Chapter 21: In Heat

The cabin was a dense collage of human suffering. As Franklin and his companions followed Jill through the space, the air was heavy with moans and sighs of the wounded. Each step brought them closer to another story of pain, evidenced by the hushed whispers of prayers Bach offered as they passed mourners gathered around a newly vacated bed.

"This way. Don't get distracted," Jill instructed firmly, her voice cutting through the murmurings and subdued cries. She led them to a secluded room at the far end of the cabin, her pace brisk and determined.

Upon entering the room, Jill turned to address Tito, who had lingered at the doorway, his eyes flicking uncertainly towards Sumi. "Thank you, Tito. You may now leave us," she said.

"But—" Tito started, his concern apparent.

Jill's sharp glance cut him off, and Tito, with a final, reluctant look at Sumi, withdrew, closing the door behind him. The room fell into a hushed silence, broken only by the rustle of papers and medical supplies on Jill's desk.

Jill seated herself, her desk a chaotic mix of maps, medical records, and scattered notes. Without looking up, she stated, "The injured stays. The Nazi must leave." Her focus remained on the maps before her, her hands busy marking locations and organizing her thoughts, clearly indicating she considered the conversation over.

"Well? Why haven't you left my sight yet?" she added, her tone indicating impatience and a desire to get on with her work without further interruption.

Franklin exchanged a glance with Bach and Goh, uncertainty and reluctance written on their faces. The gravity of their situation was palpable, and Jill's dismissive attitude only underscored the precariousness of their position within this foreign and suffering-filled community. Franklin knew they needed to tread carefully, balancing their urgent need for her help with the need to respect her authority and the local customs.

As Jill focused on her maps, the room buzzed with the subdued activities of its new occupants. Bach, feeling his way along the walls, explored the space with his hands, mapping out his environment in his mind. Sumi assisted Goh to a chair, her movements gentle and attuned to his discomfort. Meanwhile, Franklin approached Jill's desk, leaning over to glance at the maps spread out before her.

"I can help," Franklin offered, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the room.

Jill stopped her work and looked up, her expression one of skepticism and disdain. "Oh really?" she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Confident despite her skepticism, Franklin nodded. "As far as I can tell, you don't have many able bodies. I'm a trained soldier. I can help gather supplies, hunt for food, whatever you need."

His offer hung in the air, a contrast to the weary, burdened atmosphere of the cabin. Jill, however, was not moved. She scoffed, her glare intensifying as she continued to mock the notion. The idea that someone from Franklin's background could offer genuine help seemed far-fetched to her, underlining the deep mistrust and resentment harbored against those associated with his past.

The offer was sincere, born out of a desperate desire to make amends, to somehow contribute to the healing of a community so starkly impacted by the war's cruelty. Yet, as Franklin stood there, meeting Jill's cold gaze, he realized the depth of the scars left by conflict—scars not easily soothed by offers of help, no matter how earnest.

Jill's gaze on Franklin was icy as he stood before her desk, offering his services. His suggestion was bold, perhaps even reckless in the eyes of someone who had every reason to distrust him. Yet, Franklin's proposal was sincere, rooted in a desire to make amends, however improbable the acceptance of such a gesture might be.

"You really think you can just waltz in here and try to 'help' us?" Jill retorted sharply. "Don't forget, you're the ones who caused all of this. Nobody here wants your help. I don't need a disgraceful Nazi within our midst. I don't trust you."

Franklin absorbed her words, the weight of each accusation hitting him harder than any physical blow could. Yet, he remained steadfast, driven by a deep-seated need to make things right—or at least, as right as they could be under the circumstances. He stood silently, contemplating his next words carefully.

"I'm... also willing to donate my body," he said, his voice steady despite the gravity of his offer. It was a last-ditch attempt to show his commitment, a gesture meant to transcend the boundaries of simple aid.

Jill's expression shifted from scorn to surprise as she raised a questioning brow. "When I'm done helping around here, you can take me apart for what the patients here need. Well, that's after helping Goh's leg, Bach's eyes, and Sumi's..." Franklin continued, his offer hanging in the air, unfinished.

Jill raised her hand, signaling him to stop. She looked away, rubbing her temples, her face etched with confusion and perhaps a flicker of reconsideration. The idea of using a living donor, especially one who was part of the conflict that had perhaps brought so much misery to her door, was overwhelming. Yet, here he was, offering not just his labor but his very life to aid those he had, directly or indirectly, harmed.

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Sumi watched anxiously, Goh rested uneasily in his chair, and Bach paused his tactile exploration of the room to focus on the exchange. They all recognized the significance of Franklin's offer and waited, holding their breaths for Jill's response.

After a long moment, Jill looked back at Franklin, her eyes searching his. "Why would you do this?" she asked, her voice a mix of skepticism and a trace of curiosity. Her demeanor suggested that while she was far from convinced, she was at least considering the implications of his proposal. Franklin's answer to this question could well determine the fate of all of them.

Bach, exploring the room more thoroughly, discovered a bottle of whiskey on a shelf. His fingers traced the label before a smile spread across his face, a small moment of levity in the otherwise tense atmosphere.

"Yeah, I mean... It's the least I can do," Franklin reiterated, his voice tinged with a blend of determination and resignation.

Jill, however, was not easily convinced. She shot back, "No... You're bluffing... and even if you weren't, you're just desperately trying to atone for your sins. You think this is the answer to wash your filthy record?" Her voice was laden with skepticism and a raw hint of anger.

Franklin shook his head, his gaze drifting past Jill to the door beyond which the sounds of suffering continued unabated. "I know... I'm not trying to get rid of my guilt. An angel implored me with this ultimatum. I'm willing to do whatever it takes," he confessed, his words revealing the depth of his internal struggle.

Jill laughed, the sound harsh and disbelieving. "Do you know the full weight of what you've done? My people have been hunted down and torn apart. Being a Jew in your presence still makes me quiver. I'm not for one second believing that an angel approached scum like you."

Franklin shrugged, his expression a mix of weariness and resolve. "Truth is, I'm suicidal. That damn angel won't just let me go unless I commit my body to a cause like this... Maybe the angel is toying with me," he admitted, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "It's certainly felt that way throughout my journey, but I know I need to do this. There is just simply no other way."

His admission hung between them, stark and raw. Franklin's eyes met Jill's, searching for some semblance of understanding or compassion. The air in the room felt charged, each breath heavy with the possibility of either acceptance or rejection, as they awaited Jill's response to Franklin's harrowing revelation.