The Murder Scene (Frerard)

Just Can't Seem To Fight

Chapter Three.
Title from Oceans by Frank Iero And The Patience.

I followed Frank to an apartment complex, it looked cozy, but now that we were off of a main sidewalk I tried to distance myself more from him, just making sure I knew which apartment to go to. I watched him walk into the first apartment on the left of the main floor, it was the apartment right under the stairs.

I took a deep breath and decided to sit on a bench for awhile before entering. I have to do this, I have to get it over with and kill him so I can go back home and get another job and keep doing this forever. I have to kill someone who is home to more sadness than I've ever seen before.

Try to imagine that it's him. The person who put me here in the first place. Then, I can do it. I worked up the nerve and carried myself to his door. I knew that even though I could pick the lock, there was a good chance that he dead-bolted the door as well, then I would be caught trying to break in.
I pulled my black gloves over my hands and closed my eyes, knocking firmly on the door.

I carried the briefcase with me, and had one of my hands in my pocket where my knife was open and ready.

I heard the door unlock from the other end, and then it opened only a crack to reveal his face. He looked even worse, like he had been crying and I felt that ping of.. something.
Guilt?

He looked at me timidly "yes?" He spoke.

"Hello, I was just wondering if you had a bathroom I could use? I'm on the road and I would really appreciate it" I said, formally.
It's a terrible excuse, I know, but I couldn't figure out another way to ask.

He shook his head softly "I'm sorry, I'm just not really c-comfortable with a stranger coming in" he said in his painful voice.

I figured he would say that, I just needed him to open his door.
I tightened my grip around the knife in my pocket and in a split second I was forcing my way through his door, unexpected to him, he didn't have time to fight back or even realize what was happening until I had his door closed behind me. I held the knife out at him as I dead-bolted and locked his apartment door.

I could hear his breathing.

He was against the wall past the door, breathing so heavily that it hurt. I could see many things in his eyes: fear, pain, sadness.

It was clear to me as I held the knife to him that I didn't want to go through with this.

It's okay. Think of Frank as him.
He murdered your brother I could almost hear Miss Florence saying it in the back of my head to make this easier on me.

I walked closer to him in the dimly lit and lonely apartment, holding the knife to his throat as I dropped my briefcase.
Frank propped his head up on the wall as I held the knife close to his skin, barley letting it touch the tender flesh of his pale neck.

It was then, with his eyes meeting mine, that fear was no longer prominent in him. It was then that he looked into my eyes and whispered "Do it." The words almost made me drop the knife.
"Do it" he begged again, this time tears sprung into his eyes. He's lost all hope in anything. "Please, just do it, kill me" he cried, his nostrils flaring as he gave me the most desperate look.

All of the wind was knocked from my caving lungs. I have never killed someone who wanted to die. What happened to him that made him want me to do this?

For the first time in a very long time I felt something. Something more than fear and guilt. I felt sadness. I felt something.
I felt my chest caving in, and pressure behind my eyes, his sadness was seeping into me as I continued to hold the knife to his throat.