Day Six: In Shangri-La
Aaaand, a touch of medical gore along with everything else. Still PG-13.
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Red hit the condo's buzzer again.
"Please be home," he said.
He would have paced on the doorstep, but Wells was heavy, and Red wanted to at least pretend that Wells was drunk and not bleeding himself into unconsciousness. Wells's eyelids fluttered. Red pushed the button.
"Yeah?"
Red wanted to cry with relief.
"Hey," he said. "It's Red. I've got a friend with me who wants to see you."
"Just because we’re friends doesn't mean you get freebies, man," said Gray. "'Specially not for two."
The intercom crackled and went off.
Red leaned his whole weight on the buzzer.
"What?"
Gray sounded pissed, but Red was pretty damn desperate.
"It's not like that, you idiot!" said Red. "He likes modern furniture, and so we're here to take a look at your dining room table."
"Oh," said Gray. "Why didn't you say so? Get up here before someone sees you!"
He buzzed them through.
Red shouldered the door open and dragged Wells along with him. Thank god this building had a working elevator: Gray's place was the top floor, a penthouse suite gifted to him by a client. Red was strong, but he'd already carried Wells for blocks and blocks, and his arms were killing him.
Gray met them at the door.
"Shit," he said. "Your friend looks bad. Bring him in, yeah?"
Gray locked the door behind them, and the two of them got Wells up onto the dining room table.
Gray's dining room table was a modern-looking stainless steel job. It fit in with the rest of the furnishings, and none of his guests ever batted an eye at it. In fact, it was a stainless steel operating table, and the chandelier overhead could be cranked to a harshly bright setting. It was a home operating room, complete with a drain in the floor, if he rolled up the area rug underneath the table itself.
Gray's instruments were already out, and he rolled up his sleeves.
"What the hell did you do to him, huh?" said Gray.
Gray hardly spared him a glance, though his tone was furious, and his whole body coiled with tension. He stripped away Wells's shirt fast. Someone had done a number on Wells, for sure. Burns, cuts, Red's knife-he felt guilty about that-but none of it was worse than the gunshots. Two, close range, to the gut, and one spray of buckshot to the right shoulder.
"I didn't do anything!" said Red. "Well, okay, that there is my fault, but the hell if I know about the rest of it!"
"Get me an IV kit," said Gray. "And roll up your sleeve. I'm going to need some blood."
Just then, Wells groaned. His eyes opened, and he tried to slither off the table. Red pushed him back and held him there, and Wells struggled more.
"Easy," said Red. "It's okay. We're visiting a doctor friend."
He could feel Wells's heart kicking up, and blood started to drip off the edge of the table. Good thing it was steel; Gray'd never have gotten the stains out.
"Hey," said Gray. "My name's Grace, but my friends call me Gray. I'm gonna try to patch you up, okay?"
"I-" said Wells.
And then he passed out. Red shook him, gently, but he didn't move. Grace pushed Red aside.
"Wells?" said Red.
"It's okay," said Grace. "I gave him a little something. Not too much, though, 'cause I'm guessing you want him to wake up again."
Red nodded. He ruffled Gray's hair, and frowned at the gory streaks he left in the brown strands. Grace took in in stride, though he shot him a pointed look. Damn. Gray wasn't really a kid anymore, was he?
"IV," said Grace. "Now, before it's too late."
He snapped on a pair of gloves and got to work. Almost instantly, Red heard the ping of spent shot being dropped onto a tray.
Red did as he was told, all the while praying to something he didn't quite believe in. He prayed for a miracle.
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I'm really kind of chugging along, aren't I? And now, I must away to do boring stuff, like dishes and dinner.
~later
=====
Red hit the condo's buzzer again.
"Please be home," he said.
He would have paced on the doorstep, but Wells was heavy, and Red wanted to at least pretend that Wells was drunk and not bleeding himself into unconsciousness. Wells's eyelids fluttered. Red pushed the button.
"Yeah?"
Red wanted to cry with relief.
"Hey," he said. "It's Red. I've got a friend with me who wants to see you."
"Just because we’re friends doesn't mean you get freebies, man," said Gray. "'Specially not for two."
The intercom crackled and went off.
Red leaned his whole weight on the buzzer.
"What?"
Gray sounded pissed, but Red was pretty damn desperate.
"It's not like that, you idiot!" said Red. "He likes modern furniture, and so we're here to take a look at your dining room table."
"Oh," said Gray. "Why didn't you say so? Get up here before someone sees you!"
He buzzed them through.
Red shouldered the door open and dragged Wells along with him. Thank god this building had a working elevator: Gray's place was the top floor, a penthouse suite gifted to him by a client. Red was strong, but he'd already carried Wells for blocks and blocks, and his arms were killing him.
Gray met them at the door.
"Shit," he said. "Your friend looks bad. Bring him in, yeah?"
Gray locked the door behind them, and the two of them got Wells up onto the dining room table.
Gray's dining room table was a modern-looking stainless steel job. It fit in with the rest of the furnishings, and none of his guests ever batted an eye at it. In fact, it was a stainless steel operating table, and the chandelier overhead could be cranked to a harshly bright setting. It was a home operating room, complete with a drain in the floor, if he rolled up the area rug underneath the table itself.
Gray's instruments were already out, and he rolled up his sleeves.
"What the hell did you do to him, huh?" said Gray.
Gray hardly spared him a glance, though his tone was furious, and his whole body coiled with tension. He stripped away Wells's shirt fast. Someone had done a number on Wells, for sure. Burns, cuts, Red's knife-he felt guilty about that-but none of it was worse than the gunshots. Two, close range, to the gut, and one spray of buckshot to the right shoulder.
"I didn't do anything!" said Red. "Well, okay, that there is my fault, but the hell if I know about the rest of it!"
"Get me an IV kit," said Gray. "And roll up your sleeve. I'm going to need some blood."
Just then, Wells groaned. His eyes opened, and he tried to slither off the table. Red pushed him back and held him there, and Wells struggled more.
"Easy," said Red. "It's okay. We're visiting a doctor friend."
He could feel Wells's heart kicking up, and blood started to drip off the edge of the table. Good thing it was steel; Gray'd never have gotten the stains out.
"Hey," said Gray. "My name's Grace, but my friends call me Gray. I'm gonna try to patch you up, okay?"
"I-" said Wells.
And then he passed out. Red shook him, gently, but he didn't move. Grace pushed Red aside.
"Wells?" said Red.
"It's okay," said Grace. "I gave him a little something. Not too much, though, 'cause I'm guessing you want him to wake up again."
Red nodded. He ruffled Gray's hair, and frowned at the gory streaks he left in the brown strands. Grace took in in stride, though he shot him a pointed look. Damn. Gray wasn't really a kid anymore, was he?
"IV," said Grace. "Now, before it's too late."
He snapped on a pair of gloves and got to work. Almost instantly, Red heard the ping of spent shot being dropped onto a tray.
Red did as he was told, all the while praying to something he didn't quite believe in. He prayed for a miracle.
=====
I'm really kind of chugging along, aren't I? And now, I must away to do boring stuff, like dishes and dinner.
~later