I Never Told You What I Do For A Living {Frerard}

What's The Worst That Can Happen?

I never told you what I do for a living.

It took me a while, relentlessly searching the internet, turning on endless filters to find Frank with such little information on him, some hacking into dentistry and medical records before I found out all about Frank Iero and who he was.

I found his Facebook Instagram and Twitter, a inactive Bebo account and a few posts about him on other people's accounts, mostly seeming to be from his friends. They were all talking about a outing they went onto recently, a road trip to a small town, a birthday party, a party for a friend getting married, the wedding day of said friend.

It wasn't long after finding a load of photos of him and his friends or family before I came across a folder of a house party, and his house, with a map attached that pinpointed the area he lived in. Thinking about the whole image of this scene, it seemed to be too easy for me to find him, to find out about him and to get him.

It wasn't until early hours of the morning after the meeting of Frank that I actually decided it was time for me to retrieve my property. It made me uneasy to know that someone that was near a stranger had something that held future plans, my ideas and the details. Frank wouldn't be able to necessarily understand what I wrote down on the paper exactly, all he would've gotten was addresses, dates, times, irrelevant numbers and letters to him.

But to me, it mattered where those irrelevant letters and numbers were. I needed them because, in a sense, they calmed me down. Like some people turned to the bible for guidance and to calm themselves down, some went straight to the illegal substances as I once had done, now I just go to my 'hit list', if you will.

Frank didn't live to far from me. It was a ten minute walk if you didn't know the area too well at most, he lived on the road that was blocked off by vehicle access and it didn't look like there were any houses, only shops. His back door was on the left side of this road, the door I was going to go through at such a short, unplanned notice.

I gathered my things, knowing Frank was more than likely sleeping in his bed until just after seven o'clock, which is when he supposedly wakes up, getting ready for work that started at nine o'clock on the other side of town that took just over half an hour via bus, then a ten minute walk up a hill. I grabbed my worn, black leather jacket, slipping it on and made my way out of my home to other man's house that I may or may not be murdering within the next twenty minutes.

The streets empty, the only thing that occupied them was foxes that were darting from behind cars and into people's front gardens, my footsteps and my shadows that seemed to dance across the pavement as I stepped quickly, each streetlight catching onto my figure and illuminating me in its orangey glow as I turned the corner, slipping my hands onto my pockets and hung my head.

It had been coming up to the seventh minute before I had come across any human contact, a young girl walking along, her coat wrapped around her tightly and her eyes darting side to side, widening in fear when she saw me walking towards her. She studied my face in the little time and light she had before directing her eyes down, looking like she was about to cry and panic.

When she got within a meter of me, she looked up again, I offered a smile and a slight nod, "Mornin'."

The girl looked surprised but smiled none the less, slowing down as I did, her death grip on her bag loosening as her image of me being a threat lessened, "Get home safely, alright? I'll hunt down anyone that messes with you." She smiled wider, nodded obediently and continued walking, a little faster than previously.

It was two more turns of corners before I reached the back door of Frank's house, every light off, especially his bedroom light, and the gate unlocked, Frank unknowingly giving me an easier task of retrieving what I was here for. Of course, Frank wouldn't ever think up the possibility that I would research as hard as I could to find out who he was and where he lived, just for a notepad with 'useless' information dotted throughout it.

I opened it as little as I could, sliding through the gap I created for myself and closed it behind me, pulling out my pair of gloves and slipped them on before I even thought about touching the door handle, finding out he locks up the rest of his house.

This only added an extra few minutes onto my schedule, no problem.

I pulled out a pick and tension wrench, testing what way the lock turned with the wrench and resting it in its position before I started poking at the pins inside, holding my breaths in a little so I could clearly hear each click as I hit the right pins glad of this years of practising picking lock.

It came undone and I pushed the handle down, opening the door slowly as a way to test out whether it squeaked loudly or not, sliding in through a small gap and closing the door behind me, my eyes scanning the decent sized kitchen, the island in the middle and the sink almost full to the left, dishwasher and washing machine also to the left, the fridge-freezer on the right, microwave and toaster sat on the countertop besides the fridge.

There was a quiet hum from the right and a whir coming from the left, the washing machine doing a cycle and the fridge on.

Considering he was a young guy, and that all he done was go out on day trips or parties or aboard for that matter, he seemed to have quite a good home and he seemed to have a lot of money. Yes, I didn't find out his job within that short time of research but I knew from what I saw he didn't work often, and he didn't take life too seriously.

I quickly glanced around the room for what I was looking for, not seeing anything I actually wanted in this room so I decided to move onto the next room, into the living room with a round table, light from the moon coming through the sliding French doors to the right, two sofas facing the TV.

I turned back towards the table that had a few piles of papers and I approached them, grabbing the first pile and started sifting through the contents not really finding much stuff I could find any interest within, mainly bank statements that showed that there were large sums of money transferred into his account, then the money gradually being used in small doses throughout the month until there was another transfer.

I was moving onto my second pile when I heard a bit of a crash and heavy footsteps after that, my reflexes kicking in and I instantly had my knife in my hand in my protective stance and I stood beside the door, hiding away as the footsteps got closer as Frank made his way down stairs, towards the kitchen.