So Long, Not Goodnight

Chapter Fifty

"Jacob Whitte, the lead suspect of the string of south New Jersey murders over the past decade, has been posthumously tried for the ruthless murders of over a dozen victims and has been found guilty on all counts," a news anchor for the local station declared from behind their desk on the television. "After the tireless efforts of the New Jersey State Police Department, and help from sources who would like to remain anonymous, forensic evidence that was found at the scene of the perpetrator's death months ago was scrutinizingly investigated to piece together the events that kept communities in fear for years. All of us at the station are thankful for the officers and individuals who found the final pieces of this puzzle to be put together, as I'm sure many others of the community are as well."

The television clicked off, leaving just the outline of Gerard's shadow against the domed glass of the box on the living room table. He turned to look over his shoulder from his seat on the floor to find Frank still pointing the remote at the box, swallowing hard before placing the device down on the coffee table next to the couch. "That's enough of that, don't you think?"

It had been a bit rocky for them both mentally after being called down to the precinct to look over the photographs of the evidence that were taken before the fire. The forensic team took pictures of every jar at countless angles. There were jars as big as the one that held Helena's heart to the smallest vial that held what could only be analyzed as teardrops. It had been especially hard on Frank after finding photographs of his son's umbilical cord and some of Jamia's skin from Jake's assault, his first taste of bloodshed that he had been thirsting for ever since. They were able to identify markings on the glass of dates that corelated with the events that had transpired. Frank had always wondered why Jamia and Ender were trapped, and now he at least was able to understand why, even though it made him sick. He was barely able to speak for a few days after the meeting, sitting listlessly with Gerard who watched over him and made sure he ate and drank water and bathed and slept as much, though little, as he could. 

"Of course, sweetheart," Gerard pushed his feet up under him to stand up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have had it on in the first place."

"No, no, baby," Frank raked his hands through his hair, his mouth puckering severely at his tremendous exhale, trying to calm his nerves. "I get it... It still feels surreal and that it had even happened."

"Yeah, it really does," Gerard stared at the floor and reached out to take Frank's hands. "But we made it and we're here... It'll always be hard, but we're alive and together and it feels brand new in some other ways. We've started over in a way."

Frank nodded, looking around their new apartment and thinking about all the progress they'd made together. He was a youth guidance counselor at a local elementary school and Gerard just published his first graphic novel that was based around his experiences with possession and the paranormal that took off overnight. They had their own space and were living their lives the way they wanted to; to help people, but in different mediums and different ways. While the children that he helped fulfilled Frank in so many ways, Gerard had been getting letters and emails from teenagers all over the world who expressed that the message he put into his work was inspirational and healing to them. Right as he had heard the words not so long ago, Frank couldn't help but think about how Ray was right on the mark, that Gerard could, and was, changing the world, and with his help, Frank was too. 

He rubbed his eyes and walked away from Gerard down the hall towards their bedroom to look at the countless pictures that they had printed that brought him just the slightest bit of comfort that he could squeeze out of the losses. There were a few pictures from the original airing of Bobby's slaying that he had never known existed which Kobell procured to Frank's belongings after the trial, candid shots of them far off with a few sunspots that warmed around them, glowing like fireflies, and their hands tangled in each other's hair behind the bleachers, their shadows fifteen or twenty feet high, rising with the knotted metal and balking against the surface just as tough. Frank had felt a bit awkward when Gerard insisted they hang them so they could appreciate them, asking if it was slightly inappropriate since they were together and this was technically an ex lover, but Gerard simply stated that wasn't a reason they couldn't celebrate the past in precious and happy ways. Also adorning the wall were pictures of he and Jamia, both their faces laying upwards in weird expressions on her bed, the bright and fluffy comforter of what her parents had chose for her that they always made fun of and that Jamia called the color of "Pegasus puke". There was even the picture that he had taken of her by surprise at her locker that he had decorated for her birthday, her annoyed, stoic-eyed glare as she held a bunch of technicolored streamers in a death grip. Frank remembered that day and could still hear her bitching at him for overdoing it. "It's another trip around the sun, Iero," her voice playing inside his head. "Not a fucking ticker-tape parade."