Gabriel’s eyes were bleary from sobbing, but he focussed on the tweezers through his desk-mounted magnifying glass. Repairing Plodder had been the most complex puzzle he had ever had to solve. Andy’s shotgun blast had devastated the gnome’s face, scattering his shell across the bed and bunker. The only grace was that his lower half had remained largely in-tact. Spread over Gabriel’s desk were several reconstituted chunks of his friend. Gradually, Gabriel glued him back together, filling in the cracks with model cement, which left ugly grey lines. He didn’t know if it would revive the gnome, but he had to try.
Plodder’s face was the hardest part to reform. A crooked smile was frozen on the gnome’s lips, and much of his right eye was missing. Gabriel slathered the cement, filling in the cracks, cramming the splintered pieces together. Pointing a fan at his patient, he waited while the unconscious gnome's wounds dried.
Andy’s snoring rumbled like the foul beast snuffling at a rabbit’s hole, drifting down the staircase from the bunker’s entrance above. Nearby, Clara slept peacefully in his bed. He had dreamed of a moment like this–when a maiden might grace his abode, recline in his sheets, and call him to bed. But he felt nothing for her, nothing but grief. How cruelly she had disregarded Andy’s evil actions. She was no maiden of his dreams. She was more complex than that, like an ice crystal–beautiful to look at, but cold to touch.
He must have corrupted her, that Andrew. The bloodsucker. For a moment, while guiding the leather-jacketed demi-demon through the vault, Gabriel had developed a certain detached fondness for his antics–his no-nonsense attitude. But now that he was here, unleashed in Gabriel’s very home, the sentiment quickly evaporated.
Gabriel nudged the scalpel on his desk, rocking it back and forth. He could do it, if he had to, couldn’t he? He could stab Andy if he was cornered, or if he went for Plodder again. Gabriel had never attacked anyone before, but a lifetime spent reading comics had taught him the procedure. It was simple: just a quick jab in the eye, but he felt sick with nerves just imagining it. What if it didn’t work? What if it made Andy angrier? With a heavy heart, Gabriel had to admit that if Andy wanted to do anything, take anything, he could, and Gabriel would be powerless to stop him.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Once dried, Gabriel sanded the modelling cement down, dabbing the corners of Plodder’s mouth like wiping food off a baby’s face. However, the hole in his eye socket was too large to repair. Gabriel fished a penny out of a pile of tatt and cemented it in place, plugging the wound. Licking his paintbrush, he set to work restoring Plodder’s features: the glow of his chubby cheeks, the shine of his red hat, the rustic brown of his bristly eyebrows. Finally, he painted the eyes, though the penny-eye was misshapen. Instead, he filled it in with black, dry-brushing it with silver, swirling a red dot at its centre, with a reflective glow in a glass-like orb.
Wheeling backwards, Gabriel rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and inspected his work. Plodder’s new bionic eye was at odds with his joyful smile, but it was the best he could do. Leaning in, Gabriel held his breath as he dabbed his brush, bracing his fingers against Plodder's hat. With a silent prayer, he painted the final pupil.
Plodder gasped awake, squirming and clutching at Gabriel’s hand.
“It’s okay,” Gabriel whispered. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s okay.”
Plodder’s one good eye was wide and terrified. “Where am I? What happened?”
“You’re safe,” Gabriel said, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his face. “He’s gone.”
“There was blackness, deeper, even, than the paintpot.” Plodder gripped his thumb like a baby. “And an image, fading, like dust in the wind.”
Plodder’s grip loosened as he stared past Gabriel towards the ceiling, a glossy glaze forming over his eye. “My friends were gone. I could feel them drifting away. They had not waited for me. They had gone to the afterlife without me. There was nothing. I was alone.”
“You’re not alone, remember.”
“No…” Plodder’s fingers traced his repaired machine-looking eye. He scowled, and traced the cement scars across his face and arms. “Why did he do this?”
A dozen answers–mostly excuses–crossed Gabriel’s mind. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
Plodder’s eye narrowed as it flickered towards the stairs, above which Andy snored, oblivious to the hurt he had caused. A light appeared in Plodder’s machine eye, as though a faint LED bulb was glowing through a pinprick crack in the pupil.
“That is no man, as I have learned of them.” Plodder clenched his tiny fists. “He is a monster.”
