that morning wasn’t going to see more than a pile of rubble where the bar used to be.
Wincing at the announcer’s flippant tone, I changed stations until I found a nice, brainless rerun of
Jerry Springer
. I knew it was trash, and Camille and Menolly constantly teased me about it, but the truth was that I was a total fan girl and was crushing hard on the dude.
For some reason, he tripped my trigger and I fantasized getting locked overnight in a supermarket with him, and meeting in the junk food aisle where he’d drag me to the ground and fuck me like hungry bunnies.
By the time the “Shocking Family Secrets” episode was over, I was beginning to worry. Camille wasn’t back yet and I hoped to hell there wasn’t a crisis going on in Chrysandra’s room. Since Aswala wasn’t around to stop me, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit me, but I pushed it down and headed slowly for the door, making sure my gown was firmly tied shut. An IV was in stuck in my arm, but it was hanging on one of those poles and I was able to roll it along with me.
The way was clear as I peeked out into the hallway, and I scurried out, holding onto the wall with one hand while I rolled alongside my drip-bag buddy. As I passed each open door, I glanced in—there weren’t that many rooms in the medic unit and Chrysandra had to be here somewhere.
I was about to run out of hallway when I saw her—in the ER at the end of the corridor. The doors were closed but I was tall enough to see a group of healers next to Menolly and Camille through the windows. They were gathered around a bed that appeared to be cordoned off behind clear plastic curtains. One of the healers looked engrossed in casting a spell, another worked furiously at some machine to which she was hooked up.
I pushed through the doors and Camille turned, letting out a little noise. Menolly’s back was turned to the wall and her shoulders were shaking.
“Don’t even say it.” I moved over to her side and turned to look at Chrysandra. “Oh Great Mother . . .”
Encased by what was—for all intents and purposes—a plastic bubble, Chrysandra looked like she’d been spitted and roasted over a bonfire. Any resemblance to who she had been was gone, the skin largely burned away to reveal raw muscle and sinew covered in blisters and remnants of blackened skin. Her hair was gone. She was on a ventilator and a host of tubes were feeding meds and liquids into her. But what struck me as most horrific was that her eyelids and lips had been incinerated. She was so still, I thought she must have passed out.
I stared, unable to look away, then hung my head, the pain in my hand receding as I focused on my feet. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. I wanted to help but there wasn’t anything I could do.
Camille placed her hand on my shoulder and I glanced at her. She silently shook her head and I turned back to look at Chrysandra. There was no way in hell she could make it back from this. A moment later, she woke and began to scream, but her voice was so strained that only a rough croaking came out.
“Can’t they stop the pain?”
Camille shook her head. “They’ve given her what they can. She’s too fragile to be transported right now, and even if she was at a burn center, all they could do is prolong her life for a few more hours. Maybe a day.”
“Then why can’t they help her die? Put her out of her pain?”
“She’s human, Kitten. The FBHs have a problem with that concept. If she was conscious enough to tell them to stop . . . but she’s not. She’s caught in the pain, that’s all that exists for her right now. She’s dying and she’s not going easy.” Her words were whispered, but as she spoke, Menolly turned around, bloody tears slicing a trail down her cheeks.
“I want her to die. I want her to get out of that body, to be free from it. If you’re worried that I might turn her, don’t for a moment think
Wincing at the announcer’s flippant tone, I changed stations until I found a nice, brainless rerun of
Jerry Springer
. I knew it was trash, and Camille and Menolly constantly teased me about it, but the truth was that I was a total fan girl and was crushing hard on the dude.
For some reason, he tripped my trigger and I fantasized getting locked overnight in a supermarket with him, and meeting in the junk food aisle where he’d drag me to the ground and fuck me like hungry bunnies.
By the time the “Shocking Family Secrets” episode was over, I was beginning to worry. Camille wasn’t back yet and I hoped to hell there wasn’t a crisis going on in Chrysandra’s room. Since Aswala wasn’t around to stop me, I pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit me, but I pushed it down and headed slowly for the door, making sure my gown was firmly tied shut. An IV was in stuck in my arm, but it was hanging on one of those poles and I was able to roll it along with me.
The way was clear as I peeked out into the hallway, and I scurried out, holding onto the wall with one hand while I rolled alongside my drip-bag buddy. As I passed each open door, I glanced in—there weren’t that many rooms in the medic unit and Chrysandra had to be here somewhere.
I was about to run out of hallway when I saw her—in the ER at the end of the corridor. The doors were closed but I was tall enough to see a group of healers next to Menolly and Camille through the windows. They were gathered around a bed that appeared to be cordoned off behind clear plastic curtains. One of the healers looked engrossed in casting a spell, another worked furiously at some machine to which she was hooked up.
I pushed through the doors and Camille turned, letting out a little noise. Menolly’s back was turned to the wall and her shoulders were shaking.
“Don’t even say it.” I moved over to her side and turned to look at Chrysandra. “Oh Great Mother . . .”
Encased by what was—for all intents and purposes—a plastic bubble, Chrysandra looked like she’d been spitted and roasted over a bonfire. Any resemblance to who she had been was gone, the skin largely burned away to reveal raw muscle and sinew covered in blisters and remnants of blackened skin. Her hair was gone. She was on a ventilator and a host of tubes were feeding meds and liquids into her. But what struck me as most horrific was that her eyelids and lips had been incinerated. She was so still, I thought she must have passed out.
I stared, unable to look away, then hung my head, the pain in my hand receding as I focused on my feet. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t come. I wanted to help but there wasn’t anything I could do.
Camille placed her hand on my shoulder and I glanced at her. She silently shook her head and I turned back to look at Chrysandra. There was no way in hell she could make it back from this. A moment later, she woke and began to scream, but her voice was so strained that only a rough croaking came out.
“Can’t they stop the pain?”
Camille shook her head. “They’ve given her what they can. She’s too fragile to be transported right now, and even if she was at a burn center, all they could do is prolong her life for a few more hours. Maybe a day.”
“Then why can’t they help her die? Put her out of her pain?”
“She’s human, Kitten. The FBHs have a problem with that concept. If she was conscious enough to tell them to stop . . . but she’s not. She’s caught in the pain, that’s all that exists for her right now. She’s dying and she’s not going easy.” Her words were whispered, but as she spoke, Menolly turned around, bloody tears slicing a trail down her cheeks.
“I want her to die. I want her to get out of that body, to be free from it. If you’re worried that I might turn her, don’t for a moment think
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