The pulse that throbbed along Braxton’s jaw pulled him from any sense of unconscious peace. Helicopter blades beat somewhere in the distance. Thick scents of sulfur and explosive residue sent Braxton into a coughing fit. Braxton tried to force himself to his knees, but the spinning sensation in his head threatened to send him over the edge. First, he found a large boot, and then a wheel to a metal cart. Braxton looked up and felt like someone attached a dumbbell to his right jaw.

“Your Protege awakes,” the large man sad.

“Urg-huh-phm,” Braxton said.

Blood soaked saliva splattered against the metal cart as Braxton tried to spit on the ground. Why can’t I talk. When Braxton tried to open his mouth again, he felt the grinding of bone on bone and cried out in agony. Tears washed clean streaks into the blood around his jaw and below. Caked and dried blood clung to the side of Braxton’s face.

“I think this will be the first time you listen to me, Brax,” The Artist said. “Your sister always complained that you never listened to your parents.”

Braxton wanted more than anything to scream. More tears soaked his face. The iron and salty stench made Braxton vomit. The large man didn’t laugh, and neither did Cass Lawrence. Artist and apprentice watched and waited for the right time to continue. Braxton couldn’t speak and didn’t want to risk any further injury, so he looked up toward the television screen and glared. A uniqueness to the situation struck Braxton. Why would he use a regular television instead of a cell phone? He could just video chat with me. But each time they spoke, it came through an old school tube television. 

A whimper sounded in the distance, but when Braxton tried to turn his head in that direction, the bones in his jaw flared in pain. 

“No, you won’t be helping those people tonight,” The Artist said. “I see that you’ve angered Apprentice Lionel. Please refrain from further aggravating this pupil. I prefer to keep my proteges alive and healthy.”

“Why?” 

Braxton spluttered the one word out before his arms gave out from the pain in his jaw. 

“I’ve already told you,” The Artist said, “I needed to show Benjamin true Art. Also, I guess I wanted to convince you again. Try to show you what you’ve forgotten since that day twenty years ago. I’m not ready to make you beautiful, not yet at least. No, tonight is for Benjamin, and to help you make someone beautiful.”

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