frankie [episodes 1-3]

-14-

I charge down the stairs into the dark dungeon themed wax display room below. As I rush into the centre of the space, surrounded by various scenes of torture, I hear screaming ahead. My eyes find the small, wooden door leading to the curator's workshop as Jared and Rebecca stumble into step beside me.

I make to move toward it. Jared grabs me with a strong hand – his fingers curling around my arm – jerking me back.

"We don't have a plan," he says.

I spin around. My dark hair whipping into my face.

"I'm the plan," I snarl. "He's killing them. We need to do something. Now!"

Another scream ahead.

He lets go. Beside him Rebecca's lips are set into a thin line.

"We got your back," she says.

I feel Eleanor, and Kerri, and Daisy inside me. I feel the others too. My fists clench.

We got your back they agree.

I nod. Then I run forward toward the small door behind the wax gallows. I take a breath, feeling Rebecca and Jared's heat close behind me. Time seems to slow down for a moment; I hear my breathing, loud and ragged in my chest, I can feel the hot, musty air against my face, the smell of museums and wax floods my nostrils. I don't know what I'll do when I'm in there. I just know I have to do something.

Melt him or freeze him, that's what Carter said.

I narrow my eyes and thrust open the door.

I'm ambushed by a wave of heat.

One girl is bound to the dirty workbench – hard wax encasing her wrists like handcuffs - her blonde hair splayed around her head, her skin red with sweat. Another, the taller brunette, is screaming as she rushes behind the desk at the far end, trying to escape.

The Curator is facing her – his taloned hands on the surface. His bald head red, his skin moist and pulsating. He doesn't look human anymore. By his feet is a pile of slippery, rubbery looking skin.

I feel Jared and Rebecca's shock behind me. Jared curses under his breath.

Behind the curator and the girl, at the very back of the narrow space, is a fiery furnace.

Melt him I hear Eleanor's voice in my mind.

"Stupid girl," says the Curator – he hasn't noticed our presence, "Don't you want to be part of something beautiful. Isn't that what you all want? The way you dress..."

He continues to speak. I creep forward – gesturing at the girl on the bench to Rebecca and Jared. They hurry toward her. She makes to speak but Jared puts a hand over her mouth, silencing her.

"...the way you parade around, wanting everyone to look at you..."

I move closer still. The girl sees me – her dark eyes widening on my face. I put a finger to my lips as the smell of the Curator floods my nose - acrid, sour sweat and rotten flesh. I want to gag.

"...the way you paint your faces...."

He raises a hand and suddenly hot wax sprays toward her face. She stumbles back – close to the side of the furnace – raising her arm before her face to take the brunt of the little wax droplets. She screams, red faced, as they hit her skin.

He jumps onto the desk.

"...the way you move..."

I feel Kerri – I feel her skill in gymnastics. Not her skill, our skill. I bend my knees. I jump. I land on the rickety, stained desk behind him.