Strange Things Happen At The One Two Points 2/9

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"Hey, debauchee," Jimmy quips from the driver's seat of Schechter's truck. Lindsey's leaning up against the frame of the truck, arm crooked and resting on the open window, observing Frank all sharp and fox-like.

"You talking to me?" Frank asks, annoyed at Jimmy by default. Can't a guy mind his own business without some loud-mouthed asshole getting in his hair?

"Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. You been watching my girls for free, and I ain't down with that shit."

"Oh, leave him alone," Lindsey defends, elbowing Jimmy in the arm so hard that he recoils. “He hasn’t done anything.”

"Whatever, Jimmy," Frank says, "You're just so full of shit it's starting to come out of your mouth." Even if he had wanted to check out the cooch show again, it's not like he's had that many opportunities. The dust storm’s kept the carnival closed for business.

But now is a busy morning for everyone in the carnival. They've stopped moving again just twenty miles from the last town and the rousties are working to get everything set up and ready for the night's show. It's an exciting life, Frank thinks, but he'd give just about anything for a moment's rest. It doesn't help that his dreams are gradually getting worse, so much so that he'd prefer not to sleep at all anymore.

"Frankie," Lindsey hollers, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "I like you. You’re a good guy. You can come see our show any time you want." She gives him a conspiratorial wink, and Frank knows she loves messing with Jimmy even more than he does.

She sobers up a bit and adds, "Don't take any heed of Jimmy, either. He's not the boss of me."

"Well, technically --" Jimmy starts and then ducks away from the window, trying to get away from Lindsey before she gets to him. Frankly, that guy’s stuck there, and Lindsey soon has a tight grip around a chunk of his messy, dirty hair. She gives it a hard yank, and Jimmy howls in pain.

"Thanks, Linds," Frank grins, chuckling at the sounds of Jimmy's loud protests. "I’ll remember that."

Walking amongst the half-erect tents, he takes a left and gets to the clearing, spots Brian under the CARNIVÀLE sign, his features tense, eyebrows drawn together, just staring into distance. No, on second thought, Brian is waiting for someone, looking on at a black car moving down the dirt road, a dust cloud following in its wake.

Frank steps into the shadows of the main tent as the car comes to a halt, something in his gut telling him to hide. A young man in leather boots and a cowboy hat steps out of the car, and the bad feeling in Frank’s gut worsens. He steps further in the shadow and squints at the newcomer, folding his hand above his eyes to shield them from the glaring sun.

"Hey, Frankie," Gerard's bright voice startles him.

"Christ, Gee," Frank hisses, clutching at his chest. He pulls Gerard behind him as he turns back to the scene. "Give a guy a fucking heart-attack, why don't you?"

Brian is shaking hands with the man in a friendly manner like they're old pals. Shifting closer, the gleam of the man's star-shaped badge hits his eyes. The sheriff. Frank swallows, trying hard not to panic.

"What's going on?"

"What's Brian doing talking to that man?" Frank asks, his fingers rubbing at his wrist in what he knows is a nervous manner but he can’t stop.

"Oh, sheriff Stump," Gerard sounds amused and Frank glances behind him, giving him a scowl. "He's pretty cool. He used to run a carnival of his own, but the times were pretty rough on him. Now he's the sheriff in the town we passed this morning. What's the big deal?"

"Sheriff Stump," Frank echoes, testing out the name.

"What's up? Why are you so freaked out?"

"I'm not—"

Gerard lets out an exasperated noise and leans against a support pillar, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever," he says, his lip jutting out. "I just thought we were friends."

"We are friends," Frank sighs. "It's just – it's fucking stupid, okay?"

"Friends tell each other stupid things." Gerard smiles in an encouraging manner. "And they don't get laughed at, or judged at, or whatever."

Frank looks at Gerard, feeling very skeptical. "Yeah, right."

"Come onnnn," Gerard drawls. "What're you like, a conman or something?"

There's an awkward pause, during which Frank can hear Brian in the background in his most convincing salesman-voice saying, "Patrick, I'm tellin' you this operation is hundred percent legit," and Stump’s reply, "I never heard an honest man use the word 'legit'."

Frank shifts guiltily and opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out.

"Holy shit you are!" Gerard hisses, surprised and a bit in awe of him. "I knew you were hiding something but I totally didn't think it'd be something like that." Frank eyes the sheriff, his hands shaking, and Gerard lowers his voice even more. "What -- What did you do?"

"Look, it's not – I didn't kill anybody if that's what you're-"

“What? No! That’s not what I –“ Gerard starts to protest, so Frank lets out a shaky laugh, stepping closer so that Gerard can see the numbers on his wrist better.

"Basically, I pissed off the wrong guy. A few years ago I got into this stupid bar fight with the governor's nephew, broke his arm and got put in jail for years for that. The tattoo's just my fucking convict number."

"But you're not in jail now." Gerard frowns. Frank can practically see the wheels turning in his head, and he's just waiting for him to catch on and figure him out. Suddenly Frank's yanked inside the tent by his wrist, stumbling until Gerard lets him find his footing. "You escaped?" he hisses.

"Of course I fucking escaped," Frank snaps, pulling back. "I wasn't gonna fucking build railways in chains for the rest of my life." Besides, his mom had just fallen ill back then, he wasn't gonna let her suffer and die alone in that tiny house on that good-for-nothing farm.

Gerard nods, studying him with close attention. "Okay," he finally concludes and gives Frank a small, reassuring smile.

"Okay?" asks Frank, feeling very doubtful.

"Well, yeah," Gerard's smile stretches his mouth and packs his cheeks into round lumps. "Okay. Relax man, you still look like you're gonna split any second."

"But... You're not mad?"

"Nah. Why would I be? Frank, look around you," Gerard says, motioning with his hands, "you're in a carnival, you're not the only one around here with skeletons in their closet."

"You got secrets?"

Gerard just smiles mysteriously at him and gives him a wink. "And don't you worry about Brian, either. He's not gonna turn you in. You might be new here but you're still one of us, and if there's something carnies take pride in it's looking out for their own. To be honest, if that's the big secret you were trying not to let slip, I'm way disappointed, I was counting on it being something... well, much bigger."

If you only knew, Frank thinks darkly, scowling at Gerard's knees.

"Stop! Everyone just stop it! That goes for you too, Bryar!" Brian’s voice bellows from outside the tent.

"What's this all about now," Gerard wonders out loud, glancing at Frank and then walking out of the tent.

Shrugging, Frank follows.

"Brian?"

"Gerard!" Brian stops fast in his tracks. The blue vein in his forehead lets an angry throb like it could pop any moment.

"What's going on?" Gerard asks. Bob drops his tools to the ground and edges closer, his face one big frown although not yet quite matching Brian's.

"It's Stump," Brian spits out the name like it stings his tongue. "He's all big town sheriff-y now, like he's fucking forgotten his roots."

Next to Frank, Gerard visibly deflates. "He's making us go dark tonight?"

"And tomorrow, and the next day. I'm gonna let the crew have a day off and we start moving first thing in the morning. We don't have an audience here. Or even if we did, fuckin' Stump just wouldn't let us entertain it."

"Damn," Gerard says. "I was looking forward to reading cards again. And I know Mikey gets really bored when nothing's happening."

"Sorry man," Brian says, patting Gerard on the back. "Tough luck, tougher times."

Frank stares at Brian's retreating back: his whole body is tense, a small dust cloud trails behind his shoes.

Bob is trying his luck with Gerard, his smile sheepish when he suggests that Gerard could read his cards again to keep Mikey and himself entertained.

Gerard matches his smile, but it's crooked and a little disbelieving. "As much as we value your support, man, I don't think the cards have anything new to say to you. It's only been what, a couple of days from your last time?"

"Why don't you give Iero a reading then, let's see what the cards have to say about him," Bob's voice has a nasty edge to it that makes Frank feel much more uncomfortable than his suggestion does.

"Why don't you just mind your own business," he glowers.

"Oh," Gerard says, frowning at Bob. "It's fine, Frank, seriously. No one's forcing you."

Frank huffs out a breath and balls his fingers into tight fists. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Since nothing's happening today, we could take one of the trucks and drive into town. Check out the people that're supposedly too good for us low-lifes, whaddya say?" Gerard smiles.

"I was gonna suggest you and me play some catch," says Bob, motioning at the mitt and the ball on the box by the half-risen Ferris wheel. Schecter's circling the ride and motioning wildly at the people trying to erect it. "We always keep putting it off and didn't I promise to show you how to put that extra special spin in the ball like, months ago?"

Gerard looks a little put out, Frank thinks, and in all honesty, he can't imagine Gerard doing any kind of sports, least of all baseball. It's such an improbable situation that Frank has to scrape his teeth against the insides of his cheeks to keep the snicker from bursting out.

"Uhhhhh," Gerard says, sinking his fingers into the mess of his hair, scratching his head.

"Why don't you show him after we get back from town," Frank jumps in, giving Bob a challenging look, smirking when Gerard hastens to agree with him.

"That's an awesome idea! And when we get back you can teach us both how to throw that ball to make it spin!" Gerard concludes and starts steering Frank away, not giving Bob any time to argue with them.

The town isn't much bigger than the last one, the buildings are dull monochrome and the people too, and there are no kids playing in the streets.

Schechter and Bryar had followed them here, Bob so that he could keep an eye on Frank no doubt, and Brian because Gerard had insisted on it when they found him sulking on the steps of the Management Trailer. Frank's never been inside the trailer, but he's heard carnies talking about the man with the big hair who lives there.

"This place is fucking sad," Brian says, looking around with a displeased expression, scowling at an old dusty man walking past them.

"Hey, it could be worse," Gerard says unconvincingly. "There's a bar over there and a kiosk... And didn't we see a motel somewhere when we were driving here," he tries to prompt Frank.

"It looked like shit," Frank says, but his heart isn't really in it. He's staring at a small crowd that has started gathering across the street. The crowd is staring back at him, whispering something behind their hands.

"That's him! That's him, mama!" a little girl with crooked knees exclaims, pointing at Frank, tugging at her mother's hem. "That's the man!"

Shit, Frank thinks, recognizing her now.

"Frank?" Brian asks. "What's this all about?" Frank glances at Gerard and Bob, they both just look confused. He tries to imagine how their faces would look if they found out.

The girl's mom comes running to him and crushes him in a tight hug, touching his face and looking at him like he's some kind of a saint.

"Fucking weirdos," Bob says disbelievingly, shaking his head. More people are circling Frank now, women and kids, touching his face and hair, their warm, sweaty hands grabbing Frank and pulling him in, incoherent murmur breaking out all around him. A wrinkly old woman has fat tears in the corners of her eyes. The girl from the sunflower field hopples around them all, braided hair bouncing on her shoulders.

"Get away from me," Frank says, trying to push away from the crowd, there are too many people and the wall of them makes him feel claustrophobic, like he might suffocate. "Let me fucking go."

"Alright, everyone back the hell off," Brian barks like a guard dog and starts separating the crowd with Gerard. Even Bob joins in steering people away, giving Frank room to breathe. When he gets freed from the clutches of the crowd, he runs back to the trucks without looking back, stumbling on some small rocks, his legs shaking. He opens the door and climbs in, banging the door closed, breathing hard.

It doesn't take long until Brian's sitting in the driver's seat, a smoke between his lips and a distant look in his eyes. Frank must have been a fool to think that he'd get to ride back with Gerard after this.

"So, these people seem to think," Brian starts, huffs a laugh and jabs the key into the ignition, "that you're some kind of a healer."

Frank swallows hard and digs his hands into his armpits, feeling his muscles tense up under his skin. "Yeah?" he asks, trying to keep his voice even.

"Yeah, can you believe that? 'Cause my curiosity sure got tickled. Is there something you wanna tell me? Do you know that girl?"

"There's nothing to tell," Frank says, looking out the window with tense determination.

Brian sighs and offers the cigarette to him. "Go ahead," he says when Frank hesitates. "There's no catch this time, no obligations, just two guys having a smoke."

Frank takes the cigarette from Brian and brings it to his lips, lets the habit of it soothe his nerves.

"So what," he says, after a while. "You don't wanna play twenty questions anymore?"

"We never played twenty questions," Brian reminds him, taking a left turn and starting to steer the truck back toward their camp. "But no, I'll always keep asking, you just already earned yourself this little price today. Good job, kid. Well done."

"I don't get it, clearly what that girl said was just the product of her overly vivid imagination."

"I don't know what that was, and right now, I don't really even wanna know, 'cause I just figured out a way to make you useful and how to keep the carnival open tonight," Brian adds, turning to Frank with an unsettling smirk.

"You don't think I'm being useful?" Frank asks, somewhat offended. He's been working himself to the bone, and he's got muscle pain to prove it. Looking at his hands, they're cracked and tender, like little earthquakes in the desert.

"All I've seen you do lately is following Gerard around like a lost little puppy and avoiding running into Bryar and me as much as possible."

"I've been that obvious?" Frank asks, sinking into himself.

Brian chuckles, pressing his jaw to the collar of his brown jacket, and keeps his eyes on the road.


--
 

It's a lovely afternoon, Pete decides, looking out the kitchen window. The sun is making shapes on the white walls and coloring the windowpanes. It's an afternoon meant for great deeds, an afternoon where change isn’t just possible, but probable.

Hayley's humming to herself while rolling the cookie dough. She's been better today, her timidity just a close memory now. She's got a rosy blush on her cheeks and her hair has lost the layers of dirt and grease. Maybe Ashlee was right, maybe having Hayley around isn't such a bad idea at all. He's looking forward to eating oven-fresh cookies with his coffee today.

"Peter? You wanted to talk to me about something?" Ashlee's voice carries from the doorway.

"I have big news!" Pete grins, turning around and scooping her up in a warm hug.

"Pete!" she giggles, and Pete almost kisses her before he catches himself.

Pete glances at Hayley, she's in the middle of sprinkling spices into the dough mix, softly smiling to herself.

"Let's go to the living room," Pete suggests and takes a hold of Ash's shoulders, guiding her out of the room.

"Alright," Ash says in the hall, and "what's going on?" as he sits her down in her rocking chair.

"Do you remember last night?"

"It was chilly and you went out before I had a chance to remind you to wear your coat --"

"I walked around town," Pete interrupts, "Anguished over the thought of letting everyone down, letting God down, ashamed of not being able to bring His word to every ear that's still willing to listen --"

"Pete, don't be silly."

"No, but then I had a vision -- a sign."

"A sign? Pete, I don't understand."

"From God!" Pete cries out. Just thinking about last night is making him buzz with excitement again.

"I don't know what to say," Ash says with no real enthusiasm. "A sign from God?"

"I had a vision, Ash! I prayed for guidance and God heard me!"

"God spoke to you?"

"I know what you're thinking, but I promise you Ash, it was all real. I know where the new ministry will be built, and there'll even be room left for all the street-kids out there. All I need is to meet up with some people tomorrow and things will start going our way again."

Ashlee's beaming now, albeit a little hesitantly, but there's nothing wrong with a healthy dose of caution when being faced with new things.

"The place is perfect, Ash, I just know it."

"Show me," she says, taking Pete's hands and squeezing them tight.

Half an hour later they’re standing outside of Chin's. Ashlee's grip on his hand has been tightening gradually, and now it feels like she's trying to break his fingers.

"Pete, what are we doing here?"

"What do you mean what are we -- Ash, this is it, this is the place."

"But... Pete, don't you know what this building is?" she says under her breath.

"It's a brothel," Pete answers to her.

"Well then you should know that this is no place for a church! What would daddy think?"

"I thought you wanted a safe place for the orphans, to get them off the streets."

"There's got to be something better than this. Are you sure you're not rushing into something you haven't really thought through?"

Pete grits his teeth, not feeling like he has to explain himself to Ashlee of all people. "Do you know that there is a boy here whose mother abandoned him in the restroom of a Five and Dime?"

"No, but --"

"Or that Polly Ann's father sold her to some men for one dollar?"

Ashlee looks scandalized.

"No. No, of course not. Who wants to dwell on things like that? Why think of the boys in the mines crouched over the chutes? They sit for hours, sifting the refuse from the coal, their backs bent. Old men by nine, black lung by twelve. Coal is heavy and hard, hands are soft and fragile. Go for a walk, you see them. Poisoned girls selling themselves to men and women. A nickel buys a virgin; some are kept in cages. Babies, bought by men who raise them as livestock. Animals to abuse, soft flesh to violate, to tear and bite! 'If anyone causes even one of the little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a large millstone hung around his neck and be damned in the depths of the sea!' They must open their eyes! They must open their mouths and drown!"

"Pete!" Ashlee gasps, frightened. "What's gotten into you? I've never heard you speaking like this."

"And you've known me for all your life. But Ash, I feel like I'm finally seeing things how they are, and how they should be. Like I'm coming out of my shell, a slimy, wrinkly turtle who sees daylight for the first time in his life!"

Ashlee still looks doubtful, but she can't help but smirk at Pete's description.

"Don't you see," Pete coaxes, though he already knows he's gonna win this one. "We can turn this place into something good, I can mend its calluses, soothe the boils, cleanse it from sin, so that no resident of this town has to turn away from it in shame." Pete takes Ashlee's hands into his and gives them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I can do this, Ash. We can do this."

She's smiling now, looking at him like they're seven and twelve again and he's just punched Chris in the face for taking her stick horse from her behind the church after Joe’s sermon.


--


Back in the carnival Brian grabs Frank by the shirtsleeve and drags him into the direction of the main tent, motioning at people to follow them as they pass them by. The rest of the ride had become very awkward to Frank as he listened to Brian talking about his plan and what he would need from him.

"Start arrangements, everyone, we've lost half a day already."

"Arrangements for what?" Gabe calls, and Brian's met with a rain of confused murmur.

"The show will be on tonight. As you all know, we can't keep the carnival open, but no one’s banned us from having a -- wait for it," Brian pauses, grabbing a hold of Frank's arm and hoisting it up in the air, "Revival meeting!"

"A what now?" Lindsey asks, lips quirking up. She looks like she did when Frank first met her, oddly bland in a knee-skirt and sand-colored blouse, no dark make-up, her black hair up in a haphazard bun.

"You heard me," Brian says, letting Frank struggle out of his hold. "The town's full of gullible, religious lunatics, and they all seem to think that our Frank is some kind of a magical healer."

"And the plot thickens," comments Bob from the tentway. Gerard's standing next to him, staring at Frank with an unreadable face.

"Indeed, good sir, so get to work, this here tent needs to have gone through a serious makeover by the end of the day. Bob, I trust you know what to do."

"On it," Bob says, leaving Gerard standing alone in the tentway.

"Tegan, Sara, Lindsey? You mind taking care of the appearances? We need to make Frank look presentable. Like a true believer."

The girls nod and start sizing Frank up while Brian turns to him and asks, "How does Reverend Francis Saint Anthony sound like, kid?"

"My name's Frank," Frank scowls, but knows there's no real chance of him ever winning this battle.

Half an hour later and he's managed to escape the girls' clutches, still wearing the tailcoat Lindsey had crammed him into. It smells like exotic spices and mothballs, making his eyes itch and his nose run. His hair is slicked back over his scalp with black, sticky wax that came in a round metallic jar from Ryland's chest pocket, and he just knows he looks like a real jackass.

After a while Brian comes to check up on them and pauses upon noticing Frank, his mouth twisting with amusement even as he's struggling not to laugh. "Well, hell, kid. You look like Valentino."

Frank makes a face, looking down at himself, his moth-eaten jacket and dusty trousers, his patent leather shoes too big on his feet. "I look fucking ridiculous. I need to get away from here."

"Hey now, come back, I didn't mean it as necessarily a bad thing," Brian yells after him, then bursts into a cackling laugh that follows on Frank’s tail all the way outside where the wind picks it up and carries it away.

He sneaks into the Ways' trailer and closes the door behind him after checking that no one's noticed him coming this way.

"Can I hide in your trailer," he asks. After what happened in the town, he's not all that sure that he's welcome here anymore.

Mikey's head is propped up on Gerard's thigh and a tea towel has been stuffed into his shirt collar. Gerard brings a spoon of thick, sticky-looking porridge to Mikey's lips and waits for him to lick it clean. The scene is too intimate and Frank feels like he's intruding. He forces his eyes to the carpet and waits for Gerard to tell him to fuck off like the fiercely protective big brother that Frank's imagined him to be.

"Make yourself comfortable," he says, though, and then looks up at Frank and lets out a startled laugh. "You let the girls dolly you up?"

"Not like I had much choice. Thanks man," he says, sinking into a soft armchair.

"I sometimes let them paint my face," Gerard says while giving Mikey another spoonful. Frank's not even all that surprised to hear that. "You know, put on some blush and eye shadow, some mascara."

"I can picture that."

"Mikey says you look ridiculous, by the way."

"Thanks," Frank says, sarcastically, but can't help but laugh. The tension in his muscles is easing a little now that he's sitting down and not really thinking about what's going to happen later with the show. He can't suppress the yawn that escapes, and it stretches his jaw so wide the hinges of his bones make a loud click. "I feel ridiculous."

Gerard tilts his head to the side, contemplating. "I think you look just tired."

Frank hums, reclining in the chair and pressing his cheek on the pillow behind his head. "I'm fine."

"You're not sleeping well. You have nightmares."

"Your cards tell you that?"

"No," Gerard says, dropping the half-eaten bowl of porridge on the bedside table. "The circles around your eyes tell me that. Besides, sometimes I see you pacing around at night. That's also a pretty good giveaway, don’t you think?"

"That just means you’re not sleeping either," Frank says, sounding more accusing than he feels.

"I'm a vampire, didn't you know!" Gerard grins, showing his small teeth, hunching his shoulders up to his ears and clawing at the air all cat-like. Frank doesn't know much about vampires, but Gerard looks very unthreatening to him.

"I think I get it. Creature of the night, right?"

"Exactly!" Gerard enthuses. There's a pause and then Gerard glares at Mikey, and it doesn't take a genius to know that Mikey's teasing him again.

"What did he say?" Frank asks, feeling giddy. Gerard's face is pink now and Frank finds it impossible to tear his eyes away from him.

"Nothing," Gerard replies too quickly. There's another pause and then he adds, drawing out his words, "he's just being a motherfucking pain in the ass. Little brothers, y'know?"

"No, I really don't."

"Right, no. You wouldn't." Gerard nods and his hair slips in front of his eyes and hangs there like a curtain.

They sit in silence, listening to the wind moaning outside. The noise rattles Frank's bones, and he realizes he's growing anxious again. His nerves make his jaw itch, and he digs his fingers into his belly when it makes a painful whoop.

"The kid whose legs they say you healed," Gerard starts, watching him with clear, shining eyes.

Frank swallows hard against the sudden lump in his throat. "What about her?"

"Well, I mean,” Gerard hesitates. “Did you really do it?"

"What do you think?"

"I think there's so much you're not telling us. And I wish you could trust me. Us," he says, glancing at Mikey.

"Look. It doesn't -- Even if I could help the girl, I can't make Mikey walk. Ever." Frank confronts the elephant in the room, because that's where this was going, right? "I'm fucking sorry, Gee, but I can't."

Gerard looks down at his hands and nods, biting at his lip. Mikey's still just staring up at the ceiling, his chest undulating as he breathes. Frank wishes he could just leave, but he thinks he owes them an explanation.

"There's nothing wrong with him. I mean, it's a birth defect, right? He didn't fall off the roof and crack his spine or something?"

Gerard looks confused. "But I thought the girl --"

"She was still growing. I could feel the energy in her bones, even if it was really weak. She wasn't done growing yet, her bones hadn't stopped shaping themselves." It's something Frank's been thinking about for a while now, and when he's heard himself speak it out loud he realizes that it must be true.

"Oh," Gerard says quietly, then starts to add something but before he can say anything else, Mikey interrupts him. Frank watches as Gerard runs a thumb through the thin hair on the crown of Mikey's head, looking like he's trying to swallow down his hurt and disappointment. After a while though he gives Frank a small smile and says with a gentle voice, "He said you're really special and that you need to stop feeling bad about this. I shouldn't have -- Frank, it wasn't Mikey's idea to ask you," Gerard says like it's important that Frank knows this. "And you don't have to worry about keeping this a secret either, because we're not gonna say anything, ever. Like I keep telling ya, you really can trust us."

Frank's at a loss. Gerard's the first person he's kinda told about his skill since his mom figured it out when he was just a little kid. She used to threaten to lock him up in the tiny tool shed in the backyard if he told a living soul. He's weeks away from the shed and his dead mother and the thought still gives him the creeps. At the same time he's experiencing a moment of fierce invincibility. Somebody found out this huge, unbelievable thing about him that he's kept buried inside for so long, for his whole life. And against all odds, against everything he was ever forced to believe, nothing bad happened. His world didn’t come to an end.

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay?"

"For what," Frank asks, utterly confused.

"Just... making you feel uncomfortable. Or like, pressuring you."

"Don't even -- don't worry about it, okay? You didn’t pressure me."

Gerard smiles big and toothy, reaching out to bump his knuckles against Frank's hand. "Deal."

"I think you could read my cards now," Frank adds, because why the fuck not, then can't help but laugh at Gerard's stupidly excited face.

"Right on!" Gerard clambers up from the bed, takes a seat on the opposite side of Frank at the round table and starts rummaging in a medium-sized box that’s covering almost a third of the table.


--


Pete's got the mayor outside of Chin’s, his body so tense that Pete can practically see him vibrating, his fat face so red he resembles a giant beet.

"You want me to do what?"

"We already went through this, Lyle," Pete sighs. "I want you to give this house to me and my migrant parish."

"But - but - but - why?” Lyle stutters. “What on earth would you -- a man of God, no less -- want with a place like this?" Oddly enough, mayor Lyle looks almost embarrassed.

"It's just a house. What goes on there right now doesn't define it."

"Brother Peter," Lyle fawns, droplets of sweat running down his red face and disappearing into his walrus mustache, "You're a smart man, you must realize the trouble I'd get in if I took this - this whorehouse away from the men of this town."

"Lyle, you have to think about the big picture. What do you think will be worse in the long run: losing a few voters or losing your place in the You-Know-What."

"Now you listen to me," Lyle snaps, his face is so red now it's turning purple. "You don't get far with me by throwing out empty threats. I am a good citizen, I say my prayers and go to your or Father Simpson's church meetings every Sunday and even stay for coffee."

"You're a casual believer. And that's not even your worst vice. Don't think I don't know what you like to do after a day's work. When the lights go out."

"Just what are you accusing me of?" Lyle hisses, but the tremble in his voice betrays him. So far Pete's just been winging it, a voice inside him whispering to him and guiding his words. Now it's telling him to lead mayor Lyle Templeton into the lion's den.


--


So Frank's sitting there, still in that too-comfortable armchair, the cards on the table, while Gerard sets up the lighting. Apparently you can't look into people's lives in natural daylight, the mood has to be set. The candles are lit up with Gee's cigarette matches and the dark but tattered curtains drawn over the window.

Gerard looks like he's enjoying this, really, really enjoying this.

"Your cards look fucking awesome, by the way," Frank comments, studying the deck. He carefully lifts the topmost card up with his pointer finger like he's opening a chest full of secrets, and peeks at the second one underneath it.

"You can look through them, Frank, go ahead," Gerard says, and Frank realizes with a start that he's stopped messing with the lights and is now just standing behind him.

Frank shrugs and picks the deck up, leafing through it. The cards are made from smoothly rasped, thinly cut wood. They fit well in his hands, so they must be a perfect fit in Gerard's. The thing that strikes him the most is just how attractive the designs are. He stops to study a picture of Death, a white skeleton against a midnight-blue background with big, white stars.

"Do you like the paintings?"

Gerard’s taken his seat again, his hands clasped on the table, waiting for Frank to finish studying the deck.

"Did you paint them?"

Gerard tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "How'd you guess?"

"Brian said you painted most of the posters. I guess I recognized your style."

"Oh, well, yea, I had this one deck of cards for the longest time, but when the pictures were faded so much you couldn't tell what was in them, I decided to just paint my own cards. Bob actually helped me carve them out of these old planks they weren't using anymore."

"Christ, Gee," Frank breathes out, feeling very sorry for himself. "That guy's fucking nuts about you."

"What?" Gerard gives a nervous laugh.

"Come on, you can't tell me you haven't noticed," Frank gives him a weak smile. "I'm like, the most oblivious person in the world and even I can tell he’s so gone on you."

"Bob's just... really friendly," Gerard says and Frank has to laugh at that because, really, that's not the word he'd use to describe Bob Bryar, not by a long shot. Then Gerard starts sputtering and turns to Mikey, looking affronted as he orders him to shut up.

"Ha! So Mikey agrees with me!"

"Look, just. Me and Bob and Mikey go a long way. We’ve been through a lot together. So, whatever you think you're seeing, it's just really strong friendship. Okay?"

Maybe Frank wouldn't have such a hard time believing him if he wasn't so pink in the face. "Fine, but maybe Bob needs to hear that more than me." He reaches over the table for Gerard’s hands and sits the deck on the flat of Gerard’s palm. It's fits there perfectly.

"Ready to do this thing?"

Gerard studies Frank for a while, the pink starting to fade from his cheeks, before he nods and smiles, turns the cards over in his hands and runs his fingers down along the smooth surface. "Ready if you are."

"What do you need me to do?" Frank asks, wringing his hands in his lap. He feels stupidly nervous again, even though he knows that he’s safe, knows he can trust these guys.

"Just relax, Frank, you're making me nervous with all that fidgeting. Here, shuffle these," Gerard adds, handing the cards back to Frank.

"I can do that," Frank says, feeling clumsy with the cards now. He manages to drop half of them into his lap before he shoves them back to Gee's hands.

"Past, present or the future?"

"What's the difference?"

"Very well. The past."

Gerard deals out three cards on the table upside down and places the rest of the deck on the lid of the box. He takes the first card and flips it over, revealing the first image.

"The Moon," he says, studying Frank. "It indicates confusion and exposure."

"Oh, good lord. Boy, you can't take that up," Frank can hear his mother's voice hissing to him in his head. It's been a few weeks after his birthday and he's five years old. He's curled up against the wall under the window, holding the small puppy he got for a present in his arms, stroking its soft fur with his small, dirty hands.

"It's been three days in the ground!" his mother is saying, looking at Frank with disgust. "You just like to get yourself sick!"

She tries to grab the dog from Frank, yelling at him, "Give it to me! Give it to me!"

He does his best not to let go, holding onto the dog’s dead weight with all his might, but he’s just a little boy. His mama yanks the dog away from him and carries it out of the room, but then, suddenly, the puppy starts to yap and struggle in his mama’s arms and she lets out a scream, dropping it to the floor. She whimpers in fear, backing away from Frank. He's never seen her so frightened before.

The puppy runs back to Frank's lap and he presses his face into its soft fur, stroking its side.

"What have you done?" she asks, fingering the cross on her neck.

"Are you alright?" Gerard's voice pierces through the memory and brings Frank back to the present. He looks around the trailer without really seeing anything, fighting the vision to clear his head, and it takes a long while before he remembers where he is and what’s going on.

"I -- yeah," he rasps out, and Gerard frowns, glancing at Mikey.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," Frank insists, voice thick with emotion. "Go on."

Gerard gives him a small nod and flips the middle card over. "Death," he breathes out.

The puppy is standing on the floor now, next to a tub of water. "You got no right. No right, boy," his mama says, lifting the dog into an empty potato sack and tying it shut with a string. "Lord takes what's his, man don't take it back."

"Not a harbinger of bad fortune, but transformation," Gerard's voice sounds distant, and Frank can hardly hear him.

"No! NO!" Frank is yelling, trying to tear the sack from her hands while the puppy’s panicked yaps fill the room, scaring him, breaking his heart.

She shoves Frank away, ordering him to the far corner of the room.

Frank's sitting on the floor, rocking back and forth and crying while she's drowning the dog in the tub. "You're a marked boy," she says thickly, her voice grating like she has rocks in her throat. "You're marked by the Beast."

"What do you see?" Gerard asks. Frank can't stop trembling and staring at the card. The skeleton stares back at him with black, hollow eyes. "Frank?"

"I, uh, I don't know. Nothing," Frank lies. He wasn't prepared for this. He never wanted to share this memory with anyone. Gerard glances at Mikey again and then at Frank, looking like he wants to end the session right there.

"Just go on," Frank says, wanting it all to be over already. "Please. Keep going."

The last card gets flipped over, and the figure is facing his direction this time as opposed to the other two cards. "The Magician reversed."

"You filth," his mama croaks, scooting as far away from Frank as she can on her bed. The memory is not even a year old and she's been suffering from her illness for months already. Frank just wants to fix her, to make the harrowing coughs to stop.

"You have a great talent, an ability," Gerard's voice reaches him easily this time through the hazy memory.

"But it's reversed?"

"Upside down. Means it's been wasted, unfulfilled. A gift you've hidden from others."

"Don't touch me," she whispers, her thin face sweaty and pale. She reaches for the nightstand with a frail hand, grabbing the wooden cross from the top of her Bible.

Frank's looming in the doorway, watching her holding the cross in front of her like it's a shield between him and her, like he can't touch her as long as she has the cross.

"Get out," she coughs. "You filth. Keep your hands off me, you filth."

"Frank? Frankie?"

Frank watches as Gerard slowly reaches over the table like he’s afraid of startling him, and takes his hand, squeezing tight. A face flickers before his eyes then, a face like thunder, eyes black as coals, and hisses, "What are you hiding?"

Frank pulls away from the table, wrenching his hand from Gerard's so fast he stumbles back. The chair topples over and makes a loud noise as it crashes behind him. He looks at Gerard, then at Mikey, then rushes out the door, the need of fresh air so strong black spots veil his vision.

"Wait -- What? Frank? Frank?"

Frank stops by the steps and sinks down on the middle one, gulping air into his lungs, clenching his fists and trying to even out his breathing, remembering the minister from his dream, his angry face still sharp in his vision when he closes his eyes.


--


"Whoa," Pete says, tripping over his feet and stumbling backwards on the steps, his grip on Lyle's jacket the only thing keeping him from falling down.

"What the hell, now, Peter?" Lyle asks. He's been complaining the whole time they've been inside, and Pete's just about had it with him.

He shakes his head and blinks fast, the young man from his dreams still flickering before his eyes. I've finally lost my mind, he thinks, panicking.

He gives a shaky laugh and stares at Lyle for a while, trying to remember what was so important in the house he needed Lyle to see.

Lies. Corruption. Perversion.

Right.

"Come on, just one more room to go, then I'll let you make your decision about the place."

"This is ridiculous," Lyle grunts, his neck now an unhealthy shade of purple.

They get upstairs, Lyle panting and sweating, Pete having a tight grip on the back of his jacket, not letting him get away.

"You've been a bad man. Bad, bad man, Lyle Templeton," Pete singsongs in front of the last door in the hallway. He’s getting kind of excited now, already knowing what will happen when they walk into the room. "Shall we see just how bad?"

"Preposterous," Lyle mutters darkly as Pete pushes the door open.

The room is small, small window, small desk, the bed taking up most of the space. It's empty, but when Pete starts talking, they both witness a vision of the mayor sitting on the spring mattress, blue sheets against white underwear. They watch as a young boy no more than seven years old walks up to the bed and sits down beside him, eyes on the floor as Lyle lifts an arm around his naked, skinny shoulders and presses him up against his round, shirtless belly.

"It's up to you what happens now," Pete says quietly, his hand on the back of Lyle's pudgy neck. "No one needs to know about this, and I promise you they won't, but there's something you need to do for me in return."


--


"I upset you," Gerard says, looking wretched. He's standing in the doorway behind Frank, worrying his lip between his teeth. Frank pats the small space next to him and Gerard lets out a relieved sigh as he plonks down in it, their arms brushing.

"Nah, I upset myself. I hadn't thought about that memory in such a long time." Frank's managed to calm down his shaking, it's only in his hands now. He hadn't noticed the wetness on cheeks until Gerard brushed his face with the back of his hand.

Gerard's smile is rueful when he pulls his hand back. "I'm still sorry."

"Did - did you see it, too?"

"It doesn't really work like that. Sometimes Mikey gets glimpses, and then he shares them with me so I can give people more accurate readings, but Frank, even if he did see something just now, he didn't tell me anything. He kept your secret."

Frank feels somewhat honored that Mikey would keep his memories private, even if Gerard already knows about his ability and all. "He can tell you, it doesn't matter. There's nothing there you couldn't guess anyway. Besides, I think I might want you to know more about me, but I never want to talk about those memories, ever."

"Whatever you're comfortable with. But thanks, man. I'm glad you're opening up to us."

Frank tries a small grin, and finds that it doesn't feel forced to him.

Gerard grins back crookedly, his eyes shining and crinkling around the corners.

"Hey, Iero," Brian yells from the tentway, nodding at the long line of cars moving towards them in the distance. His audience. "It's almost time."


--


The dining table is a mess of half-eaten turkey legs and mashed potatoes, peas and corn and gravy, red wine staining the glasses. Ashlee had wanted to celebrate when Pete came home with big news concerning Chin’s, claiming that they so rarely got to these days.

"Beautiful meal, sweetheart," Mr. Simpson says as they waddle into the living room, bellies tight and full, grabbing Ashlee's shoulders from behind and smacking a kiss on her cheek. "You spoil your daddy rotten!"

"It was all Hayley," Ashlee smiles, patting her father on the back of his hand. The topmost buttons of her shirt have popped open, and for a while Pete can’t tear his eyes away from the cleft of her breasts.

"When did my girl get so modest?" Joe asks, and Pete has to hide his snicker in his shirtsleeve.

They sit and listen to the radio until the sun begins to set and Ashlee's eyes fall closed, her head rolling on her shoulder. Pete shares affectionate smiles with Joe and they leave her sleeping, going outside to enjoy the cool air.

"I want to talk to you, son. But. Tomorrow. The wine’s gone straight to my head," Joe says on the porch while Pete lights up lanterns that are hanging from the ceiling, a few of them perched on the porch railing. The grave look on Joe’s face is enough to make Pete feel nervous.

"Sure," he answers, blowing out a match and pocketing it. Joe looks at him for a while with blood-shot eyes before disappearing back indoors.


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