Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 05

"And worse case?" Miranda whispered, she really did not want to hear this.

"The concussion and swelling will cause cranial pressure which in turn will cause a cerebral hemorrhage or put him in a coma, that's only if the high fever he's running doesn't cause total organ failure," Sam ran a shaking hand through her hair before swallowing past a dry throat to continue,

"And if his ribs are truly fractured and not just cracked, he could have a collapsed lung or early onset of pneumonia and that's not considering the possibility that the bone may have punctured something else like his aorta or his spleen."

She turned to look at Grey's unconscious form. She could see fresh blood on his lips.

"And if that shit isn't coming from his nose or sinuses, then he's suffering from internal hemorrhaging then he'll either bleed out or all that blood will build up in system and, once again, you're looking at multiple organ failure."

Miranda tried to wrap her head around all this, she felt her mouth open and make sounds, but she had a hard time telling what the words were.

"What are you saying, Sam?"

Sam sighed again, looked at Grey then turned to face Miranda with a sad expression,

"I'm saying if you have anything important to tell him, you might want to get on that sooner rather than later."

Miranda took a few steps backwards until she felt her back hit the wall and she slid down into a sitting position.

"How did all this happen, Sam?" she whispered, "How did it come to this?"

Sam wheeled over to her and took Miranda's slender hands in her own.

"I don't know, baby," she whispered, "but you have to believe that it's going to work out."

"How?"

Sam exhaled hard, "I don't know, you just do your best to ignore the overwhelming amount of evidence that says otherwise and push forward."

Miranda smiled a little, "Said the mathematician to the physicist."

Sam smiled a little, "Not all of life can be boiled down to the certainty of equation. The human heart is simply too dynamic for that kind of thing," she held her hand out towards Miranda, "Come on lover, on your feet."

Miranda took her hand and pulled herself up, "Okay, so what do we do next?"

Sam looked about, "See if you can find a bathroom somewhere in this dungeon," Sam bent over and lifted the lantern, shining the light around the room, "There we go," Sam pointed towards a recessed doorway on the far wall, "See if you can find anything that will help. Be sure to bring the flashlight."

Miranda nodded, "What are you going to do?"

Sam glanced back at Grey with a wary expression, "I'm going to strip him down and get all that shit off him. Need to get him cleaned up if we want a decent shot of taking out that infection."

The other girl cleared her throat, "I could, um...I could do that, if you'd rather check out the bathroom," she couldn't decide is she was terrified or wildly excited at the prospect, but she was certainly something.

Sam smiled crookedly at her, "Down girl, I promise you'll get to see him naked at some point. But for right now, I think he'd be less self-conscious, if I was the one who did the deed."

Miranda tried not to look disappointed, even though she was very confused as to why she was, in the first place, "Okay, you're right, let me go check the bathroom," she started to leave, then turned at faced her lover with a sheepish expression, "Sorry."

Sam waved it away, "Not a problem, now get going."

Miranda smiled a little, she really was so lucky to have someone like Sam, "Okay, I'll take care of it."

"That's my girl. Now shoo!"

Miranda moved to Sam's side, kissed her once, twice, a third time upon her lips and once upon her head before leaving.

Sam lightly smacked her on the butt as she was leaving before turning her attention back to Grey.

"You better be worth all this, you lunatic," she whispered, leaning forward to push a lock of blonde hair from his eyes. She felt him move slightly under her touch and groan quietly, his eyes were darting back and forth under his eyelids.

"What kind of nightmares do you have rampaging around in that head of yours, Grey?" Sam asked him as she stroked his hair. Soon the man settled and lay still and silent.

Looking behind her to see if Miranda was around, she turned back and removed a small, golden cross from her neck, folding her hands over it.

"'Our father who art in heaven...'" she whispered, then frowned, "And fuck it, I'm not in the mood to be formal," she looked up at the ceiling.

"I know it's been a while since we've talked between the whole 'gay' thing and..." she looked down at her legs, "...anyhow. I want it known for the record that I still don't believe that homophobic bullshit a lot of your devotees are vomiting forth on a regular basis," she looked back up at the ceiling, "No God worth my time is going to punish me for who I choose to fuck. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone else but me tell me who I can and can't love," she squeezed the necklace hard, felting the soft metal bend slightly, "And if you've got a problem with that, then you can go to hell."

Sam released the necklace, her pulse roaring in her ears and she coughed, slightly embarrassed.

"Okay, so yeah not the best way to start off a request for help, I don't do this very often," she looked over and gestured at Grey, "You probably know this guy pretty well, he strikes me as the kind of person that is only alive because of direct divine intervention," she smiled a bit, "twice-bright candle and all that," she reached out and took Grey's hand before looking up at the sky.

"I know that everyone has an expiration date, but please...please don't take him yet," Sam worked to put her thoughts into some kind of order. "He's a good man, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He's a good man and that's...hell that has to count for something." She cleared her throat, "Fuck, I suck at this," she cleared her throat once again, "There's something between him and Miri, a connection, an attraction," she held her hands up in supplication, "And I don't know how to feel about it or what to do about it or even if I should do anything," she ran her fingers through her hair, "I'm just scared, no, wait, let me be honest, I'm fucking terrified: I can't lose Miri, but I don't want to lose Grey either, as weird as that sounds." She favored the sleeping man with a smile, "I care about him, as insane as that sounds. He's—"she drew up short and then laughed, covering her mouth with her hands, "Oh my god, he's my friend," she giggled, "Holy shit! I haven't had a guy friend in, like, forever!" she grinned like a child with the perfect Christmas present.

Then a thought occurred to her that drained all the joy from her like a burst balloon.

"Oh God," she whispered and looked back up at the ceiling, "Is that how this is going to go down? I'm going to have to choose between my lover and my friend? " She looked at Grey, "I mean, what's the deal; he dies and I don't have to worry about him and Miri anymore." She looked like she was going to be sick, "God, that's fucked up," she shook her head trying to clear it, "No, no fuck that, I'm not going to be that bitch," she glared up at the sky with red-rimmed eyes, "I am not going to be someone that lets 'what could happen' ruin my life. It's not an either\or, I have Miri, I have Grey, and I'm keeping both of them!"

She sniffled and wiped her eyes before laughing bitterly staring at her feet, "You know tonight's the first time I've ever seen Miranda just completely lose her shit? Even at the party, she was still somewhat together, but now, with Grey hurt? It's the first time I've ever seen her experience horror, you know, it was all over her face," she looked up, "but she's afraid, she's afraid and so am I," her hands tightened on the cross, "If Grey dies, Miri..., I don't know what she'll do," she swallowed around a dry throat, "I don't know what any of us are going to do."

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and gently placed her hand over Grey's.

"Please don't take my friend away."

What happened next, Sam would never be able to explain in the years to come: was it coincidence or something more? She felt Grey return her touch, gripping her hand and squeezing. She heard him take a deep, full, breath and cough lightly, with no blood coming from his lips and when he slipped back into unconsciousness; his breathing sounded just the slightest bit easier.

Sam didn't have any words at that moment; words were insufficient and so she coughed and wiped at her eyes again; dropping the cross under her shirt again.

As she settled back into her chair, her eyes were drawn to the footlocker: it was made of sturdy metal and was adorned by various numbers and letters, all coated in flecks of some kind of black substance, like dried paint. Frowning, Sam reached out and rubbed her fingers against it and it came off onto her fingers.

Not paint, soot.

"What the hell?" she muttered as she rubbed the ashen substance between her thumb and forefinger.

She gave herself a mental shake, the mystery of the footlocker had to wait. With practiced ease, she began to manipulate Grey's unconscious form.

"Bet you never thought the drunken lesbian would be the one getting you out of your clothes," she commented dryly, as she pulled the wreckage of his soiled tan overcoat free from his body. "Ugh" she made a face at the state of it and tossed it aside.

She took a moment to examine his torso: his white button up shirt was now nothing more than shreds and tatters, streaked with mud, blood, and God knew what else. Long rents through the material indicated where the shirt and the flesh behind it had been torn; dried blood outlined them like markers.

"Bastards," she muttered, as she began to unbutton his shirt. She heard him moan and he tried to push her hand away. She intercepted it with her free hand and laid it back down on the cot.

"Don't worry, I know: dinner and a movie first," she commented dryly as she finished with the shirt and peeled it off.

It was when she had put her hands back on his chest that she first noticed something was wrong. She frowned and brought the lantern up to him.

"Motherfucking fuck!" she hissed in shock, her face as white as a sheet.

Miranda made her way to the bathroom. There was no light-switch to be found here either.

"What is it about this guy and light?" she mused before shining the flashlight around: there was a recessed section made of blue tile with a drain in the center; it obviously passed as the shower. Hanging from a nail was a single, white, towel; generic in the extreme.

As Miranda continued to scan the room, she found the sink: a study in minimalism like everything else in Grey's home: there was a washcloth, a toothbrush, some toothpaste and a few other basic necessities.

As she swept the light up, a bright flash momentarily blinded her.

"Kuso!" she cursed, rubbing at her eyes. Blinking back floating stars from her vision; she approached the mirror above the bathroom sink: it had been partially shattered by a single, vicious, blow dead center. The cracks ran through the entire mirror and bits of glass still hung from it.

"Oh, that's a good sign," she muttered. When she moved in further to investigate, her foot kicked something hard.

"Ow!" she grunted as she crouched down to peer under the sink: there was a small, green, bag. It looked a great deal like a first aid kit. She pulled it out and examined it: it was the same olive green as the cot and the blanket and it had a faded red cross on the outside flap.

As she went to open the kit, she noted that it had an odd texture to it. She peered at the bag itself; a great deal of the material was jagged and brittle as if it had been set on fire at some point. She finished opening the bag. The first thing she saw was a faded photograph. It wasn't an antique, but it had definitely been taken before the age of digital cameras. The ends were curled and scorched black, much like the bag, and there were streaks of color running through it, but Miranda could make out what appeared to be a group of men in olive green combat fatigues. They appeared to be mugging for the camera and Miranda found herself smiling a little: there was something about the careless humor of the soldiers that served as a stark contrast against the automatic rifles they were carrying.

The picture abruptly ended at the top and Miranda could see that at least one soldier in the picture had been decapitated as a result. She ran her finger along the top. It was unburned and the cut was clean and deliberate. There was no mistaking the intent behind the deed: someone in that picture had been deliberately cut out.

And then, she saw the gun.

She had looked up long enough to adjust her light and had seen it taped to the underside of the sink: it was in a brown, leather holster, which was also cracked and seared black.

Carefully, she edged closer and removed the gun, examining it. Her father had served in the military and she knew a little bit about firearms under his tutelage. The gun was heavy and jet-black. It was called a "Sig" if she remembered correctly. The sequence "P226" was stamped on the side. As she was scrutinizing it, she noticed something odd.

The safety had been removed.

Now it occurred to Miranda that she was handling an unfamiliar firearm, probably loaded, with no safeties in place. With a great deal of care, she placed the gun on her lap, aimed away from her, and using both hands, gingerly depressed the latch that released the cartridge.

The chamber was empty as near as she could tell and there only a single bullet in the clip. There was something about that that frightened her, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"Miri!" Sam called out, "Get out here!"

"In a second Sammy," she replied, distracted, "Found something weird."

"Pretty sure I've got you beat, Miri, get out here!"

"Okay, I'll be right out," Miranda went about inserting the cartridge back into the gun and replacing it back in the holster.

"Miranda Inoue, get your fucking ass out here now!"

"Ugh, fine Sammy," she growled as she snatched up the kit and brought it out with her, "What's the—?"

She dropped the kit with a thud and sank to her knees in shock.

Grey's entire chest was a tortured ruin of burnt scar tissue.

"What in God's name...?" Miranda whispered.

Portions of his flesh was flushed an angry crimson; swollen and with a waxy appearance. Streaks of yellow, white, and pink ran deep through his body like fault lines. Wrinkles crept like spiders all over his skin like his veins had cooked in his body and become additional scar tissue.

But the worst, was the mangled lengths of charred skin: huge, pitted disfigurements; as if the living skin had been cooked and stripped away from his body like meat off the bone. The wounds seemed to gouge their way across his body, starting at his right shoulder; then slashing across and down his chest, continuing to blossom further and further like a grotesque flower before vanishing past his waistline.

His left nipple was gone; just a small, waxy, lump of skin and he was for the most part hairless, save for a few strands emerging from small patches of undamaged skin and Miranda could see firm muscle faintly defined underneath the wounds. She couldn't tell where the scars ended and the bruises and lacerations from the beating began.

"Well," Sam swallowed and licked her lips, "that's just the most horrible thing I've ever seen," she turned to Miranda, "I guess we know why he doesn't like being touched."

Miranda opened and closed her mouth several times, "What...what...?"

Sam shook her head, "He was burned, sweetie," she gestured, "That is at least a third degree burn and from what I can tell, some of it was probably even fourth."

"I thought there was only three degrees of burn," Miranda said numbly still trying to process it, "I've never heard of a fourth degree burn."

"That's because nobody SURVIVES a fourth degree burn at least far as I've heard. It would be like swimming naked in napalm; you've burnt through all the skin and have moved on to muscle, fat, and tendon."

Slowly, Miranda got back to her feet, peering at Grey's unconscious form, "How could it have happened?" she asked as her intellectual curiosity began to overcome her horror.

"Fire," Sam repeated, "A prolonged exposure to a very intense fire," she looked back sadly at him, "full thickness contact burn."

"Do you think it still hurts?" Miranda whispered.

Sam shrugged, "No idea, with that much damage, it's anyone's guess," she reached out and touched her lover's hand, "For what it's worth; he wasn't in a lot of pain when it happened. The nerves are the first thing to go."

"And now?"

"I don't know sweetie, it could be he feels very little or nothing at all," she rubbed her eyes, suddenly very tired, "Or it could be that he spends his every waking moment in hellish agony. It would certainly explain why he doesn't shy away from brutality: pain is less scary with deadened nerves. Not to mention his 'oh so refined' people skills."

"Let's..." Miranda gestured at the remains of Grey's shirt, still hanging in tatters on his body, "Let's get that off him."

Sam nodded and slipped her hands under Grey's shirt at the shoulders and grimaced: "Scars here too. Makes Freddy Krueger look like Freddie Prinze Jr.," she finished stripping him and cast a look down his back, running her hands over the mutilated flesh, "Christ."

"How does it look?" Miranda asked.

"Like a landscape of Hell," Sam replied as she ran her fingers across his body. The scars were deeply embedded in the tissue almost as if the fire had eaten away at his body, like acid, "Oh hey, he has tattoos!"

"Get your bloody hands off me."

Sam froze as if she had just heard a rattlesnake shake its tail. She cast a look backwards at Miri, who had the same expression on her face.

"Now."

Sam leapt away from the man and scrambled to get into her wheelchair as Grey raised his head. His face was covered in sweat, and his mismatched green eyes shone with equal parts fever and fury.

"You have no right," he said quietly.

"We were only trying--."

"YOU HAD NO GODDAMN RIGHT!"

Both the girls jumped as if stung. He took the opportunity to gather up his blanket and cover himself with it.

Sam found her voice first, "Grey, you have an infection and open wounds. Those clothes were filthy, they had to come off," she stressed, "Otherwise you could have died."

"And?"

Sam's mouth sagged open, her words tumbling from her mind as she cast a look at Miranda.

"I've already had this argument with him; your turn," was all she said. Grey seemed to ignore them both as he lit up a fresh cigarette.

"So this is why you live in this pit?" Sam stated; it wasn't a question.

"Isn't this where all the monsters go? All wretched and ugly things not meant for the light of day?" he spat acidly, "Far from the beautiful world," he gestured at the girls, "And the beautiful people that inhabit it?"

"Wow, bitter much!?" Sam growled as Grey continued to smoke his cigarette.

"You haven't the faintest idea, child."

"You want to bet, asshole?" she gestured at her legs.

Grey looked at her for a moment, and then proceeded to extinguish his cigarette by grinding it into his chest.

"Shit!" Sam cried out and Miranda rushed towards the man only to be stopped by Grey's upraised hand.

"I'll take that wager," he said as he continued to push the burning piece of paper and tobacco into his scars. The hiss and scent of burning skin seeped into the air, "And I'll even make the wages fair, pet. How about this?" he removed the cigarette from his chest which had left an angry scarlet mark, "