Dead End Job

The Accident

On tour? It's crazy, frantic, hectic, tiring but fun! How are we when we're on tour? Like we're all brothers. Like the closest family we could ever have. When our own families can't be there, we can be each other's. Sometimes that's all you have so when that goes wrong it can be as scary as hell. My name is Gerard Way and I was scared to and by Death. You won't believe this happened, but I'll tell you anyway.

*

I put my hand to my head and groaned. At first, I was only vaguely aware with a wash of noise drowning out all of my senses. It was several moments before I realised my eyes were still closed but on opening them, I wished I hadn't. The brightness above me was too severe and I found myself squinting before closing them again, just to protect my vision.

What the hell just happened to me? I didn't remember all that much straight away. The last thing I remembered was having lunch with Mikey and Frank at this great little Italian place only five minutes walk from the hotel. Ray was doing an interview for Guitars, Guitars, Guitars! and was going to meet us later. We were on our way back to the hotel and then... bam!

I don't know for sure, but I think I'm lying on the ground. Get up, Gerard! Mentally, I checked every muscle, every bone, every joint and almost nodded to myself. Everything seemed to be in working order... except my hearing. Why couldn't I hear anything?

I tried opening my eyes again and thankfully the brightness had faded to a natural level and only now I realise I'm lying on the sidewalk. I can see Frank is alternately leaning over me and moving away. There's a cut over his right eye and his shirt's all torn. What's going on? Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on! Where's Mikey? That's when I turn my head and the pit of my stomach falls away. He's lying only a few feet away. He's face down, blood trickling from a gash on his leg and... oh no... his leg's at an angle that... it can't be good!

"Mikey!" I screamed soundlessly.

What the fuck!

Because I can't hear anything, I'm not even sure if I'm making any sounds at all but no one is paying attention to my shouting. What's happening to me?

"Frank!" Still no sound or response. "For fuck's sake, please, somebody tell me what's going on!"

As I keep looking around my area of vision, I can see that lots of people have gathered and they're all talking and staring, but I can't hear a damn thing. Beyond the crowd, I finally see a car. It's obviously passed me, but it's turned around in a skid so much it's almost facing me. The hood has concertinaed, the windshield is hanging half over the crumpled hood and the driver is slumped over the wheel, covered in blood.

Watching Frank in intense distress, I realise now that he's on the phone, probably calling for an ambulance and answering their questions. I imagine he's worried about keeping us both alive, but there's nothing I can do. It's as if I'm trapped in my body; maybe I'm already dead?

"Not quite, but I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry up."

I turn my head, or at least, I think I am. However I'm doing it, now I can see a tall, thin guy in a white suit standing over me, checking a gold pocket watch.

"I can hear you!"

"Of course you can hear me!" he snapped with irritation. "Come on, I'm on a very tight schedule today and I haven't got time for all this waiting around."

"Are you British?"

The man curled one corner of his lips up and eyed me suspiciously.

"You're about to die and that's what you focus on?"

"I'm dying?" I gasped, barely audible.

The shock of the situation, and his words suddenly gave me strength and I was pushing myself to my feet, if a little shakily. As I rose I heard the panicked voice yell at me.