Mikael Pacioli
folder
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
19,573
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Category:
Original - Misc › -Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
19,573
Reviews:
109
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
2
Disclaimer:
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
July 22: Saint Mary Magdalene
July 22: Saint Mary Magdalene
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, with sincere regret in his voice, “But this is the only way.”
The blade felt so smooth and so fast going in that Mikael felt almost-nothing; just a slipping of metal through skin and then that moment of horrible anticipation that one feels just before an inevitable fall, and then the searing, stinging, pain of his new wounds. He wanted to cry out, but the Doctor had already covered his mouth.
Say nothing. he had instructed. Say nothing if you want to live.
Mikael stared in horror at his wrist, at the awful long open slit in it where his life was spilling out.
Demen shoved the scalpel firmly into Mikael’s other hand and squeezed the stunned carrier’s fingers around it., pressing them tightly. That done, he released him and stepped back. Blood was flowing thickly already, down the front of Mikael’s hospital robe and onto the crisp white blanket. An image of himself being rolled away, covered in death by that same white blanket, appeared suddenly in Mikael’s mind, and he wanted to scream. Demen did it for him, banging over a tray and shouting suddenly:
“NO! CARRIER! NURSE! HE’S GOT MY SCALPEL - I NEED A CHAPERONE!” so loudly that he startled them both, and Mikael dumbly gripped the scalpel and there were footsteps and rushing and he started to feel a little woozy from everything and then the room was suddenly full of people, and all of them were angry.
Mikael began to lose his awareness, catching only snippets of the scene in which he played a central part. A chaperone wrested the scalpel from his hands; he struggled convincingly and nicked the thing’s arm. Unfazed, the machine regained power over him and took the tool away. Arms around him; he was being restrained. He was strapped to the gurney, and moving now; voices were speaking above him.
“….tried to take his own life…self-harm…”
“…Doctor, how could you drop protocol….”
Mikael could see only the ceiling, and was aware that they were moving quickly towards the emergency area of the infirmary. Away from the final passage room. Away from the blood-red door to nothingness.
“…he’s made clean cuts, but deep…”
“…change his charts. Can’t be sent to Rowe House now; supers’ll have our ass if we violate Code 3…and after midnight, too…”
He felt a warm buzzing inside of him that seemed to have no origin or explanation; at first, he feared it, but it began to feel overwhelming and surprisingly persuasive. He began to relax…then Demen was above him, assuring him as if he were a stranger.
“….you’re going to make it…”
~:~
The next thing Mikael was aware of was waking, fearful, in a softly lit room in the psychological rehabilitation clinic. He tried to lift his left arm; it was handcuffed to the bed. His right arm ached; he caught sight of his bandaged wrist, felt ill and said as much. The chaperone beside him stirred and got up and called a nurse.
A short-haired carrier came and helped him to sit up and let him vomit into a bedpan; afterwards, they gave him a meal drink and told him to go back to sleep. He was in good hands now; they would wake him in the morning.
~:~
The phone call woke Father Pacioli, who had been having a dream of a ship at sea, on the third ring. On the fifth ring, he answered.
“Pacioli. Saint Xavier’s.”
“This is the Wiltshire Carrier Education Center,” the automated voice on the line responded. “Due to a medical emergency, your presence is immediately requested at the Wiltshire CEC. An envoy has been dispatched to retrieve you, and should arrive within 2.5 hours.”
Father Pacioli stared numbly at the receiver.
“What’s happened?!” he demanded.
“Please present your microchipped identification card to the driver at the time of arrival. Thank you for your time.” the message continued, then paused before repeating: “Due to a medical emergency…”
“WHAT’S HAPPENED?!” Father Pacioli, fully awake now, his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs aching, shouted at the unyielding operator.
There was a muted click on the line, then a distinctly non-automated voice interrupted the call.
“Rafaele Pacioli?”
“Who is this?” the elder man demanded, even as he was flicking on the light beside his bed and moving to sit up. “Who’s called me?”
“My name is Demen, and I don’t have much time. You must come; I’ve called the car. Everything is going to be alright - Mikael is going to be fine. But you must come now.”
~:~
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor said, with sincere regret in his voice, “But this is the only way.”
The blade felt so smooth and so fast going in that Mikael felt almost-nothing; just a slipping of metal through skin and then that moment of horrible anticipation that one feels just before an inevitable fall, and then the searing, stinging, pain of his new wounds. He wanted to cry out, but the Doctor had already covered his mouth.
Say nothing. he had instructed. Say nothing if you want to live.
Mikael stared in horror at his wrist, at the awful long open slit in it where his life was spilling out.
Demen shoved the scalpel firmly into Mikael’s other hand and squeezed the stunned carrier’s fingers around it., pressing them tightly. That done, he released him and stepped back. Blood was flowing thickly already, down the front of Mikael’s hospital robe and onto the crisp white blanket. An image of himself being rolled away, covered in death by that same white blanket, appeared suddenly in Mikael’s mind, and he wanted to scream. Demen did it for him, banging over a tray and shouting suddenly:
“NO! CARRIER! NURSE! HE’S GOT MY SCALPEL - I NEED A CHAPERONE!” so loudly that he startled them both, and Mikael dumbly gripped the scalpel and there were footsteps and rushing and he started to feel a little woozy from everything and then the room was suddenly full of people, and all of them were angry.
Mikael began to lose his awareness, catching only snippets of the scene in which he played a central part. A chaperone wrested the scalpel from his hands; he struggled convincingly and nicked the thing’s arm. Unfazed, the machine regained power over him and took the tool away. Arms around him; he was being restrained. He was strapped to the gurney, and moving now; voices were speaking above him.
“….tried to take his own life…self-harm…”
“…Doctor, how could you drop protocol….”
Mikael could see only the ceiling, and was aware that they were moving quickly towards the emergency area of the infirmary. Away from the final passage room. Away from the blood-red door to nothingness.
“…he’s made clean cuts, but deep…”
“…change his charts. Can’t be sent to Rowe House now; supers’ll have our ass if we violate Code 3…and after midnight, too…”
He felt a warm buzzing inside of him that seemed to have no origin or explanation; at first, he feared it, but it began to feel overwhelming and surprisingly persuasive. He began to relax…then Demen was above him, assuring him as if he were a stranger.
“….you’re going to make it…”
~:~
The next thing Mikael was aware of was waking, fearful, in a softly lit room in the psychological rehabilitation clinic. He tried to lift his left arm; it was handcuffed to the bed. His right arm ached; he caught sight of his bandaged wrist, felt ill and said as much. The chaperone beside him stirred and got up and called a nurse.
A short-haired carrier came and helped him to sit up and let him vomit into a bedpan; afterwards, they gave him a meal drink and told him to go back to sleep. He was in good hands now; they would wake him in the morning.
~:~
The phone call woke Father Pacioli, who had been having a dream of a ship at sea, on the third ring. On the fifth ring, he answered.
“Pacioli. Saint Xavier’s.”
“This is the Wiltshire Carrier Education Center,” the automated voice on the line responded. “Due to a medical emergency, your presence is immediately requested at the Wiltshire CEC. An envoy has been dispatched to retrieve you, and should arrive within 2.5 hours.”
Father Pacioli stared numbly at the receiver.
“What’s happened?!” he demanded.
“Please present your microchipped identification card to the driver at the time of arrival. Thank you for your time.” the message continued, then paused before repeating: “Due to a medical emergency…”
“WHAT’S HAPPENED?!” Father Pacioli, fully awake now, his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs aching, shouted at the unyielding operator.
There was a muted click on the line, then a distinctly non-automated voice interrupted the call.
“Rafaele Pacioli?”
“Who is this?” the elder man demanded, even as he was flicking on the light beside his bed and moving to sit up. “Who’s called me?”
“My name is Demen, and I don’t have much time. You must come; I’ve called the car. Everything is going to be alright - Mikael is going to be fine. But you must come now.”
~:~