In The Case Of Gerard Way (Frerard)

Chapter One- The Strange Man

"So, you're saying he's never spoken to you? Not a word?"

Jamia rolls her eyes and sighs at me, exasperated at the fact that I'm pestering her about him again. "Frank, I've told you a thousand times before. He only ever speaks to me to order his coffee. The one time I asked him his name, he told me it was Gerard."

"And that's all he's ever said?"

She looks at me with a stern glare. "Frank. We aren't here to ask questions or pester people who want coffee. We're here to take orders and serve coffee to those people who are crazy enough to want coffee at five in the afternoon until around one when the people who are hammered start coming in."

I roll my eyes and sigh, picking up my coffee pot and rolling my eyes. "Whatever, Jams."

"Get a move on, Iero!" I hear our boss, Vic, call from the back.

"I'm going, I'm going," I grumble, pushing my way out from behind the counter and beginning to walk around to the various tables, asking people if they'd like more coffee.

While I'm serving drinks, I glance over at the corner table where he's sitting. He always sits there. He comes in every day at six thirty, orders a coffee, looks out the window while he drinks it and then is always gone by seven fifteen. Not once has he come early and not once has he left late.

I don't know whether it's this, the repetitiveness and routine of his visits to the shop daily, or the fact that he doesn't speak that sparks the investigator in me. I have never heard his voice, and it's even rare for Jamia to hear it anymore. She says that recently she'll ask "The usual, I assume?" and he'll give her what could be called a ghost of a smile and simply nod once.

It could also just be his mysterious appearance. He is always wearing black. If its not his shirt, it's his pants or his shoes. I swear, the only thing that ever changes about him is his clothes. Otherwise I would be sure that every day was repeating itself.

Another thing about his appearance is his hair. It's long and black and often greasy, falling impossibly messily but perfectly around the back of his head. Glancing over now, I see him run his long fingers through it, taking along sip of coffee and staring into the cup.

And then the one last thing about him. He never, never takes off his sunglasses. No one has ever seen his eyes. Not even Jamia.

I don't know what it is that sparks my interest to walk over to him. Usually Jams will pour for him. But, I felt some sort of pull dragging me towards him. The mysterious aura he gives off, the temptation at the thought that I might get him to speak to me. Whatever it is, I cautiously pick my way over to his table. I can feel Jamia staring as I approach his table.

Once I reach his small corner table, I dust off my coffee stained apron and clear my throat slightly.

His head turns slowly towards me, and, though his eyes are covered up by the sunglasses, I can tell they're looking me over warily.

I smile widely at him, trying to give off my best friendly vibe. "Hi! I'm Frank!" I say.

No answer.

I try not to let the smile falter from my face. "Would you like any more coffee sir?"

He looks at me for a minute, running his fingers through his hair and checking his watch. I bite my lip in the hopes that it isn't too close to seven fifteen to keep him a little longer.

He sighs quietly, the first noise I've ever heard him make. "No thank you, just the bill."

I blink at him, the sound of his voice burning in my thoughts as I nod dumbly and walk back over to where Jamia's eyes are practically bugging out of her head. "Frank! What are you doing?" she whisper yells at me.

"I heard him speak," I say dumbly. "He asked for his bill."

Jamia rolls her eyes. "I'll bring it to him, you stay here."

She runs off, and all I can think about is the voice of the man supposedly named Gerard. I was expecting some deep, manlyish voice. But what I had heard surprised me. His voice was higher, more nasally almost, and had the twinge of a Jersey accent. It was nothing like I was expecting.

"I hope you're happy," Jamia huffs when she returns. I watch the fleeting figure of Gerard slipping out of the door, right on time. Seven fifteen. I nod vaguely to Jams, not really listening to her as she starts trying to talk with me about her boyfriend troubles. But I'm not paying attention.

It's a long shift until one, when Vic finally lets us off. I shrug off my apron and hang it on the wall, trading it out for my old Misfits hoodie and pulling the good up over my hair. I call out a goodbye to a sleepy Jamia, who is climbing into her car. She calls back a goodbye, and I turn away from her car as I hear it start, beginning to walk home in the brisk September evening.

It's not longer than a fifteen minute walk to my apartment building from work, but in the cool night air at one in the morning, I constantly look over my shoulder. It's a small town, and there's a few gangs around. I don't think they've set up around here, because I've walked this way a thousand times to get home, but tonight I'm feeling extra paranoid.

When I walk inside my apartment building and climb the four, steep flights of stairs to reach my apartment, I unlock the door and flop quietly onto the couch.

Gerard. He's all that's on my mind. The general mystery about him intrigues me. No one that I talked to today after he left knew much about him. Just bits and pieces, and not all of them matched. Mostly the things that didn't match were guessed at age. The ranges anywhere from eighteen to twenty seven, each of which I could see. For while he didn't look particularly old, there was something about his face that didn't make him look necessarily young. The aura he gave off was that of an older man, and the stiff politeness with which he spoke to me might say something. But little could be said about his age.

Background-wise, I was able to discover from the nosy old regulars to the shop that Gerard was an art student and a possible drunk, had a brother and lived with his grandmother somewhere in town. I felt a little badly for doing a little snooping, but hey. Once you spark my attention, I'm not letting it go.