Ch. 22: Life Cannot Go on as Normal

Lucille tossed and turned in bed, troubled in her sleep. The same horrid nightmare plagued her since the first night back, but this time it had a new starring character and plot.

She was alone backstage, waiting for Francoeur to finish his solo piece. His silhouette could be seen through the backdrop, showing her that he was at the end of his act. As he was taking his bow, the lights began to flicker and stopped when not one but two more figures appeared on stage. Each one stood at opposite sides of the giant flea, taking him by each arm and dragging him back to where she stood. There was the monster from England, accompanied by another creature that looked like her, but with a red shell instead of blue. Their eyes glowed a blood red like when she first met the creature in the alleyway. She begged them to release her friend, anticipating the sound of bones crunching and Francoeur screaming.

Instead, they shrieked and grinned deviously at him before releasing their hold and gesturing to Lucille. There were foaming at the mouth, hunger laced in their stare. They bowed down to Francoeur and gestured once more to the woman. Then, Francoeur looked at her with hunger in his unblinking eyes. She ran for the door and was thrown against the wall by a thin arm. His eyes turned red, his teeth more sharp, and blood splattered across his chest. Lucille looked down at herself before crying out at the sight of a jagged gash across her stomach. Hesitantly, she lifted her gaze back to Francoeur. He too was bleeding profusely, but from the new appendages that grew out of his torso. His face elongated, while his eyes divided to four beedy little pairs. The creature slowly rose to his new height, increased by an extra pair of legs. Talons as long as kitchen knives decorated his hairy hands. As he lunged for her neck, the only thought that rang through her head was this, "I never should've trusted her."

A piercing scream cut through the timid night, frightening the commissioner and his love to action. Paté had never seen the pudgy woman move so fast in his life. When he arrived to the scene, Carlotta was shushing him as she held onto her shivering niece. She smiled reassuringly to him, before waving him out. He didn't see them again till noon.

…

"Hey buddy, you seen Franky around?"

"He doesn't care for that name," Emile said pointedly.

Raoul rolls his eyes, "But have you seen him?"

"I thought he went early for work," this friend shrugged and frowned.

"Weird, but anyway I got a message from the professor. He should be back in a couple more days. Even though he's not staying for long, I'm gonna try to finish up his private project. Thought it'd be nice or whatever since he's letting me use his space."

"I always wondered, why does he need a—"

A horrible honking sound engulfs their ears as the two men brace themselves and cover their ears. The sound grows louder while Raoul walks to the door and opens it. He catches Francoeur bounding up the hall, who stops and sheepishly waves.

"Other people live here too, big guy. What is that? Where'd you get it"

Francoeur hands the object to him, chittering excited. There are two thick tubes entwined that split in opposite directions at the top. It kind of looks like an abstract goat skull. How do you control this? Where are there buttons or finger holes? Raoul looks to Emile who looks at him equally confused.

"Look, I don't know a whole lot about instruments, but I don't think this is one."

Francoeur scoffed at him, looking to Emile who places his hand on his arm saying, "It's probably a kid's noisemaker. We'll talk to the traders later for you. Come on inside, fella." They shuffled inside the tiny apartment, Raoul still examining the curiosity.

"Have you asked Lucille about the horn?"

Francoeur shook his head as his frame sagged and his entire demeanor changed. He cooed sadly then crossed his arms in a huff, still looking hurt despite his angry pose.

Both men looked quizzical before turning to each other, their expressions turning grave. It's not like Lucille to turn her best friend away. Ever.

"She must have a good reason, nothing against her most cherished and wonderful flea," Raoul tries to pinch said flea's cheek. Francoeur turns away before he could make contact, snatching the horn and walking to his room without sparing either of them a glance.

"Understandable, good bye to you too."

"Hey, cut it out."

"What? Maybe she just didn't want to deal with him today. It must be so frustrating. He was a music prodigy when she found him and now? He's not any better than a moody teenager."

"You know that's probably the exact thing making him moody. Music is his life! And yet, he hasn't written any new songs for months. Think that was a choice?"

"Ah, yeah I know. But he can hold out till the professor gets here. I've been thinking that the singing part in that serum could be fading. I don't want to scare him though."

"I'm not sure, music is about more than the physical ability. And science is precise, we should figure out exactly what's impeding him before the professor gets back. Like you said, he's not going to be here for long."

"My brilliant little friend, you're right. Anyway, I'm tired of seeing that stormy cloud over his head. First, I need to check on Lucille. She's an expert on this subject too. Second, shouldn't you be at work?"

Emile's eyes widened, flying out the room calling out a quick "see ya later" and a few curse words.

I am just too distracting. Tsk.

…

Shaking hands go to pickup the white mask, pulling away after several reluctant attempts. Instead, they clench into fists and Lucille presses them on either side of her head as she squeezes her eyes shut. She thought maybe she could face her friend if he hid his face. Guilt weighed heavily in her head, taking up the space that fear and dread left alone. How could I be so cruel? It takes a single nightmare to take away my trust in my most cherished friend. It's not founded on anything so why am I making such a big deal? I wasn't this afraid when we first met. I know him better than I know myself. But maybe I don't know myself well at all.

She tries again to touch the mask, not quite being able to go through with it. A few tears escape with a wimper, chasing one another down the sides of her face and falling off her chin. Lucille opens her eyes, catching her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her eyes wander over her swollen face. Steeling herself, she picks up a small towel and dries off. Her voice shakes, but does not falter, "Francoeur will never hurt me. I will never hurt him." She barely touches the edge of the mask and recoils as the picture of slobbery fangs flashes from the contact. The cabaret singer sinks down and sobs into the towel.