Art Entwined in Blood, Pt. 3

    "You're a millionaire?!"
    At this point Frank was up off the ground, but wasn't quite sure where to place his body. He ended up standing by the chair he was previously in.
    "Of course I am!" Gerard belted gleefully, stretching his arms high above his head. It looked like attempted jazz hands.
    "How did you think I could afford this mansion for all these years? Who do you think got all the money from the stack market crash in 1929? It all came to me, and I lived in luxury!" he exclaimed proudly, almost cackling from the amount of energy.
    "It's a family fortune," he caught himself, lowering his arms.
    "That's a lot of money."
    "Yes, indeed. In fact, why don't you venture with me to purchase the candles? We'll go tonight. I can pick you up if you'd like," Gerard proposed.
    "We only met today," Frank laughed.
    "But I feel as if I know you," Gerard countered.
    "I already know you, Frances."
    Frank just couldn't make a joke around this guy. He always took it so seriously; and he always took it to a philosophical level. He sounds like an old man, but he looks like a boy out of high school. This just doesn't make any sense.
    "But I don't know you."
    "That's the fun part."
    Gerard stood up from his desk and walked over to a shelf with at least two hundred leather-bound books; most were falling apart. Frank couldn't read the titles because of the dim candle light, but he could tell that Gerard really loved them. He watched as Gerard pulled a particular one down as it rained dust particles from the high shelf.
    "Read this. It's my favorite," he sighed, dreamily.
    He collapsed into his chair and ran his slender fingers through the lush locks upon his head while he rested his eyes.
    "How am I supposed to read this? It looks like it's in Russian or something."
    Gerard's eyes snapped open to observe Frank.
    "Right. It's been a while. Never mind, remind me to read it to you sometime," he stated in a near whisper while retrieving the book. Frank had started to sense an awkward silence, so he pulled out the cell phone that Jamia had shoved into his pocket. It displayed one message from her asking when he'd be home. He was about to reply to it, but instead shot a glance at Gerard who was providing a glare that could crack the very gates of Hell open.
    "What is that infernal contraption?" he glared, disgusted.
    "Uh, it's just a cell phone. I guess you don't go out mu--"
    "Frank, I've expressed how I don't approve of technology.. Put that -thing- away."
    Frank was taken a little off guard, but he obliged and snuck the phone back into his pocket. Gerard's almost snarling expression returned to one of exhaustion.
    "Frank, it's nearly 10 in the morning. I'll have to ask you to leave. I'll be around to pick you up at 9 in the evening. Be fully dressed and ready to leave immediately."
    "But I--"
    "But you what, Frances?"
    Frank was caught off-guard by the look of sincerity in Gerard's ever-reminiscing eyes.
    "See you at 9."

----------

    "So you're leaving? With some guy?"
    Frank hustled around the house, trying to find a nice-looking tie. One of his work ties maybe?
    "Yes. At nine," he glanced at the clock, "It's 8:57."
    "But Frank!"
    "Be back later!" he yelled, closing the door behind him.
    Almost immediately as he shut the door, a large black vehicle drove up to his house. It was sleek, but not shiny. It was old, but not rusty. It was a perfect monstrosity that could never define anyone but a funeral home owner; or a haunted mansion owner. The door opened and a familiar head peeked out.
    "Hello, stranger!" Gerard chimed through the dense air. "Won't you join me?"
    Frank couldn't help the smile that plastered itself onto his face as he climbed into the menacing vehicle beside Gerard.
    "Why is it that a hearse isn't unexpected?" he laughed.
    "Expect the unexpected?" Gerard shrugged. Smiles were very contagious.
    As they approached a run-down warehouse, Frank's heart beat sped up.
    "Um, where are we?"
    Suddenly, going out late at night with a man he had just met earlier in the day didn't seem like such a great idea after all...
    "We're getting candles!" Gerard beamed.
    "This place has been--"
    "Shh," Gerard put a finger to his lips to signify quieter dialogue.
    "Sorry," Frank spoke softer, "This place has been abandoned for at least ten years. How are you expecting to buy anything here?"
    "Expect the unexpected, Frances," he spoke fluently with a mischievous smirk.
    Gerard walked up to a boarded up door and repeated a series of knocks that sent shivers up Frank's spine. Gerard stood patiently by the door as if expecting someone to come and open it. Frank took an awkward stance near the hearse. Just as Gerard started to hum a mysterious tune, the garage door to the warehouse opened up with beams of light shooting through the cracks.
    "Let's get some candles," he chuckled.
    Gerard led the way into the strangely lit up warehouse. It was a marvelous sight. Varieties of candles, waxes, scents, perfumes, colognes, and even stained glass pieces were scattered neatly about the tables and shelves. Everything seemed as if it was made of gold; it was gleaming with light.
    "Haven't seen you in some time, have I, Master Way? Seems yo' got some hankerin' for a wax piece?"
    An extremely short man appeared out of a small doorway, pulling himself along with a wooden cane. Gerard also had a cane, but Frank had a feeling Gerard's was just for aesthetic purposes.
    "Hello, Mr. Mullock! It has indeed been a long time! How has business been?"
    Frank tuned out of the conversation as he started to wander about the corridors made of products. He didn't touch anything, though he came close to it. He mostly just stared in astonishment at the crafting of such normally mundane items.
    "And I met Frances here, why- just today actually! Isn't that right, Frances! ...Frances?"
    Gerard quickly found and pulled Frank back to his side by Mr. Mullock.
    "Mustn't get lost now, Frances. I've known you for too small amount of time."
    Frank looked at Gerard's face to see not a joking manner, but a serious, cautious one. Frank looked to Mr. Mullock and without thinking, blurted out something that seemed awfully rude after he said it.
    "Are you a troll?"
    Mr. Mullock gave a wheezing cackle and looked at Gerard.
    "You haven' given this boy here a proper less'n yet? Master Way, I known yo' for quite some time, and I know you ain't a man to leave a boy untrained! Does he even know what yo' are? Are you feelin' alright?"
    "Yes, I'm doing just fine, Mr. Mullock," Gerard sneered through clenched teeth. "I'd just like my order of candles, and I'll be leaving."
    "Ah yes, your can'les. I got 'm right here, Master Way. Would you be likin' any assistance gettin' 'm to the mansion? I just got some new employ--"
    "I drove here, thank you, Mr. Mullock. I'll have Frances help me load them in the back."
    Mr. Mullock shrugged, "Well alright. Suit yo' self. They're pretty handy though, those'n the back wing..."
    "Thank you, Mr. Mullock."
   That appeared to be all he needed to hear, for he shrugged and left through the very door from which he came.
    "What was that about? What did he mean, 'what you are'?" Frank questioned.
    "Why, that I'm a millionaire, of course. I couldn't imagine anything else I could be," he turned to look Frank in the eyes with the same mischievous smirk as before, "could you?"