Of Vampires And Rockstars Ch18

Chapter 18 – Dead. On. Arrival

“I think it’s about time you gave up,” William said softly, completely unfazed by the fierce attack he had just dealt Pete and Travis  “No matter what you say or do, from this point on it is irrelevant. I can take each of you down before you even see me move. Absolute control will be mine. People underestimate the ease of such a chore. It’s not hard.” He looked around gesturing to the landscape “It’s not impossible to control the world; it just takes clever risks, measured sacrifices and most importantly, time. With enough time, anyone can achieve anything,” he walked towards Andy and Joe “And I have an eternity. Can you imagine all of civilisation falling under the control of vampires, one decade at a time? The night will be a chorus of screams, the days will be silent and beautiful and we will run from hunters no longer,” his next line was barely audible “We will never suffer again.”

“Fuck you!” Joe swore, snapping William out of his musings “If vampires come to control the world one day you will run out of things to feed from, you’ll all die and if you don’t it’ll be chaos anyway.”

William moved at an excessively fast pace, beating Joe across the chest with the back of his hand and sending him flying. Patrick ran to where Joe landed, turning him over and was relieved to see he was just winded.

“Take it easy man, don’t panic, just take small easy breaths,” he advised Joe quickly before looking back.

“Andy! Get out of the way!” he roared as Andy stood a foot apart from William who was just scowling in Joe’s direction. Andy began to move away as William spoke again.

“Before things are created, things must also be destroyed or put into disarray! Chaos leads to creation.” he explained brazenly “We will create a new system, breeding animals and humans for feeding on. In the wild the rules are the same: the strong feed on the weak.” his hand shot out, gripping Andy’s shoulder, beside him in a second as though Andy had not moved at all, and pulled the wounded drummer to him “You might say it will be as God intended” Disashi and Patrick stood, making to attack when William stopped.

Something had a firm hold on his hair, keeping him from leaning forward. William looked back over his shoulder. Behind him stood Gerard, smaller in stature but a giant in presence. Energy seemed to radiate from him in pulses like a heavy bass beat and his eyes pierced the night with their intense shining ivory glare. His chest rose and fell heavily and his mouth hung open, lips waiting for sound to find them.   

“I know it’s fucked up,” his voice was low and scratched the air “but I won’t let you destroy it.”

There was a tremendous smacking sound and William went slamming into the ground, driving backwards through it and leaving a trough where he’d been. Gerard’s moves had been faster than sight and he was left, fist hanging where it had made contact with William. Gerard then grabbed Andy, who was stumbling after being released, and shoved him out of William’s range. He leapt forward, sharp long canines gleaming in his growl.

“We’ll never fucking stop! We’ll never give in because this world is worth fighting for!”

William grabbed his throbbing jaw in shock and looked wildly up at Gerard’s shape silhouetted against the moon. Beckett’s eyes widened further, pupils restricting at the beautiful, terrifying carmine cut out of the moon in a sky haloed by stars. The ruby wasn’t the thing that William found terrifying; rather it was the black shape that lay on it like satin, eyes still flashing dangerously. He shoved himself out of the way just as Gerard came down at him fist sinking several inches into the dirt.

The eclipse was finally bathed in blood and Gerard had reached the height of his strength.         

William sprung at Gerard, grabbing his free hand and pinning it behind his back. Though William’s whole weight was on him Gerard threw himself sideways so they hit the grass together then elbowed William in the ribs. Despite William’s lithe build, he took Gerard’s attacks in his stride and refused to let go, trying to get a clear shot at Gerard’s neck. Gerard threw his head back smashing it into William’s forehead with a growl. William cried out letting go and Gerard leapt to his feet. He turned, seizing William from the ground and spun, flinging him at the school. Patrick, Disashi and Andy hit the deck as William flew over their heads smashing through one of the boarded up windows.

“Didn’t we reinforce that!?” Patrick shouted as they all turned to stare at the classroom, debris falling loose.

“Yes!” Andy exclaimed.

“Shit!” Joe swore huskily breath nearly caught “Fuck yeah, Gerard!”

That moment, William jumped back out through the hole and dusted himself off, ignoring the gashes down the side of his face and tears in his shirt. Gerard advanced, passing the Clandestine that were watching the two with wide eyed shock. Every move they made seemed to resonate in the air. Gerard was beside him in the blink of an eye, easily matching William’s speed and drove an uppercut into his ribs. William groaned but his grimace was replaced by a sneer.

“Arrogant.” William spat and he grabbed Gerard’s shoulders, holding him still and biting down onto his neck. Gerard snarled as horrified shouts sounded in the background. Gerard grabbed William by the hair and ripped him from his neck before William could drink. A concrete hard right hook and William was back in the dirt. Gerard retreated a few feet, hand covering the gash in his neck, far worse than Andy’s and bleeding an excessive amount.  The seriousness of the wound was lessening by the second as Gerard’s vampire skin regenerated. When William sat up his eyes were bright; he had almost got what he wanted and now he wanted it more than ever. In his eyes, William’s heart could be seen speeding, famished, electrified and dangerous.

Gerard was caught off guard, too busy staring down William to notice Chislett and Butcher sneaking up on him. He felt his arms grasped and locked in place by four other arms. William stood, eagerly speeding at him. Gerard’s eyes picked up William’s movements perfectly and he lifted a surprised Butcher into the air, pitching him right into William and knocking them both down. With his now free arm, he grabbed Chislett and bit him. A gasp or two sounded from onlookers as Gerard sucked the wound quickly dropping Chislett the second he was unable to move, barely alive. Gerard looked up as red liquid dripped down across his tongue and cheeks, over his lips and down his chin, euphoric. William shoved Butcher off him and Butcher simply fell limply to the side, too tired to continue.    

William charged at Gerard, who braced himself. William threw all his might into a punch that sent them both skidding backwards.

“You won’t let me destroy this world?” William huffed through sneering lips, watching the blood streaming down Gerard’s neck. He was still shoving against Gerard trying to push him off balance. “Who said it’s yours to defend and who says you and the Clandestine can stop me? I’ll kill them the next chance I have.”

“I don’t need to be told to do the right thing motherfucker, even though I have every right. I won’t let this happen no matter what you say and I’ll save them because they saved me,” Gerard spat back the last line, barely a growl, while the muscles in his legs contracted hard, bracing harder.

William leaned as close as he could to Gerard’s ear “Save them like you saved your friends and family, your brothers, your clan? Maybe the Clandestine can say hello to them when they fade into the black abyss of death.”

Gerard smacked William back with a right elbow.

“They’re not dead motherfucker, they’re right here beside me AND YOU’LL SEE THEM SOON!” Gerard roared, lifting his knee up high and kicking William square in the chest. William staggered back, nearly falling over as he tried to maintain balance before bumping into something. He whipped around to face it. A hand reached out, grabbing the junction between neck and shoulder, drawing him down. Dark-ringed eyes stared out from behind a messy ebony fringe and the corners of his mouth were turned down, a hint of fang on either side. His light hood hung over his head like a reaper’s. Pete’s hand smacked into Williams’s chest, the slapping of skin against cloth lost in the high pitched, loud static sound that cracked into the air on impact. All the onlookers felt a strange pressure wave explode from them but only Patrick recognised it as the same pressure he felt when Gerard had tried to kill himself. The still night kicked up into a wind blowing dirt, leaves and rubble around.

“Uh!” William yelled, body violently convulsing while Pete roared. He tried to tear at Pete with his arms but Pete didn’t move even as William scratched his slowly healing wounds. Pete simply watched, too many things to be said on his part and too little understanding on William’s. Pete took in the suffering, the look of it as it writhed under his fist, the smell of it as it burned into William’s chest, the sound of it as the wind whipped at this hair, the taste of it as he felt an ominous copper flavour bubble in his own mouth, still he held on knowing justice was being done. For all the men, women and children he used for food, William now suffered. For all the lives he ruined, for the town he destroyed, for the friends he’d killed, Pete would make sure William drew his last breath under his palm.

*                                                  *                                                    *

The pain was like none he’d experienced before. He could feel his immortal soul drawing itself out of every cell in his body towards the one point in his chest where Pete’s hand scolded his skin through his fine shirt. His legs were going numb. It was like the blood was drawing up out of them, leaving them limp and lifeless. His arms were going cold. He couldn’t feel his fingers, thumbs, elbows, biceps and still the life drew up his body, quaking under the strain. Pete was tearing his soul from him and all the while it ripped at the seams. Terrified, anguished and furious, all he could do was screech and tremble. He felt his head and face going numb; he knew he was almost done.

It was then that a strange new vision filled his eyes and all around the landscape stood macabre people in strange clothing staring at him. They all wore white makeup with black painted heavily around their eyes. They held banners and drums and confetti, ash and snow was fluttering through the air. It looked almost like a strange old-fashioned war parade. William blinked, staring around further, not even sure of his hold on his body anymore. Some of the faces were recognizable and the more William looked, the more he realized just how many of the parade members were dead. There was a woman in a gas mask and two girls holding signs with the reasons why they died painted on them. Some were even his victims and then he saw them when his eyes fell on Gerard.

It was and it wasn’t Gerard, perhaps he existed in both planes for in this instance Gerard stood with his hands behind his back, brilliant bleached hair shining in the night, untainted by blood and dirt. His uniformed jacket was buttoned to the neck so it gleamed silver and clean and his eyes were framed in black, bereft of the feeling blazing so ferociously a moment ago. They studied him now with mild curiosity. To his right stood a man in a similar jacket; though the arms were striped and the neck design was slightly different, he leaned on a float, handsome face just as icy. William recognised him as the one who had claimed to be Gerard on the night he took the Way estate; Frank. A little further to the right stood a younger one, a medal of peace and bravery hanging form his uniform, expression less hateful, just neutral. Mikey, William remembered, the one with the broken ribs that had cried so bitterly over the death of his comrade. To Gerard’s left stood a humourless blond with a lip ring, jacket reminiscent of a navy coat. He glared motionless, waiting. William recalled he was the second one caught, Bob. The last of the five familiar faces, once My Chemical Romance, was the one that had put up the hardest fight that night but now stood relaxed, calm. A slight frown pinched his brow. Ray, William thought hazily.

All the parade was scrutinizing him like Gerard’s band were, and they looked as though they should be marching or playing but they weren’t here to lead him away or take him to a new place. They weren’t here to celebrate a great life or victory. They weren’t here to offer him comfort and understanding.

They were here to watch.  

*                                                  *                                                    *

Small pieces of wreckage spun faster into coils; dust so thick vision was becoming difficult. Patrick squinted, his glasses protecting him from some of the dust and twigs. He was holding his hat in place with one hand and leaning hard against the wind and gravity, trying to find out what was happening inside the vortex. His stare flicked over to Joe and Andy who were shielding their eyes. Andy was using the end of his scarf to cover his mouth. Disashi was handling the elements better, breathing easily and watching carefully as his clothes flapped madly around him. Without warning, a small branch whacked Patrick in the head and he fell over with a yelp. He covered the sore spot while groaning. He checked it for blood and when he found none he knew he wasn’t wounded. It wasn’t long before Andy and Joe had bobbed down flat to the ground, unable to stand.

“What’s happening?!” Patrick shouted over the raging wind to Disashi.

“Pete’s still got Beckett,” Disashi shouted back “He’s not dead yet but there’s like this purple-”   

Suddenly something that appeared to be violet lighting cracked out from inside the vortex, making the Clandestine shout and Disashi hit the dirt.

“What was that!?” Joe shouted. The ground began to shake and Patrick grabbed Andy, Andy doing the same to Joe. From all around there were enormous cracking sounds, from above, from in front and even from underneath them. Eyes squeezed shut, they waited for whatever fate had in store.

Inside the whirlwind, snakes of purple electricity snapped and bit at Pete’s arm from his captive’s chest before sparking off into the static air. Still he wouldn’t relinquish his grip, feeling sicker and secretly more petrified by the moment. Pete’s hair and clothes drifted in the wind while William’s grew heavier by the moment. Pete felt his mouth fill and spat its contents off to the side, leaving a slick of brown blood. William saw it but uttered no sound other than shouts of pain.  

William made a choking sound; body arching one final time, the last of his air pushing out of his lungs till nothing was left.

Pete’s mahogany irises widened.  

The tempest died in the air, wind blowing away, and the dust softly following it.

William’s body fell from Pete’s hands, hitting the ground with a thud, soul extinguished.

*                                                  *                                                    *

Brendon clutched his chest with a suppressed cry of pain, eyes squeezing shut as he breathed hard through his nose. He had been waiting for this moment; he had barely registered the gale that had sprung up, just waiting till the moment when feeling would hit him again. The agony was so terrible, yet it could only just match losing Ryan. He couldn’t restrain the sounds the anguish made in him, groaning and snarling as he lay Ryan down and joined him by his side.  

“Trust you to go…more peacefully...than me,” Brendon whispered through clenched teeth “Ah!” His breathing shallowed and he rested his head on Ryan’s shoulder. He could feel liquid leaking out of his mouth and saw it staining Ryan’s shirt. Brendon’s hand shakily travelled up, touching the stain.

“…Sorry…” he said stumbling over the cracks in his voice and took Ryan’s hand in his. His last three words were breathless and silent.

*                                                  *                                                    *

Patrick opened one eye at the shrill yells that were scraping the cold night air. He rubbed his eyes and cleaned his glasses, quickly putting them back on. In the clearing dust he could see Chislett and Butcher writhing on the ground, clawing at the grass and making the most horrific noises.

“They’re…they’re dying,” Patrick spoke his thoughts aloud “So it’s true…all the vampires turned by Beckett…” his voice died out mid sentence as another two figures appeared from behind the clearing shroud of dust.

One stood quite still staring down at the other that rested motionless at his feet. Moonlight cut shadows around the dishevelled figure as he stood observing the dead. His mussed black hair stuck out at all angles and his arms hung listlessly at his sides, one smoking from the electric burns. His posture was tired and slightly slumped though defiant, even after what he’d just been through. Patrick could hear his shuddering inhalation.  His feet touched the ground as he finally turned away from the dead vampire; it seems he had seen enough. He began to move towards them but only walked a few steps before pausing. Patrick drank in the scene, smile toying with his lips to see Pete stand and move when an easy gust blew across the field dissipating the dust completely. Patrick’s mouth fell open.

Pete stood, eyes faded, blood spilling steadily down from his mouth drenching his shirt, pants, shoes and smudging the ground between him and William. The blood wasn’t a bright ruby red but a dead old brown.    

Patrick felt his stomach lurch and the colour drain from his face.

Pete’s knees buckled, the dirty denim around them tightening. He floated down through the air, hair buoyant over his pale weary face, his right shoulder twisting towards the ground before he hit.

“PETE!!!”

Patrick’s voice belted the silence. He stood scrabbling to his feet and launching himself across the uneven ground, Joe and Andy following at the sight of Pete collapsing. Patrick’s hat, no longer being secured, fell to the ground – it was barely worth a blink in the blonde’s wide eyes. His burning injuries went unnoticed even as he skidded to Pete’s side, his mouth still hanging disbelievingly open.

“Pete! Pete!” Joe stuttered, shaking his shoulders. Andy was kneeling down across from Patrick, his attention solely on Pete’s face. His expression stared vacantly skyward, irises flicking faintly from left to right, breathing light at best.

“PETE!” Andy begged, grabbing Pete’s arm “Pete, come on man, don’t do this, you can beat this, stay with us Pete, stay with us.”   

“Lift him up!” Patrick said helplessly as Joe lifted his head and shoulders onto his lap so the draining fluid wouldn’t choke him.

“Pete, please dude, we can’t do this without you, we won’t do this without you, it’s not a fucking win without you, fuck New Chicago without you dude!” Joe pleaded, though Pete made no sign he could hear “Pete!...fuck!…Pete!”

Andy and Joe called and pleaded, shaking him, telling him how much he meant to them, how Fall Out Boy wouldn’t be their band without him, how he couldn’t leave, how the world wouldn’t be right without him, without Pete Wentz. How he couldn’t do this. But Patrick, hunched, gazing at his best friend drenched in his own blood, mouth opening and closing for lack of words, hands hovering shakily over his body, knew he could. They sobbed, trying to keep him awake, even to watch his irises twitch with an etch of hope, that he might come around as long as he stayed aware. Pete’s body jerked and his friends held their breath. Another mouthful of blood ran over his lips and his head rolled to the side.

They all sat frozen, staring in shock.

“Pete?” Andy barely whispered.

“P-Pete.” Joe stuttered, his hands holding Pete steady.

“No,” Andy shook his head “No,” Joe wrapped one of his arms around Pete, head ducked down. Andy rested his forehead on Pete’s shoulder still whispering. Patrick’s breathing was heavy as he tried to comprehend Pete’s stillness.

He covered his mouth with his hand, shouting against it, tears streaming down his cheeks. He drew back, shouting louder; so angry, so destroyed. Everything they worked for, all their good faith and hope was for nothing. He could see Pete in the hall now, grinning at him, voice echoing in his mind from a few short hours ago.

“You’re the best, man! Not kicking my ass for being angsty! Whatta a friend!”

He remembered what he had said the night they had decided they would try to kill William, even though the worst might happen, cries calling louder against his clammy palm.

“…Pete you’re my best friend…I don’t want this…I don’t want to test my theory. I would live out the rest of my life racked with guilt because…we’re not doing all that’s in our power to save New Chicago and have you alive than sacrifice you and have New Chicago other wise. It’s selfish but what would my world be without you?”

He gulped for air as he realized he would never hear Pete’s brilliant, childish, immature voice again. Patrick would never see him smile again. Finally his hand pulled away, the escalating shouts replaced by one long raw scream. His chest pulled tight and a vein surfaced on his neck as the sound blasted from his lungs. It shot out through chests, landscapes and skies and echoed all around. He screamed like he swore he’d never scream, shattering every sound he’d ever made at any one of their shows. He screamed like his heart was being torn out.