The shore at night

With trembling fingers, he fliped the machine open, and a delightful "twing!" rose from it, along with the lighted screen. Frank stared in awe... maybe this nightmare would end, maybe things would be fine, maybe he'd get his guitar back.

He pressed down 9-1-1, and waited with the phone screwed to his ear.

"C'mon, C'mon..."

No ringing could be heard. The small guitarist looked at the screen displaying a "No signal detected" banner.

"Fuck..."

Frank dropped the phone before buckling to his knees, not being able to hold his tears any longer. This was too much, way too much for him to handle.

"God, I can't stay here," Frank sobbed. "I'm... I'm terrified of water, I can't tell if my friends are alive, there's no way to reach the outside world, I haven't got a single thing to eat since yesterday morning and now I'm... I'm telling all of this to a stranger."

He furiously brushed his tears away, a knot choking in his throat.

"I need to get off of this island."

Frank smiled lazily. "See? There's even a psycho killer on the island."

With the help of his hands, he stood up and beamed at the sea. "You see this?" he pointed at the crashing waves. "I can't even walk close to it, 'cause if I do I'm gonna belch. And this is why I need to get off of this island. I might just have to go get Pete so we can go look for survivors."

((I thought Mikey was Tom's BROTHER. No?))

Frank started walking back toward Pete, inviting Mikey to follow him. "Okay, he's not psycho."

Then it struck him. "...Tom who?"

((So they really are father and son??? That's news to me.))

((no, I thought they were just... friends? I have Mikey calling Tom 'his boy' because they're... close? I don't know, he just does!))

"Conrad." Mikey frowned, itching under his hat. "Why?" He followed Frank.

Frank hesitated. Aware of a certain misunderstanding or drama gravitating around The Academy Is..., he didn't specifically know what had happened but was aware that Tom Conrad was a part of it.

He weighted his words. "Is he... huh... how should I put this. Is he in any way related to the band William Beckett is in?"

Frank swallowed. No more questions about that, he noted.

"So... how many survivors are there?"

"Ah..." Frank smirked.

Frank stopped walking and faced Mikey. "And... you're alone because...?"

Frank eyed him, daring to push his curiosity further. "You really have high standards over people you just met after a plane crash, don't you?"

At first, the question sounded harsher than Frank had anticipated, but after all he found it hard enough to get a straight answer out of the guy. Maybe he'd get more info this way.

"Woah, woah, wait I didn't mean..." but as Frank extends his arm to reach Mikey, his foot twists and abandons him, making him trip, again. "DAMN IT!" Frank curses, standing back up and catching up with Mikey.

"I just got curious. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be intruding through anything, you just don't... huh... share a lot about what you know. Don't leave, it's better if we stay grouped... huh... please?"

Frank was about to say something along the lines of: Well you ain't doing a very good job, here, but refrained, knowing he'd trigger another unwanted reaction from him.

He opted on another tactic. "Listen," he said. "I don't have anything against Tom or... or you. Whatever, I don't really know you guys. But..." Frank stared down, bending to catch a piece of clothing. "...But you dropped a shirt," he ended lamely.

Out of inspiration, Frank improvised. "Well! Huh... you can't go looking for him alone!" What the fuck am I saying? It sounds like I'm suggesting my presence to help him search. I want to stay on the beach to make sure to catch the rescue boat when it comes.

Oh shit, he really is going to look after him!

"But... you can't waist your life protecting someone else. I understand that this guy means a lot to you, but you gotta see things the way they are! This Tom of yours'll never stand on his own if your always watching his back. You gotta let go, somehow."

Where the fuck did that come from???