Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own.

You've Got Mail

"Where's Mike?"

The first thing out of Ray Toro's mouth was a question. Surprise.

"I dunno, go look in his room. Tell him to get up, I made coffee," Gerard said absently, measuring out a level teaspoon of sugar and stirring it into his coffee.

"He's not there," Ray said, coming back into the room, looking puzzled. "Neither is Frank. Bob's over at Jenna's."

"That's weird." Gerard handed him a cup of steaming coffee.

"What, Bob being at his girlfriend's?"

"No, Frank being awake and gone before either of us are awake."

The phone rang and Gerard picked it up, sparing him from whatever scathing comment Ray would've made.

"Hello?"

At first, nothing.

Then-

"Hello?" he said again.

"Gerard Way?"

The voice on the other end of the phone was strangely distorted, like something out of a horror movie.

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Who is this?"

"Check your email."

"Who the hell is this?"

"Check your email," the voice growled again. The line went dead.

"Gee, what the hell-"

But Gerard didn't answer. He was on his feet, running for the computer Mike always left on. He flung himself into the chair and punched at the keyboard.

He reached the site that he had an e-mail carrier on. He clicked the 'read mail' icon and stared at the screen as it choked out the early, shadowy forms of a video image. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the mouse... slowly... slowly....

It was someone who had his back towards him, hunched over. His surroundings were vague, much too light. Gerard reached for the speaker, in case there was audio. There was. Static, at first. Distant, fuzzy, then clearing.

Then he heard his voice.

"Gerard...?"

His heart seemed to freeze solid in his chest. No, no, no, no...

But the voice through the speaker repeated itself. "Gerard."

No. "Mike?"

As if he'd heard him, he turned to the camera. Suddenly, Mike's face was on the screen. One of his eyes was black and blue, swollen. He looked frighteningly pale. Weak.

"Ray!" Gerard said loudly. "Ray, get in here!"

Ray walked slowly in, quickening his pace as he saw what was on the screen. "What the hell?"

"I don't know. Someone sent it to me-"

"Oh, shit."

Mike's face disappeared, replaced by a blank screen. There was a blast of static from the speakers and the same distorted voice began again.

"Gerard Way. You can see from this footage that we have... a mutual friend. Sadly, he's not feeling well at the moment. Did you know Michael is asthmatic? Yes, I imagine you did..."

Ray stared at the blank screen. "Who the hell is it?"

Gerard silenced him with a sharp hiss. A graphic appeared on the screen-shaking letters slowly sliding into view. C...A...N... Y...O...U...

The voice continued. "He's well enough for the moment, but at, oh, say, ten o'clock tonight, he'll be needing his medication quite desperately. And that, my dear Gerard, is where you come in... find him. Find him by ten o'clock tonight. If you don't...."

The graphic slithered by: S...A...V...E...

"...we will kill him."

H...I...M?

For a moment, the graphic trembled on the screen. CAN YOU SAVE HIM? Then it tumbled off into the background and another message appeared in an eye-searing flash of brightness.

You will find in the second email your first instruction. You will pass a series of tests. If you do not pass these tests Michael Way will die. Without warning, the email broadcast returned, a close-up of Mike's battered face, his frightened eyes, his mouth forming a word that came screaming through the speakers.

"Gerard!"

Then nothing. The footage and the email were gone and the computer whirred softly until Mike's screensaver slid into view.

---

Signal To: M

From: S

Date: October 11

File:76244

Subject: Gerard Way

He is even more beautiful up close and far more dangerous. For now, we proceed as planned. The trials have begun. We will test his limits. I want to see how far he will go for his brother. What he will risk. How much he is willing to lose.

The boy suffers, but it is all in the name of authenticity. I have no doubt he will succeed on his own; however, if any complications arise, I will arrange for assistance. His safety is of utmost importance. He must not fail-all roads lead to me.

Make sure he is completely safe. Repercussions will be severe.

I want to kill him myself.

To:: S From:: M Date: October 11 File:: 76244 Subject: Gerard Way Yes, sir.

I understand what is expected until you give me the signal to dispose of the others, if you choose to do so.

--- Slipping A Disk You are to commit an act of theft- a very specific type of theft. Your brother has a computer disk that is of great interest to us. You will find this disk and drop it off in Military Park. There will be a woman there to receive it. She will be disguised as a homeless woman and she will have a cart. Bring the disk to her, Gerard, and do it fast. Time, after all, stops for no man... Not even your brother. Gerard had finally broken out of his shock long enough to open the second email.

"Wonder what this video's rated?" Ray said with some sort of sickened sarcasm.

"It's not a video," Gerard said hollowly. "They want me to steal something of Mike's."

"What?"

"A floppy disk."

Ray swore loudly. "Mike must have a million computer disks! How the hell are we supposed to find a certain one?"

"We?" Gerard raised an eyebrow. "We aren't doing anything if you're including yourself in that."

"Why the hell not?"

"I'm not putting you in danger, too," Gerard said fiercely, starting to go through the drawers in the computer desk. "They've already got Mike and for all I know they could have Frank. I'm not risking you."

"You're not risking me. I care about Mike just as much as you," Ray said, sticking out his jaw defiantly. "I'm sure as hell not letting some asshole take him and hurt him. You saw what those bastards did. I'm not going to stand by and not do anything about it."

Gerard grinned in spite of himself. It was nice to have someone like Ray on his side.

The grin faded when he saw the last bit of the orders.

The disk is titled 'Batman'.

His eyes slowly widened as his eyes found the name Mike and Frank had recently christened him with.

Two thoughts were racing through his head:

One: The kidnappers had some major surveillance on them.

Two: The kidnappers wanted information on him.

Not Myst cheat codes or Mikey's famous cappuccino recipe.

Him.

There was no time to wonder why.

So he started looking. Like there was really going to be a disk laying out in the open with 'Batman' in big red letters. He got out another disk and upended it onto the desk. Pens, pencils, notes and tacks were sent flying.

"Nice," Ray said dryly.

"For some reason, neatness isn't my number one priority at the moment."

Two minutes later, he was going through the filing cabinet that Mike kept in the bus and had lugged into the apartment they'd finally rented in Newark.

"Son of a bitch!" He slammed his fist into the wall.

"Gerard, you're scaring me."

"This is taking too long," Gerard said tersely.

The reverberation from the blow knocked down a framed picture of the whole band on the set of their third video. Gerard reached for it to check if the glass had broken and noticed a slight bulge separating the thin back from the frame. He gave it a good shake and found himself holding several floppy disks, one of which was labeled 'Batman' in clear black print.

"I'm out of here," he said, walking out of the room. Ray came out straight after him.

"You're not going alone," he stated, grabbing the arm Gerard had extended for the black jacket hanging on the doorknob. Gerard yanked his arm out of his grip and shrugged on the jacket.

"You're not coming with me."

"Gerard, stop acting like you're protecting me. If the fuckers know what Frank and Mike just started calling you a few days ago, they know that I know about this whole Godforsaken thing."

Gerard couldn't argue with that.

Damn that boy.

"Fine," he said curtly. "Military Park. Let's go."

Bitch

Okay, this was a problem.

There were a grand total of seven homeless people in the park and five were proud owners of shopping carts.

The email had said homeless woman, hadn't it? Yes. It had. So the two guys were out.

Well, process of elimination.

"Stay here."

"Damnit, Gerard-"

"Ray. Sit. Stay." Gerard pointed to the bench near them.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Fine, but if you get in any trouble, yell or something."

Gerard didn't answer. He was across the park at 'fine'.

He approached the first homeless lady, who was sifting through her cart. "Excuse me, ma'am-"

She whirled on him, clutching a half-eaten apple. "Get away from me, asshole!" Well, that was uncalled for. She continued, "This is my cart, d'you hear me, mine!" She placed the apple in a holey tennis shoe, presumably to snack on later.

Yummy. Next?

He walked a few feet to the next woman. So much for keeping his wits about him-the signs were blatant that she wasn't really homeless. She had a tattered shawl around her shoulders but a silk blouse underneath it. She was also wearing a pair of expensive-looking boots.

Gerard approached her, feeling hollow. This woman was one of the kidnappers. This woman was in some way responsible for what was happening to Mikey. She or someone she knew had inflicted pain on someone he loved, someone he would take a bullet for.

Bitch.

He wanted to kill her here. But it would cause a scene and that might make them hurt or kill his brother in return...

He held the disk out to her and, when she didn't take it, dropped it in her cart.

"Tkthplstcbg."

Gerard barely heard her mumble. "What?"

"Plastic bag. Take it."

Gerard squinted against the bright sunshine. On the handle of the cart hung a small bag from an Owl Pharmacy drugstore. He reached for it cautiously. It was heavy.

A surge of disgust filled him as he recognized the weight.

"No," he said, half horrified, half enraged.

The woman looked up and glared at him. "Take it."

Gerard felt his free hand clench into a tight fist. One good jab to the bridge of her nose and this bitch would wake up in the next time zone.

But he couldn't. He had to think of Mike.

So he took the bag with the gun in it.

--

Luck Won't Do Much

Ray sat next to Gerard by the fountain. He watched some skinheads about fifty feet away, trying to distract himself from what was in the bag.

Fuck it. The bag was sitting between he and Gerard and he stuck a hand in it, his fingers brushing against the cold metal. It felt dead and weighty.

And familiar.

Ray hated guns. But he knew how to use them.

His father had taught him marksmanship. While other dads were taking their nine year old sons to baseball games, Adam Ortiz was bringing Ray to the firing range or out to the woods with a tin can for a target.

And he'd been a natural. From the start, he'd rarely missed, and by the time his father finished training him, he didn't miss at all. Even now, years away from the experience, he could still hear the deafening explosion of the shotgun and the distant, screaming ping of the bullet hitting the can.

He let go of the gun and felt around in the bag, his fingers closing around a piece of paper.

A note.

"Of course," Ray murmured and withdrew it.

"What?" Gerard had broken out of his reverie.

"There's a note."

Ray read it, his eyes scanning the thin paper quickly, then read it again. He handed it to Gerard, who read it aloud quietly.

Within the next twenty minutes, you will commit a crime. You will choose your victim but limit your territory to this park.

"My territory?" Gerard snarled.

"Keep reading."

You are not to go easy on this victim. The enclosed is to assist you in this task. You are not, under any circumstances, to have the assistance of your Portuguese friend. You will enlist the help of a young man named Frank Iero.

"You can't come," Gerard stated, looking up wide-eyed from the note.

"I know."

"There is something you can do to help, though," Gerard said slowly after a long minute.

"Which is...?"

"Go back to the apartment. See if you can tell anything else from the video."

Ray felt slightly sick at the prospect of seeing Mike like that again, but...

"Alright." He gave Gerard a brief one-armed hug. "Good luck."

He walked off before he could see the expression on his friend's face.

---

Mikey Wrrzzzzzzzz. I am Mike Way.

They said my name. I heard them. Good, because maybe I forgot it.

Wrrzzzzzzzz. Clank. Wrrzzzzzzzz. They grabbed me. That much I know. But who? Why?

Wrrzzzzzzzz. Clank.

If that damned noise would just... stop. It's coming in through a window I can't see.

That... grinding, scraping, humming, rumbling, scratching-

Wrrzzzzzzzzclankwrrzzzzzzzz.

God! Numbing my brain.

Not just the noise is driving me crazy, my own questions, I've never wondered so hard in my life, all this not knowing is making me queasy-

Wrrzzzzzzzz clank.

Shit, what the hell happened to my face? Oh yeah, A Guy With A Fist With A Ring. And the voice. Not the Fist's voice, someone else's.

Meth?

Seth.

Seth-Egyptian god of chaos and misery. Cruel and unfriendly but respected.

Never thought tenth grade history would come in handy.

His voice, then the fist. Damnthathurt.

Then how come they haven't killed me yet? Or maybe they have. Aren't there a bunch of lights and feelings?

Jesus, I'm losing it. I'm not dead. Okay? I'mnotdead. Just... focus. That's right. Focus.

Focus. Remember... how did it start? Where was I before I was here? What was I thinking before I couldn't think? Focus...

Heat and lips and dark hair and dark eyes. Frank. Frank. Me. Together. Almost good. The park.

Someone walks over. And then... Frank runs.

Jesus. Frank. No, don't go... I'm sorry. And then... running. Darkness and streetlights and... where? Where did he go? And then the arm around my chest, the hands around my throat...

Wrrzzzzzzzzclank.

Oh, God, what the hell is happening? I don't know. I can't know. Knowing is somewhere else.

And then it all fades into the noise.

Wrrrrrrzzzzzzzzzz clank.. .

Frank?

Wrrzzzzzzzz...

...zzzzzzzz...

---

Trigger

Gerard watched Ray walk away until he rounded the corner. He realized he was biting his lip so badly it was about to bleed. He glanced down at the note, scanning it again, hoping for some other little piece of information.

He needed to think this through. Maybe there was a way to make this look real without actually hurting anyone. He did know there was no way in hell he was going to fire that gun. He'd wield it, swing it around at whoever he ultimately chose to hassle, but he would not pull the trigger. The kidnappers would just have to settle for that.

He looked up to see Frank approaching him.

You will enlist the help of a young man named Frank Iero.

Whoa.

This guy had some major timing going on.

"Did I scare you?" Frank stopped in front of him.

"Not quite. Why are you here?"

He answered with his own question. "Why are you here?"

"Sit."

Frank sat on the rim of the fountain next to Gerard and wrapped his arms around his knees. "So, why are you here?" He took a closer look at Gerard. "Is everything okay?"

You have no idea...

"No."

Frank's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, no?"

"Oh, God," Gerard said, running a hand over his face and letting his breath out slowly. "It's Mike."

"What? What happened?" Fear flickered across the younger man's face.

Gerard explained the whole sorry ordeal to him. When he finished recounting what Ray had gone off to do, Frank sat there for a moment, shell-shocked.

"Oh, God..." His voice trailed off. "So, there's a gun in here? And we've got to commit a crime?"

"Yeah."

"Like what, exactly?" Frank asked hollowly.

"I don't know. A mugging?"

"Jesus."

"It's about as tame as we're gonna get if we have to use this," Gerard said, jerking his head at the bag.

"Okay, so, we're mugging someone." Frank paused. "Who?"

That was a problem.

"Uh..."

Okay, he wasn't about to rough up a woman or a kid or an old dude. That was good enough right there. He looked around the park.

And there he was. The sleazebag. What was his name? Something like Ruben or something pseudo-classy like that. The self-important slimeball, around forty-seven or forty-eight, although he looked about sixty with all his wrinkles. Tanning-salon regular. Designer suit. Diamond pinky ring. Greasy hair. Woven loafers, even in October.

Jerk.

All he had to do was make it look like Ruben was an innocent citizen, undeserving of Gerard's attack.

Gerard hated him. He'd played him once-and only once-at the public boards, hoping to score a few bucks for lunch. He'd won hugely and the asshole had raised all hell, saying Gerard had cheated, until he'd finally just given him the money.

He was seated on the losing side of a chessboard, a scowl fixed on his face, when Gerard walked up and reached inside the bag.

Thank God for the indifference of Newarkers. They probably wouldn't notice the man, let alone the bag, let alone the bag's contents, Frank thought.

Ruben didn't look up until Gerard had his hand around the gun and pressed it through the bag into his shoulder.

"What the hell is this?" Ruben asked, raising his bushy eyebrows.

" This is a gun," Gerard said matter-of-factly, grabbing the older man's fleshy upper arm. "Let's go somewhere a little more private, shall we?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake."

"Let's go," Gerard said, cocking the hammer.

"Jeez! Okay! Jeez!" Ruben said, wriggling up from his seat. The opponent had left, for obvious reasons, and two people at a table farther away were moving. He didn't have much time.

"Okay, okay, I'm comin'," Ruben snarled as Gerard applied a little more pressure.

Gerard steered him towards one of the tall bushes that lined the path, obscuring the view to any passersby. The last thing Gerard needed was for some pseudo- Good Samaritan to stop him.

Frank had followed them and he grabbed Ruben's arm. "Your wallet. Now," he growled. Gerard stared at him for a second-he'd never used that tone, at least not around him-but regained his composure.

"Yeah," Ruben said, withdrawing a fat billfold and holding it out to Gerard. It hung there on the edge of shaking fingertips.

This was too easy. The kidnappers wanted more drama, he suspected. So he'd give it to them.

Take too short a time and the kidnappers probably wouldn't be satisfied.

Take too long and he'd end up in jail.

And Mike would die.

Gerard swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes at Ruben. "Look scared," he ordered. "Cry."

Sweat poured from Ruben's temples. "What, are you kidding me?"

Gerard stepped in closer and snarled into Ruben's face. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"No, buddy, you don't," Ruben said with a nervous laugh.

"Cry," Gerard said again and punched him square in the nose.

"Gerard," Frank warned. "Hurry up."

"Argh!" Ruben doubled over. "You little..."

"I don't see any tears!" Gerard snapped, taking a hold on the pressure point just under Ruben's jaw. He let out a satisfactory sob.

"That's better," Gerard hissed, releasing him. "This never happened."

To his surprise, Ruben looked up and smiled coldly. "Aye, yo. You think I'm gonna tell anyone I got held up by two little shits like youse? A freakin' Rican and his partner, the prom king?"

At that Gerard shoved the bagged pistol right under his chin. "You ever insult me like that again and I'll kill you!"

Then he grabbed the wallet and Frank's arm and ran.

Prom king, my ass.

--

Twenty Minutes Later...

The last tests came at him like rapid fire. Why weren't they now?

Maybe they're Union kidnappers and they're on a lunch break, Gerard thought wryly.

Frank had left already and Gerard was walking alone down the long Broad Street. He ducked down Raymond Street because it appeared to be deserted and withdrew Ruben's billfold, flipping through the bills. Nearly two hundred bucks. What the hell was he going to do with that?

He realized he'd stopped just in front of a church.

The Church of Saint Michael, to be specific.

No way in hell was that a coincidence.

He stuffed the money into his pocket and walked inside. The place was perfectly quiet. There was no one in sight and the sunlight shining in through the stained glass windows revealed dancing particles of dust. Gerard found himself thinking how weird it was that all churches smelled the same. Not that he'd been in many-just enough to tell that they all had that same dry, smoky smell.

As Gerard walked down the aisle, he wondered how many times 'Amen' and 'Please, God' had been whispered in there. He got the feeling that if he listened hard enough, he just might hear the echoes.

There was an alcove in the front of the church with a brass stand in it. On the stand were rows upon rows of stubby candles, some white, some red, some black. Some were burning but most were out.

He went to the alcove and found what he was looking for-a small wooden box with the word 'Donations' painted painstakingly across the front. He was pretty sure you were supposed to make a donation before you prayed.

Fine with him. Someone had to pay for all that wax. He stuffed the cash in the box-he figured two hundred bucks gave him the right to start a bonfire, but he wasn't good with prayers. Hell, he didn't even know what religion he was supposed to be practicing. His family was one big melting pot.

Next to the candles, there were a bunch of long sticks, like extra-long toothpicks, sticking out of a little pot of sand. The ends on some were charred.

Okay, I get it. You use the lit candle to light the stick, then use the stick to light your own candle.

Which required him to kneel. He was short, but not short enough.

He picked up one of the long, fragile sticks. Should he or shouldn't he?

Part of him felt like a serious hypocrite. But a bigger part said that he could use help from wherever he could get it.

He poked the stick in on of the burning candles. What prayer had gone with this one? Was it bigger than his? Had it been answered?

He held the stick over an unlit candle for a moment and just stared at the dancing flame. Then, despite his donation, he slammed the stick into the sand, got up and slowly walked out.

It wasn't that he didn't want to pray for Mike. He just didn't know how.

--

Noise

He'd sat there in Mike's room for over an hour, viewing the e-mailed video of Mike over and over and over. Just as he was about to pack it in, he noticed a noise in the background. It'd been there all along. He couldn't imagine how he'd missed it, unless his eyes were shutting down from all the strain and his ears were taking over.

But as soon as he detected it, he recognized it.

Wrrzzzzzzzz. Clank. Wrrzzzzzzzz.

It was a noise he had made for years. It was a noise he hadn't made for a while.

And he knew only one place in Newark where that noise could occur just like that.

Wrrzzzzzzzz. Clank... "Ray, man! Nice ride! You got serious air on that one, dude. Is this the most awesome ramp in town or what? Let's see it again! Go for it!"

Yeah, Ray knew that noise.

--

Hug or Kill?

Gerard had just opened the door to the apartment when Ray burst out of Mike's room.

"I know where he is." His voice was taut and excited.

It was all Gerard could do to keep from screaming. He wasn't sure whether to hug Ray or kill him.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Why didn't you bring your cell phone with you?"

"Where is he?" Gerard asked, not answering. Yet again, Ray had beat him. Damn.

Clearing his throat, Ray said, "He's off University, south of the campus, on Hackett Street. I actually pinpointed the location." Ray's expression was all satisfaction.

Gerard was leaning away from hug and towards kill, but kept his cool.

"How did you figure it out?"

"I just kept replaying the tape," Ray said. "By, like, the nine billionth time, I started to register the sound in the background, over and over. And I recognized it. It's skateboarders."

"Skateboarders?" Gerard asked incredulously. "Ray, skateboarders can be anywhere!"

"No." Ray shook his head, sending little curls falling into his eyes. He brushed them back impatiently and continued. "This noise was distinct. It was boards on a ramp-an extreme ramp, with a major slope. I know for a fact there's only one ramp like that in this whole city. I practically used to live there."

His eyes were slightly glassy and Gerard could tell he missed this home away from home. He would have loved to let him slip into nostalgia, but this wasn't the place and it sure as hell wasn't the time.

"Ray."

Ray rubbed a hand over his face. "Anyway, I heard that noise in the background and realized Mike's got to be somewhere in the vicinity of that ramp. He's gotta be in one of those buildings."

"So let's go."

"Go?" Ray, for the third time in less than three hours, grabbed his wrist to stop him. "Gee, we can't go."

"Why the hell not?" Gerard snapped, trying to wrench his arm out of Ray's grip, but Ray didn't relent.

"Think about it. We know the kidnapper's watching everything you do. You're at his-we're at his mercy. If he figures out you're planning a search-and-rescue operation, he might just kill Mike on the spot."

"Yeah, but-"

"I know you want to be the big brother and swoop in there to rescue Mikey," Ray interrupted. "But you've got to make sure you're thinking straight."

Since when was it Ray's job to make sure he was thinking straight?

--

What The Kidnapper Said

Seth crumpled the faxed memo and dropped it into the wastebasket, then laughed. It was a guttural rumble deep in his throat. He turned to Mike.

Poor, poor Michael.

Dying, really, right before his eyes. A shame.

Seth walked over to his hostage. He was sprawled on the floor, his thin chest rising and falling irregularly, wheezing breath heard throughout the loft every few seconds. Seth studied him for a moment. Well, he understood what his nephew saw in the boy. he was certainly nice-looking. At least, he had been before that unfortunate incident when his face collided with that fist. And, of course, his medical condition was really taking its toll.

"Michael?" Again. Louder. "Michael."

The boy lifted his head and let out a ragged breath. One that Seth knew hurt from the way he winced and stiffened. The foolish boy, trying to hide his pain. No one hid things from him. Not for long.

Seth started to pace around him like the predator he was. "Michael Way... tell me about yourself, Michael."

The only reply was the boy's head falling back onto the hard floor.

"Cat got your tongue, boy?" Seth sneered. "Just as well. I generally prefer to do the talking in situations such as these. I do so enjoy being in control."

He was taunting the boy.

"You're aware, I imagine, that my Frank is quite taken with you?" His gaze hardened as he stared at the prone form before him. He stopped walking and folded his arms across his chest. "That, as I'm sure you understand, is not an easy thing for an uncle to accept. I wonder, would you be worthy of him? Because an uncle has certain expectations for his only nephew, Michael. I want the best for him. It may not seem that way, given the circumstances, but it's true."

Seth lifted his foot and, with the toe of his three-hundred-dollar wingtips, gave Mike's body a hard nudge in the ribs. "So tell me, Michael Way, are you the one to make his dreams come true?" he demanded.

Seth stood there for a moment, then, in a voice so slick and close to silence he barely heard it himself, he asked the last question.

Then he walked away. He didn't turn to hear the answer.

He should have.

--

What The Hostage Heard

He felt the laughter before he heard it. Guttural and ugly. Like an animal choking. Then the first footsteps, approaching. A presence.

Words.

Michael Way.

I enjoy... control.

Frank... taken with you... worthy of him?

A kick to his rib cage. A shouted question.

...make his dreams come true?

And then, in the slightest whisper:

Do you love him, Mike?

His head throbbed as he raised it. He hadn't attempted to use his voice in almost nineteen hours and the breath he drew to use it burned. He almost hoped that breath was his last.

Over the sound of fading footsteps, he answered.

"Yes."

--

Liar, Liar

A cold breeze whipped his hair back from his forehead and he narrowed his eyes at the stoop. A package.

Addressed to him.

He grabbed it and went back to the apartment, ignoring Ray's questions, and tore it open.

A video. And, of course, a note.

This was getting old.

He put the tape in the VCR player and pressed play, sinking onto the leather couch. His face appeared on the screen. The camera zoomed back to reveal him and Frank sitting on the fountain. He felt blood start to rush to his face, giving his face an angry flush.

Whoever had filmed this was so close to them. How could he have missed them? How stupid was he?

He watched the tape, like a morbid home movie.

Isn't Gerard adorable, sticking that gun into Ruben's shoulder, demanding his wallet, punching him in the face?

He hit the off button and yanked the tape out of the player, then proceeded to tear its celluloid guts out. Then he read the note that had come with it.

Then he read it again.

Suddenly, Gerard really wished he'd lit that candle.

Clearly you did not understand what I meant by robbery. A man's wallet would hardly classify as a burglary. For this reason you will perform another test. The most difficult thus far. You will be required to...

"What's it say?" Ray asked. He still looked shocked by the video.

"Uhm. That I'm doing really well," Gerard lied and skipped to the main paragraph. "Listen. 'Michael will be turned over to you tonight at ten P.M in Washington Park. Choose any pathway. I will find you. FYI-Mr. Way's health is failing, so I suggest you be prompt."

"Is that all it says?"

Gerard swallowed with difficulty and nodded. No reason to tell him how personal the kidnapper was getting with his notes.

"Man. He must be pretty bad," Ray said, looking a little white. "You okay, Gee?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ray asked a minute later, watching him.

"I'm fine," Gerard said, glancing at the note again. At the part he hadn't read aloud. At the part that said ' Kill Ray Toro.'

--

Gerard

I read those three words at the end of that note and I knew one thing:

I will not do it.

I can't.

I can't tell him. I can't tell anyone. I sure as hell can't kill Ray. I can't murder someone who's just as much a brother as who I'm trying to save.

There's no purpose in these tests. They're all just to make sure I'll do what they say. The robberies and now this. No purpose.

I'm only sure of three things:

One: I've got to save Mikey.

Two: I've got to kill Ray to save Mikey.

Three: I won't kill anyone except the bastards who are doing this to us.

Why are they doing this?

Why are they making me do this?

I don't know. I don't think I want to know.

--

Bang

It was nine forty when Gerard entered the park with Ray. He chose one of the paths farthest away from the growing crowd of spectators for a concert. Some band called Hellcats or something. He didn't know. He didn't care.

The band was already doing sound checks, the squeal of feedback resonating through the park. Shit, if they could hear feedback over here, how was he going to pull off shooting?

He'd noticed that morning that the leaves had begun to change. Die. As if to subtly remind everyone that death wouldn't go unnoticed.

It was weird. With everything that'd happened in this park today, he still liked it. Liked the way it rustled and smelled. Liked the eerie peacefulness of the place.

Even tonight, with a .38 in his belt.

And Mike...

Where was he? Were the kidnappers even bringing him?

Don't think like that. They're bringing him.

Please, God, let them bring him.

Ray was slightly in front of him when Gerard grabbed his arm and spun him around with one hand, the other reaching blindly for the gun.

"Gerard-" Ray couldn't seem to get a word out. "What the hell are you doing?"

Gerard did his best to look threatening. He swung out at Ray, a purposefully sloppy blow that glanced off his shoulder.

"Gerard! What the fuck?" Ray yelled, shoving him back.

"It's the test," Gerard hissed. "Hit me."

"What?" Ray asked. Even if he knew Gerard wasn't going to kill him, he was still a little dazed.

"I said hit me," Gerard whispered urgently. Ray swung at him and Gerard ducked, his heavy fist catching him in the cheekbone.

Even if Ray did soften the blow, it still hurt like a bitch.

Gerard fired. The bullet was way off course and slammed into a tree. Thank God this thing had a silencer.

"This one's gonna be closer," Gerard snarled, both a warning to his friend and a hopeful bluff. He fired again and the bullet passed so close to Ray's face that he could have kissed it.

Ray was starting to look scared.

"Get down," Gerard whispered. "Now!"

Ray dropped to his knees. Gerard aimed straight between Ray's wide, scared eyes and pulled the trigger.

And Gerard whispered, "Bang."

He had to. Because the bullet that was supposed to be in the third chamber was safe on the kitchen table in the Owl Pharmacy bag.

It was as if eternity made itself visible, the silence swelling around him.

No bullet.

That's when Ray got up.

"Hope you guys got all that," Gerard murmured, looking around him. "Hope you b bought it."

His answer was two hands coming down on his shoulders. Hard.

Evidently they hadn't bought it at all.

--

Men In Black

Gerard's arms were behind his back and the big bastard who was holding them there felt like he was ripping them out of his sockets.

Two or three other guys appeared and one of them grabbed Ray.

Bad move.

Ray swung a pile-driver fist into his jaw and the man fell. Simply fell.

And then there was a blast and Ray's yell and a bullet hole appeared in his arm.

"Ray!"

"I'm okay," Ray panted, holding his arm, glaring at the man who'd shot him. "Takes more than a bullet to stop me." Without warning, Gerard tore free of his captor's grasp, his left arm screaming its objection.

Okay, something was dislocated.

Ignoring Ray's scuffle with the other man, Gerard fumbled with his gun and finally got it out. He grabbed his assailant and drove the barrel of the gun across his temple. The man collapsed and Gerard got him in a headlock, pressing the tip of the gun against his head.

And the man laughed.

"A trade!" Gerard shouted, his voice loud and raw in the silence. "This guy for Mike. Or I blow his fuckin' head off." He cocked the hammer. "And this time, it's loaded."

The guy laughed again. Gerard arched an eyebrow. What the hell was going on? He shouldn't be laughing. He should be begging his buddies to save his life.

"What the hell's so funny?" he demanded.

"Go ahead," the man said. "Kill me. He won't care."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Gerard snarled. "Who won't care?"

"I mean," the man gasped, because Gerard's forearm was crushing his throat, "my employer won't give a damn." The mirth had vanished from his voice. "He'll probably kill me himself for this."

Damnit!

Gerard loosened his grip but didn't release him. He had to think. He had to...

Mike!

He was pushed to the ground from behind a tree, another black-clad man behind him. What the hell? These guys had watched way too many bad movies.

There was a sharp crack and Ray yelled something. Gerard chanced a quick look. Not him. Not Ray, too.

He was sprawled on the ground, but he was alive. There was a wound on his head, bleeding freely, but Gerard could see his chest rising.

He was alive.

Good enough for now.

He turned his attention to his brother.

God, the boy looked half dead. Gerard had never seen skin so pale. One of his eyes was black-and-blue and swollen.

A wave of something close to guilt or grief swept over Gerard, but it was quickly replaced by anger. Raw fury.

Gerard almost let his charge go and smacked him across the face with the butt of his gun.

Then watched as his brother's captor did the same to him. Mike crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

"Mike!" Gerard screamed and dove at him.

Please, God, let him only be unconscious. He's not dead. He can't be dead.

Please...

He was stopped short by the only standing man besides himself producing an automatic weapon and aiming it directly at him.

--

And We All Fall Down

Gerard heard the singer's intro to the song they were about to play.

"A classic from the seventies... 'Rescue Me', by Aretha Franklin..."

Great. So now the hostage rescue had a soundtrack.

A scream ripped itself from Gerard's throat and drowned out the singer's voice. He ran at the man and ripped the gun out of his hand, sending it spiraling into the night sky. The man stumbled and the hat he'd pulled low over his eyes was knocked off. Gerard saw his face.

"Iero," he snarled.

Gerard knew him well. Frank's uncle. He was always 'Mister Iero' or 'sir'. Later, he was who Gerard had bought his supply from.

Now he was back.

Why?

No time for that.

"Way," the man acknowledged, spreading his arms wide. He plunged a hand inside his coat. Before he could get all the way there, Gerard had the gun pressed against his temple.

"Give me a reason," Gerard breathed. "Give me a reason and I swear to God I will." He pressed the gun harder into the man's temple. He was losing it.

"Gerard, listen to me-"

"Don't fucking tell me to listen to you!" Gerard screamed. "If he's dead, any of them, so help you God I'll blow your motherfuckin' head off!"

Iero had his gun out and shoved Gerard away. Gerard stumbled back but kept the gun and his eyes trained on Iero.

"Gerard, don't be stupid," he said, cocking the hammer. "You know that's not loaded."

He fired and Gerard grew rigid as his left leg exploded in pain.

Gerard unconsciously fired his own gun and dimly watched Iero jerk halfway around and fall to the ground with a stunned expression on his face.

"Guess it was loaded."

And then he collapsed.

--

And Finally...

"Gerard." He meant to scream it or yell it or something, but all he could manage was a whisper.

His brother raised his head and what could only be pure relief sparked in his eyes. Tears coursed down his dirt-streaked face, leaving little clear tracks. He was next to Mike on the dirt.

"You're okay," he mumbled.

"Yeah."

Gerard laid his head back on the ground. Mike heard him whisper, "Thank you, God."

And then everything went black.

--

Ray

Everyone's okay.

That's pretty much all I can say.

I had to go to the hospital after that bastard shot me and for my head. The bullet went clean through my biceps, though, so it wasn't too bad. I had a mild concussion where the same bastard pistol-whipped me across the forehead.

Gerard... is okay. The bullet only grazed his leg.

Mike was in pretty bad shape for a while, mainly because of how many times they'd nailed him in the face and head. He kept passing out at weird times so we had to lay off shows and stuff until he was okay.

We left all the guys in the park.

I don't know what happened to them. I don't care.

All I can say is that this is over and no one's badly hurt.

Like Gerard said.

Thank you, God.