Art Entwined In Blood

3- A Light Stroll

     "You're a millionaire?!"

     At this point Frank was up off the ground, but wasn't quite sure where to place his body. He ended up standing by the chair he was previously in.

     "Of course I am!" Gerard belted gleefully, stretching his arms high above his head. It looked like attempted jazz hands.

     "How did you think I could afford this mansion for all these years? Who do you think got all the money from the stack market crash in 1929? It all came to me, and I lived in luxury!" he exclaimed proudly, almost cackling from the amount of energy.

     "It's a family fortune," he caught himself, lowering his arms.

     "That's a lot of money."

     "Yes, indeed. In fact, why don't you venture with me to purchase the candles? We'll go tonight. I can pick you up if you'd like," Gerard proposed.

     "We only met today," Frank laughed.

     "But I feel as if I know you," Gerard countered.

     "I already know you, Frances."

     Frank just couldn't make a joke around this guy. He always took it so seriously; and he always took it to a philosophical level. He sounds like an old man, but he looks like a boy out of high school. This just doesn't make any sense.

     "But I don't know you."

     "That's the fun part."

     Gerard stood up from his desk and walked over to a shelf with at least two hundred leather-bound books; most were falling apart. Frank couldn't read the titles because of the dim candle light, but he could tell that Gerard really loved them. He watched as Gerard pulled a particular one down as it rained dust particles from the high shelf.

     "Read this. It's my favorite," he sighed, dreamily.

     He collapsed into his chair and ran his slender fingers through the lush locks upon his head while he rested his eyes.

     "How am I supposed to read this? It looks like it's in Russian or something."

     Gerard's eyes snapped open to observe Frank.

     "Right. It's been a while. Never mind, remind me to read it to you sometime," he stated in a near whisper while retrieving the book. Frank had started to sense an awkward silence, so he pulled out the cell phone that Jamia had shoved into his pocket. It displayed one message from her asking when he'd be home. He was about to reply to it, but instead shot a glance at Gerard who was providing a glare that could crack the very gates of Hell open.

     "What is that infernal contraption?" he glared, disgusted.

     "Uh, it's just a cell phone. I guess you don't go out mu--"

     "Frank, I've expressed how I don't approve of technology.. Put that -thing- away."

     Frank was taken a little off guard, but he obliged and snuck the phone back into his pocket. Gerard's almost snarling expression returned to one of exhaustion.

     "Frank, it's nearly 10 in the morning. I'll have to ask you to leave. I'll be around to pick you up at 9 in the evening. Be fully dressed and ready to leave immediately."

     "But I--"

     "But you what, Frances?"

     Frank was caught off-guard by the look of sincerity in Gerard's ever-reminiscing eyes.