Murder Scene

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction' started by VGLythia, Apr 30, 2012.

  1. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Title: Murder Scene

    Rating: 18+ (Language, Drugs, Violence, Rape, Sex)

    Characters: Gerard Way, Frank Iero, Mikey Way (So far)

    Summary: He's killed one, and now he's on the run. However, he made need to kill more to escape and prove himself.

    Genre: Action, Thriller, Crime, Romance

    Disclaimer: It's just a story.

    Chapter Index:
    Prologue: Page 1
    Chapter 1 - Fuck It: Page 1
    Chapter 2 - Check: Page 1
    Chapter 3 - Prison: Page 1
    Chapter 4 - Perfection: Page 2
    Chapter 5 - Broken Soul: Page 2

    The prologue, let me know what you guys think ^_^


    I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared. Who wouldn’t be scared- With the skin hanging off their forearm and a laceration in their thigh cut right down to the sickly grey bone? However, when I was laying there, waiting for the last blow, it was as if some greater being had looked down at my weak, pathetic body and said “Fuck it.” Maybe it was at that moment that someone took pity on me and gave me the goddamn final break I deserved. I mean, I’d paid my dues, had I not?
  2. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Chapter 1: Fuck It

    Chapter 1: Fuck It

    Yeah, I was a complete psychopath I guess, but he fucking deserved it. If you had seen it- if you had seen what he’d done to my mother and brother, you would have painted the walls with his brains, too. I don’t know, one day I just snapped. One day I just got so tired of seeing her on the ground, bloody and pleading with a picture of Jesus hanging on the wall behind her. I went to some cheap-ass pawn store and bought a gun, and then I blew that motherfucker’s brains out. My mother, with her big brown eyes, told me: “Get out.”

    And so I did. I grabbed my shit, stomped out the door, past my baby brother cowering in the hallway, and took off in my Trans. I was on the run now. Nowhere to hide, you don’t hide from the police, you just run. I’d run until I couldn’t run anymore. I’d run until someone got as sick of me as I’d gotten of my step-father, and they’d put a gun of relief to my head. I didn’t want to die, no, but I didn’t really want to live either. Killing, it takes its toll on your soul, even if the motherfucker got what’s coming to him. Justice is served in the most brutal and draining way.

    A twenty year old fugitive, escaping down the backroads from Belleville, New Jersey. 1973 Trans-Am stocked with sketching pencils and pads, alcohol under the seats, and plenty of antidepressants. Yeah, I grabbed some spare clothes, but all I really needed was some booze and pills. That’s all I really needed, and I could survive. That’s all a depressed alcoholic needs to live.

    I don't know what I did with the gun. Maybe I dropped it after he went down, or maybe it disintegrated after the barrel exploded with gunpowder. I don’t know, and I don’t care. What the fuck would I do with the gun after I’d given the son of a bitch his brutal treatment? You think I’m a terrible person? If you had been there- I’m not a born killer. I was just dishing out some brutal and draining justice.

    Fuck, Jersey is one great piece of work. The beauty in the filth of the place. It was one of the biggest shit-holes on this planet, but it was my home. It was where I was born and raised, home to some of the best punk and rock musicians to ever lay their hands on a guitar. That justified all the fucked up shit that went down there in my opinion. In Jersey, there are no excuses. You have to pull your head out of your ass, and face all of your flaws and fuck-ups. That’s the only way you can survive in Jersey.

    That was the reason why I left.
  3. Oh man. This is brilliant. I love the energy, the anger, woah.

    I haven't read anything this good in a long time
  4. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    Different! Am looking forward to where you take this :)
  5. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Chapter 2: Check

    Thanks guys, I'm flattered. I'm glad you like it.


    Chapter 2: Check

    The fuel gauge was on empty. My car’s gas-tank was almost dry, and a pounding had started in my head. I had it all worked out, but the poor gas mileage the Trans gets wasn’t working out. I’d stop in East Berlin, Connecticut. There I could fill up on gas before heading towards Brooklyn, Massachusetts. It would be a round-about, like a false trail, a wild-goose chase. They’d think that they’d have me trapped while I was heading south.

    But first I needed some goddamn gas.

    Before I left Belleville, I stopped and withdrew what they called suspicious amounts of money from my college-fund- at least, what was left of my college-fund. My step-dad and I had some habits we had to feed: Alcohol, cigarettes, my Xanax. It dug into my college-fund; my brother didn’t even have one. My poor baby-brother, he wasn’t completely deprived. He had food, water, and some shitty shelter. When I wasn’t completely wasted, I held him, protected him from the only evil figure he could identify in his life. My habit was always just that: a bad habit, to him at least. In his eyes, my step-father and I didn’t have the same demons. Maybe that’s why I killed him, to kill an older version of myself.

    He could save up now, though. He didn’t have my step-father wasting income on beer, and I was gone with my college-fund. Maybe, just maybe, ma and he could have a life that was just a bit more peaceful. Ma didn’t want me, Mikey had his friends. The police would take care of me and bring me back, dead or alive.

    I pulled into the gas station. It was old and rusted, scorch marks on the concrete drive. An overturned garbage-can was infested with moulded fast-food and flies. Looks like my kind of place. It was the kind of place that had a car-repair right beside the store. I handed the gas-attendant a 50 and stepped into the cool air-conditioned shop.

    I went to the back, where they kept the beer and liquor. Just a six-pack, that’s all I needed to keep this fucking headache off until Boston… hopefully. Sitting on the floor by the counter was a boy, around seventeen or eighteen maybe, a runaway for sure. He looked like he was treated very well, spoiled even, when he lived in a home with parents.

    I payed for the beer, handing the greasy, rat-faced man behind the counter seven dollars, didn’t even ask for ID. Then, I plopped down beside the boy on the floor.

    “Where you headed?” The boy’s head snapped up, hazel eyes narrowed in suspicion.

    “Nowhere fast, obviously.” he muttered, his eyes holding mine, as if he was daring me to blink. I laughed.

    “I guess that’s your car in the shop, then.”
    Blush rushed up his as he looked at the floor, losing our stupid little staring contest.

    “I’m willing to give you a ride if you’re willing to ask.” I pushed a little. There was something about this kid, something about him being obviously homeless with his dirty clothes that tugged at my cold little heart.
    He held out his hand, and I took it.


    “Gerard. Bags in the car?” He nodded and clambered to his feet.

    “You get them, my car’s right there.” I gestured out the window. I had to get going, who knew how close the cops were.

    I got into the Trans and watched him come lumbering out of the shop, a bag in one hand, another thrown over his shoulder. I popped the trunk and waited. The poor Trans thudded and shook as he tossed his bags in. After he crawled into the passenger, I cranked the car and skidded out of the gas-station.

    He wrinkled his nose as we were pulling out. “Damn, how much beer do you keep in here?”

    “Not enough.” I snorted. He pulled out a cigarette and lit up, inhaling deeply, melting into his seat.

    We drove for awhile in silence; we didn’t really have anything to say to each other. Just a ride, that's all I was giving this strange boy. A few miles down, the traffic started slowing down, eventually stopping, and we saw cop lights. I sat there for a moment, watching a driver hand something to a cop out of the window of his fancy-ass car. Then, it hit me what was happening.

    “Fuck!” I looked around anxiously, there had to be some break in the fucking traffic, somewhere to pull off this cracked, shitty road and turn around.

    “What? What’s going on?” Frank had bolted upright in his seat, looking for my source of panic.

    “They’re doing a goddamn licence check.” I felt him staring at me as I threw the car in reverse. Check, just like in chess, but they didn’t have me, yet.

    “What did you do?” I heard him say as I squeezed between a motorcycle and a Tahoe. “What the hell did you do? What are you running from?” he yelled at me, right in my ear.

    “Shut the fuck up!” I bellowed as I headed the opposite direction, slowly, carefully.

    He was still staring at me. “How bad was it?”
  6. Chemical 30

    Chemical 30 Just 'That' Girl

    Oh dear....Gerard what have you done? Even though the bastard deserved it.
    This seems like a really kick-ass story, and I'm already anxious for more.
    Keep at it ;)
  7. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Chapter 3: Prison

    Chapter 3: Prison

    I said nothing to him, but rather stared ahead, hoping he’d drop it. He better drop it. I glanced in the cracked rear-view mirror, none of the cops had noticed my hasty turn-around. Fuck, I needed to be more careful. If they had seen me, if they had caught and arrested me, then I’d be in prison getting some guy’s dick shoved up my ass in a week, tops. They’d make me do push-ups in drag. Prison-life, something I had to avoid at all costs.

    Frank had settled back into his seat, fuming loudly. He’d give a loud sigh and then a huff, as if he thought that I would eventually give an answer that was none of his business.

    I should have dumped him out on the dirty street right there.

    We had been heading northeast, from East Berlin, Connecticut to Boston, Massachusetts. Now, we were heading north to Chicopee, where we’d then take I-90 W to Amsterdam, New York. That’s where we’d turn in for the night. Ratty, old as fuck place in my opinion, but it was needed. I couldn’t drive all night, and I didn’t trust Frank to get me where I wanted fast enough. I’d only known him for a couple of hours.


    I grunted to let him know that I was listening.

    “I haven’t had any food for two days...”

    “So? We’ll stop somewhere and get some food.” Why the fuck didn’t he just ask?

    “I have no money.”

    “Then I’ll pay for you.” Was it so hard for this kid to just ask for a favour?

    He mumbled a thanks as I pulled off onto an exit. The sign said that they had a McDonald’s, where we all go to get fat. Unless you’re me, an illegal alcoholic. I’m still waiting for a beer-gut to show up.

    At the drive-through, you could hear the lady taking our orders smacking her goddamn gum over the speaker. I might as well shove the whole fucking pack into her mouth if she chewed like that at customers.

    I ordered a Big-Mac and a large coffee, something about killing and running from the cops fires up an appetite for greasy, fattening foods. Frank just ordered a fish-fillet sandwich and a water. I cocked an eyebrow at him. Who orders fish at a place with a bunch of chicken?

    “I’m starting to go vegetarian, thought I’d start off pescetarian.” He explained quickly, not meeting my eyes like this was something he was ashamed of. Hey, I can respect anyone who can stop eating certain foods, even if I do find it ridiculous.

    We pulled up to the window to find some pretty little blonde smacking her gum at us. She was definitely the cheerleader type who would have humiliated the fuck out of me in high school. Big blue eyes with fake lashes, tanned skin and large tits barely hiding beneath her uniform.

    As she passed us our bags and cups, I roved my eyes across her torso as conspicuously as I could. Then, I leaned out of the Trans window, feeling Frank’s eyes burning into my back.

    My physical appearance had improved drastically since high school, and now I could use it to my advantage.

    Her bright blue eyes gazed at me, a look of disgust and curiosity starting to spread over her face.

    “I think I may know you from somewhere.” I said quietly, feeling my voice turning rough as it always does when I go quiet.

    “No, I don’t think so.” She replied, a fake smile plastered to her face, tits bouncing as she shifted her weight.

    “Of course you don’t remember,” I smirked, “you wouldn’t, but we met at a party.” Her smile faltered slightly.

    “Haven’t you ever been told to always watch your liquor at a party? I got some real good shit off a friend that night, and I may have accidentally put it in your drink when you went to the restroom.” A look of horror was spreading over her now. “It wasn’t that hard, you being the filthy wh**e you are, getting you to take your clothes off.”

    “Gerard, what are you doing?” I faintly heard Frank say softly.

    “Fuck, you were so beautiful, begging for my chicken the way you did.”

    “Gerard, stop it.” Frank said, louder now.

    The look in her eyes told me that this was something she would never forget.

    “Of course, those drugs are made so that you would forget, but I will always remember: the way you looked, the way you screamed my name-”

    “Gerard! Give it a fucking rest!” Frank was reached across me now, trying to roll up the window.

    “-the way you felt on my dick. You fulfilled my biggest fantasy, sugar.” I finished as Frank finally got the window up. I pressed the gas pedal down and pulled out of the lot.

    It was silent only for a few minutes before Frank erupted.

    “What the fuck was that?” he screamed at me.

    “Oh, c’mon Frank!” I yelled back, fed up with him being such a fucking pussy about everything. “You know that’s the type of girl who would have given you shit in high school. I was just giving her a bit of her own medicine.”

    He was quiet for a minute before he said “Actually, I never had that problem.”

    “What?” I demanded, glancing over at him. His hair was short and red on one side, long and black on the other. There’s no way he wasn’t treated like shit in school.

    “I only had that issue with the guys, never with girls.”

    I just shook my head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

    “It makes perfect sense, actually.” He said simply, staring at the dashboard.

    “Yeah? And why’s that?” He muttered something under his breath. “What?”

    “Because I’m gay, Gerard!”
  8. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    I like how you're working the characters in this. Is it going to turn into a frerard though? Let me know if it is and I'll move it for you.
  9. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Not really a slash.

    This is going to sound terrible, but at some point, Gerard may rape Frank. That, however, isn't really a relationship, and Gerard will be romantically involved with a woman.

    If the scene happens, I'll try to keep it on the less explicit side, kind of like a black-out thing. Gerard loses his mind and doesn't realise what happened until the aftermath.

    Again, this isn't definite. It may or may not happen.
  10. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    Given that rape is about power, rather than sex, just put a warning on that chapter (if you decided to keep it) and we should be good.
  11. Chemical 30

    Chemical 30 Just 'That' Girl

    I think Gerard may be sick...just saying haha
    Still very much interested
  12. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Chapter 4: Perfection

    I know it has taken me a while, but I finally got chapter 4 down and part of chapter 5. Now that I'm on vacation, I should be a little less drained and a little more inspired.

    I'm also looking for a beta since the story-line is going to get a little more complicated after the next few chapters, and I need someone to keep me in check. So, if you're interested, let me know :help:


    Chapter 4: Perfection

    I just looked at him... Until he yelled at me to pay attention to the road. I don’t know why it was so shocking. Mikey was gay; you’d think I’d have a better sense of who’s gay and who isn’t. Frank was red, completely red. I chuckled and rubbed at my temples.

    “Fuck high school, will you get me a beer?”

    “No, I most definitely will not get you a fucking beer,” he snorted, “at least, not until I want us to die in a car crash.”

    “C’mon, just one. That’s not even enough to impair my judgment.” I pleaded.

    “But enough to get rid of that migraine, right?” I looked at him, leaned up against the window, looking at me like I was some kind of fucking crossword puzzle.

    “That means it’s enough to do something. So, you’re not getting a beer, but I’ll get you some ibuprofen.” He pulled a bottle out of his pocket and threw it at me. I popped the cap off and swallowed four.

    “So, Frank...” I tossed the bottle into the back-seat, “What are you running from?”

    I watched as he picked at his shirt for a moment, pulling thread out of the seams. “I’m running from perfection.” he eventually murmured.

    I cocked my eyebrow as I asked “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

    He rolled his eyes at me and started ranting. “It fucking means that I’m tired of the cookie-cutter life that my parents have built for me. I’m tired of my perfect little house and my perfect little future that has been planned out for me. I mean, what the fuck am I going to do sitting behind a desk all day? Or studying law? All I want to do is be free, but it’s like they mind-fucked me into thinking that life was only worth the money that I make and the mistakes that I don’t make. No, I want to be a fuck-up, I want to be broke. I just don’t want to live in a pretty little diamond cage anymore.”

    Huffing, he sat back in his seat and pulled out another cigarette. I said nothing, but stared, kind of paying attention to the road. Here he was, wishing he’d be me. What would he do if he knew my story? Idolise me? No, that’s fucking ridiculous. This kid didn’t know what he wanted. If he really knew, he’d shoot himself in the head... Or maybe I’m just being overly-dramatic.

    But damn, not what you’d expect from him. I was expecting bad home-life, not a great home-life. Here I sat, quite normal looking besides the fact that I reek of beer. Thick black hair, dull green eyes, average clothes, very inconspicuous for a fucking murderer. Then, there was him with weird-ass hair, a nose and lip piercing, and a bright red tie. Our situations should be reversed. They would be if everything was what it seemed.

    We pulled off an exit and into the lot of some ratty motel. Frank looked excited for some remarkably strange reason.

    “Welcome to Amsterdam.” I muttered as we both clambered out of the Trans. I grabbed my bag and beer, and Frank lugged his bags out of the trunk. The front-desk attendant was chewing on a toothpick, greasy hair slicked back, and staring at what looked like a hooker that was lounging on a torn sofa.

    “What do you have available?” I asked resting my head on the desk. The attendant stared down at me, chewing away at his toothpick. His small black eyes darted between Frank and me.

    “One room, queen-bed. Pretty full.” As he muttered the last two words, his eyes slid over to the hooker.

    “Whatever, we’ll take it.”

    He grabbed my arm as I made to walk away.

    “Gotta pay now, fifty-two bucks.” he said, a sly grin revealing yellowing, cracked teeth.

    I wrenched my arm away and threw some cash down. He handed me the key and went back to his perverted staring. It was obvious where my money was going.

    The room wasn’t much better than the attendant. A table that was leaning against the wall and a bed that had springs so old you could feel every single one digging into your body when you laid down. The bathroom had a cracked mirror and a matching cracked sink. The shower/bath had a nice mildew ring, and somebody’s left-over vomit filled the toilet. Frank, not use to this degree of filthiness, wrinkled his face in disgust.

    “You’re the one running from perfection.” I taunted.

    He shoved me out of the bathroom. “Non-perfection doesn’t mean living like an animal.”

    We both washed up. Frank cleaned the toilet while I examined the bed for left-over piss, shit, or cum. When we were both satisfied, we climbed into bed. I pulled my pants off; Frank took off his shirt.

    Facing opposite directions, we laid in the itchy, disgusting sheets.

    “Good night, darling.” I sang.

    “Fuck off.”

    I snorted and drifted off to sleep.

    I’ve never dreamed much, but when I do, you can guarantee I’ll remember it. My step-dad, Jim, had found me. He hadn’t died when I shot him. He found me with a shovel in his hands and basked my face in with blow, after blow, after blow. There was so much fucking blood. It splattered in my eyes, tinting my vision red.


    His black eyes shined, ready to end it.


    I bolted upright in bed. Someone was yelling at me.

    “Gerard, get up and get dressed so we can go.” I looked around, confused for a moment, covered in sweat from the dream.

    Then, my eyes settled on him. Glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, dark brown hair ruffled all over the place, hazel eyes young and innocent.

  13. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    Please update your chapter index within 24 hours or your fic will have to be locked.
  14. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Sorry, I was half-asleep last night. I fixed it ^_^
  15. kadoodle

    kadoodle crazy cat lady Staff Member

    Thanks :)

    Excellent chapter, BTW.
  16. Chemical 30

    Chemical 30 Just 'That' Girl

    Mikey? haha
    And wow I was surprised to learn about Frank ;)
    Great chapter!
  17. VGLythia

    VGLythia Member

    Chapter 5: Broken Soul

    Chapter 5: Broken Soul​

    Mikey looked at me for a minute, seemingly confused, before clearing his throat loudly.

    “Seriously Gerard, get dressed so we can go.” I stared at him as he disappeared into the bathroom. How in the hell did he get here?

    I pulled on some fresh jeans and waited as Mikey came out of the bathroom. I stood up quickly as he gathered his bags and the motel key.

    He turned to find me gawking at him and grimaced. “You look like an idiot with your face like that. Hurry up.”

    I picked up my bags. And what was wrong with him? Mikey didn’t say shit like that to me. My soft-spoken, innocent brother didn’t talk like that.
    I waited as he tossed his bags into the trunk of the Trans, and then pulled him into a hug.

    “I’m so sorry, Mikey.” I said, my voice muffled by his shirt.

    I looked up in confusion as he shoved me away violently.

    “What the fuck is wrong with you?” That wasn’t Mikey’s voice. I blinked, and Frank was standing in front of me. No Mikey anywhere.

    “Are you okay?” he asked, softer this time. I shook my head.

    “I’m fine, get in the fucking car.” I wrenched my door open and shook my head. What the fuck was wrong with me. I couldn’t fucking hallucinate when I was on the run. Shit like that would make me go insane. I’d end up in a mental institution.

    My fists tightened around the steering wheel, my knuckles turning grey. I breathed heavily; I couldn’t survive in a place like that.

    I felt Frank fall into the car as it shuddered violently. I cranked it up and pulled out of the motel. I hadn’t realised how much I missed my baby brother until the hallucination. Mind you, I don’t normally act like that, but Mikey is the one person in the world I’d die for. I would give my life for that fucker, and he would do the same. He almost did do the same.

    “Who’s Mikey?” Frank asked, breaking my train of thought.

    “No one.” I muttered. Frank sighed.

    “You know, Gerard, I know nothing about you besides your name and the fact that you’re an alcoholic.” I glanced over at him.

    “I forget that it’s so obvious sometimes.” I laughed.

    “When was the last time you had a beer?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

    I thought for a moment, and the fact that I hadn’t thought about it since the previous afternoon threw me off.

    “Yesterday morning.” I said in disbelief. I normally have about five or more a day, and by the end, I’m completely hammered.

    “Being on the run is exhausting, huh?” He said it like it was supposed to be a joke, but his face fell.

    “You know, Frank. I’ve always been pretty good at reading people, and you don’t seem to be enjoying the freedom of the street-life so far- and this is just the start.”

    “No, I’m not enjoying you.”

    That threw me. Like I said, I’m pretty good at reading people, but this kid was like one of those circus performers who wear those three-sided masks. You get use to one side, and then they turn. I hated the circus when I was a kid. Maybe it was the similarities between all those caged animals and my own home. We all reached desperately for a rope that kept getting shorter.

    Then again, maybe it was the smell of animal shit and piss that clung to the air.

    I glanced over at him as he sat hunched over, face pressed against the window, the sunlight intensifying the red, and sighed. Fields of tall grass went out as far as you could see on both sides of the cracked road. The sight of it made me tired, like I wanted to go and curl up in the glass. Maybe I’d die, then I wouldn’t have to deal with all of this. That’s when I swerved the car violently, much to Frank’s dismay. I wasn’t suicidal. I didn’t want to die.

    “What is it about me that kills your mood so much?” I asked him quietly.

    “I can’t figure you out. You’re too secretive, you smell like my weird uncle, and you victimised that poor girl at the McDonald’s yesterday. Not to mention that weird fucking act this morning-”

    “That wasn’t a fucking act.” I growled as I swerved the car and pulled over on the side of the road.

    I turned, staring Frank right into his hazel eyes, now more green than brown.

    “I guess it’s time for some answers.” He nodded slowly, turning and leaning his back against the door so he could face me.

    “Hi, my name is Gerard, and I’m a depressed alcoholic.” He grimaced, like he didn’t know if I was trying to be funny or not. “Mikey is my baby-brother, the one person in this world I am able to care about. I am on the run from the police because I did something... Bad. I’m not entirely sure where I’m going, I just know that I have to keep moving. I may have some serious psychological issues that I’m not ready to admit to myself, yet, so we won’t concern ourselves with those just yet. I lived with my mother and father in Belleville, but my father died a few years ago, and my mother married an abusive man. A man you could never imagine with your picture-perfect family.”

    Frank stared at me, anger glowing in his eyes at the last remark, before turning his head away sharply.

    “You sound like quite the lost, broken soul.” He muttered sarcastically.

    I had nothing to say to that, so I pulled back onto the road and drove. Clouds were forming on the horizon, the sky meshing into a beautiful painting of light and dark, life and death.

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