Frank could tell that Gerard was upset by something. It was obviously something about his past troubling him. Maybe Gerard didn't want to talk to Frank right then. If that was the case, he would have to resort to reading the poor kid's file after all.

He absolutely despised personal files.

Sure, they came in handy when he couldn't get a patient to talk, or when he needed to medicate a patient for any reason, but he still hated the idea of having someone's entire life: all of their problems, flaws, and their entire story, written out on paper and hidden in a manila folder and shoved into a filing cabinet for any of the staff to read. In Frank's opinion, a patient's story should be between the patient and their doctor; no nurses or any of that shit. Honestly, if it weren't his job, he wouldn't want to get into other people's business.

Frank broke out of his mental rant when Gerard looked up at him. He looked so worn, so beaten down. He looked absolutely broken. The tears in his eyes shone as they caught the fluorescent lighting. His lip quivered and he sniffed quietly before speaking.

"I don't know..." The boy's voice was so soft, nearly silent, and Frank almost didn't catch it.

"I'm sorry, what?" Frank didn't believe what he was hearing. How could someone not know why they were in a mental institute?

"You heard me," the boy spat coldly. "I said I don't know why I'm in the goddamned place!" At this point, the boy was getting worked up again. He curled back in on himself, sobbing into his knees.

"Gerard?" Frank spoke gently, tentatively placing a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. Gerard glanced up at the sound of his name. The doctor hated the very words he was about to speak. "I'm going to have to read your file, okay? Then, I can tell you why you're in here." Gerard simply nodded and hid his face again, a whole new wave of violent sobs wracking his frame. He felt the weight on the bed shift, and before he knew it, the door was clicking shut and he was completely alone in his plain little white room. After what felt like hours of crying, Gerard had finally calmed himself to where the only noise he made was the occasional hiccup and the tears had slowed a great deal. It'd been a long day and Gerard decided that a small nap might do him some good. He slowly uncurled his body, kicking off his beat up red Converse and pushing them to the floor before lying down and pulling the blanket oven himself. He stared at the blank wall until it lulled him to sleep.

~

Frank made his way down the hallway toward the room that contained all of the patients' files. He punched in the security code and flashed his ID card before turning the knob and pushing the door open. He immediately walked over to the very last row of cabinets, remembering that Gerard's last name was something beginning with a 'W'. Surely there weren't more than one Gerard W. in the small institution. He began to skim through the names on the files.

Wagner?

No.

Warner?

No.

Aha!

Way, Gerard A.

Frank did a mental fist pump at the small victory before turning to the door, folder in hand, and walking out, making sure the door was securely latched.

He walked into his office, pulling out his desk chair and plopping down into it. His hands fiddled with the folder in his hand; he didn't want to read the file. He really didn't, but there was no choice. Gerard either honestly didn't know why he was there, or he was making stuff up. Frank decided that the former was the more probable of the two possibilities.

He sighed, scooting his chair back up to his desk. Because it was late, the windows were only letting in what little light the streetlamp outside provided. H switched on his desk lamp, and without another thought, he pulled the stack of papers from within its manila confinement.

What he saw didn't make any sense.

Patient is highly unstable. Refrain from sharing the following information with him.

They wanted him to lie to Gerard?

Frank set the papers down, rubbing his face with both hands and groaning. What had he gotten himself into?

~

Blood.

That's all he could see. Everything was stained red. He looked to the walls, the pictures lining them, dusty and with broken frames, were speckled with the dark red substance. The floral couch that sat across the room was hit as well. On the floor, there was an ever growing pool of it, inching its way toward him. The toes of his shoes were already in it. The denim of his ripped jeans had gone from blue to red. His white T-shirt was tainted as well. His hands were the worst. They were completely covered. He knew that they should feel sticky and warms, but they didn't. In fact, they didn't feel like anything at all. He felt utterly numb. The figure of a man lay before him. There was a knife beside the body, the blade shining in the moonlight that crept throught the huge bay window. He was strangely calm, simply staring at the body, the knife, and the blood on his hands in curiosity. Had he done this? He didn't know and he didn't care. He shrugged, walking over to the couch and sitiing down as if nothing was happening. He began swirling the fresh blood on the cushions, the color blending in with that of some of the blossoms which adorned the hideous fabric. A humorless laugh escaped his lips. He looked up from his hands, a wicked grin etched into his face as he gazed upon the man that lay dead on the carpet.

A strange sense of pride and giddiness filled him as he gazed upon the vaguely familiar, gruesome sight before him. Of course, it was mutilated beyond recognition, but he could still see it perfectly. He hadn't a clue who the man was, exactly, but he knew that he'd known him from somewhere. He also knew that this man had done something terrible. Although he didn't know what it was, he was glad that the man had payed.

With yet another sarcastic laugh, he stood up, walking over to the body. He gently picked up the knife. With the Cheshire Cat-like smile still stretched across his lips, he crouched next to the man. He could see the slow, minute rise and fall of his chest. Oh, so he wasn't dead? No matter. He would be soon enough. The boy raised his hand, the knife poised.

More blood.

More and more covering the man's clothing, face, and hair. covering the knife and the boy's hands. Eventually, the breathing ceased. Of course it did; there was hardly any blood remaining in the body, and, of course, blood is vital to life. Therefor, when the blood goes, so does the life. The spark behind the eyes fades. They become dull and, well... lifeless.

The boy found it fascinating, watching as the man's life drained from his body. He stood up, walking over to the large windowsill and switching on the stereo that sat upon it and finding a station that came in decently. His eyes landed on the fridge; he crossed the room and opened it, grabbing a beer before closing the door again and walking to the small kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, cracking open his beer as he did so. Listening to the fuzzy classic rock station and staring at the mutilated body on his living room floor, he felt that overwhelming sense of pride well up in him again.

~

Gerard bolted upright in his bed; a cold sweat had broken out across his forehead. Before he knew what was happening, he let out a blood curdling scream and began to hyperventilate. Nurses rushed to his aid, fussing over him. Eventually, Dr. Iero showed up and took over, but the only thing that was running through Gerard's mind at the time was "What the fuck was that?''.

A/N

Hey guys! If you're reading this, know that i fucking love all of you! You're amazing and I hope you're enjoying this thing that I have created. Oh, and just so you know, the friend who gave me this idea FINALLY made a Wattpad, so you guys can go check him out. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE follow him! He's awesome. Oh, yeah, and Tristen, you peasant, be thankful. I'm giving you free advertisement bc that's my job as queen bitch. ANYWAY... his Wattpad is @daakness. So yeah. Votes and comments would be greatly appreciated. See you next chapter! :D

xoEm