sin ; frerard

IV

By his sixth try calling, Frank gave up and put down his phone.

"Fuck," he groaned, then slammed his hand down on the bed beside him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

His phone wasn't working, like, at all. He'd tried texting the insurance company, too, and texting a few of his friends, but none of the messages were delivered. He tried taking a picture, but the camera wouldn't work. And his battery was draining extremely fast.

He stood up and wandered over to the window again. It was sunny out. He supposed he could try walking out to town, but he was afraid he'd get lost. Or tired. Or robbed.

He finally grew tired of pacing and went downstairs.

It was still cold and dark down there. And, so it seemed, empty. "Gerard?" said Frank, walking through the dining room and kitchen.

He heard a faint sound - someone was playing piano in another room. He paused to listen to it. The tune was sweet, familiar, almost nostalgic.

He followed the sound, leaving the dining room, passing through the main area, and finding his way to a door almost hidden behind a lamp. He gently pushed it open.

Inside was Gerard, hunched over a piano. It was dark inside - there weren't any windows in the room - so Gerard immediately noticed the sliver of light from the opened door. He abruptly stopped playing and looked up at Frank. "Frank! You - you startled me."

"What song is that?" asked Frank. "It's - really nice."

"Oh, just something I've been working on. It's nothing, really."

"You fucking wrote that?" said Frank in astonishment. "No way. You're making me feel incompetent, you talented son of a bitch."

Gerard brushed a strand of hair away from his eye. "When'll you be leaving?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Funny thing... My phone doesn't work."

"Oh." Gerard laced his fingers atop the piano. "You're welcome to try the house phone, if you'd like."

"I probably should. Not like there's anything else I can do." Frank sighed. "Where is it?"

"My study. Here, I'll take you there." Gerard stood up, cracked his knuckles, and walked past Frank to the door.

Frank followed his host through the main room to another door, this one under the stairs. Gerard opened it, held it open for Frank, and went inside.

This room was a smaller than the one with piano in it. It was circular, with big, tall windows (black curtains closed across them, of course). There was a desk and bookshelves, and a record player.

"Here." Gerard gestured to an old telephone. "You can sit down, if you want."

Frank pulled out the chair and sank into it, then dialled the insurance company and waited.

The person on the other line picked up, which got Frank excited for a second, but then a deep voice said "that number is unavailable" and hung up.

"Agh!" Frank slammed the phone down in frustration, scaring Gerard. "Is your house cursed?! The same thing happened with every number I called!"

"What happened?"

"This creepy-ass voice is like 'that number's unavailable' and hangs up!" Frank practically yelled. "I'm marooned out here in these goddamn woods!" He gave Gerard a wary look. "No offence."

"None taken." Gerard placed a cautious hand on Frank's shoulder. His hand was impossibly cold, but Frank barely cared. "Are you going to try again?"

Frank shook his head in disgust, standing up. "No point."

The two left the study, one of them disgruntled, the other just tired.

"Oh, hey, can you like, light that?" asked Frank, pointing to the fireplace. "It's really cold in here."

"Is it? I suppose the cold doesn't really bother me. I don't mind lighting it for you, though." In Frank's opinion that was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to him (which seemed kind of sad) but Gerard said it so nonchalantly, like it was nothing.

Gerard disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a box of matches. He lit one and threw it into the fireplace, which already had unused firewood in it. Within a few minutes, the logs had caught fire, and Frank was sitting on the couch, warming his hands.

"Is there anything else you need, as of now?" Gerard tilted his head inquisitively.

"Umm..." Frank felt his face warm at the thought of his silly request. "Could you keep playing? The piano, I mean. You're, uh really good."

"Oh!" Gerard looked surprised, but smiled shyly. "I'd love to."

He left to skip into the room with the door behind the unlit lamp, and a minute later the bittersweet notes began to swim around Frank's head again.