Anatomy Of A Fall |Frerard

Chapter 11

It was like being caught in an ocean current, tossed briefly back into consciousness only to be sucked back beneath the waves moments later, raw and tumbled and confused. He woke up a bit as he was being shoved into a trunk, and his hands were tied behind his back, what the fuck? His head hurt, he was bewildered and didn't know where he was, and the coach was looming over him, face twisted. Gerard opened his mouth to shout, or yell, but Sikowski must have hit Gerard again, maybe, because there was another bright shock of pain and the undertow dragged him back down.

Then he was suddenly being dragged out of the truck, stumbling, and it was getting dark. He didn't remember the ride at all, had no idea how long he'd been out. But it was dark outside, which didn't bode well, he thought. It'd taken him a moment to even realize he wasn't in Jersey, that this wasn't Belleville. His brain was sluggishly rebooting, throwing out random outdated thoughts. Vermont. This was Vermont. He'd missed the test in Biology on the anatomy of amphibians. Ray was going to be so upset.

Sikowski didn't give him much time to orient himself, just shoved him along a path, muddy and steep. Most of Gerard's focus was on keeping his feet beneath him, but he noticed the coach kept looking over his shoulder like he was being hunted. He started pushing Gerard to go faster, but Gerard's vision was swimming and he couldn't keep up, had a suspicion he didn't really want to.

"Fuck you," he slurred, and thought about running, thought about losing himself in the trees and dead leaves, but the coach just laughed, ugly and deep, and gave him another hard shove.

His hands were still tied, and when he fell he couldn't catch himself; he sprawled in the mud and leaves and felt tears stinging his eyes. Shit, he had to figure out what was going on. Something awful was happening, but his head fucking hurt, and he couldn't think. These weren't Frank's woods. He knew that. Why did he know that, but not what was going on? Where was he?

"How'd you find out?" the coach asked, and Gerard glared at him from under his muddy bangs, tried to struggle back upright without moving his head too much. Fuck, he was going to throw up. He wouldn't have answered the asshole's question even if he knew. "Ted said you liked to dick around in the woods after school, I shoulda known—you fucking freaks are all the same." A pause while Gerard started feeling more and more nauseous. "You saw him, didn't you? I fucking knew it. They all said I was wrong, but I knew it."

"You killed him," Gerard said faintly, and then threw up.

"Aw, hell," Sikowski said, and waited for Gerard to finish before hauling him up gingerly. Apparently they'd finally reached their destination now, some rustic hunting cabin in the middle of nowhere, where no one would ever find his body. Just like Frank. Fuck. Fuck. "I didn't kill him. It was an accident, dammit. I never meant to kill anybody, and Iero can just shut the hell up about it."

Gerard was pretty sure he had a concussion. A head injury would at least explain why Sikowski was talking nonsense, Gerard thought dimly, and tugged experimentally at the knots on his wrist. The coach spotted him doing it and scowled, dragging him inside the cabin and slamming the door shut.

There was a chair next to the fireplace, heavy carved wood, decorated with deer—fuck, people out here were fucking obsessed with deer—and Sikowski shoved him into it, then tied him in place, cussing under his breath all the while. He was in an old t-shirt and a ballcap, and the resemblance to Ted was striking—it was like watching an older Ted with a broader jaw, a thicker neck. But Ted had never looked so vicious, even when he was bashing Gerard's face in.

"There," he grunted. "Scream all you want, kid, nobody's gonna hear you out here. You sit tight, now."

"What?" Gerard said, startled. He supposed he should have realized he wasn't going to be tied up and then bashed in the head with a brick, talk about a waste of time. But who fucking knew with this guy. "Where are you—"