Chapter four - sick sick sick

(Why say love? It just fades away. I won't be holding your hand in the ambulance.)

Someone hug me. I feel lonely and kind of torn up inside.

I'm doing okay right now, I guess, but I think I'm trying to give up too many addictions at once. Today, the moment I was alone, I just kind of broke down and cried. A lot. I don't know why I'm telling you guys this. I don't know. You make me feel less alone cos you're all here, all the time.

Sorry.

Okay, on with the story.

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Tomorrow came, and Frank was still not happy.

He forced himself to go out that evening anyway, not expecting anything to come of it (though he secretly hoped that he’d spontaneously meet the guy of his dreams). And of course, because it was just the way the world worked, he got completely wasted after everyone he tried to talk to dismissed him, then puked all over himself and passed out in the bathroom covered in sick.

He woke up about four hours later to the janitor smashing the lock off the door with a sledgehammer.

Frank screamed. “Jesus fuck!” His head felt like it had been hammered in even more than the door but he suspected that that was just the hangover.

The janitor stopped bashing the door in. “Hello?”

“There’s someone in here,” Frank squeaked.

“Yeah, I know,” the janitor replied. “You’ve been in here all morning.”

“Well, if you just let me I can open the door!”

“We couldn’t wake you up. It’s been hours.”

“Huh? What time is it?” Frank suddenly felt panic rising in his chest. He was supposed to go over to Skye’s again that evening. He needed time to clean up and somehow un-hangover himself.

“Around nine AM.”

“Oh, thank god,” Frank breathed. He still had the rest of the day to clean himself up. He scrambled to get up and unlock the door but it was stuck. “Shit.”

“What?”

“The door’s stuck. You bashed the lock in.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry. I guess you could climb over.”

Frank sighed. This was humiliating. This was definitely the worst night he’d had in a while. His head was pounding, he had a crick in his neck, he was drenched in sick and he was about to climb over a toilet door.

Going out to socialise was the stupidest idea he’d had in years. Never again. Jesus Christ.

Oh well. It was worth it for Rosie.

----

Well, maybe the night out was worth it for a bit more than just Rosie.

It turned out that the janitor was actually adorable and actually not a janitor but just a guy who had been playing a show in the morning and needed the bathroom. Unfortunately, the cubicle Frank was in was the only one and the door had a giant hole in it from where it had been bashed in by a guitar.

Yep. Not a sledgehammer. A bass guitar.

The dude was bass in Kill Hannah and had needed the bathroom all morning but Frank had been in there. He felt kind of bad, really. Depriving this cute guy of a bathroom.

So he invited him over to his house to go to the bathroom.

Maybe he was still a tiny bit drunk. It was a bit of a weird thing to do. But the guy was really cute.

His name was Mikey and he didn’t seem to mind that Frank was covered in sick. Apparently he thought Frank was cute too, which was a massive plus. And he asked Frank out, which was an even more massive plus.

----

Once Mikey had left, Frank showered and changed and drank about a pint of coffee with some aspirin and then splashed his face with water until he deemed himself un-hungover enough to go out and see Rose.

He spent the couple of hours of the afternoon he had left finishing off Mr Banner’s taxes. It was just as he was pulling on his jacket to finally leave that the phone rang. He dithered for a few seconds, having a mental conflict about whether to get it and be a couple of minutes late or leave it and be on time. He came to the conclusion that it was best if he picked up in case it was work.

He was a little confused to find that the person on the other end of the phone was Skye. He was even more confused when she started crying. It sounded like she was trying to say something, but every word down the phone came out as a sob.

“Skye? What’s wrong?” Frank asked, getting a little more scared when he heard the sound of a police radio in the background.

Skye just kept crying, and Frank started to get frustrated.

“Skye, either tell me what the fuck is going on or pass the phone to someone who can speak, please. I’m getting scared. Seriously, Skye.”

“R-Rose,” Skye managed.

Frank swallowed. Panic flared up inside him. Something had happened to Rose. She’d run away. She’d been hit by a car.

“G-gone,” Skye sobbed. “She’s gone.”

“She’s– she’s what?” Frank choked.

“M-missing. I don’t know– I just came into her room and she–”

“Put the police officer on.”

“Wh-what?”

“Put the police officer on now, Skye.”

There was a muffled crackling down the line as Skye passed the phone on.

“Where the fuck is my daughter?” Frank growled. “If this is some kind of joke then it’s gone too fucking far. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Look,” the officer said, “I’m sorry, sir, but this is all real. Your daughter is missing. We have forensic checks going on and your ex-wife is being questioned.”

“Oh god,” Frank said weakly. “Oh, god. Do you know what happened?”

“There’s little information so far but we have reason to believe she has been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” Frank spluttered. “Who would kidnap her? I mean, we’re– we’re not rich. We don’t have any connections. What– why– what–”

“Mr Iero, I think it would be best if you sat down for a few moments. Your ex-wife has given us your address and an officer will be over soon to fill you in and ask some questions. In the meantime, please stay calm. Make yourself a cup of tea. The officer should be over in ten minutes or so.”

“Okay,” Frank said weakly. He slumped back into a kitchen chair and the phone slid out of his hand onto the floor with an empty clatter.

He felt too cold and too hot at the same time, and his stomach was twisting. Who could do this? Why would anyone do this? Rose was so innocent. Surely no one had the capacity to hurt her. Fuck, what if they hurt her? What if they were torturing her? What if– shit.

Frank felt his stomach lurch and he scrambled to get up and rush to the sink. He heaved out acid and bile until his throat was raw and he was just retching.

He still felt sick.

A glass of water and a gulp of mouthwash rinsed out the bitter taste, but he still felt like his guts could spill out any second. He sank back into his seat and let his head rest on the cool tabletop.

There were papers scattered around him and he shoved them out the way, letting a few sheets flutter to the floor. Mr Way’s taxes. Mr Banner’s. Miss Cox’s. And that was when it dawned on Frank that he still had about six hours of work left to do.

This was probably the worst day of his life. Ever.

----

The police officer questioned him on if he knew any crazy people or anyone who had it out for him, and they got nowhere. The officer left after an hour or so, and Frank was left alone, feeling torn apart and broken inside. His daughter was gone.

Gone.

There were no words for how horrible he felt. He was terrified and furious and guilty even though there was nothing he could have done to stop it happening. Was there? What if she had run away because she thought he didn’t care about her enough? What if– what if–

There were so many ‘what if’s crowding his mind, so many questions and fears tearing apart his ears from inside his head that he barely heard the phone ringing.

As soon as he processed the noise, he snatched up the device as quickly as he could and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Frank?” the voice on the other end said. Frank felt like he recognised the voice but he couldn’t quite put his finger on who it was.

“Who is this?”

“Gerard. Y-you do my accounts?” Gerard sounded completely wrecked. Almost like he’d been crying.

“Oh. Yes.”

“This is– this is probably too much to ask, but c-could you maybe come over?”

“Yeah, sure,” Frank accepted quickly. He just didn’t want to be alone right now. “Why?”

“M-my–” he paused to sniff, “My kids are missing,” he croaked.