar and almost ran down the sidewalk. He took a final drag from his cigarette, then pitched it to the ground and began following Joel and Benji. He ran easily, keeping to the shadows, until he saw the twins enter an elaborate building with a large sign reading Bombshell Records. The door was guarded by a large doorman, and Gerard considered him carefully. He knew he could get past him using force, but that wasn’t the route Gerard wanted to take. Force and violence would be too visual, and Gerard didn’t want to be noticed.
Glancing up, Gerard saw a light shining from a third story window. Studying the building closely, Gerard walked around to the back. The bricks were uneven, and Gerard sighed. Gripping the side of the wall, he began to climb until he reached the room, five stories up. A door led from the roof to the inside of the building, and Gerard easily forced it open and made his way to the third floor. Benji and Joel’s voices floated down the hallway, and Gerard following the sounds. He paused outside the open door and listened closely.
“The fucker sent us these,” Joel said, and Gerard hear the unmistakable sound of a cardboard box hitting the desk. “We’re next. I fucking know it.”
“Calm down,” a female voice said irritably. “What fucker? Next for what?”
“Someone murdered Paulie and Billy,” Benji said. “Then we got these. It looks like whoever killed Paulie and Billy sent us these.”
“So who killed them?” The female voice moved closer to the door, and Gerard risked a look before moving out of sight. The speaker was a slender, blond female, and she did not look pleased about her late night visitors.
“I don’t know,” Benji replied. “Obviously, the most likely suspects are his little friends. But I can’t see any of those asswipes doing anything that fucking sadistic.”
Gwen was silent, then said, “Just go home. Lock your doors. I’ll figure something out. Go.”
Benji and Joel exited the office and Gerard ducked into a supply closet. He waited until they had boarded the elevator, then walked back to the open office. He stood in the doorway, watching as Gwen poured a drink and walked back to her desk. When she turned around, she saw Gerard leaning against the door and her glass slipped from her hand. Gerard moved forward and caught it before it hit the floor. Standing, he handed the glass back to Gwen, then sat down in the guest chair in front of her desk.
“Who the fuck are you?” Gwen asked, regaining her composure.
Gerard shrugged. “Just some guy.”
“You’re not just some guy,” Gwen responded. “Just some guy wouldn’t have been able to get past security. So, I’ll ask you again—who the fuck are you?”
“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your company,” Gerard replied. He stood and walked towards Gwen’s desk. “And in its employees.”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the one,” she said. “You killed Paul and Billy.”
“Fascinating theory,” Gerard said. He sat on the edge of Gwen’s desk. “Some people might think they had it coming.”
“You know,” Gwen said quietly, “you look very familiar. Do I know you?”
“Better than you think,” Gerard answered. “Think about it and I’ll see you again soon.” With a sudden move, he jumped out of Gwen’s window and landed on a ledge several feet below. He glanced up and saluted Gwen, then disappeared into the night.
Face down and bloated, snap shot with the lens
To the End
Joel sat back in his hot tub, letting the sound of the bubbling water fill his ears. Hilary settled down beside him.
“You’re so tense,” Hilary said. “What happened tonight?”
Joel shook his head, then froze. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Joel was silent; then, a scraping sound came from the next room. “That,” he said. “What was that?”
“Probably the cat,” Hilary answered. “Now, just relax.”
“The cat,” Joel said in a relieved voice. “You’re right. It was probably the cat.”
“And a gorgeous cat it is,” a voice from the doorway said. Hilary shrieked as Gerard walked into the room, holding a large, smoke grey cat. The cat was purring loudly, and Gerard stroked it one final time before putting it down and shooing it away. When the cat was gone, he took a seat beside the hot tub. Joel started to climb out of the tub, but sank back down when Gerard pointed a gun at him.
“Don’t embarrass yourself, Joel,” Gerard said. “Just stay put and listen.” He smiled, then added, “I think you should know why you’re going to die.”
Joel’s eyes widened with fear, but he remained still, staring at Gerard. Gerard was silent for a few moments, then he said thoughtfully, “You know, greed and desperation often go hand in hand. They both make people do crazy things.” He leaned forward. “Like get four punks to try and beat a guy up to convince him to sell a record label.”
Joel started. He looked more closely at Gerard, then began shaking his head. “No fucking way. You’re dead. We fucking killed you.”
“Yeah,” Gerard answered cheerfully. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. You did kill me. And did a damn good job of it, too. I was one dead motherfucker. Until about three days ago. Then, I found myself digging my way out of my grave. Didn’t know who the fuck I was. But then, I remembered. I remembered who I was, and I remembered what you did to me.” Gerard stood and walked to the edge of the tub, staring down at Joel. “And you know what? Payback is, as they say, a bitch.”
“What about me?” Hilary asked, her voice high and frightened.
“Hmmm. What about you?” Gerard considered the question, then sadly shook his head. “You should be more careful about the company you keep. And,” he added, “you were mean to my brother and my girlfriend. That kind of pissed me off.”
Hilary began to try and scramble out of the tub, but the combination of soap and water made her slip. Gerard walked to the window beside the hot tub, where there was an electric lamp. Gerard casually tapped it, knocking it into the bubbling water of the hot tub. Sparks flew and crackled violently, and both Joel and Hilary began to shake from the surge of electricity that coursed through their bodies.
Gerard watched calmly for a few minutes. When he was sure his job was done, he reached into his pocket and pulled out several red roses, scattering them around the scene. Climbing through the window, he left just as the entire block went dark.
The kind of dirty where the water never cleans off the clothes
I keep a book of the names
I Never Told You What I Did for a Living
Gerard slipped through the entrance to his dwelling, deep in thought. Bert was sitting in the middle of the floor, his customary bottle of liquor in front of him. When Gerard walked in, Bert asked, “Good night?”
Shrugging, Gerard stripped down and stepped into the shower. “You could say that.” He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it, idly wondering how and why this abandoned place still had hot running water, then said, “When I do this, I don’t feel like I’ll ever be fucking clean again.”
“Well, you’ve done three out of four,” Bert said.
The water stopped, and Gerard stepped out. “Three out of five.”
“What do you mean, three out of five?” Bert asked. “You were brought back to seek revenge on fucking Good Charlotte. Last time I checked, there were four of them.”
“Gwen Stefani organized the whole fucking thing,” Gerard answered. “To kill the beast, you cut off his head. Stefani is the head. So, I kill her. Otherwise, she just finds another group of assholes and the whole cycle starts over again.”
Bert looked concerned. “G, I don’t know if Stefani is covered under this resurrection deal.”
“What do you mean, not covered?” Gerard stared at Bert. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, you were brought back to exact revenge on the people who killed you. Gwen Stefani didn’t lay a fucking hand on you. Now, you’ve been given certain—immunities to help you destroy them. With Stefani, you’re likely to be on your own. No protection, no immunities. Mortal against mortal. She could kill you.”
Gerard was quiet as he dressed. When he was done, he looked at Bert. “I appreciate your guidance,” he said. “And don’t think I don’t appreciate the second chance. But if Good Charlotte is gone and Stefani is still alive and free, it won’t do any good. Everything I’ve done will be for nothing.” Gerard ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not asking for help, or any special powers or any shit like that. I’m just telling you this will not be over until she is dead.”
Bert sat quietly, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “But no promises. When and if I’m gone, I’m gone. And I don’t know when that will be.”
“Where will you go?” Gerard asked curiously. “You’re not . . . .” His voice trailed, and he shook his head.
“I’m not real,” Bert said. “It’s OK. I know I’m not real.” He stood and paced the floor. “You’re not the only person who has something at stake in the quest, G.”
“What do you mean?” Gerard asked.
“If I’m successful in my task,” Bert replied, “then I—I can be real, too.” He looked down at his bottle and then took a swallow. “I come back. Just like you.”
“Don’t worry,” Gerard said softly. “You’ll succeed, because I’m not going to fail.” He folded his arms, and his hazel eyes flashed. “I refuse to fail.”
This night walk the dead
Cemetery Drive
Mikey walked out the back door of the bar, two large bags of garbage in his hands. He tossed them into the dumpster, then took out a cigarette and lit it. In the brief flare of the lighter, Mikey saw a shadowy figure standing in the alley.
His cigarette forgotten, Mikey stepped forward, his eyes searching the darkness. He didn’t feel fear; he felt his heart give a leap and also felt something he hadn’t felt since Gerard’s death. He felt a spark of hope.
The figure in the shadows hid his face and spoke. “Michael.”
Mikey felt his throat close and tears prickle behind his eyelids. He still didn’t speak, and the figure stepped forward into the light. “Mikey? It’s me.”
Tears overflowed Mikey’s eyes, spilling onto his cheeks. “Gerard,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“It’s me, Mikey.” Gerard reached Mikey, and they stared at each other for a few moments. Then, Mikey almost collapsed into Gerard’s arms, sobbing silently. Gerard held him tightly, and Mikey clung to him. At last, Gerard pulled away, looking at Mikey, his own eyes shiny with tears.
“I can’t stay,” Gerard told him, “and you can’t tell anyone I was here. I just wanted to see you, and tell you it’ll all be over soon.” He hugged Mikey, then backed away. “I love you, Mikey. I promise. I’ll be back.”
Mikey held Gerard a few seconds, then released him, nodding. Gerard turned and disappeared back into the shadows, and Mikey wiped his eyes, making himself as presentable as possible before he went back inside. Just as he was walking back in, Frank met him at the door.
“You OK, Mikey?” Frank asked. “Didn’t fall into the fucking dumpster or anything, did you?”
Mikey flashed Frank a grin and shook his head. Frank stared at Mikey in amazement as they walked into the building.
“He smiled at me,” Frank said in a low voice to Becka. “When’s the last time you saw Mikey smile?”
“A year ago,” Becka replied. “Before Gerard died.” She folded her arms and looked at Mikey, puzzled. “Strange.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “Strange.”
‘Cause I’m gonna set this motherfucker on fire!
You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison
Gerard stood outside Benji’s apartment building, watching. He was waiting patiently for Benji to come home, and soon, his patience was rewarded. Benji hurried up the steps, his eyes darting from side to side, ever watchful. Gerard remained out of sight until Benji entered the building, then slipped through the door before it closed. He adjusted the pack he was carrying and watched the elevator. When he saw the light stop on the fifth floor, he smiled and headed to the stairs. He climbed the stairs quickly and found Benji’s room. The door was locked tightly, and Gerard knelt in front of it. Pulling out a lock picking kit, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. The apartment was dark except for a light coming from a room in the back.
Gerard made his way to the back of the apartment. Benji was in the bedroom, preparing for bed, and his back was to the door. When Gerard cleared his throat, Benji whirled around, his eyes wide.
“You,” Benji said in a high, frightened voice.
“Me,” Gerard agreed. He dropped his pack on the floor and pointed at the bed. “Sit. Now.”
Benji sat on the bed, his eyes wide and frightened. He watched as Gerard closed the bedroom door and locked it. Opening his pack, Gerard pulled out a length of rope and tossed it to Benji. “Your legs,” he instructed. “Tie them up.” When Benji hesitated, Gerard sighed and pulled out a pistol. Pointing it at Benji, he added, “Now.”
Benji fumbled with the rope, finally tying the rope around his ankles. Gerard checked when he was done, tightening the knots here and there. After he was satisfied, he pulled a roll of duct tape from his pack and bound Benji’s wrists tightly. Opening his pack again, he pulled out a closed bucket and a paintbrush. Humming to himself, he opened the bucket and began painting the beams on the ceiling. Benji watched him, then asked, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t want to burn down the entire building,” Gerard said in a matter-of-fact tone. “This is a flame retardant.”
“Wh-why do you need a flame retardant?” Benji asked.
“Because I plan to set you on fire,” Gerard answered. He finished his painting and put away the material. Then, he took the rope binding Benji and threw the loose end over one of the rafters. In shock, Benji didn’t begin to struggle until he was suspended upside down and realized what was about to happen. He succeeded only in tightening the ropes that bound him.
Benji opened his mouth to scream, and Gerard quickly stuffed a clean white cloth in Benji’s mouth. He stepped back and observed Benji for a few moments. Benji was making muffled, panicked noises, and was making himself swing violently from side to side.
Gerard turned and rummaged in his pack, still humming a cheerful tune. He emerged from the pack holding a syringe in his hand. He began talking in a low, soothing voice as he exposed Benji’s hip.
“I knew you were going to put up a fight,” Gerard said. He uncapped the syringe. “I’m not going to bore you with the scientific jargon, but this is a drug that will—calm you. Physically, at least.” He jabbed the needle into Benji’s hip, then sat down in a chair, watching Benji thoughtfully. Benji’s struggles became less and less pronounced until he finally just hung there, his eyes darting from side to side in panic.
Once again going to his pack, Gerard began speaking. “You know, I realize that all of you were scared shitless of Gwen Stefani, and all of you did pretty much what she told you to do. But, one should be careful of the company one keeps.” He approached Benji, holding a large, plastic spray bottle. He stopped inches away from Benji’s face. “You fucking killed me over a record label. Yeah, maybe it was an accident, but you still did it. And now, I’m back from beyond the fucking grave for revenge.” He held up the bottle. “This is an accelerant. I’m going to soak you from head—“ a spray into Benji’s eyes, “—to toe.” Another spray, this time to Benji’s feet. “A well placed match, and poof. No more asshole.”
Gerard sprayed Benji thoroughly, then pulled out a box of matches. Striking one, he touched it to the hem of Benji’s pants. The flames quickly engulfed Benji, and his face contorted in pain. He was unable to move, but began screaming through his gag. Gerard sat back, his expression impassive, and watched Benji burn. When the smell of burnt flesh filled the room, Gerard quickly exited through the window, climbing down the fire escape and running down the darkened street. He ran until he reached his home and entered. Bert was waiting for him, a somber expression on his face.
“Take care of Madden the second?” Bert asked.
“Done and over with,” Gerard said shortly. He looked at Bert and asked. “Am I done? As far as you’re concerned, anyway?”
“Yeah. We—uh—we need to talk about that.” Bert wrinkled his nose. “Go shower first. Then, we can pow-wow.”
Gerard gave Bert a quizzical look, then left and showered quickly. When he emerged, Bert was pacing the floor. He looked different, and after a moment, Gerard figured out the difference. Bert wasn’t carrying his customary whiskey bottle.
“I got a message from . . . .” Bert looked up, then sighed. “You were right. Stefani has to die.”
Gerard nodded. “I figured as much. I have two days.”
I can’t always just forget her
Ghost of You
Becka walked outside, lighting a cigarette. The air was cold and damp, and she shivered. The inside of the house was much warmer, but tonight, she felt like being alone.
Sitting on the stoop, she smoked her cigarette, idly surveying the street. A movement from the shadows caught her eye, and she leaned forward, peering into the darkness. She saw a shadowy figure standing beside a blown street light. The figure was familiar, and when the moonlight hit his face, Becka gasped. “It can’t be,” she said to herself, then said aloud, “Gerard?”
Becka blinked, and when she looked again, the figure was gone.
Your life will never be the same
You Know What They Do to Guys Like Us in Prison
Gwen Stefani paced in her office, a strong drink in her hand. Word of Benji’s death had just reached her and she was finally feeling a worm of apprehension.
In his warehouse, Gerard made his preparations. Bert watched him, then spoke. “I’m going with you.”
Gerard looked at Bert in surprise, then said, “OK.”
After a period of silence had passed, Bert asked, “Don’t you want to know why?”
“I figure you’ve got a good reason,” Gerard replied. “And I don’t mind the company.” He shouldered his pack and looked at Bert. “Ready?”
Bert nodded. “Let’s go.”
Though I fall out of grace
I Never Told You What I Did for a Living
Gwen tossed her drink back and put the glass on her desk. Folding her arms, she wondered how long it would take for the spook to make it to her office and what she would do when he arrived. He had proven very sadistic, and Gwen was beginning to doubt her ability to outthink him.
While Gwen was pondering her fate, she remained oblivious to a fiery glow behind her. The glow became brighter, and then, the smell of sulfur caught her attention. Turning around, she stared in astonishment as two immaculately dressed men emerged from a flaming ring. She quickly hid her surprise and demanded, “Who the hell are you and how did you get into my office?”
The larger of the two men smiled at Gwen, and she felt a shiver go down her spine. “We have a proposition for you, Ms. Stefani.”
“Proposition?” Gwen asked, her eyes narrowing. “What kind of proposition? And who the hell are you?”
“You may call us Mr. Dumas and Mr. Copeland,” the man replied. He sat down in a chair, and Mr. Copeland followed suit. “And, if you would be so kind as to offer us a drink, it would be most appreciated.”
Gwen considered the two men carefully, then poured them each a drink. “Not to be rude,” she said, handing them each their drink, “but I am expecting someone, probably very shortly. So, if you wouldn’t mind getting to the point, I’d appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Mr. Dumas said. He tasted his drink, then said, “The gentleman you are expecting is an acquaintance of yours—Mr. Gerard Way.”
“He’s dead,” Gwen said flatly. “It can’t be Way.”
“On the contrary,” Mr. Copeland said, speaking for the first time. “Mr. Way has very powerful backers—people in high places, if you will. To be completely blunt, Mr. Way has returned from the grave to exact revenge against the persons responsible for his death. He has taken care of four of them. There is one left—the individual who ordered his death.”
“That would be you, Ms. Stefani,” Mr. Dumas interjected. “And because of Mr. Way’s benefactors, he has certain immunities that cause him, at this point, to be almost indestructible.”
“So you’re telling me I don’t have a chance against this freak,” Gwen said.
“No, no, not at all,” Mr. Copeland said. “While Mr. Way’s benefactors have a vested interest in his success, we have a vested interest in his failure. So, as I said before, we have a proposition for you.”
Gwen was quiet for a moment, then nodded in agreement. “OK. Let’s hear it.”
I will avenge my ghost with every breath I take
It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish
Gerard and Bert stood outside Gwen’s building, staring up at her window. Bert spoke in a low voice. “She’s not alone up there. There are two of the others with her.”
“The others?” Gerard asked.
“Look, the people who want you to succeed have enemies. They’re up there right now with Gwen.”
“Doing what?”
Bert sighed. “Telling her how to fucking take you out.”
Gerard stared at Bert, then said, “OK. So what do we do?”
Bert closed his eyes, and Gerard remained quiet, sensing that Bert needed silence. When Bert opened his eyes again, he seems to have regained his confidence. “OK. Here’s what we do.”
I’m coming back from the dead and I’ll take you home with me
I’m taking back the life you stole
It’s Not a Fashion Statement, It’s a Deathwish
Gerard and Bert stopped a few feet from Gwen’s office door. Bert spoke in a low voice. “Go in. I’ll be there when you need me.”
Gerard nodded. “I trust you, Bert. I know you won’t let me down.”
Bert watched as Gerard entered Gwen’s office. When Gerard had disappeared, Bert looked up. “I can’t let him down,” he said silently. “I did enough of that when I was alive.”
Gerard stood in the doorway of the office. After a few minutes, he closed the door behind him, and Gwen turned around. Gerard noticed with unease that her eyes seemed to almost glow, and he knew that he was in for a serious fight.
“Finally worked your way around to me, huh?” Gwen asked, coming from behind her desk. “I wondered how long it would take you.”
Gerard shrugged, keeping a watchful eye on Gwen. “I’m here now. You should be fucking ecstatic it took me this long to get to you. It gave you that much longer to live.”
“You must be planning on a very different outcome than I am,” Gwen said calmly. “Because I’m sending you back to where you fucking came from.”
Gerard smiled grimly. “Bring it on, you murdering bitch.”
Gwen snarled at Gerard and launched herself at him. Gerard launched himself through the air at the same time, and they met in midair, each of them with their hands tightly around the other’s throat. They crashed to the floor, each hanging on as they rolled around. When they finally separated, they backed away from each other, panting.
“Is that all you’ve got, zombie boy?” Gwen asked contemptuously. “The way Good Charlotte pissed their pants every time you were mentioned, I thought you’d be more frightening.”
Gerard tossed his hair out of his eyes, sizing Gwen up. At last, he said, “And I thought you’d be fucking taller. Stop fucking around and let’s do this.”
Gwen smiled and pulled an object out of her pocket. “Mr. Dumas and Mr. Copeland were very helpful about how to deal with you,” she said, her eyes glinting maliciously. “Almost foolproof, they told me.”
“Might be foolproof, but is it bitch proof?” Gerard asked, masking his unease.
Gwen laughed aloud and lifted the object she had removed from her pocket. Gerard’s eyes widened when he saw what it was, and he pulled his gun from his waistband, trying to level it at Gwen. His hands began to shake, and he had to struggle to keep from dropping the gun.
“What the fuck is that?” he asked.
“It’s a piece of the bat that struck the fatal blow,” Gwen responded. “You’re weak when you’re faced with your own mortality.” She smiled, baring her teeth in satisfaction. “The strength they gave me was enough to fight you off and this will finish you off.”
Gerard fell to his knees concentrating on not dropping the gun. He felt himself growing weaker, and thought to himself, “Bert, now is a good time.”
Bert, standing outside the room, felt the energy in the room change. Offering up a final silent plea, he forced his feet to move and walked into the office. “Hello, Gwen.”
Gwen turned around, her attention wavering from Gerard. When she saw Bert, her eyes widened. “You—you can’t be here,” she finally said. “You’re dead.”
Bert shrugged. “So’s he,” he said, motioning at Gerard. “Pretty spry for a dead guy, I’d say. Although,” he added, “in about eleven minutes, he won’t be dead. But you will be.”
“And how do you figure that’s going to happen?” Gwen asked.
“Your friends knew Gerard’s weakness,” Bert answered calmly. “My friends knew yours.”
“Which is?”
Bert smiled. “Me.” He stepped forward, moving closer to Gwen. “You killed me and it wasn’t fucking justified at all. You killed me over five thousand dollars when we both lived in Salt Lake City. Do you remember, Gwen? Do you?” He glanced at Gerard, sending him a silent message, then looked at Gwen. “Right between her fucking eyes, G.”
“Stay away!” Gwen shrieked. “Stay the fuck away!”
Bert stepped forward—and disappeared into Gwen’s body. Gwen let out a horrifying, agonized wail and dropped the small piece of wood. Gerard lifted his gun and aimed, then pulled the trigger. A single shot rang out, and Gwen fell dead to the floor.
Bert made a face and stepped out of Gwen’s body. “Fuck, it was like a nightmare in there,” he said.
“Is it over?” Gerard asked.
“In ten—five—one second,” Bert answered, then a warm, bright light filled the room.
Back home, off the run
Cemetery Drive
Becka sat on the couch in the living area of the warehouse, looking through a photo album. Mikey was in the kitchen, and Ray, Frank, and Bob were all sprawled on various pieces of furniture in front of the grainy black and white television. A knock sounded on the door, and Mikey put down his dishtowel to answer it. Rain was pouring, loudly pounding against the roof.
Mikey opened the door and a smile spread across his face. Tears filled his eyes and he moved forward and embraced the figure standing in front of him, holding on tightly.
“Mikey?” Becka asked, standing and walking to the door. “Who—“ Her voice trailed as Mikey stepped aside. When she at last was able to speak, it was only in a whisper. “Gerard?”
Gerard smiled at her, water dripping from his hair. “Hi, love.”
Becka began to shake. “It can’t be you. You—you died.”
By this time, Bob, Ray, and Frank had come to the door and were gaping at Gerard and the bedraggled wet figure behind him. Gerard was shivering, and when he opened his mouth to speak, Mikey spoke first. “It’s him. He’s back, and it’s all OK.”
Mikey’s voice seemed to break through something in Becka, and she threw herself into his arms. “You’re here, you’re real, you’re fucking alive!!”
“We’re fucking freezing,” the figure behind Gerard said. “Can we come in?”
“My friend, Bert,” Gerard said.
“Get the fuck in here,” Frank said finally. He looked as though he were in shock. “And tell us why you’re fucking here.”
“Long, long story,” Gerard said as he and Bert walked in. He looked around and suddenly burst into tears. In one quick movement, a massive group hug ensued.
“I’m home,” Gerard said at last. “I’m finally home.”
We’ll love again, we’ll laugh again
And it’s better off this way
I Never Told You What I Did for a Living
Gerard threw the last bag into the back of the large panel truck, then closed the door. He turned to Bert, who was smoking a cigarette, and asked, “Sure you don’t want to go with us?”
“To fucking Jersey? Hell, no. Just drop me off in Salt Lake.” Bert sighed. “I’ve got my own reunion to see to.”
“How are you going to explain it?” Gerard asked.
“I don’t know if I will,” Bert replied. “They don’t know I died—I just disappeared.”
“You never told me—“ Gerard began.
“How I died?” Bert finished. He lit another cigarette and sat on the steps beside the house. He was silent for a while, then said, “Me and Gwen are—were—brother and sister.”
“What?” Gerard burst out. “She was your sister?”
“Half-sister,” Bert said. “Same mom, different dad. Anyway, my dad died and left me this coin collection. I was pretty strapped for cash, so I kept the coins that meant the most to him and sold the rest to a collector for five thousand dollars. When I came home, Gwen wanted money. I wouldn’t give it to her—I had a pretty bad drug habit, and all I could think about was how much blow five thousand dollars could buy. She got pissed and shot me, right between the eyes.” Bert shrugged. “She took the money and hid the body in the woods behind the house we lived in until—oh, a few weeks ago.” He put out his cigarette. “As a result of my untimely death, I have unfinished business in Salt Lake.”
Gerard was quiet, then sighed. “I’m glad we could help each other, Bert.”
“Me, too, G. Me, too.” Bert laughed. “And who knows? We might get together again.”
“I,” Gerard said, “would be willing to bet the fucking farm on it.”
The End
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Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge