A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

The Deadly Fandango ~ Palmas

Musk. Mildew. Confinement. A rank smell of molding cheese on spoiled burger pickles. The only place that could smell like the trashbin behind a fast food joint on wheels was Frankie's backseat.

Graham woke up by steps. First, he heard the dull rumbling of wheels, followed by the sway of the car swinging him left to right. Then, the smell. So invasive. Then, light, flickering on and off as the car cruised beneath the streetlamps, shown as an orange pulse through his closed eyelids.

He then immediately felt the whole weight of his pain. The worst pain was his fractured nose. The only way to describe that pain would be pungent; a mass of flesh that kept squeezing his face, as if his nose was replaced by a bowling ball. His missing fingers were tightly bandaged, and only the throb of every heartbeat reminded him of his missing limbs.

A groan escaped his parched lips as he moved into a more comfortable position.

"He's up," said a growling voice from the front seat. Kenny.

Graham felt a heavy palm smash into his chest, pinning him down to the seat. Boris was seated next to him, as stalwart as a mountain.

"No funny business," commented Kenny. "Chill. Jus' takin' ya for a ride."

Even though he had just woken up, Graham could feel the tension in the car--dank and thick, one that could be cut with a knife. Surprisingly enough, the one who was the tensest was Frankie, who was driving the car with his arms outstretched unnaturally. It didn't escape Graham that it was Frankie who pleaded with Kenny to end his torture. He was like a father to Graham, after all.

Nobody spoke, not even a peep. The car kept cruising for a while in a neighborhood Graham couldn't recognize. It was definitively the good part of the city. By the type of brick homes, he could deduce Cambridge, or even Sommerville. He couldn't think straight. The only thing on his mind was pain and the unequivocal feeling of being completely screwed. That, and a voice in the back of his head yelling at him to escape. But escape where?

Sadly, his escape plan never left the concept phase as the car pulled into the driveway of a beautiful colonial townhouse. The faded masonry mixed with the snow and the yellow glow from a lamp just beside the door gave it a very posh look. The front door, made of wood and glass, showed a wooden entryway just beyond. Even inside the car could Graham smell freshly-baked gingerbread cookies from inside the house.

Kenny jumped out of the car and bolted inside with a hunchback gait. Frankie killed the engine, not bothering to look Graham in the eyes. He got out of the car and opened Graham's door, pulling him out roughly by the arm.

"Frankie... please," said Graham softly. The only person that could have saved him at that moment was Frankie. If there was even a glimmer of compassion in his weather-beaten soul, Graham needed to plead to it. "Let me go."

Frankie dared to look at him straight in the eyes for the first time since he woke up, but there was no compassion behind those dim eyes, only pity.

"Sorry, Gra'am."

Boris took hold of Graham's other arm, and together they pulled him inside the house. As soon as they opened up the door, a slightly nasal, but commanding voice yelled at them from a few rooms away.

"Please, take off your shoes when you enter. We don't need you to drag any more filth inside."

Both Frankie and Boris looked at each other in annoyance before kicking off their boots. For the sake of practicality, they left Graham's on.

Graham couldn't take a good look at the decor as he was being dragged deeper into the house, aside from several beautiful paintings that were oddly familiar for some reason.