A Lonely Avenue
Title:A Lonely Avenue (part three)
Author: zmphony
Pairing: Frank/Gerard
Rating/Warnings: Dead prostitutes XD
Disclaimer: Its fiction.
A/N: Heya does anyone know how to make a masterlist?
Summary: Willow Avenue. It's been quite alone most the time. It's always been alone. Atleast, at nighttime it is. He watched these nights. Frank knew he did. He was new to the neighborhood.
Frank's room was a blur of white and yellow when he opened his eyes, like spilt lemonade. He stared up at the ceiling fan as he lay in bed, the smell of coffee and eggs benedict floating in from what sounded like a busy little kitchen downstairs. He was dressed in five minutes time.
"Morning Mom," He said, skipping down the staircase two steps at a time. His mom was bustling around the tiny kitchen, the small tv on the counter playing the morning news while two plates of simmering breakfast rested on the table. Her hair was poofy, and she was still in her pajamas, yet she looked internally happy as she sipped her black coffee contently. "Morning," She replied, looking at him from underneath her untamed bangs, "Rough night?"
He looked at her funnily, taking a seat at the table.
"I take it you didn't get alot of sleep with all the noise and the blankets on the floor?" She explained, and it was only a second later that he figured out she was talking about him.
"Oh," He said, laughing lightly, "Well I-you know, I had this really weird dream last night about the neighbor-"
He would've continued his sentence, if the anchor woman on the television hadn't caught his attention, suddenly.
His mom turned to the tv as well.
"Making top headlines tonight; a young woman at the age of twenty five has been found dead," The scratchy woman's voice came from the small television on the kitchen counter, "Sources say she was a known prostitute before officers found her corpse in Newark last night..."
They had a small picture of the victim on the corner of the screen as the reporter spoke, her face smiling with such life. Frank blinked at the photo. It was the lady that was at his neighbor's house three days ago.
The woman whose lips were too big for her face. He nearly dropped his fork as he stared at the screen.
"...officers found her naked and decapitated in the sewer on Pine street," The woman continued, "This, according to reports, has been the third murder of this kind this week. Officers say they had found two other women around the same age as our latest victim, found in the exact same condition. We go live now with Mr. Brooks, who is right now at the scene of the crime..."
His mom made a thoughtful humming sound, "What a shame," She said, sipping her coffee carefully, "Damn, this place isn't safe for anyone anymore. I knew I should've raised you in Georgia..."
He swallowed, staring at the victim's face emotionlessly.
"Frank?" His mom asked, looking at him with a concerned look on her face, "Frank you okay?"
"I'm gonna be late." He said, backing up and out of his chair abruptly, "I'll see you after school."
"But you didn't even finish your breakfast," She frowned, disappointedly.
"Bye mom." He said, throwing his backpack over his shoulder and walking towards the exit.
"Love you!" She called after him, but it was barely heard over the slamming of the front door.
***
"Dude?" Hambone said again, snapping his fingers in front of him, impatiently, "Dude!"
He yelled the last part in Frank's ear obnoxiously, successfully gaining his attention, "Ow!-Yeah?"
"Did you hear anything of what I just said?" He asked, splaying out his hands for effect.
"Uh," Frank thought about it,"No, not really."
Hambone sighed, looking down, but continued.
"I said the Wild Cat called us back, and they said they could get us a gig with the nightly crowd next Friday." He said, grinning after regaining his composure, "Isn't that trippy?"
"Yeah," Frank replied, breezily, "Yeah, sick."
"There's something wrong with you." Hambone stated, "You haven't paid attention to anything i've said for the past three days, you were barely with us at the corner store, and you fucked up about twenty billion times during practice the other day. And they're your own lyrics!"
Frank looked down quietly, silently remembering the night he'd seen his neighbor through the window.
Which wasn't too long ago...
"What's wrong dude?" Hambone asked, scooting closer to him on the curb they sat on, "Tell me."
Frank hugged his sides, his 'KILL EMAIL' shirt feeling too thin for the icy Jersey wind. He could feel goosebumps on his arms.
"What kinda forties did Shaun bring the other day?" He asked, uncomfortably, looking down at the concrete.
"Mickey's," He said, his pitch going soprano on the last syllable,"Good ol' Mickey's malt liquor. Why?"
"Are you sure? You guys didn't slip anything?"
"Nope." Hambone answerd, looking at Frank worriedly. He never bothered to ask what was in his drink. He just drank it, "Dude, what's going on with you?"
It took Frank maybe a minute or two to think of what to say, most of that minute taken to think up any good excuses or exaggerations, or anything that sounded better than the truth, but none came up. Hambone cleared his throat.
"Well," He started, "There's a new guy next door."
Hambone was quiet, looking at him, then said, "And? Is he hot?"
"Yeah-"Frank started, then coughed,"Well no. I mean he is, he's very hot, just--"
"Have you fucked him yet?"
"No! Not yet, but that's not what's-"
"You want to?"
"Yes, but I don't think that'd be-"
"Why not?"
"He's a vampire, Hambone!" Frank blurted, looking at him with big eyes.
Hambone's expression didn't move. He just sat there, with the wind throwing itself against his face as if to get faster reaction.
"Vampire?" He asked, his eye brows knit together as if they had no gape in between them.
"Yes."
"As in Nosferatu, vampire?" He asked, his expression unchanging.
"Yes."
"Like Count Dracula kinda vampire?" He continued, scrunching up his face a little, as if he was actually considering the thought.
"Yes. Without the cape though. And add a trans-am."
"Like fang-like vampire?" He said, making little pointy gestures with his index fingers where his canines were.
"Yes, Hambone. My neighbor is a vampire."
"And how did you, er, conclude this?"
"Through my window, when he was screwing some tramp." Frank said, and didn't realize how silly that sounded until Hambone started 'oooh'-ing him, so he continued, "No I'm serious! I saw him."
"You were watching your neighbor screw somebody?"
"No! Well actually yes, but I didn't know-"
"Frank, how much did you drink that night?" He asked, laughing.
"Shut up! I wasn't drunk, I was just tipsy." Frank said, defensively, "I mean it! I saw him, Hambone. He had fangs!"
"Fangs?"
"Yes," He said, "He was gonna bite her, until he saw me looking at him through the window."
"Well yeah, you don't wanna give a girl a hickey while your creepy teenage neighbor's watchin' you." He said, laughing harder.
Frank shoved him, "I'm serious! I saw FANGS, Hambone, FANGS. And he never comes out in daytime. Ever."
"God how much do you watch this guy?" He asked, laughing like it hurt.
Frank sighed, looking down again, and he murmured, "Why do I even try?"
"No no no, no," Hambone said, as the laughter died down, "No seriously, he had fangs?"
"Yes," Frank said, depressedly, "I saw it. I'm not crazy. Or drunk."
"Well why don't you pay him a visit then?" Hambone said, slapping his hands down on the knees of his pants as if he'd just invented the internet.
"Are you fucking insane?" Frank said, ignoring him when he replied 'yes', "He killed three people in a week Hambone!"
"Three? You only mentioned one..."
"Well, I didn't see the others, but they were on the news." He said, awkwardly,"I only saw the chick. But didn't you see the murders in the tv? Three in a week! They didn't even start to pop up until HE got here. He goes out every night and comes back with somebody and then they pop up dead. Except for the first time I saw him. He was alone that night. But all of that can only mean one thing."
"And what's that, Sherlock?"
"He's a vampire." He said, "He parties, he feeds, and has his roommate do all the dirty work."
"Whoa whoa whoa," Hambone said, "You only saw him get it on with a scuzz, you didn't see him kill anybody."
"I don't have to! It's obvious," Frank insisted, "He never comes out in daylight, he has fucking fangs-not to mention he's as pale as my ass in the winter time-and the exact same woman I saw him banging was on this news this morning FUCKING DEAD."
"I think," Hambone said, "you've been drinking too much."
"I haven't gotten drunk once this week!" Frank yelled at the sky, sadly.
"Do you even know this guy's name?" Hambone asked, rubbing his temples.
"Yes!" He shouted, then paused, and said, "Well-er, no. But what am I gonna do? Walk up and say 'Hey I'm Frank' while he's about to suck some chick dry?"
"Why not?"
Frank sighed, holding his head in his hands pathetically, "I'm not crazy, Hambone. He might not be a vampire, but something's up with this guy."
"Fuck yeah there is," Hambone said, "Three jumps in a week, when isn't this guy up?"
Frank shoved him, and Hambone laughed at him, "Alright, alright, i'll stop," He said, "But if this is really bugging you then why don't you just drop by?"
Frank blinked at him, as if he'd hadn't understood a word he'd through the whole conversation, "Cuz' he'll kill me...?"
"I thought you wanted him to suck you dry though." Hambone said, and hid his face behind his arms when Frank glared at him.
"Hopeless." Frank ended up saying, when Hambone started laughing again.
***
Frank counted the cracks in the sidewalk was he walked home, the avenue abandoned of all life besides his own. The bottoms of his shoes scraped against the concrete uncomfortably, and the wind kept lashing against his skin bitterly. He kept his hands shoved in the pockets of his ripped jeans snugly, although it supplied no more protection than a bulletproof vest with holes in it. He could hear his lip ring clattering in harmony to his chattering teeth, and he quickened his pace. What was he thinking, not wearing a jacket in the middle of October? He'll be lucky if he gets out of this with just a cold, at the least.
Everybody was inside their houses at this time of night, and Frank knew more than surely that he should've been inside his too. The moon was bright, full, and as lustrious as the sun on a summer day, treating the sky like some sort of tea cup in the way that it filled it up lavishly and overflowed, spilling all over the sidewalks and streets, flooding into windows and seeping through the fabric of curtains that mothers bitterly closed shut to keep danger from looking in on their children, and in this case, sadly, that included the moon. Frank would've thought it a pitiful action to have kept as a nightly routine, but in this city, at this time of evening, he couldn't think of himself as any the wiser. He heard a something crash in the distance behind him, and a car alarm go off. He quickened his pace.
He didn't want to be one to chorus in the music of Belleville nights, the music he loved, and the same time as the music he was terrified of. But maybe being terrified of something so lovely was what made him so fascinated with it; it was something of a mystery, like a story without an end, something not quite understood yet.
The mental image of his neighbor passed by again, as if someone had called his name from the back of his mind and he just kind of popped up in response. If only he knew that man's name..
Just then, the old, two story white house came into view, its murky greyness of the neglected paint making it seem so unreal, like it was barely even there. The icy east bay fog curled up around the edges of the house like a baby's blanket, as if it was protecting the house from the neighborhood.
Or maybe protecting the neighborhood from the house, He couldn't help but think. Then he noticed that there were no lights on in the house. Could they both be out tonight?
He stopped walking, and turned to look clearly at the house. It looked definetly empty, but then, usually it always did anyways. He looked around. Nobody was watching him. The street was desolate.
Gingerly, he took a small step onto the lawn, his eyes dancing all around him for any coming strangers. Or neighbors.
He stared about the house with widened eyes, absorbing every peeling of paint and every crack in the walls, every bit of everything his eyes landed on so sharply.
He looked into one of the windows, stepping onto his toes nervously. There were alot of boxes left unpacked, unopened, still taped together, and the like. Looking through that window was like looking through an old polaroid picture. It was so still it was like nobody lived there at all. He wondered what it was like when the vampire and his affiliate was there.
Moving along, he looked around the sides of the house, peering into the backyards and such curiously. There wasn't much to look at. Alot of the windows had thick, dark curtains blocking the viewing of the inside, and the backyard was bare.
Then, he came around to a peculiar window. The curtain was just barely parted, only for nimble sighting. Frank eagerly looked inside. The floor had white paper stretched out all over it, and there had to be about three easels in it, each occupied with a different painting. Frank exhaled, just lightly enough to make a small spot on the window fog up. The canvas on the right had a painting of a red dawn, the sky black with pink and crimson hues stretching out across it like spindly claws longing to tear the sky in pieces, while on the left canvas there was a beach with a sparkling golden shore and sapphire blue waves crashing onto it in melody, and on the middle canvas, there wasn't any picture at all.
Frank didn't know very much about art besides comic book art, but he stared at those paintings just as much as he stared at the one who created them. He couldn't see them too precisely, due to the lack of light, but he made out as much as he could.
Suddenly, another crash came from behind him, and he jumped away from the window instinctively. His eyes bounced around the street and the house worriedly, and he quickly started towards his house, but not before something flashed in the bay window on the second floor. His eyes shot up at it, but all he saw was the flicker of some curtains, swaying side to side as if the wind was running through them from the inside. He stared at the bay window a bit longer, watching keenly how they swayed like pacific slow dancers, as if something had disturbed their stillness. But then he heard more noise coming from down the street, and he knew that those crashes would turn into yells, and yells into gunshots, and he didn't want to be outside to hear any of it. He rushed into his house, safely locking the door behind him, and hurried into his room, ignoring the note from his mom saying his dinner was in the oven and slipping out of his clothes and into his bed. But before he did so, he took one last look out of his window. The house was still, looking so haunted as it sat unmovingly, nothing animating it whatsoever.
He sighed. Maybe tomorrow he'd see the man, he thought, hiding himself under his covers. Maybe Tomorrow.
Too bad his covers couldn't hide him from the rustle of the curtains in the bay window of his neighbor's house.