Wind-up toy (NOT MINE)

Chapter 2

All my friends live on the floor,
tiny legs and tiny eyes.
They're free to crawl under the door;
and, and someday soon so will I.

I watched Frankie grab his entangled, dark brown hair with both hands while he rocked his body back and forth. I'd have to leave my inquiry for later, evidently. Anyway, I'd already come up with a more reasonable hypothesis: his state might not be self-provoked but the result of some kind of mental illness; and he hadn't been taking the needed medication.
"I d-didn't...I should h-have..." he murmured once and again. Not knowing what to do, I reached for his back to try and soothe him. That's when I noticed for the first time that he was carrying a small, black backpack.
"Shh, let me help you take this off so you can get more comfortable. Frankie...can you hear me, kiddo?" I made my voice as gentle as possible. He stopped moving, turned to me and nodded.

After I slid the very light bag off his shoulders and threw it to the backseat, Frankie seemed to relax. He closed his eyes -that were still set on me- tightly, opening them a couple of seconds later, his pupils always restless. With an angry sigh he shut them once again, keeping them like that for a little longer and breathing deeply. I waited in silence, unaware of whatever it was that he wanted to achieve. Finally, Frankie's eyelids slowly raised and he looked at me, grinning satisfied. His pupils were still now and I supposed that had been his goal; it made it easier for him to fix his eyes on me. He was cross-eyed, though. I reckoned that he was the cutest image I had seen in a long time.

"Y-you are h-handsome." he complimented me, making me gasp. While he talked, his two hazel orbs resumed their dance. Annoyed, he quickly combed his long locks so they covered his face. "Wh-why you s-smiling like th-that? M-my eyes, right? Ev-everybody laughs, I..."
"No." I brushed the hair back off his forehead, pushing it behind his ears. "I think your eyes are very pretty and I wasn't laughing, I was smiling because you're cute."
"I...I am?" he smiled.
"Definitely."
"I...I l-like cute-ness. D-dogs are c-cute. A-and little p-people who l-live in things, a-also." he whispered the last part secretly.
"Oh, I've never seen them, so I can't tell." I alleged, not entirely paying attention. I had remembered that we were parked at the side of an avenue, most probably in a wrong place. The last thing I wanted was to have problems with the cops.

I took a few minutes to meditate, observing Frank trace patterns on the glass and sing in a low voice, his head jerking unintentionally once in a while. I couldn't leave him alone. It was clear that the boy had no notion of danger; he hardly had notion of reality. However, I was at the same time afraid of getting myself into trouble. I knew nothing about this Frankie.
"How old are you, boy?" I decided to ask, concerned by how young he looked.
"Uh?" he muttered, his forehead against the window.
"How old are you, Frankie?"
"I...I'm...I th-think...18. Y-yes, 18." he answered happily. I gave him an incredulous look.
"Are you sure?"
"Y-yes I'm s-sure! Th-the number on the c-cake said 18 and...and th-there were 18 candles, I c-counted them!" he waved his hands frenetically.
"Ok, I believe you then!" I decided to take his word for true and hope that it was, indeed, the truth. At least he wasn't a minor. Being found with a mentally ill minor would mean to fuck up a million times worse than with anything I'd done in the last months.

"Well, we better get moving." I fastened Frankie's safety belt and he grumbled, instantly attempting to set himself free.
"N-no."
"Hey, hey, hey! Leave it on!" I ordered firmly.
"I...I d-don't l-like it."
"It's necessary to keep you safe."
"Ok." he pouted, kicking the air. "B-but I h-hate it. Y-you should kn-know that."
"Fine." I started the car and got back on the road.
"N-not fine, not f-fine, not fine...n-no."

******
Minutes later, his constant murmurs were getting on my nerves. I wasn't going to be rude and tell him to stop, so I thought of bringing the conversation back and confirm my suspicions.
"Why don't you tell me something else about you, Frank?"
"F-frankie." he corrected me.
"Sorry, Frankie. Where do you live?"
"I...I d-don't know how to g-get there or the a-address, no. But...b-but I don't th-think live there a-anymore. No. M-maybe. Y-yeah. N-no..." he trailed off.
"Well...can you describe the place where you lived?" I helped him. He concentrated for some seconds, frowning.
"It...it w-was very v-very big and...and al-almost all walls were wh-white. A-and I lived w-with many more k-kids. S-some were f-funny. O-others screamed a l-lot. It s-scared me. Yes. Oh, and l-lots of m-men and women with white c-clothes. Th-they took c-care of us." he looked down at his lap. I had been obviously right.
"So it's just as I thought...he's crazy and lived in a mental institution." When I realized that I had said that aloud, it was too late. Frank opened his eyes wide as dinner plates.
"Y-yeah, I think th-that's how they called the p-place but...I'M N-NOT FUCKING C-CRAZY, YOU MEAN AS-ASSHOLE! G-GRACE SAID I'M S-SPECIAL!" he screamed, his face red with rage, grabbing my jacket and shaking me. I wasn't expecting such a reaction. Struggling to keep the car from straying from the road, I got hold of Frank's arms with my free hand.
"Frankie please be quiet, I'm driving!"
Y-YOU CALLED ME C-CRAZY!"
"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to, I should have never used that word. You're right, you're just special just like that Grace said. Who is she?"
"Y-you...you w-won't say it again? P-promise?
"I won't, never again, I promise."

Although he continued to breath heavily, he gradually calmed down. I let go of his arms and he crossed them over his chest, sulking and scrutinizing me.
"I...I f-forgive you t-this time. O-only this t-time! And...G-grace...she w-was who looked af-after me. F-Frankie can't be al-alone." he shook his head rapidly. That last sentence sounded like he was repeating something he'd heard someone say. Even his tone changed.
"How long had you been in that place?" I pressed. Frank was now taking things out of an imaginary container in his hand and 'eating' them, undoubtedly tasting and enjoying them.
"Uh...a l-lot of time. B-but I think I w-was in a dif-ferent place when I w-was littler. N-not sure. But a l-lot of time in th-this one, y-yeah." it actually sounded as if he was speaking with his mouth full.
"Ah..."
"S-sure you d-don't want some c-candy? C-come on, try th-them, they're y-yummy!" he invited. Deciding to play along, I made my fingers grab an invisible sweet and thow it into my mouth. Frank's gesture of approval was worth it.
"Mmm, you're right, it's good! Grape, isn't it?" I guessed. Frank sniggered.
"Y-you don't have a p-palate, Gerard? It...it's s-strawberry!"
"Oh, right! I'm so stupid sometimes!" I smacked my forehead, making him giggle.

Everything was silent for several minutes, the quietness occasionally interrupted by Frankie's unintelligible murmurs. He stirred on his seat, unable to stay quiet for too long. The city lights faded behind us as I drove the familiar route that would take me home. Not any time soon, though.
"B-bored....bored b-bored bored bored..." Frankie sang. "T-tell your gnomes their j-jokes are not f-funny."
"Uh..." I froze. What should I answer? Was it okay to play along when he was imagining things? Should I tell him that there was nothing there? I wished I knew what was the right way to proceed, but I didn't even know what his problem exactly was. All I could do was to test the water. "What gnomes?"
"Wh-what you mean which g-gnomes? Th-the ones living inside y-your glove box h-here! What others c-could be?" he answered matter-of-factly.

It was too hard. Even thought the things Frankie said were rather funny and he seemed happy with his hallucinations, I felt sorry for him. I was afraid of screwing up, yet I had to try different options.
"Frankie...there's nothing there." I said softly, spying him sideways to see his reaction.
"Wh-what? Th-they live in your c-car and you never s-saw them? W-well, stop l-looking at the r-road and watch th-them, then!" he spat exasperated. Checking that it was safe to do so, I turned my head and looked inside the spot Frank was pointing at.
"Hahaha, they s-seem to like y-you!" he laughed.
"There are no gnomes there, Frankie. It's all in your head." I caressed his hair. He knocked my hand off.
"TH-THEY'RE NOT IN MY H-HEAD, TH-THEY'RE IN THE G-GLOVE BOX! A-AND YOU'RE F-FUCKING BLIND IF...IF YOU C-CAN'T S-SEE THEM! SH-SHUT UP! WH-WHY YOU DO TH-THIS TO ME, UH? OF...OF C-COURSE THEY'RE TH-THERE!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, stammering more than ever and hitting his fists against the back of his seat. But as furious and nervous as he acted, he still wasn't crying. I hadn't seen him cry so far.

I admitted to have made the wrong choice. The most advisable thing to do until I could find out more about Frankie's problem, was to keep him calm and not antagonize him.
"Wait, I see them now! They were hiding from me, that's all! Or maybe they were having fun with you, you know? They wanted you to think that you were the only one who could see them."
"Oh, f-fuckers!" Frank straightened up and smiled, sticking his little finger into the 'gnome- house'. "Wh-what you th-think of them?"
"They seem to be funny guys!" I improvised.
"Th-they are...u-usually."

******
All the screaming made Frankie tired and soon he got comfortable on his side, just staring out of the window.
"Did you...escape from that place?" I wanted to know. His big eyes scanned me briefly, but he diverted them right away.
"N-no! I...I l-liked it there."
"Then what were you doing alone in the street?"
"W-waiting...but she n-never came b-back for me." he rustled.