The Black Parade Ch. 4

     Chapter 4 - Reflections

    I watched as Maria paced behind her desk, her short brown hair flapping violently behind her. Agitation riddled her face, "This is the second time you've almost missed the deadline, Keane." Maria said sternly, her eyes closed.
     I shifted my eyes past Maria to the window behind her, I could see my reflection staring back at me, I was keeping a straight face but I could see the embarrassment in my eyes.
     "I know," Was all I said. I felt like a small child being scolded by her mother.
     Maria made an apathetic "HA!" and slammed her hands down on her desk, facing me.
     "Do you think this is a joke? I run a legitimate business selling legitimate art to legitimate buyers for their legitimate galleries. You are supposed to supply the art and that's it. I don't understand why this is so hard for you to do, I--"
     I stopped listening half way through and stared at the reflection of myself in the window, examining my own features. My thin, paint-covered fingers. Overworked. A voice said in my mind. I blinked, because I hadn't thought to think it.
    My frizzed blond hair slightly darker in the dim office light.
    I noticed there were dark circles under my blue eyes, maybe this gallery showing was taking more of a toll on me than I realized. A sudden feeling of sympathy overtook me. I wasn't feeling quite like myself anymore.
    My eyes ran down the curves of my figure and this time I felt a surge of warm desire spread through my chest. I frowned at myself, I didn't think I was that narcissistic.
     I shifted my gaze from my reflection and stopped abruptly as I noticed someone was standing next to me. And a fimilliar set of pure white eyes staring intently into my own. A chill ran down my spine.
     It was that boy again.
     He was standing right next to me in the reflection, so close we were almost touching. And now that he was so close, I wanted a better look at him. His white hair was short, and it looked as if it had been chopped without much care. His skin was as white as paper and slightly lucid, unhealthy looking. His body was thin and lanky, you could tell by how his clothes fit him; tight against his frame and still the marching band outfit. And there was a slight divot in his cheek below his right eye.
    He leaned away slightly and his eyes became ever so nervous. It was strange, it was as if I could feel his discomfort.
     I looked to my left expecting to see a him, but he wasn't there, just a lone ficus in the corner.
    "Hey," Maria said snapping her fingers impatiently, "what are you looking at?"
     "Oh," I said, refocusing on the situation. I thought I noticed the boy's white eyes flash to attention too, but they looked harsher than before, and I felt a sudden anger towards Maria. Looking at me with those judging eyes.
    "I was just admiring your ficus." I lied smoothly, my voice strong and stern. I was feeling... Different.
     Maria narrowed her eyes slightly at my new tone. Those mysterious white eyes narrowed back at her.
     "I'm going to give you one last chance to straighten up or you will no longer have a career."
    "What will you have me do?" I asked in the same tone, on the edge of being disrespectful. This time I was speaking not out of my own accord. Was... Was he speaking for me? I shifted my eyes to the spot where he should've been, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of him. But of course he wasn't there.
     I shifted my eyes back to Maria and continued to have a small glaring contest before she spoke, "I want you to paint me a portrait."
     Disbelief shot through me, "I can't do portraits, you know that!" This time it was me speaking. In all honesty, portraits were my enemy. I couldn't grasp the qualities of drawing a face properly, that's why I mostly drew architecture and non-living, non-facial things. I hadn't realized she wanted me out of the studio that badly.
     "You have no choice. And I want it in by next week Friday before the big show for the gallery. I will make sure that your portrait is the highlight of the gallery." Her mouth twisted into an infuriating smile.
    Suddenly I felt an enormous surge of energy and I felt the muscles in my jaw tighten as I fought the ferociously unnerving urge to smash something over her head.
     "Fine." I said briskly. I set my painting down on her desk, turned on my heels and walked out of her office. I didn't even notice where the white haired boy went, I didn't really care at this moment. I shut the door, walked over to my desk, picked up my pencil holder and threw it against the far wall. Good thing it was plastic, otherwise it would've smashed into artistically correct pieces.
     "Whoa, honey, calm down!" Randle cooed, touching my arm. "What's got you so riled up?"
    I found myself breathing heavily from this sudden anger. "I-I don't know..." I breathed. The anger had ebed away, and I suddenly felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Then it hit me. I looked around, searching every window or even mirror reflection, but he was gone.
     "You okay honey?" Randle asked looking concerned.
     "Yeah.." I said, "I'm fine." There was no reason to jump to conclusions yet. After all, I had  to try something before I could be perfectly sure.

--

     Gerard half-walked, half-glided down an empty, blackened Chicago street. The buildings were broken and tattered, and the sky was gray and cloudy just like everything else.
     And there was no one there.
     You would think that odd, wouldn't you? The Second City empty and abandoned, when in reality it was busy and overcrowded. But that's the key word, reality.
     Truth be told, Gerard was not actually in reality at the moment, but in more of a spiritual limbo created for each soul. A place where nothing existed. Not even you.
     This was a place for death.
     Gerard spent most of his time here, walking the streets and humming to himself soft songs that still managed to echo around him like a speaker. And occasionally, he would find another soul lingering to find him.
     A tall, and rather lanky reaper was leaning against the side of a parking garage, his arms crossed over his black and white covered chest. His black hair fell lightly in front of his deep set silver eyes, which watched Gerard's approach with tender sadness.
     Gerard glanced up at him then back to the ground without breaking stride,
     "Hey, Mikes."
     "Hey, Gerard."
     This reaper was codenamed: #72, real name Michael Way, younger brother to Gerard. He also preferred to be called Mikey.
     Mikey watched in silence as his brother strode past him, purposely looking ahead as to avoid conversation. Normally Gerard would stop and talk to Mikey and forgo everything else, but today was different. Mikey knew where he had been and Gerard knew that he knew.
    "You have to stop doing this to yourself." Mikey said, eyes burning into Gerard's back. Gerard paused, debating whether or not to say something. Mikey was silent again, waiting for an answer. But no answer came.
     "Why did you go see that girl?"
     Gerard's lips pressed into a hard line, trying to contain his disdain on the matter of her. He honestly didn't know why, he just wanted to see her again. But he couldn't tell Mikes that, no, he wouldn't understand. So he told Mikey the only thing that would make sense to him.
     "I went there to kill her." Gerard said, his voice quiet and matter-of-fact.
     "We both know that's not true." Mikey replied, unphased.
     "Truth hurts." Gerard said dully and began to walk away again.
     Mikey pushed off from the blackened side of the parking garage and called after him, "Gerard, just answer me this."
     Gerard turned and looked at him expectantly.
     Mikey looked at Gerard with pained, gray eyes,
    
     "Tell me this isn't like what happened to Frank."
     
     Gerard stood there for a moment. His eyes locked with Mikey's. The scenery around them began to change, Chicago began to disappear, and so did Mikey. And as his brother's eyes began to fade away, he thought he saw his own eyes reflecting back at him. And as he saw the pain cloud his vision. As he began to relive that experience.

    He wanted to die.
     All over again.

--

    "What's wrong with me... What did you do to me?!" He cried, looking at me with pleading brown eyes. Pleading that I hadn't done this... Pleading that I wasn't guilty...
    But I was.
     "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.." I whispered. And for one fleeting moment, I thought I could actually feel the heat of tears run down my face.
     
     I had betrayed my best friend in the worst way possible...
     I had killed him.