NUTS AND BOLTS ¯ᶠʳᵉʳᵃʳᵈ

13. Bloody Stitches

Frank didn’t know whose arms were around him, he only knew that he wanted them to let go. The arms were strong, the biceps large, the limbs trying to drag Frank away from the body of his lover as he screamed and cried at the top of his lungs.

“Frank! Frankie – come on!” The voice was familiar, something in the back of Frank’s mind twigged. Recognised the strong accent. The deep timbre of the vocals. But it wasn’t enough to move him; he refused to be dragged away from the ringmaster, refused to leave him.

“No – NO!” Frank screamed so loud his throat burned and the arms around him tugged harder, making his ribs ache as he was dragged away. He wasn’t strong enough to hold onto Gerard’s hands and he sobbed pathetically as Pierre yanked him away from the ringmaster’s body.

“It’s okay... it’ll be okay...” Pierre promised softly, Frank not hearing him as he cried harshly. “Come on... Just come on...”

Pierre gripped Frank tight as he dragged him away from the blood soaked bed and carried him outside of the wagon. Frank’s screaming had quietened by now, reducing down to desperate, terrified sobs that blocked his throat and threatened to suffocate him. It looked like everyone in the circus had congregated around the ringmaster’s wagon, everyone stood a few feet away as if trying to keep a safe distance from whatever might be inside.

Pierre dragged Frank away from the wagon and the crowd as the doctor and some of the acrobats rushed to Gerard’s aid. The night was eerily silent now Frank had stopped screaming, and all the mechanic could do was stare with wide eyes at the floor with his jaw hanging open and his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe. The circus doctor was one of the acrobats, and she wasn’t really trained to heal something as serious as the wounds to Gerard’s chest. Frank couldn’t even see why she’d even bother trying; it was obvious there was nothing anyone could do.

“Frank? Frank please talk to me?” Pierre begged softly as he shook Frank a little, the mechanic not looking up from the floor as his knees buckled and he dropped down onto them, Pierre falling with him. The night air was cool, freezing Frank’s scratched face as tears streaked over his cheeks. Pierre whimpered softly and gripped Frank’s jaw, forcing his face up to look at him but Frank squeezed his eyes shut as if he didn’t want to see.

“Frank, please my friend talk to me!” Pierre begged, raising his voice a little as if he wondered whether Frank could even hear him; but Frank only kept his eyes shut and shook his head frantically. “Please Frankie, you must be calm.”

“Calm...” Frank choked, finally opening his eyes and staring at the muscleman with a look of horror mingled with shock. “Calm!? My lover has just been murdered – how do you expect me to be calm!?” He all but screamed, his throat aching from the sudden force of his vocals and he sobbed as he pushed Pierre away from him with as much force as he could muster. “Gerard is DEAD and you want me to be CALM!?”

“Frankie please, you don’t know that he is dead, he might –”

“No! Shut up! He is dead! You didn’t see him. I did! I did see and I know!” Frank shouted before collapsing down into a fit of fresh sobbing, crumpling against the dewy grass and hiding his face in his hands as he shook with the force of his sobbing. His throat was aching just as much as his heart, his felt like his insides were tearing into a million tiny pieces. It hurt more than anything he experienced, it felt like he was dying but yet the sweet release of death did not come to him.

Pierre felt useless as he looked at the sobbing man, his hand half raised as if to comfort him but he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch Frank’s shoulder in case it made him lash out. Pierre wished he knew how to help Frank, but he was clueless as to how so he simply knelt beside him with sympathetic eyes as he chewed on his lip and prayed that someone else would come by to help. And it wasn’t long before his prayers were answered.