Dynamics of a Human Heart Ch. 08

"Please!" he begged, "Please I'll do anything---!"

Snap!

"I know," Grey confirmed softly, "But that is not a part of my design," he gripped the man's last, undamaged finger, "You believe that those who, like you, believe themselves to be in power can negotiate with me, they cannot."

Snap!

The man screamed and Grey dropped him on the floor. "When you encounter a man who does not abide your rules, all you can hope to do is watch all you know, all you hold dear, collapse into ash."

"Good God!" President Vega croaked.

Grey turned to look at him, "Wrong on both counts."

He reached down and hoisted the blubbering man to his feet by his neck, "Now, you are going to listen to me very carefully because the life of every single person you share blood with depends on it. This is my design. Nod if you comprehend."

Edward's face had flushed purple from pain and fear, he resembled a tortured bullfrog but he managed to nod.

"You and yours have trespassed in my garden for the last time. This is mine," he gestured to the girls, "they are mine, if there is judgment or punishment to be meted out, it is mine to do so. This is my design, do you comprehend?"

The man managed a second nod, though he did not appear to have a third in him.

"I am not bound by the authority of your laws, your lying, timid morality or your delusions of conscience, remorse, and morality. I answer to nothing: I am bound by neither creed nor cause and the laws of man, nature, science of even your pale God, do not command my obedience. I answer to a higher law."

A beat.

"Mine."

Edward emitted a last, piteous, moan of horror and pain as Grey dropped him to the floor in a heap.

"This is my design and there is no place in it for you or your kin."

"Please."

Grey raised his poisonous eyes to meet Miranda's.

"Please don't kill him," she implored.

"He'd kill you."

"To protect his family."

"To protect his legacy," Grey corrected, he looked down at the man. "He wouldn't really care all that much if I carved up his little blonde cunts and left them as Jack-o'-lanterns on his front porch." He sneered at the man on the floor, "But since Junior went and had his genitals mutilated, they are his last chance of the family name living on." He crouched down low to face the man, "The question is, are your little girls going to live long enough to fulfill your aspirations?"

"No Please! Please don't hurt my babies!" Edward's wife cried out.

Grey smiled to himself, "Back in the game then, Mrs. Hillsgrove?"

The woman looked like hell itself and could barely stand, but she spoke with the conviction a terrified mother can manage, "Just tell me what you want from us, we'll do anything—"

"I believe your mangled husband here made the same offer," Grey interrupted.

"—but please, please don't hurt my little girls," the woman began to cry anew as everyone felt their bowels churn in fear and revulsion.

"Fair enough," Grey considered, "You and your family have lost their California privileges. Run, Mrs. Hillsgrove, run far and run fast and above all, be afraid," Grey moved towards the woman, who backed away, "Because if you forget your fear and cross my path again, we will play a rousing game of 'Which child does mommy love the least,' do you understand?"

The woman just nodded; terrified, but slowly regaining her composure as Edward was clamoring to his feet, clutching his damaged hand and glaring balefully at Grey.

Grey caught the look and smiled slightly, "Ah, and there it is; hatred. Finally, something genuine from you, Edward," Grey approached the man and Edward began to retreat, "You are beaten, broken, humiliated. How you must hate me for exposing your weakness."

"Yes," the other man snarled.

"I'll wager you'd like to get even very much, take revenge on the man who neutered your son and tormented you and your wife."

"Yes," the man hissed again in a bestial tone.

Grey fished into his pockets and removed a small vial filled with a milky-white substance.

"Allow me to present you your retribution."

Everyone looked thoroughly confused,

"What is it?" Edward asked suspiciously.

"Merely a few specific atoms in a certain configuration: some hydrogen, a little carbon, a bit of nitrogen."

Miranda's eyes went wide, "Hydrogen cyanide, are you out of your mind?"

"Poison?" Edward rasped, "You expect me to drink poison?"

Grey's smile broadened, "Of course I do, witness," and he removed a second small vial filled with milky liquid, "Miranda," he called out, "Inform Mister Hillsgrove of the rather impressive qualities of the elixir before him."

"Hydrogen cyanide is one of the most dangerous toxins in the world, there's enough in that one vial to kill everyone in this room."

"Grey, come on, you're not actually intending on killing this guy," Sam asked, "Are you?"

"Not exactly," he presented both vials to Edward, "Choose."

"You really think I'll just drink that shit?" the older man insisted, "Why?"

"For your revenge, Mister Hillsgrove," he shook the small vial, causing the contents to swirl about, "You drink one, and I'll drink the other. And you'll either have your revenge or you'll be dead."

"No!"

Miranda stormed over to them, "No, this is insane, Grey, don't do this!"

"This is my design, Miranda," Grey replied unfazed, "It must be obeyed."

"I'm not going to stand here and watch you either kill yourself or someone else.

"Then look away," Grey deliberately turned his attention back to Edward, "What do you say, Edward, double or nothing?"

"Edward, don't," President Vega implored, "Let this whole matter be over with and just walk away."

"Fuck you," Edward hissed as he grabbed a vial from Grey's hand, peering at it, "I assume you know which one is the poison?"

Grey's smile became an expression of teeth and aggression, masked by a kind of sadistic amusement, "Of course I do."

"And you'll still drink?"

"Of course, that's the deal. The question now is, do you hate me enough to risk your life?"

"What's to keep you from spitting yours out?"

"Miranda? Would you care to answer?" Grey asked politely.

"No."

"Because," Isabel interjected quietly, "Even a few residual drops coating the inside of your mouth will be enough to kill."

"Thank you, doctor," Grey held up his vial, "Ready?"

"Please, Grey, don't do this!" Miranda implored.

Grey's grin faded and was replaced by a forlorn smile, "I have to, poppet," he gestured at Edward, "It's the only thing people like him will understand," he shifted his attention back to the wounded man and raised his vial, "Here's to your son; may he enjoy a long and frustrating life...as a eunuch."

"Bastard!" Edward hissed and he downed the vial in a single gulp, Grey did the same. Both men swallowed and locked gazes as the entire room held its breath.

"You chose poorly, Edward," Grey said quietly.

"What—GOD!"

Edward fell to his hands and knees clutching his stomach, "Fuck!" and he vomited violently before collapsing into the fetal position, thrashing, "Fuck!" he vomited again as he tried to get to his feet.

"Jesus Grey, do something!" Sam demanded.

Grey swallowed and simply shrugged as Edward vomited for the third time, clutching his stomach and throat, "It burns!" he rasped out.

"And it will continue to burn for a good long time," Grey swallowed again and, reaching into his pocket, removed a small bottle and handed it to Edward's wife.

"What is this?" she asked, staring at her husband thrash and writhe in his own vomit with an expression of equal parts horror and fascination.

"Antidote," Grey replied and swallowed nosily, "for him," he then handed her a small business card, "And for you, Carol."

She took it and frowned, examining, "'Caitlin Blake, Family Law'?"

A ghostly, but gentle smile creased Grey's expression as he swallowed and leaned close to her, whispering in her ear. She looked thoroughly confused as he pulled away taking one last look at Edward.

"Goodbye Mister Hillsgrove, we will not meet again. I leave your fate in the hands of those you have abused. If you are lucky, they will show you more mercy than you or your son have shown others," Swallowing again, Grey bowed formally to the others in the room, "Ladies," he turned, "President Vega, good day," and with that he strode from the room.

The room was quiet except for Edward clutching his stomach and moaning piteously.

"What did he say to you?" Sam asked.

Carol shook her head, looking confused, but in a better state than she had since the entire debacle had begun, "I don't know, it was in a different language: 'Tempus mollis nisi merito valeat.'"

"It's Latin," President Vega spoke up.

"What does it mean?" Sam asked.

"'The weak deserve nothing, except the opportunity to become strong," he gestured at Carol holding the business card in her hand, "I believe it's meant as encouragement."

"What about him?" Isabel asked, gesturing at Edward who appeared to delirious with pain.

Carol looked down at the man and then, very deliberately, placed the bottle containing the antidote near his head, "If he wants to live so badly, he can drink it himself." She then closed her jacket to hide the shredded remains of her shirt and looked at everyone in the room, "Goodbye," and she left the room.

"Is anybody going to help him?" Sam asked quietly.

"No," Isabel said, "Besides, he's not dying."

"He sure looks like he's dying."

"If he'd ingested cyanide, he'd already be dead."

"Oh, then what the hell is wrong with him?"

"You'll have to ask Grey."

Miranda suddenly stormed out of the room, catching everyone by surprise.

"I've seen that look before," Sam gestured at the departing Miranda, "And I wouldn't trade places with Grey for all the Sandman comics in the world right now."

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Doctor Miranda Inoue had had enough. She was tired: tired of being manipulated, tired of being intimidated, and most of all, tired of having any measurement of calm in her life completely upended by Grey. She was a woman on a mission and she was going to deal with this once and for—

She heard the sound of someone vomiting profusely.

--all.

She turned a corner to find Grey propping himself up along the side of a building.

"God damn it," he hissed and proceeded to throw up again.

In a heartbeat, condemnation became grave concern.

"What have you done to yourself, Grey? What was in those vials?"

He looked up at her then, he had become deathly pale and his lips had a faint, blue-ish, tint to them.

"Oh, God," Miranda moved towards him only to have him flinch away.

"Get away!" he hissed before throwing up again.

"Grey, whatever you just drank, we need an antidote."

"Ipecac."

Miranda nodded, "Good idea, we need to induce vomiting—oh," her brain caught up with her then.

Grey shuddered violently and he clutched at the wall for support, "I drank...Ipecac as did Hillsgrove, mixed with spoiled almond milk."

"For the bitter almonds smell associated with cyanide," Miranda reasoned, her eyes wide, "That's..."

"Inspired? Ingenious? Insidious?" his tone shifted from amused to acerbic.

"Insanity."

"Ah well, six of one...," he waved weakly, dismissively and vomited again.

There was a short silence between them, interrupted only by Grey's occasional wince of pain.

"Thank you for what you did for us," Miranda said quietly.

Grey gave her a look, "Oh, that must be difficult for you."

"It's true."

"I know, that's what makes difficult, I imagine," he threw up again and sank to a sitting position on the floor, braced against the wall, "Bloody hell, that's rank."

"Why did you do this?" the girl asked.

"What do you mean? Why did I poison myself?"

"For starters."

"Bullies only understand a few, select dialects: pain, fear, and death. They view the world and the people in it as things to be tormented or possessed."

"Is that why you called Sam and myself 'yours to judge and punish' that we were part of 'your design'?"

"I had to make him understand, so I spoke words that he would comprehend."

"Destroying his wife and shattering his hand wasn't going to cut it?"

"No."

Another pause.

"So, you aren't going to hurt his daughters--?"

"Of course I'm not going to hurt those little girls, do you think I'm a demon?" he snarled at her then and she backed away hurriedly as his veneer of humanity slipped, exposing the wounded, raging dragon underneath.

"I don't know anymore, Grey. I don't know anything when it comes to you anymore."

"Maybe you never really knew anything about me at all."

"Maybe not," she shrugged, too drained for anything more. "Why did you help his wife, in the end?"

His weary human face resurfaced, succeeding in dragging the dragon back down in the dark depths of his being.

"Because she needed it. I have shown her a way, should she choose to follow it, she will find herself stronger for it."

"Assuming she survives this path you've forced upon her."

"If she were as she could have been, the path would have not required force."

"So, what, 'tough love'?"

"That would require some form of love. This is more," he searched for the word, "Evolutionary imperative: either she will evolve or she will die. Either way, she will be free."

"Is that how you get your thrills then, Grey? Wind up people and watch them dance?"

A ghostly smile flickered across his bile-coated lips, "Oh, I like dancing," he closed his eyes, kneading them with his fists, "But this isn't a dance."

"What is it Grey?"

"Puppetry, Miranda. Marionette work."

"Are Sam and I your puppets? Was that why you were so angry, because someone tried to take away your toys?"

She was startled to see him flinch at her words, "No," he whispered hoarsely. "No, you're not my puppets."

"What are we, Grey?"

"Something...more."

"Miri!"

Miranda turned to see Sam wheeling towards her for all she was worth with Isabel right behind her.

"What. The. Fuck?!" Sam demanded as she wheeled up next to them.

"He's poisoned himself," Miranda told her.

"Madre de Dìos!" Isabel shoved Miranda out of the way, causing the thin girl to stumble backwards in Sam, who caught her before she fell.

The girls exchanged looks of confusion as Isabel began to touch Grey's face.

"Uh....Izzy?" Sam said cautiously.

Grey's complexion was pale, his hands trembled and his Isabel ran her fingers across his mouth, cleaning it of bile, they saw that his lips were blue.

"He's going into shock," Isabel stripped her jacket off and wrapped it around him.

Grey's green eyes flickered open and met Isabel's, "Good morning, mi pajarito."

Samantha Adler had often compared herself as the lesser genius in her relationship with Miranda. But, what she believes she may have lacked in intelligence, she more than made for with intuition.

In addition, she spoke Spanish.

"'Little bird'. You?!" Sam cried out, "You're his 'little bird'? You're the one that's been telling him about us?" The girls felt like they'd been sucker punched, all this time they had placed their trust in this woman. Now they felt as if they didn't know the real her at all.

Grey smiled thinly, his teeth were beginning to chatter, "Uh-oh, looks like the cat's out of the bag."

"Isabel how could you--?" Sam began.

"Not now!" Isabel yelled before taking Grey's hand in her eyes, "Stay with me!" she shouted into his face.

"What's wrong with him?" Miranda demanded.

"He's going into shock," she repeated testily.

"Why?"

Isabel whirled on her, "I don't know! If I can keep him from dying in the next ten minutes, we can ask him!" She refocused on Grey, using her thumbs to pry open his eyes, staring deeply into them, "Jorge, listen to me!"

"Why all this shouting?" he mumbled, his speech slurred.

"Jorge, what is the square root of 906.01?" the Spaniard demanded.

There was a long beat and everyone held their breath, waiting to see if Grey still possessed any.

Then...

"30.1" he rasped.

Sam's eyes bugged out, "'Jorge'? His name is 'Jorge'?"

Isabel ignored her, "Jorge, what are the carnal sins?"

"Lust. Gluttony. Sins of the flesh."

"'Jorge' isn't his name any more than 'Grey' is, Sammy," Miranda said quietly.

"Then why...?"

"The patron saint of Aragon," she gestured at Isabel, "is Saint George."

"Jorge, what are the four major Jungian archetypes?"

"The Self, the Shadow, the Animus/Anima, the Persona."

Isabel nodded, "Good, what are the others...in Italian?"

Grey's voice had grown stronger as he recited a flow of Italian.

"What the fuck is going on?"

"What he did in there," Isabel gestured to the room they'd just left, "Did something to him. Combined with being in poor health and drinking...?" she looked to Miranda.

"Ipecac and sour almond milk," the other woman replied quietly.

Sam made a face, "Oh, that just sucks."

"Whatever the reason, he appears to have been going into shock," Isabel stood and faced Miranda, "You saved his life, by being here."

Miranda felt a swirl of emotions: relief, fear, happiness.

But mostly, she was pissed and she crouched down to face Grey.

"Was that your plan, Grey? Give your little performance and then come down here to quietly die?"

He looked at her; his gaze was so raw and wounded that it hurt her, "It was....possible."

Sam wheeled herself in front of Isabel, "Is he going to die?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't think so. He seems to be getting his strength back."

Sam exhaled, "Okay, good."

Isabel nodded once, helping Grey get to his feet...

...and then slamming a right hook across his jaw.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" and she exploded into a torrent of enraged Spanish that left both girls stunned.

"Isabel!" Miranda yelled, shocked. She attempted to drag the other woman off the man, but the other woman would not be deterred. She abandoned her attempts, "Sammy?"

Sam shrugged," I got 'something, something, how could you do this to me, something, you monster, something, something'," she looked overwhelmed, "I'm sorry Miri, my grasp on the Spanish language can't keep up here."

"I watched you die!" Isabel screamed at him, switching back to English. The other girls' eyes went wide at that.

"He did what now?" Sam blurted out.

Isabel ran a shaking hand through her hair, "The last time I saw him was in a cathedral in Barcelona performing Houdini's Chinese Water Torture act to a crowd of over a thousand people," she pointed a trembling finger. "And everyone, including me, watched him drown on stage."

Grey just smiled slightly brought his hands up, "Abracadabra."

"I watched them try to resuscitate you. We all did. I touched you, you didn't have a pulse."

"You saw what you were meant to see."

Isabel sniffled, wiped her arm across her eyes, and stared down at the ground for a long time.

"How?" she asked quietly.

"The water was kept at just above freezing, it helped to lower my heart rate to barely noticeable levels," he shrugged, "and then it was just a matter of hustling me away from the audience. A shot of adrenaline and a pair of defibrillator paddles later, here I am."

"My heart died that day!"

"Of course it did, that was the point."

"Why?!" Isabel screamed at him, her dark eyes tearful.

"You gave me your heart. Breaking it was the only way I could think of giving it back, so that you could, in time, give it to someone more deserving."

Isabel's dusky complexion went stark white and Grey reached out and gently touched her hand, "I knew you would never stop feeling for me the way you did. Just as I knew that I could never give you what you needed, what you deserved. Not while I lived."

"So you died," Isabel whispered hoarsely.