seen from India
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Ireland
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Denmark
seen from France
seen from India
seen from Finland
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
when the normal heart said health is a political issue and that this is not a civil rights issue it's a contagion issue and the cdc is a bunch of liars and people are dying OF COURSE we have to start telling people how to live and “i have the right to kill myself” “YES but you do not have the right to kill ME”
The Hands That Remember | Chapter One: Henrik (FULL)
*This novel is a Patreon-exclusive. The next chapters will be for Patrons only!
A novel about Henrik, and what made him who he is today. | Henrik is relaxing on his shift when a patient begins to exhibit strange, but eerily-similar symptoms.
TW: Hospitals
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The makeshift table in Henrik’s on-call room was a little too short for him—he sat on the footstool-chair bent like a caveman with his legs spread, leaning his elbows on his knees and his curls falling in his face. The stack of books that held the chessboard was only about a foot and a half off the ground, and very unstable, but it worked in a pinch.
Henrik’s dark eyes were impossibly focused on the board, watching every indecisive movement of Lena, one of the neurologists on his shift, sitting on the floor across from him. She leaned on one hand and hovered her other over the pieces, finally deciding on a rook and moving it four spaces.
“When do you think they’ll give you your table back?” she asked. Her hand moved involuntarily to steady the board as it rocked precariously on its book-stand.
“It was not really mine, I only borrowed it,” Henrik sighed. “But I hope it is soon. This is very inconvenient.” His nose scrunched in concentration, then he moved his own piece.
“You could just sit on the floor.”
“I do not think so.” Henrik exhaled deeply, sliding his fingers under his glasses to rub his aching eyes. He was an hour away from the end of his shift, and even though it was only ten o’clock he felt as if he could fall asleep right there. He couldn’t imagine how Lena was feeling—she was far more busy than him, but she never lost her optimistic energy.
Henrik steepled his hands, watching Lena bite her lip as she contemplated her next move. It took every ounce of strength not to point out the most prudent move her on her part—moving her knight to protect her bishop on the left side—but he stayed silent. They had been practicing that: keeping his mouth shut. Lena always said, “Don’t you want to win?” but he didn’t have the heart to tell her he would most likely win no matter how much help he gave her. He was very good at chess.
Finally she moved—unfortunately not the smartest move—and he quickly took one of her pawns, eliciting a soft groan of frustration from her. She sat up and crossed her legs, stretching her arms up and behind her.
“Why do you always shut yourself in here?” she finally asked. “Why don’t you just sleep? You’re obviously quite tired, honestly I don’t think I’ve met a doctor who doesn’t sleep every chance they get.”
Henrik chuckled. “I am not tired.”
“That’s a lot of bullshit.”
“Let me say that again,” Henrik noted. He drummed his fingers on his legs as he waited for her to take her turn. “I do not want to sleep.”
“What, you have nightmares or something?” she said with an easy chuckle, glancing up at him from the board. Then she sobered a little at his hesitation to reply.
“I do not have nightmares,” Henrik replied finally, shrugging his shoulders. “I just, ah… do better when I am busy.”
“They’re not going to let you operate if you’re exhausted, Henrik,” she pointed out, and her tone had grown more gentle. “You should take another nap soon, really. We can always finish this later.”
Henrik just shrugged again. “Perhaps.”
The game continued in silence, like it usually did. Thankfully Lena wasn’t a talker… much.
Henrik reached to move his piece and brushed the board, nearly toppling the entire set-up as it began to slip off the book. They both reached out to grab it with lightning speed, and Lena laughed.
“I can’t believe they took your table for the charity display,” Lena complained, though it was good-natured. “This sucks.”
“Again, it was not mine. And I think you are just bitter,” Henrik remarked. There was a hint of smugness in his tone as he picked up his paper cup of cold coffee, taking a sip. “Because you are not as well at chess as I am.”
“‘Good.’”
“What?”
She shot him a smile, moving her piece with pointed confidence. “‘Not as good at chess as I am.’”
“Ah, fuck off,” he muttered, shaking his head. This only seemed to fuel her triumphant expression and she laughed, straightening her scrubs as she fell back into a comfortable slouch on the floor.
The door of the on-call room suddenly opened and they both looked up, seeing Marvin peek his head in with a strangely-guarded expression. His eyes met Henrik’s and wordlessly the surgeon stood up, picking up his coffee with him. It was best not to act first and ask questions later with Marvin—he was an elusive personality, very quiet and mysterious, but he had very good judgement.
“What’s up?” Lena asked, eyebrows knitting.
“I will be back,” Henrik told her, though it wasn’t much of an explanation. Quickly he slipped out the door, closing it behind him. He could already an odd tension in the air as he turned toward Marvin.
“It’s one of the patients,” Marvin said in a hushed tone, his bright eyes darting down the hallway. “You should take a look.”
“You should page a nurse for that,” Henrik told him, but Marvin quickly shook his head.
“No. No, you need to see for yourself.”
The pit began to open in Henrik’s stomach as he saw the solemnity of Marvin’s face—his friend was never worried, about anything at all, but now he seemed truly shaken. It was hard to repress the dread that was rising in his chest as he followed Marvin to the PACU.
They passed the occasional gurney or nurse in the hallways, but for the most part a strange stillness had fallen on the hospital. Usually Henrik’s liked this part of his shift, and probably would have enjoyed the quiet, but his mind was racing with all the different things that could have shaken Marvin this much.
Finally they came to a recovery room near the end of the hall, and Marvin checked for onlookers before quietly opening the door and slipping inside. Henrik followed.
The first thing that Henrik noticed in the room was that all the machines and monitors were off: there was no display, no fluid dripping through the IV, and no soft noises coming from the equipment. If this was not enough of a concern, the patient seemed unaffected—in fact, he was conscious, eyes open and trained on the ceiling from where he lay.
Instantly a chill came over Henrik. The patient’s eyes were open, but they were glassy and disoriented. His face was drawn, skin clammy and colorless, and he had kicked all the sheets off of his bed. When they entered, his eyes moved to them, though none of his other features even shifted. They bore right into Henrik, as if looking past him to the wall beyond and yet connected directly with his own eyes.
Fear had never been Henrik’s enemy. He had learned to manage, control it… push it down and prioritize rationality and levelheadedness. But the sight before him sent waves of needle-like prickles down his spine, and his skin felt as if it contracted against his muscles in hideous dread. The room seemed ten times more still than before.
“I have seen this before,” Henrik murmured. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “In… in Jameson.”
“I wasn’t sure, but I thought…” Marvin took a long breath. “I thought you would know.”
That… experience barely entered Henrik’s mind anymore—he had almost shut it out completely, as best he could, but now it was all coming back. That same glazed-over stare, the first day before it all began. The sleepless nights and violent episodes, all the suturing and recovery, the blood, the lies, oh god, the surgery…
That looming monster of complete incapacitation suddenly crept up the back of Henrik’s mind and he moved mechanically into action. “We need to get him off morphine immediately,” he began quietly, almost to himself. “He must be sedated—“
“Maybe I should just put him under,” Marvin suggested quietly.
That phrase sparked a reaction in Henrik and he turned quickly. “No. If he is not wake-able, and the doctors cannot explain it, it will raise too many question. We have to sedate him.”
“So what, you’re going to order sedatives for a guy that was successfully recovering from surgery half an hour ago?” Marvin urged, lowering his voice as someone passed close by outside the room. “This could be nothing.”
Henrik shook his head. His heart was pounding. “It is exactly the same—“
“Look at me, Henrik.”
Henrik complied, tearing his eyes away from the patient. Marvin reached out, grabbing his shoulder tightly with a very rare urgency.
“Whatever it is,” he said. “You won’t let what happened to Jameson happen to this guy. Hell, I won’t either. And you know what to do this time.”
Henrik shook his head wordlessly, biting his lower lip. “Why would be back…?”
“We can figure that out later. Just let me—“
Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of beeping and humming as all the equipment started back up at once. In the same instant the patient drew an even but heavy breath, his hands tightening into white-knuckled fists. His eyes regained their life and darted around in sleepy confusion until they fell on the two standing by the door.
“A-Are you the nurse?” he asked blearily.
Henrik felt his chest unravel. The breath he had been trying to draw whooshed into his lungs in an instant, and he looked to Marvin. His friend nodded, slipping out the door to find a nurse.
Henrik watched the patient with tentative dread, waiting for something to happen or go wrong, but it never came. The man only laid his head back down and closed his eyes in vague discomfort, his hand going to the fresh stitches at his side.
It had looked so similar. Exact. That look in his eyes, the sweating, the… deadness. It couldn’t have been nothing.
Maybe Lena was right. He did need sleep.
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actors are aliens tell me im wrong
The Hands That Remember | Chapter Two: Lunch Break (TEASER)
This fic is a Patreon exclusive! To read the whole thing available to patrons only, click HERE.
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He guessed she would come out in a few minutes, after she said hi to her friends and fixed her hair in the bathroom. She always did that, he had noticed. Fixed her appearance in little ways all the time. Not that he was stalking her.
He could relate to her, though. At least in that way, and not much else. Except she was much better at looking nice. His hair was always a little wild, and he couldn’t ever keep his shirt tucked just right.
Just as he was lost in this thought his eyes caught a glimpse of her coming down the hall: Curly ivory-blonde hair and a bright smile, with soft blue eyes and her perk walk. She was walking alongside one of her friends—Henrik didn’t know her name—and they were laughing about something.
Her eyes fell over him briefly and she said something quiet to her friend before breaking off to walk over to him. His spine straightened a little.
She moved close behind the open door and glanced around before turning to him. She was just a little shorter, but Henrik felt very small next to her loud, bright personality.
“You could have left it in my locker,” she told him quietly.
New chapter to the Patreon fic “The Hands that Remember” this weekend!! Hype!!
I’m extremely excited for musical day next year. I seriously can’t wait to watch this movie!
I quit, I absolutely quit 💀
This industry can be so beautiful and so so toxic, and I'm turning into someone I do not like. I got a side gig as an IT person and I'm just gonna see where this leads.
