Chapter Seven: Here or There

Skulking, intimidating gargoyles glared down the highest spiraling tower and Frankie shivered, rubbing her goose pimpled arms. Faust's Residence for Delinquent Friends was about as anti Foster's as one could get. Even the moods instilled were different. If she hadn't a mission here, she might turn tail and run. No sane person stayed here too long.

Chipped black paint adorned the brick face and the unpleasant trail of a red liquid she hoped wasn't blood. Instead of curtains, bars impeded the windows and occasionally a friend would slam against the metal and scream down. A great deal of the residents were utterly insane. They were not fit for society, let alone an innocent child. Foster's never saw these misfits and with good reason. The last time they had, an arsonist imaginary friend torched Mr. Herriman's office.

That brought her back to her mission. Why on earth would he want to stay here? Sure, they always needed help, but that was because no one in their right mind stayed too long. Friends screamed murderous intent at their creators, some were handy with butcher knives, and many were created solely for destruction. Some secretaries never walked out…they were carried out in body bags.

No grass marked the front yard of Faust's, only cold asphalt. The whole place resembled a prison for the insane. No, not an asylum, because asylums offered hope. This offered nothing.

Three stories of pure trepidation awaited her; a sultry chill wind rattled the broken exposed trinkets and gripped her very soul. Swallowing hard, she vowed to drag the imaginary rabbit out, kicking and screaming, shove him in the car, and drive off, never looking back. Faust's was on the other side of town, actually closer to Mac's house than Foster's, but its whole visage repelled common visitors. It was kept open thanks to state grants. Ideas could be more dangerous than their creators.

Shoving her hands in her green jacket, she trotted up the winding driveway. Cameras recorded her every movement and announced her arrival long before she reached the iron gates. They opened slowly, creaking on their hinges. It only added to the effect; she felt like a little kid and longed to scream, "I wanna go home!"

A black steel door awaited her at the end of the long walk and through a narrow slit, someone's cold cobalt eyes scrutinized her. Her brain wanted to tear off, but her body wouldn't listen. It stood stock still and let this creature scan her like a computer. Whatever it saw, however, it never said. Instead, it inquired stoically what her business was.

"I-I'm here to see Mr. Herriman," she squeaked, hugging her arms to her chest. The slit closed and the door crept open wide enough to admit her. Inside, the decorations made her stomach squirm and induced another shiver. What on earth would drive him to work here? Was he completely insane? She didn't want to look at this place, much less stay here longer than absolutely necessary.

A putrid aroma, excrement, urine, and medication assaulted her nostrils and she gagged. The orderly in front of her smirked, her white apron already covered in grisly streaks of either wine…or something she'd rather not think about. A crow imaginary friend shrieked, digging its claws into a nearby human's hair and the human stood patiently, blood trickling down their cheeks but doing nothing. She waited until the bird was done before shooting it with a tranquilizer dart. Frankie's knees buckled.

White cinderblock was everywhere she turned and she had the feeling other than the orderlies, she was the cleanest creature to enter this place. Once again, she wondered how on earth Herriman could stand to be here for a second, much less three months. Normally, he'd be running in the opposite direction. He hardly tolerated the mentally ill (only Coco) and this place, if she knew him as well as she thought she did, would send him into shivers rivaling hers. He had to want out.

"H-how?" she stammered, but the orderly, a stocky brunette merely shook her head and led her away.

…

In the far back, through a grisly scene involving two imaginary friends, a human, and a switchblade, she led her to Herriman's office and then spurted away before Frankie opened her mouth. A brass knocker she lifted and a slit opened. A monocle eye gazed at her and an audible gasp escaped. The door swung promptly swung open and strong furry arms snatched her inside. Once she was completely within the confines, he double locked the door. Frankie, relieved to be with someone she knew and trusted, relaxed slightly. At least the door shut out the unpleasantness outside.

"How can you stand it here? It's so creepy," she whispered and he released her. Blinking in confusion, she glanced back at him, settling in a hard blue plastic chair. Only one picture lay on his desk, otherwise, the room was dank and empty. A single lightbulb flickered over their heads and sent his face into shadows. However, it illuminated the bags under his eyes and his haggardness. She wasn't the only one who hadn't slept well in days.

"Miss Frances, you have no business here. I must insist you leave," he demanded, and, then, under his breath, "before you get hurt."

"You shouldn't be here either!" she retorted, loath to sit down in the grimy chair beside his desk. Her eyes darted to the picture and before he could stop her, she stared at it. The last and only good picture of her was this one, taken a week before she left. She glanced at it and then him, sinking low into his chair. Gently, she placed it back down and contemplated what she might say. It suddenly occurred to her ranting might not be the best approach.

"Don't you have a picture of Grandma?" she inquired lightly and hesitantly gathered her skirt to sit. Well, she could always wash it. Nonetheless, there were things here that gave her the impression no matter how hard she scrubbed, she might never be clean.

"I could not bring a portrait of her. I had one, but an…unscrupulous imaginary friend desiccated it. There is nothing left of the canvas, let alone the oils. I forgot to put away your picture lest another unwarranted attack leave me devoid of decorations." He sighed and drummed his fingers on the desk. She had the feeling he was torn between desiring her company and thus protecting her from the denizens outside and shoving her away before she got too far. His indecision permitted her to stay. She only hoped it would continue to serve her well.

It was on the tip of her tongue to accuse him of sneaking into the house when they were asleep, but she bided her tongue. "Where did you get these pictures, Mr. H?"

Squirming, he glanced at the metal table instead of her. His fingers brushed the picture when she laid it back down and caressed her cheekbones. An unknown voice in her head she'd never acknowledged before whispered she ought to let him do that to her. Her stomach erupted into butterflies and she nervously glanced away, willing the thoughts to vanish. Unfortunately, with their silence came an image of Herriman as a human and her cheeks burned; she found him reasonably attractive. Stupid voice, stupid images…

"I…"

"You've been visiting us in our sleep, haven't you?" she pressed lightly and he hung his head. "You're the burglar Bloo keeps ranting about. How long have you been doing this?"

To his surprise, she didn't sound angry at all. Instead, she was calm, patient, and understanding. Yet since he anticipated her fury, her words caught him off guard and guilt swept him. Visiting Foster's at night was his way of ensuring it was the way he'd left it. Of course, by now he knew the truth of the matter and his guilt tripled. His beloved Frankie was falling to pieces under the strain, but could he return? Could he restrain himself? Or was he doomed to chase her?

"Miss Frances, Frankie…I'm so sorry," he whispered and bit his lip. "I did not think you would suffer in my absence."

She sighed heavily and watched him closely. This job was wearing him down faster than anything at Foster's and he'd be burned out soon. Pityingly, she leaned across the table and seized his paw. He started but reluctantly let her hold it. The butterflies in her stomach careened around and knocked into each other.

"Come back to us," she begged. "We need you."

Astonishingly, he extracted his paw from her grip and shook his head. What followed stunned her into silence and immobility. Glancing at once through the barred windows at his view of the dirt (they were below ground); he phrased his next sentence delicately but poignantly. Frankie could only gape.

"I cannot. Faust's needs me more…"

"What? You're trying to avoid Foster's because you think you can't control yourself around me, but if you tried instead of giving up-"

"Madame Foster told me she wished I would avoid your company-"

"She didn't mean she wanted you to run away! We miss you, we need you, and…we care about you. You can't stay here, Mr. H. If an imaginary friend doesn't attack you in the night, you'll collapse from sheer exhaustion.

"I know you're afraid of being alone with me…but we're alone now and you haven't made a move on me. You need our support, not solitude. Please, Mr. Herriman, come home. If not for my sake, then for your creator's. She's aged years overnight- she told me she can't feel you anymore. She's terrified you're dead or worse."

Herriman leaned his elbow on the table and brushed fur out of his eyes. Guilt swirled in his mind and he saw her out of the corner of his eye glance at the door worriedly. There was a commotion outside (wasn't there always?) and probably a weapon involved. The sooner Frankie left, the better. If anything happened to her because of him, he'd never forgive himself. And yet, a little voice whispered in his head, he'd put undue stress on her because of his selfishness.

"Can I have a day to mull this over?" he replied and tuned out the altercation. Usually, the longer one stayed here, the more one turned a blind eye to the travesties within. Sometimes, an orderly completely ignored a fight and he ended up getting pulled in the thick of it. That alone induced homesickness like he'd never contended with before. No matter how dangerous the argument in Foster's, it never escalated to lethal levels. No one died…whereas here, he had a very good chance of getting seriously injured.

Frankie growled and folded her arms across her chest. Meanwhile, outside, the door thrummed and a distant painful cry rent the air. Both shuddered deeply and their eyes met. Whatever was going on outside only enunciated her point. The sooner he left here, the sooner things might achieve normalcy or whatever passed for it in Foster's.

"You want to stay here? Are you insane? They're killing each other out there!" she snapped and paled. Oh, she rather hoped they weren't doing that. The thought of two imaginary friends attacking each other saddened her tremendously. Like most people, she considered many imaginary friends to be like the children who created them and their fights unsettled her. At least it sounded like it might be dying down now, but she couldn't be certain. She had no inclination to stick her head out and discover for herself.

"They'll kill you…"

Sighing heavily, he nodded weakly. "I know. Give me one day to determine the best course of action…and let me speak with Madame Foster. Then I will make up my mind."

Frankie opened her mouth to protest, but a glance at his face told her it was useless. This was his decision and she couldn't budge him if she tried. Swallowing hard, she nodded and rose. When she reached the door, she began to unlock the deadbolts as she felt his furry body envelope her in a hug.

"Be careful, Frankie."

…

Bloo curled up in his creator's arms and listened to his heartbeat. Since their confession, they'd alternated sleeping arrangements. Tonight, Bloo had snuck into his creator's bedroom and snuggled up beside him. It was odd and he knew he wait until tomorrow to see his beloved creator, but watching him sleep brought him more joy than he'd thought possible. He stroked his face with a blobby arm and grinned. He could lay like this forever.

Mac's arms tightened around him and Bloo snuggled closer to his chest. There'd be a mini eruption tomorrow morning when he awoke to Bloo dozing against him, but now he was safe. He'd close his eyes for a split second…and fell sound asleep.

…