Unspeakable, Part 10

Banging and scratching resumed, but ten times more ferociously, as if hounds of hell were trying to get in. At the moment Miles wasn’t convinced that wasn’t exactly what was happening.

Ivan scrambled back into the doorway. The door’s moving! he cried in warning.

Hold it! Connie cried, seal it! Ivan and Sequoia rushed forward, with Sally and Mander close behind. The four rushed in and there was frantic scrabbling for footholds, grunts of exertion.

There came a cry and a crash, and a thing leapt into the main room. Its rush and the rotten air that came with it blew out some of the torches. Connie gasped, her hammock rocking wildly.

The whatever-it-was lunged at Miles. Before he could move, Miles found Shylock between him and the thing, thrown across the wheelchair. The thing clawed, breathing heavily in the dark.

Shylock gave a thin cry. Miles smelled blood. Ivan! he bellowed. Ivan’s hulking shadow came hurrying to them, and he wrestled the thing away. It was a fierce battle on both sides.

There was an angry squawk from the thing, and the ‘thunk’ of a door sealing. Silence fell as suddenly as the noise had erupted. There was gasping for breath all around.

Ivan came back to the main room, checking the flickering torches that still were lit, asking if everyone was okay. Miles found himself holding tight to Shylock.

He forced himself to relax and cautiously explored with his hand. His fingers met a sticky wetness, and a groove in the flesh that hadn’t been there before. When touched there, Shylock shuddered. His whole body was trembling. Miles’ heart hurt.

Shylock, Miles said, his voice weak. Shylock, say something. Shylock. He checked to see if there was still blood coming. There was. Shylock whimpered.

What- what the hell did you do that for? Miles asked unsteadily. Crazy ass, he mumbled. He pulled Shylock completely onto his lap and wheeled back to his room.

He cursed his clumsy arms as he lay Shylock down on the slab, none too gracefully. Shylock’s breath caught sharply several times. It was nearly pitch black in the room now.

Miles ran his hands over Shylock, found he’d been clawed up near his face, across his chest and some on his lower belly. He was bleeding from all of them.

The chair squeaked as Miles tried to back up -- which he still wasn’t very good at. Shylock turned his head. Miles, he whispered, his voice breaking, please don’t leave me. Please.

Miles reached back out, found his arm, his face. I’m not - I- I need something to stop the bleeding, that’s all. I’ve got to find some way to stop the bleeding.

He started to move again, and got a few feet, but Shylock said Miles so despairingly that he returned. Hey, he said, I’m still here. You stay with me. Don’t you cry or anything.

The last of the light in the room disappeared as Ivan blocked the doorway. Miles? Shylock? he said. Miles turned his head a little. Ivan-- he’s bleeding bad. Ivan disappeared.

He came back bearing a torch, and the room was brighter than it’d ever been. Sequoia, Sally, and Mander followed him into the room. Miles was surprised to see them in such direct, close light.

Sequoia looked wilder. Sally seemed to glow, her hair shining. Mander was sleek. Ivan was majestic, intimidating, lit from below. And Shylock-- he was pale against the darkness of the red spurts and slashes. His face was more finely constructed than Miles had realized, his hair golden.

Ivan bent over the slab with the torch and Shylock closed his eyes against the light, whimpered again. We’ve got to close up these wounds, Ivan said, and stop the bleeding.

How? Miles asked, trying and failing to keep angry panic out of his voice. What do we do? What can we do? There’s gotta be something!

Ivan looked at him. The hot-hands gift, he said.

What? Miles said disbelievingly. That’s- that’s a Family legend, isn’t it?

I don’t think so, Ivan said, looking thoughtfully back at Shylock. I think there really are those in the Family, and the Academy, who can heal with burning heat in their hands.

Do you have it? Sally asked. Ivan shook his head. She looked at Mander, who also shook his head. Not that I know of, he said. And apparently, if you have it, you know. Sequoia, too, said no.

Well, I don’t either, Miles said snappishly. So what do you propose we do, go upstairs and ask politely for them to care whether we live or die? Do something!

Well, Ivan said slowly, maybe if it’s not naturally present--he looked at the torch in his hand, we can manufacture it.

Miles took a moment to process his meaning. Sally and Mander exchanged alarmed looks. Miles looked at Ivan’s calm face, and at Shylock, already still and pale as death.

Hell, Miles grumbled. He sighed. Let’s do it. Ivan nodded, and beckoned to Sequoia. She came to his elbow and took the torch from him. Ivan extended his hands, palms up.

Sequoia took a breath and let it out slowly, and lowered the torch to Ivan’s hands, immersing them in the flame. He didn’t cry out, but pressed his lips together.

Sally turned her face away, wincing.A shudder ran through Mander but he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

Ivan’s hands grew redder and redder, but no smoke rose from them. Miles knew then Ivan had what it took to be a Family operative, that genetic something nobody would talk about.

Then Ivan very suddenly drew his hands out of the flame and pressed them over Shylock’s wounds. Shylock screamed and Miles grabbed convulsively for his hand.

There was a great sizzling and sputtering, Ivan frowning in concentration. Miles forgot to breathe. Sally buried her face in Mander’s shoulder.

When Ivan took his hands away, two of the wounds were concealed beneath enormous burned-in handprints, and they’d stopped bleeding. Ivan put his hands back into the flame.

Miles, Shylock whimpered. Hang in there, buddy, Miles said shakily, it’s almost over, hang in there. He found himself still holding tight to Shylock’s hand.

Ivan pressed his hands over the remaining wounds, and Shylock’s back arched, as he cried out again. Miles squeezed his eyes shut, wondered if he was going to throw up.

Then Ivan was finished, pulled his hands away, and it was silent in the room except for Shylock weeping. Miles was suddenly exhausted, but managed to open his eyes.

Shylock still looked pretty bad but the bleeding had stopped and the worst of the wounds were closed up. Shylock, Miles said, hey, you still with me?

He tried to relax his grip on Shylock’s hand, but when he did, Shylock gripped his hand back hard, turned his head toward him. He looked almost betrayed, and desperately frightened.

Just breathe, okay? Miles said. Just take it easy. I’m still with you. He looked with irritation at Ivan. You’re damn lucky that worked, buddy boy. Let’s not make a regular thing of it, huh?

Ivan nodded. Sequoia was wrapping his hands in strips of cloth. Sally dared to look. Is he going to be okay? she asked in a worried voice. Miles wished he knew.

He’s better off than he was, Ivan said, that’s a start. We’ve got to keep him quiet, keep an eye on him, and we’ll see. Miles rankled. We? he grumbled.

What’s happening? Connie’s voice echoed, far away. She sounded forlorn. What was that? What the hell is going on? Sally turned to the door. Oh-- Connie, she said.

She went out. Maybe you’d better stay with them, Ivan said to Mander. And keep watch for whatever that was coming back. Mander nodded and went out.

I think the rest of us should try and get some rest, Ivan said hesitantly. Sequoia nodded and went to the door. Ivan lingered for a moment, until Miles told him impatiently to get the fuck out.

Left alone in the dark, Miles tried to steady his breathing. Shylock quietly wept. Miles felt Shylock’s hand move in his. Miles, he said faintly, are you still there?

Miles squeezed Shylock’s hand, put his other hand on his arm. Hey, where else would I be? he said. I’m not going anywhere. Shylock whispered but you’re still in the chair.

You know perfectly well, Miles said, that I can’t move it for shit without you. I’m here for the duration. Just-- rest, like Ivan said. Shylock quieted. Miles fell into a stupor.

He was snapped to reality by Shylock’s twitch. Shylock? he said. What’s going on? Shylock stilled, but Miles pressed. Hey. Talk to me.  Shylock admitted plaintively, I’m cold.

Miles was vehemently grateful that no one could see him, as he struggled out of the chair and onto the slab, or rather, onto the tiny portion of the slab that he could access without shifting Shylock and causing him pain. But he made it. Shylock noticeably leaned into him.

Miles’ hand happened to land on cloth as he was trying to get something like comfortable, and he realized it was the shredded remains of Shylock’s shirt. He shook off a shudder.

Shylock. Don’t you ever do anything like that again. Promise me.

I can’t.

Why the hell not?

Because -- I’d-- I’d do it again.

Crazy ass. Miles very, very carefully lay an arm across Shylock and thought warming thoughts.