Chapter three

We stop at a tavern on our way to the factory. Its exterior is battered; the wood panelling on the walls has peeled of like rotten skin. There is broken glass all over the entrance, the unhinged entrance. I can hear the violent, obnoxious yells of the drunken men inside who are probably having a fist fight.

I tug on the collar of Eaze's coat and shake my head at him. He stares up to me with unwavering eyes. Of course he is used to the kind of aggressive brutes he hears inside. He is not scared. He is not scared of anything really, or at least does not show it. But he does not know what they can do.

I shake my head more vigorously.

"Come on Rose. Let the little guy have some fun." Lize says teasingly.

My glare only makes him burst out laughing.

"Whatever. We'll be back in a bit."

Liar, you'll get so drunk you'll fall asleep and forget all about us.

I miss Tyki already. At least he would have some clue about responsibility. That and he would be laughing at me right now.

Lize and Erne stride straight through the dejected door. A loud cheer erupts as they disappear inside. I can hear the clashing of beer glasses.

Disgusting.

Looking around, I find a nice flat piece of rock and plonk myself down. I pull out my sketchbook once again, flipping it to a new page. The blankness calls to me, yearns for me to fill it with pencil strokes. I scratch my head with the end of my pencil.

What could I draw? The rundown tavern maybe? That'd be challenging. That lovely oak tree? No, I had drawn several of those already. I sigh heavily. Would I be bored to death before Lize and Erne remember us again?

Eaze slowly wanders over, curious about what I was going to draw. His innocent curiosity always shows in his eyes and the way he walks; little steps with excitement in each one. I smile at him, beckoning him to come closer. Of course if he likes it, he will get to keep it. So far, he has liked over half the pictures in my sketchbook, which is why I have only a few pictures and very little pages left. Maybe Tyki will bring me a new one when he comes back.

The wind blows gently at Eaze's golden locks that surround his round face like a picture frame, encasing the innocence within. I have seen it many times before: the untouchable, pure glow that radiates from his face, yet it never fails to remind me that an angel is beside me.

Yes, that is what I will do: capture the innocence and beauty of the angel in front of me onto a piece of paper.

I start with his chin, a curved line, a flawless line. I guide my pencil upwards to create the roundness of his rosy cheeks and as I continue to go up the page, the cheek morphs undetected into a strand of hair. For a moment, I gaze up at Eaze. I just realised how the waviness of his hair blends with his face shape. I add a few more wavy strokes using the edge of the pencil tip to give the illusion that his hair is fluttering, even on the motionless page.

"It's me!" Eaze says softly with delight. I laugh. He sway from side to side; his eyes are shining. Quickly, I print them onto the page.

The only thing left to put in is his mouth, or rather his mask. I poise the tip of the pencil to draw a straight line across the page. On second thoughts…

I plant a curved line instead, in the middle of page between, between Eaze's nose and mouth. It is a simple line, but one that changes everything.

The tip of my pencil snaps off. The tiny piece of lead rolls across the page and over the edge.

Eaze leans over the page. He sees the line.

His hand reaches for the strings looped around his ear and hesitantly, he begins to peel of the mask.

No, don't. I shake my head and gently touch his hand. His hand lets go of the mask and settles in his lap.

I stuff the sketchbook into my coat. Not to say I am disappointed by my work: I never am. Creation is always a thing of beauty. But the smile, although it is a joyous, peaceful expression, spawns a sad, nostalgic feeling in my heart.

I am sure Eaze would feel the same, if he knew.

Stay here, I gesture to him.

An hour has passed and I just realise only the cooing of the wind can be heard. Inside the tavern, the drunken men must have exhausted the last ounces of their profanity and reduced to a sleeping, snoring mess, including Lize and Erne of course. It was time to go. We should have been at the factory an hour ago.

I grab my suitcase and look back at Eaze as I head towards the tavern.

I won't be long.

He nods in response.

When I entre the tavern, there is not a conscious soul in sight. With great care I tiptoe over the piles of slumbering giants, cautiously evading a puddle of sick. There is shattered glass, splintered furniture, bruised eyes, but no Lize or Erne. Where have they got to?

A bubble of worry begins to inflate inside my mind. Images of their kidnapping plays like a fuzzy recording. I can see the struggle in front of me, their bodies beaten to a pulp and dragged off through the back door.

"You 'right 'ere missy?"

I spin around, too sharply, almost tripping over a body. It is the bartender of the tavern with his outfit unnaturally clean and undisturbed, considering the mess around him. He is standing behind the bar, holding a dirty rag in his hand and continuously swirling it inside an empty beer mug, only adding to the grime and dirty. How did I miss such strange figure upon entering?

I nod. He smiles. His teeth are yellow, not like the colour of gold but the colour of soil. The hollows of his cheeks swell up in as he does.

"Lookin' for someone?" His voice is deep, raspy.

I nod again. I scratch my elbow, avoiding his gaze.

"Need some help?" He places the mug and rag on the counter loudly. A body stirs below me and rolls towards me, but does not awaken. I take a few steps backward.

I cannot tell him. He cannot hear me. He cannot help me. Lize and Erne have probably wandered off somewhere. Eaze is waiting outside. I shake my head and make the mistake of looking into his eyes; his horrible, gleaming eyes.

"Why?" He stares right back at me, stepping out from behind the bar. He advances towards me. I stumble back, too frightened to look away from his eyes. "What's the matter? Don't you want my help?"

Something changes in his expression. His face darkens. He opens his mouth and bares his teeth. His eyes sink further into their sockets. They are filled with murderous intent. I have seen this look before.

I turn, I run, I trip over a body.

The tavern explodes.

Free talk:

So after been MIA for one year, I'm back! For those of you who are still subscribed to this story, or who have stumbled upon it, thank-you for reading this story.

Basically the direction in which DGM was going threw me off and I just lost inspiration to write ): Yes, that is a stupid excuse but I'm trying to make up for it now. I've got my hopes up for DGM once again.

Please review and tell me if I should continue updating.

Thanks!

~FSR