World's Away - The Black Parade

**MarieArt** · 09-10-2009, 10:01 PM

World's Away
Rating: 15; some eventual material may be unsuitable for some ages.

Genre: Drama, Insanity, Tragedy

Summary: Through the eye's of a case worker, she sees Frank unfolding at the age of sixteen. After finding a small note from the mentally ill teen, Marie is now impelled to take matters into her own hands. Who takes care of the teen that no one wants?

Main Characters:
Frank, Gerard, appearances by Mikey.
Marie (case worker)
Matthew (case manager/boss)

Disclaimer: I do not own/know any of the band members. This story is 100% mine and is based on my studies in one of my college classes (Human Services Survey). Also based on certain personal experiences.

INDEX:
Page 1: Chapter 1, Chapter 2
Page 2: Chapter 3
Page 3: Chapter 4, Chapter 5
Page 4: Chapter 6
Page 5: Chapter 7
Page 6: Chapter 8, Chapter 9
Page 7: Chapter 10
Page 8: Chapter 11, Chapter 12
Page 9: Chapter 13
Page 10: Chapter 14
Page 11: Chapter 15
Page 12: Chapter 16, Chapter 17
Page 13: Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20
Page 14: Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23
Page 15: Chapter 24
Page 16: Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27
Page 17: Chapter 28
Page 18: Chapter 29, Chapter 30
Page 19: Chapter 31, Chapter 32
Page 20: Chapter 33, Chapter 34, Chapter 35
Page 21: Chapter 36
Page 22: Chapter 37, Chapter 38, Chapter 39
Page 23: Chapter 40, Chapter 41, Chapter 42, Chapter 43
Page 24: Chapter 44, Chapter 45, Chapter 46
Page 25: Chapter 47, Chapter 48
Page 26: Chapter 49, Chapter 50(final)

**MarieArt** · 09-10-2009, 10:04 PM

Chapter One: Daddy Says I Am
________________________
Seeing those eyes take in the entire world, I often wondered what’s going in his mind. The teen rarely talks or communicates at all. When or if he talks it’s only to briefly answer a question that someone asks. Everything I’ll see what those eyes are seeing. I only wish I knew how to get into that under-developed mind. Honestly, I don’t think that mind is under-developed, I believe that his lack of communication that makes the doctors, psychiatrists and psychologists think so.

Scooting around in my chair, I crossed my legs and relaxed to watch him trace circles in the air before momentarily smiling to himself. My ears caught a couple of murmured words that had escaped his agape mouth, “Did you say something, sweetie?” I casually reached for the small notebook on my desk that was only a couple of feet away.

The eager eyes glanced at me as he slowly shook his head then resumed drawing circles, now writing in the air. I attempted to decipher what he was writing, but if my guess was correct, he kept writing his name over and over again, “Are you writing your name?” All I received was a small nod, so I asked, “What is your name?”

Of course, I knew what my client’s name was, especially since he has came to me four times a week for a year and a half. I also know he’s sixteen years old, he loves dogs, he makes friends easily and his family is… Well, they’re not the best people, towards him anyway. I once witnessed his mother literally drag him out of my office then shortly after she yelled at him. I once spoke to her about the way she treats him and I felt terrible for writing it down. “He’s a mute! I believe he’s deaf too because he never listens to me or my husband!” I then asked her if he has ever been abused by either of them and that… woman admitted that she has hit him and her husband has done unspeakable things to him behind closed doors. I couldn’t report it; my boss told me it’d be impossible to prove unless the kid said something. Like I said, it’s a rare thing. “Frank… Could you say something? Anything at all? You can say anything, I don’t care if it’s a curse word or not. I’d prefer a sentence though, but a word is fine with me.” He placed his hands underneath his armpits and scoots back into his chair as if I had scolded him. “Please…” To me, my voice sounded hoarse and desperate, “Okay… I understand.”

I stood up and felt his eyes staring at me as walked to the other side of the room. I never said a word as I stepped up onto a small stool so I could reach for some drawing paper and a pack of markers. If he refuses to talk, he’ll draw, hopefully. Pulling down the paper, a few packages of markers and pencils fell, resulting in small giggles from then teen on the other side of the room, “You can laugh, but can’t talk?” I picked them and sat them back where they once were then carried the paper and some markers over to my desk. Silently, I sat down and grabbed a pencil from the small cup on my desk then commenced drawing.

Curiosity must have accumulated inside of his mind because he stood up resulting in me saying, “Stay there, I’m doing something.” That something was drawing him. I glanced back and forth from him to the paper as I quickly sketched in a few features as he tried getting up. “Don’t move.” Soon, I finished and smiled weakly at my sad attempt of a portrait before revealing what I was doing to him, “Like it?”

He had drifted off into another world, but nodded.

“Do you want to draw or write?” I offered him paper and he eagerly took it. “Show me up, dear.”

A wide smile formed on his face as he pulled a marker out from his pocket and he commenced doodling something. I patiently waited for the results of what I asked. For a few moments, I worried about what he was doing. Soon, I came to find out once he bit his lip and held it up for me to see. What I saw terrified me. Large merely glowing eyes peering over what looked like the edge of a bed that had no sheets. The hair on top of the monster’s head was dark and sticking out in every direction; depicting this with one color also amazed me, “Frank, could you tell me what this is?”

“Frank.”

“That’s your name, sweetie. What’s its name?” I pointed to the picture.

“Daddy calls me a little monster; it me.”

A buzzer inside my head screamed out; Frank spoke for the second or third time since I’ve counseled him. “I see you myself and you’re no monster.”

“Mah-ree,” he squinted his eyes to probably read my name plate on the desk which was Marie. “Marie, I am, daddy say so. That why I get locked up…” He covered his mouth to hold back his childish voice. Maybe Sequin said kids like him suffer from prolonged infancy, but he’s smart and he is well aware of everything. To him, what daddy or mommy says is the truth, no matter how bad they treated him. He quickly pressed his index fingers against his lips then began staring as he began drawing circles in the air once more.

Did I daydream about him actually talking to me? I wanted to ask him, but the session was now over and right on time, his mother burst through the door, “Frank, it’s time to go home.” He shook his head and continued drawing in the air. The consequence was her roughly grabbing his arm and yanking him out of the seat, “Now!”

“Mrs. Iero, please,” I spoke up only to have her glare at me.

“Don’t tell me how to treat my own son! You don’t know him like I do.”

The second part of that statement seemed so much weaker. Damn psychology. I frowned and extended my hand as if I could’ve reached the poor boy before she slammed the door behind them. I forcefully slammed the palm of my hand against my desk and quickly stood up uttering unkind words. Storming around in small circles, my heel snagged on my carpet and sent me falling face first to the floor onto a picture; the one Frank had drawn. I looked at it closely and flipped it over to find writing on the lower half. The font was kindergarten level, but it was legible. The letters were large and the E’s were backwards, but they held strong meaning.

“I wanna be worlds away frum here.”
__________________

Dare I continue?

**Neverland** · 09-10-2009, 11:17 PM

Oh my, I completely adore this! The plot seems to be very original, which is something you don't see a lot of anymore. You should definately continue. I'm sure this is going to be incredible, you're an amazingly talented author.

**MarieArt** · 09-11-2009, 06:12 PM

^ Wow, thank you =]
I tried my best to think of an original one and in Human Services Survey we've been studying asylums and mental illness, so I try to keep my facts straight.
I'm in college so updates will probably be once every 3 or 4 days.
x//o

Moonshyne · 09-12-2009, 01:19 AM

Hi Shawna,

It seems so sad. I feel so bad for Frank.

Looking forward to reading more.

Dumbledore · 09-12-2009, 11:35 PM

Please continue.
I adore this, as I do everything you write.
That last part absolutely broke my heart.
But I love this. <3

**MarieArt** · 09-14-2009, 03:41 PM

The teen had broken my heart. Even though I had three other clients after him, he was the only one that I could think of. What if his parents were beating him or locking him away in some closet right now? Don’t get me wrong, after this last client leaves five minutes from now, I am taking that drawing and marching down to my boss’ office to report what I had seen. This has happened before, but I’ve never had proof like the eerie drawing. I couldn’t believe I never thought of having the boy draw before.

“Thanks, Mrs. Marie,” the client stated smiling politely through her mad black hair. She’s one of my best clients. Well, she has made the most progress of all of them; she went from barely being able to think for herself to being able to drive alone. I was overly proud of her. “You gave me independence.”

It took everything in me not to cry, “It’s my pleasure to help you, Addie. You gave yourself independence, dear. I just assisted you along the way.”

Addie stood up with a large smile on her face, thanked me once more then walked out of the door. As soon as she left, I scribbled down a few notes and reached for Mr. Iero’s picture, “I’ll do something about this, even if it kills me in the process.” I grasped it and quickly walked out of my office.

The hallway was so quiet which was something that I couldn’t grow use to, even if I have worked at this clinic for three years. When I check in at eight A.M. there’s almost always a full waiting room filled with mentally ill adolescents or adults addicted to some sort of substance. Then when I clocked out at five, the hallways and waiting room is completely vacant and merely silent. In the back of my mind, I could hear patients at the old clinic I worked at screaming, one in particular—Gerard Way—he hated coming in and waiting, but once he got into my office, he was fine. He had been a client of mine for about five years before I was forced to switch clinics. My old boss called me to say that Gerard quit coming and had no earthly clue on what could happen to him if someone as mad as him went without proper treatment.

My thoughts got me through the clinic without freaking myself out. Now, I stood in front of Matthew’s door, holding a drawing by one of my most in need clients and hoping that I could somehow get him out of his congenital home because according to me, he didn’t deserve being born into that family. I knocked on the door, wishing he wasn’t busy or at a meeting.

“Come in,” a voice called from behind the door.

I took in a deep breath and walked in, “Hello, Mr. Reid. Could I speak to you for a moment about a client?”

He pointed at the seat in front of his desk with a weak smile on his face, “Of course. Which client, my dear?” He politely closed his folder and tucked his pen away in his shirt pocket to give me his full attention; Matthew was always good for that.

“Frank Iero, sir,” I stated quickly as I handed him the drawing. “I’m going to get right down to why I’m in here.”

“Does he scare you, or are you worried?” he asked observing the picture.

“He does not scare me, I just want a way to get him out of that house; look at the note on the back,” I made a rolling gesture with my index finger for him to turn it over then waited for his reaction.

“Wow,” his stated with wide eyes. That’s what I expected as he continued, “Maybe we should send in a social or case worker.” His eyes redirected themselves towards me, “I’ll send you since you already know the patient,” he continued as he tore a post-it note from his stack and grabbed his ink to scribble something onto it, “You said this was by Frank Iero? Let’s have you visit him at home tomorrow around three in the afternoon. Is that fine? You can spend your last couple of hours of work there and I’ll count is as over time since you’re using gas to go to his house.”

“That’s perfect for me,” I replied watching him re-pocket his pen and stick the note to the picture. He handed the picture back to me, “Thanks, Mr. Reid.” I grasped the picture gently and sat it in my lap.

“Call me Matthew, you’ve been here long enough to call me by my first name in and outside of work,” he stated opening his folder once more. “I want to hear how things go tomorrow; you know my cell phone number.”

I nodded and took his signal to stand up, “Thanks, Matthew.” At least I’m not calling him Mr. Reid anymore until I make him mad again. I soon exited the office to venture back to my office. My heart only wished that tomorrow will go as smoothly as that two-second meeting did.

I wandered pass the secretary to gather up all of my things and homework then locked up my office, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aniela.”
________________________________
A/N: I'm glad to see that some people wanted me to continue. Sorry it took so long to update it. College, my other story and home stuff delayed it.
It'll start getting more interesting after this chapter.

**Neverland** · 09-14-2009, 03:52 PM

This is so lovely. :D

I'm quite scared of what she'll find at Frank's house. Poor Frank. <3

Evenstar · 09-14-2009, 06:25 PM

This sounds great so far!
Poor Frankie. The drawing and the note were heartbreaking.
I can't wait to see where you go with this story. You're talented. =]

Dumbledore · 09-14-2009, 06:45 PM

This is interesting enough already.

I can't wait for more, however.
You have such a way with words.
It's brilliant. <3