Being Frank Book Novels & Stories

“In London? Oh wow, I never been there.” “Where have you travelled to?” Frank spoke about the few summers he spent in the United States with his mother and siblings when they entered his dorm room. He offered her a beer and continued talking about his family, telling her about his younger sister Stephanie and his older brother Raymond. They drank all the beers and Frank was getting hungry. He looked at the time and saw that it was 18:05. “Are you hungry? We’re out of beer but I think Mark got a couple wine bottles that he forgot he had because we always buy beers.”

If I waited with Frank, it would mean I didn’t have to climb the stairs again, which is a nightmare. Frank is a man who doesn’t have a home. He wears multiple layers of clothing to keep warm and has a lot of facial hair. Despite his bad odor, he is a pleasant man, especially when he knows he is going to be getting some food. I sat against a wall with Frank. Looking at him, no matter how bad I had it. I had a roof over my head. He told me he used to be in the army. But he got injured and was sent home from the service.

My brows dipped. “Say it clearly,” I said. Frankie exhaled like a man bracing for impact. “You always had a talent for choosing the worst women.” I was in his face in an instant, gripping his collar and pulling him up to meet my eyes. He groaned but his smile didn’t falter. “Watch your fucking mouth,” I seethed roughly. Fear flickered briefly before he hid it with a low chuckle. “She’s not what you think she is.” “She’s exactly what I think she is.”

The whole place had his scent and I almost gagged in disgust. I sat on the old leather chair and leaned into it. Frank produced an old ledger with cracked covers and dropped it on the table in front of me. I opened the book and skimmed through the pages that I had read before. I had no time to start reading the damn book until I opened it further to see a small rectangular hole made inside. Inside the hole was a black flash drive. Curious, I fished it out of the old book and studied it closely. "I read the book but there was nothing about how to destroy an underground world, but I am willing to bet that the drive has something that may help," Frank said to me.

She didn't know why she cared so much, but Valia’s pain gripped her like a hand around the lungs. She flipped another page. And Another. She could not stop. By the tenth chapter, the world around Fru had begun to shift. "What in gods' name of craziness is going on..." Fru whispered, as she struggled to stand straight. Her eyes darting around her. The sound of crickets dulled into silence. "Whoa, whoa, whoa" Fru's mouth rounded in disbelief as the ink in the book rippled beneath her gaze, words liquefying into an emerald glow.

“Can you tell us at all about this place, Frank?” I asked, feeling unreasonably confident. Frank froze. I felt Enzo’s hand tighten on my leg beneath the table, but I wasn’t afraid. Frank, just like everyone else around here, was just a normal working man. In fact, he had done nothing except prove that he was incredibly kind, in his own way. Sure, he seemed a bit rough around the edges, but he went out of his way to give two strangers a ride and was even willing to sit down and have a meal with us.

“Come on. Let’s drink.” Franklin sat, twisted open a bottle, and downed it in one go. “You good, man?” Kelly—the one who’d called—asked carefully. “I don’t know, man,” Franklin said, resignation heavy in his voice. “My life is just so fucked up right now.” Steve shook his head and said, “Bro, you used to be the guy who didn’t care about any woman’s feelings. Never knew you’d turn into such a lover boy.”

Frank smiled gently. “One needs to write with a clear mind and free of emotions. Otherwise, the written words will come across as cold and lifeless.” Anthony looked up at him. He wanted to ask him to leave him be, but Frank continued, “You can’t lie to me. You’re actually very angry to have seen Charmine and I working together in the past two days. You pretended as if you didn’t care while every cell in you hated the sight of us, and your every stroke shows that.”

I try to stop him torturing me even more, then I speak louder, what a psychological hell! “It’s not necessary, I already know.” Franklin pretends he doesn’t hear me and scan through the little notebook, reading emotionless. “Let me read, start by kicking my ass, fuck me in half, break my nose, rip my arm off, smash my skull with Freud painting, poor Freud. I think that’s it, wait there, I had already forgotten, mark my shitty face with you fingers The Sickle, did I miss anything?” I try to remain serious and start to laugh, Dr. Franklin is thicker than me, even though I’m huge like a bear and sharp like a sickle, he doesn’t care a bit about my ugly face and my closed fists.

We ate in stretches of silence broken by small, ordinary questions. “Pass the salt?” “Is this stale?” “Did you sleep at all last night?” It helped. The normalcy. No glowing light, no humming bond, just three people chewing and making faces at each other when the cheese turned out too sharp. Eventually, Ronan pushed his plate away and pulled a small leather-bound book from his belt. He laid it on the table between us. “What’s that?” I asked. “Anchor,” he said. “You two keep using the word. So I made one.”