Stockholm Syndrome

Chapter Sixteen

I was half awake when I felt the bed dip down three hours later. I hadn't been in a very deep sleep, but enough to keep me down until Hal came to bed. I was facing the outside when he laid down, but I turned around to place my head on his chest, my arm slung over his waist lazily.

"See anything on the news?" I asked sleepily, my eyes still closed as I felt the rise and fall of Hal's chest as he breathed.

"Nope, nothing." He confirmed, placing his closest arm around me. "Hey, Frankie?"

"Mmh?"

He paused for a moment. "What if- what if the police take me in for lying to them about knowing where you were?"

"They won't. I'm sleeping, don't make me worry." I mumbled, snuggling in even further into him.

"Sorry, you're right-" Hal sighed, and I felt him move as he reached for something. I heard a drawer open and close and then the sound of paper unfolding filled my ears. I opened my eyes slowly to see what he was doing, and he folded the paper again so I couldn't see.

"What's that?" I nodded at the paper, raising an eyebrow at him. There was a small smile lingering on his lips as he looked from the paper to me, and then to the paper again.

"Oh, it's nothing-" A light pink colour tainted his pale cheeks and he placed the paper onto the nightstand, probably hoping I'd forget about it.

"Is it a drawing?" I asked, remembering back in the hotel when he mentioned that he was artist indirectly when I had asked him why he killed for a living. 'Can't make it as an artist.' He had said. He shook his head at my question, then looked at me again.

"A song." He corrected, and my interest skyrocketed.

"You write songs?" I asked. "Can you sing? Play guitar?" The sleepiness was slowly ebbing away, and I propped myself up on my elbow, no longer snuggled into Hal as I awaited his answers.

"Ah, I'm s**t at it. And I don't have a guitar or anything, so-"

"You should show me the song."

"I was planning to, eventually..." He explained, reaching over to pick up the paper again. "Remember when we stayed in the motel? I uh... This is what I was writing in that phone book..." The pink colour flushed to his face again as he slowly moved his hand closer to me, the once folded paper in between his index and middle finger. I took the paper from him and looked at it.

His handwriting was very small, and just at the turning point of 'legible' and 'non-legible'. I could read it, though. I looked at him one more time to give him another chance to object, but he was just laying beside me with his head turned away, eyes fixated on the 'Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars' poster he had up on the wall. I didn't think he was interested in it, he was just distracting himself while he let me read one of the most personal things he's given me.

My eyes flicked back to the paper, and I began to read. (A/N: this song is by My Chemical Romance, I don't own it.)

'Early Sunsets Over Monroeville' was the title.

'Late dawns and early sunsets, just like my favourite scenes

Then holding hands and life was perfect, just like up on the screen

And the whole time while always giving

Counting your face among the living

Up and down escalators, pennies and colder fountains

Elevators and half price sales, trapped in by all these mountains

Running away and hiding with you

I never thought they'd get me here

Not knowing you'd change from just one bite

I fought them all off just to hold you close and tight'

"Hal... This is really good." I stopped to tell him. Something about the song told me that it was about me. It had to be.

"Keep reading" he said briskly, continuing to look at the random things he had around his room and posters that were hung up on his wall. I nodded and continued.

'But does anyone notice?

But does anyone care?

And if I had the guts to put this to your head...

But would anything matter if you're already dead?

And well should I be shocked now by the last thing you said?

Before I pull this trigger,

Your eyes vacant and stained...

And in saying you loved me,

Made things harder at best,

And these words changing nothing

As your body remains,

And there's no room in this hell,

There's no room in the next,

And our memories defeat us,

And I'll end this direst.'

It just repeated the last verse again, but the very last line was different.

'But does anyone notice there's a corpse in this bed?'

"What does it mean?" I asked after I read the last line. He finally turned to look at me, bringing a hand up to brush the hair out of his face, with a look of concentration telling me that he was deep in thought.

"Uhm," he held his hand out, to which I placed the paper and he took his turn to look at it. "Well, I think you can guess by now that it's about you..." I nodded. "I don't know, I feel like the message is pretty clear. Tell me what you got from it so I can explain what you don't know. He handed the paper back to me.

"Well, the 'running away and hiding with you, I never thought they'd get me here. Not knowing you'd change from just one bite, I fought them all off just to hold you close and tight' line is probably about the night in Monroeville, or the first few days with me I guess. Cause the police did almost get you there." There was a nod and a soft 'mhm' coming from Hal. I smiled, happy that I got it right.

"And the rest, just- 'but does anyone notice? But does anyone care? And if I had the guts to put this to your head, but does anything matter if you're already dead', that's about uh, the fact that I'd have nobody looking for me. And that you can't kill me. Because you- care about me, right?" Hal hesitated slightly before nodding at my analogy.

"I uh... I don't get the last part, though... Does the 'and in saying you love me made it harder at best' refer to when I talked to you in the car when we were waiting for the night to come? Cause I only did that to get you to like me and not want to kill me... So I guess that line would be kind of like a... metaphor? Or.."

"No uh, it's not about that... Um." His voice began to trail off near the end of his sentence, and he was clearly distracted. Not by anything in this room, but by his own thoughts. "I uh" he chuckled slightly. "Do you even wanna know?"

"I really do," I told him.

"Well uh... I can't believe I'm actually saying this. Well, y'know, when you first started staying with me I was stubborn and didn't wanna have to take care of you, I was constantly looking for a reason to kill you. I finally decided I was going to after we got back from Monroeville." He was staring at the ceiling, but I was staring at him. "But then you started talking to me... That was the first time anyone's actually talked to me without just waiting for their turn to speak in a long time. The only person who's ever done that for me was Michael and I already f****d that up so I didn't wanna just throw that opportunity away. That's what I meant by that line." He finished. It was a lot to soak in. I didn't know what to say, so I just gave him more opportunities to talk, which is what he needed.

"Michael's your brother..?" I asked hesitantly, and he just nodded. "May I ask what happened?"

"Nothing, really... We were really close. I told him I had killed someone for money... And he told me I had to choose between him and this stupid fuckin job and I chose the job and left. He hasn't called me, I haven't called him, it's been a few years now... I made a mistake." I reached down and laced my fingers with his, my head still propped on my elbow as he just laid on his back and talked. He just needed to talk.

"Why don't you call him?" I suggested, tracing the back of his hand with my thumb.

"I- I don't know. If he hates me, I don't want to know."

"Well I mean I went to my dad knowing very well that he would probably hit me again... There was a tiny shred of hope that he'd be happy to see me and he'd hug me and that was enough of a reason for me to go. And I went in person. The least you could do is call him." I explained. He chewed on his bottom lip and looked at me, and his eyes were just full of regret and hurt.

"See the difference between me and you is that I'm not very strong." He said, his voice cracking. I felt a pang of pity in my heart, and I was at loss for advice. I just shook my head and then curled back into him, resting my head on his chest again.

"I think you should just get some rest, sleep on it... We can talk about this when you're comfortable." I told him and he put his arms around me, pulling me closer to him.

"Okay.." He whispered, kissing the top of my head. "Okay."

I tilted my head up to peck his lips softly, keeping them in place for a few prolonged seconds before resting my head back down and bending my knees, basically using him as a full body pillow. I didn't want to fall asleep until he did, so I laid awake, listening to his heartbeat, hearing the rate of his breathing progressively decrease, and felt the soft trails he left on my back with his fingers slow to a stop. I carefully lifted my head to look at his peaceful sleeping face, smiling softly before laying my head back down on his chest and closing my own eyes to match his.

Right before I fell asleep, I heard the softest "I love you" escape his lips. He was either faking sleep and waiting for me to fall asleep to say it, or he had said it in his sleep. But of course, my mind let me believe that it just slipped out and that it was for Michael. Of course it wasn't meant for me. Hal's complex and amazing and talented. I'm just Frankie. He couldn't love me. There was still something inside me that hoped it was for me, though.

I decided to just pretend I didn't hear anything, and just let myself slip into a restless sleep.

***************

3:46am. That's what Hal's alarm clock read when I decided to give up on sleep and just lay there. I sighed before carefully and slowly unwinding myself from Hal's arms, and slipped out of the bed onto my feet. I only had boxers and a shirt on, but I didn't care as I quietly left the room, closing the bedroom door behind me and making my way into the living room. I knew I wasn't gonna be able to sleep any time soon.

I sat on the couch and reached for the remote, before turning on the tv. It was automatically on the news channel, and the volume was low from when Hal was letting me sleep. I don't know if it was a coincidence or just pure irony, that as soon as I turned it on, I saw my picture up on the screen. I guess I'm the celebrity of the news channel right now. Now all the dads of New York and surrounding states know who I am.

'Recent reports have said that the Father of the missing youth, Frank Bosco has passed away. A friend of his came to the apartment to find that he had overdosed on recreational drugs, and there was a note left on the scene. There are still no updates on the whereabouts of the eighteen-year-old daughter.'

They went on with my description, rules, and the revoked award due to the death of the distributor. What pure entertainment. If only they knew that the person they were looking for was watching as they spoke. I was barely paying attention as the news anchors continued to talk about me and then went on to talk about the two other mysterious cases and how officials were guessing that they were all connected. My thoughts were mostly blocking out their voices, the only thing telling me what was going on being the images and words on the screen.

It was the last words that Hal had said before he slipped into unconsciousness that was throwing me off. It was the fact that tomorrow morning, I would have to tell Hal what was on the news and then turn myself in. He was still worried about that whole 'Stockholm syndrome' thing which was totally unrelated because I'm pretty sure I don't have it anyway. He would understand eventually, in a few months when I am, for a fact, still here.

I couldn't believe those three words he had said, though. I knew he didn't mean for me to hear it. I still wasn't sure if he was conscious or not when he said it either. And there was still a chance he said it to his brother since that was the last thing we had talked about. It was torture not knowing. Why would he, though. He's something and I'm nothing. A hopeless romantic. And I'm not the best looking either, while he's f*****g beautiful, ugh... I can't even explain it. He's like a rage-filled porcelain doll. And I'm like a forgotten about, ratty stuffed dog with lost stuffing and a missing eye. Looking around his house though, it kinda seems like that's what he's into.

It was past 4am now, and my eyes had gotten a little tired from staring at the tv screen in the dark room. I knew if I turned it off and went to bed, I'd become restless again. So I just muted the tv, laid down on the couch like I used to, and fell asleep there instead. It was this or no sleep at all. And I'd choose sleep over thinking any day.