“Franz”

It was a memory buried in the depths of his mind. It wasn’t that important, he wouldn’t say it affected the way he lived his life. He remembered a cold December that he spent at the Connery’s. They lived near a heavily wooded area near the coal mines. It was there that Franz and Clara found the wolf.

“Don’t touch it!” Clara had warned.

Franz’s childlike empathy urged him to free the wounded animal from the trap the hunters nearby had set up. He remembered the striking image of bloody snow at his feet.

“He’s hurted.” He answered.

“Hurt. It’s jus’ ‘hurt’, Franz.” she corrected.

Franz had removed his scarf and laid it carefully over the howling creatures leg. He heard that they were bloodthirsty and vicious, but at that moment it's tired eyes only pleaded for release. It’s raspy breath haunted his nights in the winter for many years. It’s screams as he and Clara left the woods.

“If it were the other way around, he would have had you for his Christmas dinner.” his father told him.

As Klaus instructed Clara on how to stitch his wounds, Franz couldn’t help but remember that day.

He winced as Clara pierced the blond man’s flesh, pulling thick sutures through. Klaus, on the other hand, remained calm and collected, his voice steady as he delivered his instructions.

“Don’t be afraid to be a little rough, I can take it. Just be careful not to tear me.”

He laughed to himself. Franz tasted a hint of blood and realized he had been biting his cheek for a while. He adjusted himself and moved closer to the man.

"What's your name?" He spoke briskly as if his words were the very air he was exhaling.

The man smiled at him. It sent a wretched chill down his spine. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, leaving a streaky blood print dragged across his forehead.

"Klaus. Call me Klaus."

"Is that your real name, Klaus?" Franz asked.

Klaus laughed. Clara paused, afraid of hurting him with the needle.

"Of course it is. I don't have any reason to lie, right?" He flinched as she accidentally pricked a nerve in his flesh.

Franz gulped, turning quickly and taking a moment to himself. He had seen too many gruesome wounds for the time being. He stepped out of the kitchen and into the great hall. As he did he could feel those pale eyes piercing his back, watching his prey carefully. Franz shivered, rubbing his neck, tugging at the collar as he did. He had no idea what he was to do about his newest "boarder". The man was clearly dangerous, a threat to both the town and to Franz. The idea of taking him on was not even at the border of Franz's thoughts. He could barely walk up the stairs without his leg giving out every other step, much less aid him in a fight with a mammoth savage.

Franz turned, his gaze towards the top of the stairs, the ominous painting of Peter Williams now stained with hate and resentment. He had no idea, not a clue of what had become of Franz, no idea of the bloodstains all over his fostered bequest; it's marble floors now covered in muddy footprints and littered with strings and bandages. Franz laughed to himself, not out of joy but of mere fright. A madness that captured his dire situation. He was so careful, so hidden. He never spoke to anyone, never got in any fights, he barely even said a word to his own maid. So why was it his neck tied to the curly-haired-ball-and-chain bleeding all over his kitchen table?

He dared not to make eye contact with Klaus as he entered the room once more, this time a paler color than before, if such a color was even possible. He cleared his throat. Clara and Klaus's heads both turned, Clara's face more terrified than the latter.

Franz asked, "Mister Klaus, sir...what is it, exactly, that you want from me?"

Silence. It was a question that he wanted to ask from the moment his enormous hand strangled him in the middle of the pub, from the moment he realized he would have no hopes of being a free and living man again. And all he could think was; if he was to be killed, he would rather know when.

Klaus's eye stayed locked on his, never shifting, never blinking. Locked in with an intensity that was even worse than the bullets that tore through his skin. Sharp and, quite simply, offended.

"What do I want from you?" he echoed, "what makes you think I need anything from you?"

Franz exhaled shakily, "I was just wondering--considering you won't let me leave my home, and considering you are here in my est--"

Klaus stood abruptly. Clara bounced back, her hands clammed against her chest. Franz shrunk underneath his large shadow like a mouse beneath the wings of a hawk.

"I didn't mean--I mean I did mean--I mean. I mean I just want to know how I can help!" he fretted, "in what way can I be of assistance to you. Sir. Mister Klaus."

Klaus lifted his brows in amusement, "Assistance to me? In doing what exactly?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean, you offer yourself up so easily. What if I'm a cannibal, hmm? What if I'm looking for a meal, and you have just offered yourself up?"

Franz hesitated. "Well, that's different. Besides, you aren't a cannibal...are you?"

Klaus let his question linger in the air for a while, not breaking a single string that attached his eyes to Franz's. Then he settled back into his chair and roared with laughter, "You should have seen your face! You really thought I was going to eat you!"

Franz pulled his vest down. He exchanged glances with Clara. They laughed nervously, unanimously deciding to stay on Klaus's good side. Klaus ran a hand over his sutures, tearing out loose ends as he did. He lowered his shirt down and nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Your maid, despite her constant shaking, has a good hand for stitching." He applauded.

Clara instantly abandoned all fear and beamed with pride, "Why, thank you, sir!"

Franz shot her a look of concern, Clara! Are you mad?

Clara dimmed and pulled herself back. Franz was aware that she was lacking any praise, but he didn't know to what ridiculous extent. He switched his attention back to Klaus, this time a little more sure of the man's sense of the situation.

"I see, so you don't know?"

Klaus sat a little straighter, "Pardon?"

Franz could see it written all over his face, illustrated in his words. He was buying time; for what-- he wasn't so sure. All he knew at that moment was that Klaus was someone who had bitten off more than he could chew, and he was trying to keep Clara and Franz from finding out.

"The police, they know me. It won't be long before the whole town knows you've taken me. Will you be able to take down a whole mob?" Franz grounded himself, "that much blood on your hands...you esteem yourself too much to carry such a burden, correct? So what will you do? Stay and they will find you. Kill us...and they will hunt you."

Klaus bit his lip, grinning. Franz remained calm; If there was one thing he knew would never falter, it was his mind. He had outsmarted him, he had found the chink in his armor. He trapped the wolf once more, this time in a trap he made.

"So what will it be?"

Klaus rubbed his chin, eyelashes fluttering. He rose from his chair, slowly. Franz instinctively moved his arm in front of Clara who clung to the rosary around her neck. The blond gentleman paced around the kitchen table, hands folded in front of him like a thick shield. After a moment he turned to face Franz. A beat. A deafening silence that only made Franz's heartbeat louder, banging like a timpani drum in his ears. 

"Perhaps, you may be interested...in a proposition?"