:: Disclaimer ::



This is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters, events, and details of the setting are imaginary; excluding the MCR boys.


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WARNING.
This is NOT for the faint-hearted. I had to turn the mature content filter off because it wouldn't let me display the deviation. So please, before you begin, be warned.
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Gerard blinked.
It was dark—very dark.
The kind of tangible denseness that closes in around you, making you grope and blink and panic and choke.
It was thick, unforgiving.
He glanced up at the sky—if there was one at all—to find not the slightest breath of blue, or even a star to encourage him. We’re still here, Gerard. Don’t despair.
No.
There was nothing.
Only himself, and the dark.
His knees buckled beneath him; he threw his hands out to break his fall, a warm substance soaking his palms and arms and face and knees.
A nauseating fear took hold of his gut and refused to let go.
Gerard didn’t even have to speculate.
It was blood.
It was in that moment that small sounds began to grow just ahead of him; a small breath, in and out. In and out.
There was a scrape, the rustling of fabric.
Whispers.
…wishing you away…
…love you…
…goodbye.
BANG.
Gerard gasped as a sickening scream rang out, making him grit his teeth and cover his ears, soiling his hair with the blood on his hands.
And suddenly, he could see.
A soft light had flickered on in the direction that the whispers had come from; Gerard could see a young woman crumpled at the foot of a wall. A tall man with long, dark hair stood beside her, hands in the pockets of his deep blue suit, staring at his shoes.
They looked so vaguely familiar.
He couldn’t help but crawl forward, keeping to the shadows and blinking rapidly, trying to ignore the blood soaking his knees and hands and feet.
Her face was still hidden, a gossamer funeral veil swept across her features. A long black dress hugged her poor, thin frame; red and black tulle sharpened the bottom edge and black ribbons twisted their way round her calves up to her knees.
Her dark hair was damp and her chest heaving; rich crimson leaked steadily from a hole in her shoulder, dripping down her bare arms, staining her dress until it finally made it to the ground.
It was her blood Gerard was kneeling in.
Her blood that stained his hands.
And then, the young woman raised her head, wide, gaping eyes locking on Gerard’s.
It was Helena.
“Gerard,” she whispered, her eyes widening even more as she lifted a trembling hand.
“G-Gerard—“
The man next to her moved without warning, a long pale hand lashing out to grab her throat.
Gerard could see the muscles straining in his knuckles and fingers as he clutched her neck, squeezing tighter and tighter as the poor woman became paler and paler. He sat in shock on the bloodstained ground, watching this scene play out before him, feeling himself begin to shake. He longed to do something—to scream, to jump up, to tackle this vicious killer—but he found himself unable to move.
At last, Helena’s eyes fluttered closed, her skin white and bloodless, head slumping forward to the dirty ground. The man slowly lifted his hands to his face; Gerard watched as his shoulders began to shake.
“Why,” he could hear the man whimper. “Why, why, why…”
He turned suddenly to face Gerard.
It was exactly like looking in a mirror.


--


“Gerard… please. I don’t want to do this again.”
“Just one more day, babe. I promise I won’t make you do this anymore.”
He reached out with a soft smile, taking Lena’s hand in his own. The woman bit her lip and had no choice but to follow, letting Gerard lead her to wherever he pleased.
The streets were dark and empty; the shadows were growing steadily behind them as Gerard increased his pace, bit by bit. The moon had decided to show her face tonight, but she was weak and burned a dim crimson color, suspended in the velvet sky.
The clouds were stirred by a chilling breeze and masked her away.
The shadows enveloped them.
Gerard felt panic seize his gut and he broke into a sprint; he knew not where he was going, but he knew how to get there.
They would get them.
Tristan would find them and spoil their plans.
No matter how fast the city buildings fell away behind them, Lena remained close the whole time, though her collapsed respiratory tubes from the day before caused her to cough and wheeze.
And at last they reached it.
An alley, lit by a soft golden glow.
Beds of roses lined the marble paths, their crimson petals whispering in the bitter breeze that chilled to the bone. Grains of rice skittered across the center courtyard, skipping nervously past them and into the deserted, cobalt street.
Gerard flexed his hands only to find that he was holding a knife.
“Alright,” he whispered, taking Lena’s hand and leading her down the small, marble-laid path to the center of the courtyard. He let the blade slip from his fingers; it clattered to the ground with a distinct metallic noise and he took the woman’s other hand, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist; he followed suit, closing his eyes and burying his nose in her hair.
It was a shame that he wouldn’t be able to remember the smell when she was gone.
There was a prolonged pause that went on for what seemed like hours, indented only by the soft moaning of the wind and the skittering of rice and the whispering of the roses. Their aroma mingled with that of cold seawater and incense.
She was still wearing that dress, he noticed.
And he was wearing that dark blue suit.
Both ensembles, however, were stained sloppily with blood.
He ran his hands up and down her bare back, letting his fingers drink in the goosebumps that plagued her entire form.
“I don’t want to do this, you know,” he whispered, feeling something cold and wooden in his hands—the handle of the knife.
“I know,” Lena whispered into his shoulder. “I know you don’t.”
She lifted her head as Gerard pressed the tip of the blade directly between her shoulderblades, locking their gazes.
And she smiled.
The skin was broken. Blood began to trickle down her back.
“I love you,” she whispered, fitting their lips together for a long moment.
“I love you too, Lena,” Gerard whispered back. “Tomorrow we’ll do it again. I promise.”
“Goodbye.”
With one last thrust, he drove the blade deep into her back, penetrating her spine and heart.
Her eyes widened; they remained on the sky for a long moment before they flitted desperately to Gerard’s. Her fingernails dug into his back before she finally shuddered violently and slumped forward, causing Gerard’s knees to go weak with the sudden weight.
She was dead.
Blood flowed steadily from the open wound as he extracted the blade neatly from her back, looking at it before he let it fall to the marble again.
His indifference was overwhelming.
Without a sound, he laid her down on the ground in the marble courtyard, letting the blood pool beneath her, staining her perfect, pearly complexion. He reached over and plucked a rose from the dirt and laid it on her chest, taking one of her cold, pale hands and resting it on top of the thorny stem, pressing down hard so that the thorns might prick her palms.
And he stood again, his eyes lingering on her peaceful face. The wind tossed her dark, bloodstained hair, framing her face and fanning it across the stone.
“Tomorrow we’ll do it again,” he whispered.
Without a sound, he turned towards the street and walked into the next day.


--


“So, when will it happen?”
“Soon, Lena. Be patient.”
The woman fell silent, watching as Gerard struck down shadow after shadow that raced up the doorstep to the stoop they were standing on, each bullet casing hitting the cement with a sharp pinging noise.
The actual shots, however, were nothing more than muffled pops.
“There,” Gerard said at last, shoving the smoking pistol in its holster strapped around his waist. “That should be the last of them—they won’t be watching us anymore.”
At least, he hoped.
He turned and took Lena’s hands, pressing his lips easily to hers and leading her down the steps, this time walking more casually down the sidewalk.
“Where are we going today?”
“I’ll never know, babe, but somehow we’ll get there.”
Lena, once again, fell silent.
Seagulls called mournfully to one another as they drifted lethargically across the troubled grey sky, their stormy silver feathers rippling in the soft breeze only they could feel. The day was tangibly still; Gerard’s breath was like the relief of a steam engine coming to a halt after a long journey.
He glanced at Lena, whose pale eyes stared dead ahead. Hollows were forming in her gaunt cheeks and, if Gerard held her hand tight enough, he could feel where the thorns had pricked her palm the other day.
The cold winter air did not reveal whether or not she was breathing.
The call of gulls became all the louder as they approached the shore; a rotten smell of salt and garbage and guano and gas mixed with the crisp scent of the fragile winter morning.
Gerard found it to be distasteful.
But hey, that was Jersey for you.
At last, the airy and calming sound of waves lapping gently at the beach was the only sound; they were standing on the narrow strip of clean sand far away from the docks, from the city, from human life.
Lena allowed herself a small smile and she squeezed Gerard’s hand before releasing it, stepping lightly through the sand and towards the waves, her narrow feet leaving no footprints behind. She knelt down to pick up an unharmed shell, tracing the vulnerable pink underside, her eyes caressing where it faded into a pearly, stained white.
Without a second thought she threw it far into the ocean.
Gerard crossed his arms over his chest, walking closer to her, his own feet sinking deep into the thick and soggy sand.
“C’mon,” he whispered. “We should get this over with.”
He kicked off his shoes, letting them land where they pleased before he took both of Lena’s hands, helping her to her feet and taking a step into the water.
The cold Atlantic touching their skin made them both gasp simultaneously; Gerard gritted his teeth and kept walking, deeper and deeper, feeling the icy water seep through his clothes.
Lena was shivering by the time Gerard finally stopped walking; he was up past his waist, which meant the water was damn near soaking the poor woman’s chest. She closed her eyes and clung to him, her pale body quivering like a leaf still clinging to its branch.
Refusing to die.
Winter would not defeat it.
“Will this be the last time, Gerard?”
“Last time, babe. I promise.”
“Can we get married tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Lena smiled into Gerard’s shoulder; the man felt her relax in his arms and he began to stroke her exposed back.
There was that scar.
Gerard took a deep breath.
“You’re beautiful, Lena,” he whispered. “Just remember that. You’re beautiful. And I love you.”
“I love you too, Gerard.”
They smiled at one another before sharing a slow, sweet kiss.
He placed his hands on top of each of her shoulders and shoved violently downwards, thrusting her head beneath the surface.
And he held her there.
Lena’s hands clasped around his wrists, clinging there with all of her strength. Large bubbles of air rose and popped, boiling the surface for several long minutes as Gerard kept his eyes on her, unblinking.
Her fingers gradually loosened before they completely slid from his wrists, the air bubbles utterly ceasing.
There was silence.
Gerard pried his hands from her cold, dead shoulders and her pale body bobbed to the surface like a buoy, her hair spreading like a silky net.
She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Gerard scooped her into his arms, lugging her wet body to the shore, where he finally laid her down and knelt, wiping the smudged makeup from beneath her eyes.
Her lips were blue and her skin had taken on a similar tinge; there were purplish-black marks on her neck from when he’d watched himself strangle her only two days before.
And if he moved her hair just a tiny bit away from her shoulder, there was a small, gaping black hole where the bullet had made its presence known.
Gerard crossed her limp hands over her chest and pressed a kiss to her icy forehead.
It was only when he got home that he realized the skin of his palms was permanently stained crimson.


--


Gerard couldn’t bear another goodbye.
He throttled the ignition of his pistol as Lena balanced on the sill of the huge, gaping window of the abandoned warehouse, overlooking the anorexic skyscrapers and smokestacks of Jersey City, scratching up the clouds with their toxic emissions and staining the sky. She leaned against one side of the window, shaking her head and sighing. Gerard’s eyes trained on her porcelain profile, noticing how the bluish tinge from the drowning lesson she’d had the day before made her skin appear cold to the touch—which it almost was, at this point. Her hair still fell in silky waves about her shoulders, trembling at the slightest breath of a breeze, strands whipping across her face. She was an animated corpse, come back to life.
Only to be forsaken again.
“It’s a shame,” she whispered. “It really is.”
Gerard held his pistol to the light, squinting as it caught a glare.
“What’s a shame?”
“The waste,” Lena said, lifting a hand and gesturing towards the crowd of busy, tired buildings. “The waste of this city… the thankless workers who try to clean this place up every day, the potential that this city has, but is just thrown away….”
“Kind of like you?”
“Yeah, kind of—wait, what do you mean?”
“I love you.”
BANG.
Lena’s eyes rounded and she fell backwards with hardly a scream, tumbling out of the warehouse window; Gerard ran to look, watching as she hit the ground below without a sound.
Oh God, it was a sight.
She lay sprawled on the city block, her huge pale eyes staring up at him, her chest heaving. Blood painted the cement beneath her ruined skull, splattered in an elaborate masterpiece that stained her skin, her hair, her dress.
She was still alive.
Gerard tore down the steps of the warehouse, whipping onto the street and sprinting to where Lena lay scattered and broken on the city block.
She was twitching and gasping and bleeding, dying painfully slow; it was a pitiful sight, one Gerard never wanted to see again.
He’d rather see her dead than in so much pain.
Her eyes lifted to his; the forgiveness and understanding that so distinctly shone in their depths nearly made Gerard regret what he was about to do.
“I love you, Helena,” he whispered. “God… I’m so, so sorry.”
So he lifted his pistol and shot.
And shot.
And shot.
And shot.
It was blatantly obvious that she was dead after the first bullet entered her skull.
Gerard kept the lead coming until his pistol was producing nothing but clicks.
Without a sound he stuck it back in its holster.
And he stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes closed.
The moment froze and then all was silent.


--


“Why do you always wear that dress?”
“We’re getting married today, Gerard—don’t you remember?”
“Is that why I’m wearing this suit?”
Lena smiled and laughed, the musical sound echoing in the thick air of the church as she twirled towards him, falling gracefully into his arms.
“I love you,” she whispered simply, lifting a long finger to trace his jaw.
Gerard smiled in return, brushing a lock of hair from her eyes and fitting his lips against hers.
“I love you too.”
She smiled and stood up again, pointing her toes and twirling down the aisle again. Gerard was just content to watch her, leaning against the altar swathed in black.
There was hardly a trace of white in the entire place, actually; the sun poured in through giant stained-glass windows, fat dust particles floating lazily across the thick shafts of light and giving the whole church an aura of peace and warmth. Bouquets of black and red roses were the flowers of choice; they were everywhere, lined below the altar, on every single pew. Lena held a bouquet now; she danced up the aisle once more, her smile luminous as she handed the flowers to Gerard.
“Aren’t you excited?” she asked, her voice light and airy as she twirled around him.
“Well… I’m nervous, I guess,” Gerard offered with a shrug, the corners of his lips turning upwards. “I mean…”
That was when he noticed there was a tall, long-necked bottle sitting on the altar behind him, accompanied by two tumblers, each filled to the brim with white wine. He lifted one, taking the other and handing it to Lena.
It had a strange smell to it.
“I know what you mean,” the woman said, taking the glass without question and lifting it to her lips. “But c’mon. The priest will be here soon.”
Gerard followed Lena down the aisle towards the front of the church, then paused.
“…Hey, isn’t it bad luck for a groom to see the bride before a wedding?” he asked.
Lena turned, her brow creasing.
“Of course not,” she said. “I mean—“
She stopped suddenly, clutching her stomach and gasping. Gerard rushed to her side, tucking one arm beneath the crook of her legs and lifting her into his arms.
“It’s okay,” he whispered as the woman continued to cough and gasp, her face paling.
Her eyes, he noticed, had lightened a shade or two.
“Just drink down the rest of that. Drink down the rest.”
Lena glanced at the wineglass in her hand and downed the rest of the clear liquid, but her body only convulsed and shook all the more.
“G-G-Gerard—“
“Shh… it’s okay. Just come with me, shh…”
He began to make his way back down the aisle—the shafts of light were still there, the decorations were still there. But, instead of an altar, there was an open coffin, carved of deep mahogany and lined with rich, crimson velvet.
“You p-promised m-me, Gerard—you p-promised m-me you wouldn’t d-do this ag-gain…”
He approached the coffin slowly, laying her out in the cushioned casket before reaching up to touch her pale face.
It was growing cold.
“You know why I’m doing this, right,” he whispered as Lena’s chest continued to heave. She shook her head.
Gerard bit his lower lip, lifting his hand to pet her hair.
“I don’t deserve you, Lena,” he whispered. “You’re too perfect. My life… I don’t see why you were sent to me. My life has no place for you. I’ve… I’ve been wishing you away.”
The young woman blinked slowly and nodded, her convulsions slowly ceasing.
All was suddenly silent.
Without warning, Lena reached up and took one of Gerard’s hands.
“I never thought it’d be this way,” she whispered. “Just you and me… here alone.”
Gerard’s brow creased as he leaned down.
“What?”
Lena began to shake again; her eyes clouded over and they became nothing but soft, glowing silver spheres.
“A thousand bodies, Gerard,” she said, her voice louder. “That’s all I’m asking for. That’s all you need.”
“For what?” he pressed, his voice growing tight. “What do I need them for?”
The top of the coffin began to creak as it tilted forward; Gerard dropped Lena’s hand as it snapped shut and locked itself. He began to claw desperately at the latches, but they would not yield; the church dissolved around them and the coffin began to fade speedily into the growing dark.
“HELENA!”
Gerard woke with a rattling scream, shaking violently and soaked in sweat.