Franz

Franz's voice trembled as he told his tale of woe to the man before him. He could barely keep his emotions under control while he remembered the deceptive treachery of Peter. And all the while, he avoided eye contact with Jack. His sympathetic looks would only send him into a spiral of indecent bawling. He didn't want to make a scene in the pub. 

Once he finished, Jack rested a hand on his shoulder. He nervously panicked about whether he thought Jack would notice his bony frame under the padding of his suit. 

"Of course. It's terrible what has befallen you, my friend. You have every right to be distraught." Mr. Marner spoke tenderly.

Franz shuffled slightly, slipping his hand off him as quick as he could. He took another gulp from the pint of beer that had now been filled over 4 times. He wasn't a heavy drinker, and he knew he couldn't hold his liquor. But he ignored his limits and continued to drink. 

"I wonder if my maid knew..." He mumbled.

Jack tilted his head, "Your maid? You mean Ms. Connery?"

Franz nodded wearily, "Yes, the very one. She's been awfully quiet lately. I wouldn't be surprised."

"Do you not trust your maid to report to you?"

"Of course I do...aber I just think she's more faithful to Peter than to me."

Jack brushed his hair back, "I think you should ask her if you're so worried."

Franz heard the door swing open behind him. His heavy head refused to look back and instead, he toppled over and rested on the table top. Jack patted his back. A warm feeling spread across his spine, a feeling of calm. There was something about Mr. Marner that made him feel listened to, safe. He enjoyed his company. 

"I quite like you," he muttered.

The words slipped from his drunken lips before he could catch them.

Jack paused, and the sudden realization hit Franz like a bullet. He quickly stumbled upon words to apologize for his strange remark--but Jack wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixated on something else. By the horrified look on his face, he could tell it was something terrible. He peeled his head from the table and looked back at the entrance of the pub. His heart skipped a beat.

A man stood in the doorway, large and ghostly. A chiseled jaw seemingly sculpted by Michelangelo himself. Two eyes the color of a clouded summer sky. A head of buttermilk curls. He felt like he recognized the figure but the blood dripping from his stained suit threw him off.

“I need a vodka.” He said.

Jack moved his hand away from Franz’s back and pointed a finger at the stranger, whispering to Franz as he did, “What the hell?”

A few men shot concerned glances at each other and proceeded to exit the pub. Before they could reach the door, the stranger grabbed them both from the collars and hurled them in front of him. He crossed his arms, monstrous things.

“Don’t bring the policemen just yet. I need a drink first before I deal with them again.”

A cold shiver ran down Franz’s spine. He remembered the killer that was on the loose. The amount of blood on his hands looked like enough to drain a human body completely. He glanced at Jack. His skin had become pale. He was shaking, a hand clutching the bar stool. 

Deep within him, a voice of heroism spoke. Franz didn't want Jack to get injured. Anyone but him. And from what he had seen, this man was dangerous; capable of breaking solid bone with his bare hands. Instantly he hopped off the stool and tried to regain his balance, still moderately intoxicated.

Jack hissed at him in the lowest whisper he could muster, "Mr. Schwarz! What are you doing?"

Franz raised a finger to his lips. He would sneak out, a forgettable face in the crowd, find the police and place that monster behind bars. The stranger, meanwhile, continued to argue with the brave few at the front of the pub. Franz carefully tip-toed behind the crowd. 

"It's none of your concern, sir! I don't have clean clothes to change into now, but I promise you I am of no danger!" The man yelled.

Franz paused. He scoped out the layout of the building. If he went to the right of the crowd, he would have to go under a table to avoid the sound of the moving of the chair that blocked his path to the door. If he could just run to the station, a quick minute would be all. If he went to the left, he would have to pass just behind the man, one small touch and he would be dead. 

Time was passing and he needed to do something. The tension had begun to build between the concerned citizens and the crimson-tinted gentleman. He decided to take the right side. At least then he would have time to escape should he be noticed. 

He pushed through the uproar. Several people had begun to get physical with the stranger, pushing him and pointing. Franz's small frame managed to slip behind several people. The stranger let out a furious growl.

"This town...you're all blind and you don't even see it! You're all misled! I tried to save you, but it seems you prefer to burn!"

Franz arrived at the table. With a painful squat, he lowered himself under the wooden frame and tried to keep his head as far from the top as he could. Two glasses rested upon it. Should he stand too quickly, they would crash to the ground and blow his cover. He turned slightly and took one more look at Jack. He would help him, just as he helped him. 

He made sure he was safely far from the table and stood. The door was only a yard away. He swiftly advanced to the exit but was stopped by a sudden swing of the door. He was pushed into the center of the crowd and landed at the feet of the stranger. 

Two policemen barged into the pub, rifles in hand. The masses dispersed into a frenzy, frightened by the barrels above their heads. The taller one yelled at the citizens to take cover. The stranger groaned as if he had stepped on an irksome week old pie. He scanned the pub, mint pupils searching for a body. He glanced at the scrawny man at his feet. And like a ladle, scooped Franz up by the shoulders and wrapped a sanguinary hand around his thin neck.

Franz attempted to yell for help but was apprehended by the tightened grip on his throat. The stranger whistled at the policemen, who whipped their heads quickly in his direction. Their barrels followed quickly afterward.

"Shoot me," he started, "and I'll kill him."

Franz's eyes widened in horror. He was closer to his face now, porcelain pale skin. It looked like silk almost. A murderous look painted his face, haunting and frantic. He tried to wriggle out of the stranger's grasp, but his hold only got stronger. 

The shorter policeman gave a small chuckle, "Please! What's one old man for the most savory kill?"

Franz's eyes began to water. His pipes were becoming constricted, the airflow had started to slow down. He was going to blackout, he could feel it. The taller policeman lowered his voice, his eyes still locked on the fugitive.

"That's Oliver's boy, inn't? Williams's ward?" He whispered.

The grip began to loosen. The man moved his face closer to Franz's. His mouth just inches from his ear. Franz could see sharp canines behind his lips.

He whispered, "You have a place, right? Take me there and I won't kill you."

Franz nodded, panicked. The stranger kept a hand around his neck, the other on his shoulder. He pushed him forwards, and out the door. The policemen watched, betwixt in their quarry. Franz shot a worried glance at them, and one last mouthed sentence at Jack; who sat paralyzed in fear.

I'll be fine, don't worry.

And they were gone.