The Ghost of Him

Epilogue (Pt. 2)

Traffic was terrible the next day.

I had left a little bit later than I had anticipated because Eva had no clean clothes to wear that weren't pajamas, and it took me ages to find a little black and pink onsie that was suitable enough to go out in.

After I had washed off all if my makeup from the night before and put on a comfortable, oversized Marilyn Monroe T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans and threw my hair into a messy bun, it was already 8:30 in the morning. There was no way I was going to avoid the traffic of people hurrying to work.

So I stuck Eva in her car seat, gave her a stuffed giraffe to keep her busy, and started the long drive to downtown. By the time I made it to the state prison, it was ten, and I had a minor headache from the honking of horns and driving in heavy traffic for so long.

I got Eva out of the car and made my way through the large oak front doors and over to a desk area. I signed my name in along with who I was visiting, and the lady at the front gave me a little visitor pass. I tucked it into my pocket as a large, burly guard nodded at me to follow him through another set of doors and down a long hallway.

"Who are you visiting?" He grumbled, and I got the vibe that he did not prefer being here at the moment.

"I. . . er, Gerard Way."

The man glanced back at me with a questioning look etched into his intimidating features. For a moment I wondered whether he recognized me or not, dear God I hoped he didn't, but he just turned around and led me into an elevator where he pushed the button with a large red three on it. The doors slid shut and I locked my eyes on the glowing number three as the elevator rose two stories.

"We never really thought anybody would wanna come and visit him," the guard stated as we stepped out of the elevator and started down another long, white and empty hallway. "His family comes sometimes, but other than that. . ."

He trailed off and I adjusted Eva's weight on my hip as we rounded a corner and then stopped suddenly. The man knocked on the door and I half expected Gerard to answer it -- but instead a petite lady with long, perfectly straight blonde hair poked her head out and smiled at the guard. "We were just wrapping up our session," she said in a quiet, oddly peaceful tone. "He will be able to visit in a moment."

Session? What the hell, has he been getting massages the whole time he's been here?? I glanced down at the woman's attire: she was dressed too nicely to have been giving Gerard Way a massage. She also held a clipboard in her left hand, which was strategically held so that all of the writing on the papers was shielded from my prying eyes.

As the lady stepped back into the room, I racked my brain for what Gerard could be doing there when it all clicked. Session. The clipboard. The quiet, strangely peaceful tone that the woman spoke in. Gerard couldn't be in--

"Therapy," the guard stated as if he explained this a lot. "Along with the obvious behavioral issues he has, everyone decided that he was suffering from depression and a possible eating disorder. He rarely ate any of the food we provided, and when he did, most of it was thrown up. He goes to therapy four times a week."

I was going to answer, and then the door opened again and the lady smiled at us once more before walking down the hallway and out of sight. I guessed the session was over.

The guard motioned for me to stay put and then made his way into the room, where I could hear him talking to Gerard. "Alright, look, kid. You have another visitor, and she's here with a baby. Since you've been cooperative since you first showed up, we're continuing to let you visit without being monitored. No--"

"Dwight, you give me this same speech every time someone comes to see me. I've got it. No funny business, you'll be right outside in the hall." It was a voice. . . but there was no way that was Gerard's voice. It was so quiet and weak and scratchy. . .