Spider

When Douglas knocked open the door of the ward, the infusion bag was still dripping liquid drug, and the transparent death line stretched all the way under the bulging sheets. He rushed over and pulled the plastic hose away, feeling empty in his hand. The wrapped needle pulled out of the corner of the hospital gown and was dripping wetly. He lifted the sheet to look, and two pillows disguised as human shapes were soaked with large clouds of water.

There was no one in the bed, and Warren Lange was gone.

Douglas froze right there, then exposed a slightly mocking expression. "Well done." He flicked off the needle and closed the valve to the IV tube. "This even saves time for negotiations, once and for all."

He took off the infusion bag, poured the liquid in it into the toilet and flushed it. He rolled the bag and tube into a ball, tied it with a pillow cover, and threw it into the trash can together with the set of hospital gowns. He then called the cleaning staff and had them remove everything on the bed to be washed at once.

At this moment, Jason and Adrian walked in and looked at the absolutely empty hospital bed in surprise.

"He was packed off to the morgue? That was pretty quick." Jason said.

"Very quick, indeed. I guess he either ran the 100m faster than Asafa Powell or jumped right out of the window."

"He's not dead?"

"He probably has some immunity to morphine. As soon as he noticed the unusual sense of relief and euphoria, he immediately pulled out the needle and disguised the scene, just like an animal that runs away after smelling danger." Douglas' visage eased a lot, then turned around and asked, "Where's Simon? I'm going to teach him a lesson, that brat!"

"In the emergency room," Jason said deeply worried. "He gave himself a shot of something called dextran, I think. They said the allergic reaction was very severe. Is he going to be okay?"

Douglas frowned. "Hard to say. If the molecular mass is large... Oh, it's terrible, a day when the goddess of doom visits!" He left the two men behind and went to the emergency room in haste.

Jason sighed and looked over at the ward where he had been for two and a half weeks, where so many messy things had taken place. Fortunately, he was finally able to break away from them.

"What are those?" He approached his bed, the pure white sheets of which were messily littered with branches of elegant, refined yellow-flowered calla lilies, looking like a gaily-colored impressionist oil painting against the wide emerald leaves.

"Adri, what does this mean? A goodbye to me?" Jason asked, picking up a branch and stroking its satiny, delicate petals. "If this is courtship, I suggest he should make two heart shapes like they do in the movies."

Adrian shrugged. "Who knows. But I'm sure if you make these into dinner seasonings, you'll sleep close to God."

Jason's hand shook and he promptly threw the flowers back on the bed. "With all due respect, I am not interested in the Last Supper, no matter how sumptuous it looks."

They waited in restlessness for over an hour before Douglas finally emerged from the emergency room. He pressed his fingertips on the center of his eyebrows, appearing a little exhausted and weary, and Jason knew it wasn't just physical.

"His allergy was more serious than expected. We injected him with dexamethasone, Lopressor and dopamine, during which he had respiratory arrest. The ECG monitor showed ventricular fibrillation and we defibrillated twice with 200ws electric shock—" he paused for a moment, realizing that the others were not the patient's family and there was no need to explain to them the treatments and medications used as required, "In short, the blood pressure has begun to rise, and spontaneous breathing has too resumed. If there are no surprises," Douglas exposed an inconspicuous smile, "it won't be long before he can check spelling mistakes on diagnostic reports again."

"Thank God!" Jason spun around twice on the floor in excitement and almost pounced on him to give him a hug. "Simon always says you're a 'very good doctor' and, for the first time, I feel there's a little bit of truth in that statement other than licking his superior's boots."

"Oh, I don't think you're aware. Big part of the reason Simon is still a rookie at his job so far is because he basically learned not to lick his superior's boots," his attending doctor said in earnest. "Now even if he finally gets the hang of it, I have to suspend him from his duties to write inspections until I can confirm that he'll never add ingredients to a customers' soup again."

Jason laughed. "I guarantee he'll turn over a new leaf. Please let me know when he wakes up. I always thought he was a good doctor." He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, opened it up and handed it over. "Can you sign this, doctor? This is the last formality and then we can say our friendly goodbyes."

Douglas' face changed slightly, and a gloomy and sharp shadow flashed across the bottom of his eyes. He did not take the piece of paper, but only stared at him with eyes as blue as the very deep sea. "Are you sure you have fully recovered?"

"Of course! My ribs are so strong that they won't break no matter how much you press!" Jason was a little annoyed at his unusual stubbornness on the matter. Was he sure he wasn't paranoid?

Douglas was silent for a moment. "All right. According to the regulations, we have to do one last examination." He turned and walked away. "Come with me."

Jason bristled his lip. "Adri, you wait for me outside in the car. I'll be over in a minute." He followed, not emphatically worried about the upcoming events. His injuries had basically healed, and Douglas shouldn't be stupid enough to go after him in this situation.

They made several turns in the long and quiet corridor. Douglas pushed open the door to a room and gestured for him to follow him in.

The room had no windows and felt like an airtight space, with a smell of antiseptic solution in the air that could not be evaporated. Dim natural light was cast in through the doorway, soon to be isolated with the autorotation of the door shaft. He froze in his tracks a little uneasily, a feeling of déjà vu gradually creeping up on his heart; however, he was sure he didn't like it at all — no, to be precise, he abhorred and feared it!

"Why the hell don't you turn on the lights, doctor?" He heard his voice shiver a little.

"I'm looking for the control box — ah, here it is."

The light in front of him suddenly brightened, and the abrupt resplendent white rays dazzled Jason for a spell. He subconsciously shaded his eyes with the back of his hand, and then slowly put it down.

The sight before him made his heart throb violently, and his face turned blue — in the center of the room was a huge operating table, and innumerable astral lamps gathered together shrouded it in white, miserable, gloomy illumination. The lighting was as bright as daytime, but it made him feel instantly dropped into the bone-chilling cold and darkness of a deep winter pit. He winced as a sharp pain cut through his right abdomen, spreading along every vein and nerve throughout his body, and he subconsciously used his palm to cover it. Damn it! He definitely remembered that there was no wound there...

A shrill, piercing hiss from the depths of his brain, '...Get out of here... Run...' It gave him a stern warning, but his hands and feet seemed to be tightly imprisoned by circles of leather locks, unable to move at all. Cold sweat permeating his spine, the fabric clung to him, which was a kind of viscous and inorganic iciness. He was bound, unable to struggle, unable to escape, like a lamb tied to the limbs, forced to await in dread and despair for the great pain that was about to tear him to shreds...

Douglas put on a mask and a white cap, only revealing a pair of dark blue slender eyes, and said softly to Jason, whose feet were practically unsteady, "What's wrong? What are you afraid of, it's just a metal table, it won't eat you. Come, sit on it. Don't worry, it'll be over soon."

"No..." The blond let out a tormented nightmare-like whimper of pain, unable to suppress his terror, and flinched backwards. "No!" I don't want to go up!

The doctor approached him in gentle footsteps. "Don't be a stubborn kid, Jason. It's no different than any other hospital bed or chair, there's no need for you to feel afraid. You have to learn to cooperate with your doctor, that would be good for you."

"Don't force me!" Jason shouted hysterically. "I told you I had a trauma with this! Why on earth do you insist on doing this to me? Shit! Can't I just give up?! I admit I can't resist, I don't even dare to think back, stop crawling out of the water and entangling my legs, you demons in white!"

Douglas looked at him with pity. "That won't do, Jason, you have to remember everything that happened at that time, the root of your trauma — no, this is no longer about the extent of the trauma. Next time, you're very likely to trigger a negative physiological reaction due to severe mental fear that will greatly reduce the chances of successful surgery and even lead to sudden death. No one can guarantee that you won't be on the operating table for the rest of your life, and I can't just ignore the possible consequences of that, especially if it's you, do you understand? Those 'demons' hidden deep inside you must be confronted, resisted and defeated without hiding."

He grabbed his arm and firmly dragged him to the operating table, making him feel the icy touch of metal. "Think about it, why are you afraid of it? What happened on it? You have to remember it all, otherwise you'll be controlled by it forever."

"I don't want to remember..." The body of the man pressed against the metal table shivered and let out a low, weak voice, "Whenever I had nightmares as a child, I couldn't help but want to tell my mom about the dream for comfort, but she'd stop me, saying that 'to tell the nightmare is like reliving the scene all over again.'"

"Then relive it!" the doctor ordered non-negotiably. "I want you to see its true face." He pulled Jason's left hand and skillfully tied it to the lock on the edge of the table, compelling him to look up at his face, but the other tightly closed his eyes. Douglas sighed noiselessly and whispered in his ear, "You have to trust me, Jason. I won't hurt you, I just want to help you. Then you'll find that sometimes the things we fear inside, those things that hide in the darkness, are really just ourselves. You already know that from experience, don't you? Do you like the feeling of not being able to control your own self?"

Jason trembled from head to foot, opened his eyes, and in the tumultuous green depths, stars suddenly burst forth in intense sparks. "No..." his voice was deep and firm, "nothing can control me, not even that self." Then he fell silent similarly to a statue, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if to look through it straight into a complex, deep and arcane secret. However, Douglas knew he wasn't looking at anything, nor was he speaking to him; he was simply examining his own mental world, like a king patrolling his territory.

Douglas waited patiently until he recovered from his absent-minded state and closed his eyes once again. The former could sense that this was no longer a sign of refusal, but some sort of unrestrained desire to confide in no one.

"It's sometimes a strange feeling to think about the past, like having a big picture in your head, most of it blurred and discolored by the soaking of time, but with a little corner that still remains stubbornly fragmented and clear." Jason was breathing slowly, and Douglas had never seen him speak so quietly.

"I was about six or seven years old at the time — maybe a little bit younger. I don't remember much, just like I can't remember why I was taken to the hospital... They told my mother I had to have surgery and she signed off with practically no hesitation. After that, she kissed me on the face as I was pushed in and told me to 'have a good sleep.' I remember the tone of her voice, as relaxed as saying goodnight, without even giving me an anxious look." He suddenly laughed. "Back then, I really thought it would be fine as long as I slept."

"I obediently let them bind my wrists and ankles to the operating table. It hurt when I was anesthetized, yet I didn't say a word. Very soon, I felt powerless all over, every cell was as weak as being exhausted. I couldn't even blink my eyelids, but I was conscious. I heard a voice saying, 'All right, let's hurry up. There are still annoying things to do later,' 'I wish I could get a half-hour lunch break, I'm sleepy as hell,' 'Dear colleague, I think what you need now is not sleep but caffeine,' 'Come on now, I can handle this trifle with my eyes closed.' The voices chatted casually, as if I was nothing but a scrap waiting for replacement parts on the production line, left to be manipulated and disassembled by them... "

He breathed in sharply, as if trying to suppress something surging to his throat, which made his voice take a sharp trill. "I want to throw up, doctor, I need a bag..."

Douglas stroked his throat and chest with his fingers. "No, you don't need it. It's just a psychological reaction. You'll get over it." He took off his mask and leaned down to kiss the other's lips, feeling his nervous, quivering breath. He rolled up his soft tongue and gently sucked, licking every corner of his mouth as if to soothe and encourage, nimble and gentle.

The familiar, warm way of touching calmed Jason's spirits a lot. He took a deep breath and peeled himself away from the other's lips. "I feel much better... Nice technique, doctor."

"Thanks for the compliment." Douglas touched his lips gently again. "Go on, will you."

"...Then I was torn apart by an intense pain. I have no way to describe the extent of that pain because my brain went blank instantly as if it had been gutted, and I felt the blade cutting through my skin — here." Jason subconsciously covered his abdomen with his right hand and curled up tightly, as if he was afraid that it would be cut again. "I felt like I was being cut in strokes: skin, flesh, internal organs, cold and sharp knives penetrating into my body. Every movement brought terrible pain beyond words..." he panted, issued a hoarse guttural sound, "I couldn't help screaming desperately, but I couldn't make a sound. Vocal cords and tongue, they simply wouldn't move at all. I couldn't even open my lips, they wouldn't respond as if they were dead!"

Douglas frowned. "It was a semi-anesthetic procedure, and the anesthetic didn't take full effect, but I didn't find you to be hypersensitive to such drugs..." he froze and exclaimed, "my God, they got the anesthetic and muscle relaxant dosage wrong!"

"Later, I learned that people call this kind of anesthesia failure 'live killing'... But at that time, I couldn't think of anything but pain. I could only open my eyes wide, letting out wails that no one could hear..." Jason stopped panting, his frozen green eyes wide open, like two static glass beads, transparent and rigid, his pupils showing a slight state of diffusion.

Reality and memory gradually overlapped like a film. The light, the operating table, the man in white... All the patterns are slowly matching, fully constricting his nerves... The surgery is still in progress, with the apathy and cruelty of unawareness; the blond child stared dead at the white curtain covering his eyes, on which there were constantly undulating shadows of terrifying shapes, like the projection of a hellish feast... In a miserable white suddenly appeared a pair of eyes. They seemed particularly slender because the edge was covered. "He was very calm. If patients were so cooperative, it would be much easier for us... What a cute little guy." They gazed attentively at him, full of merciless tenderness.

Those were the eyes from hell, the source of all pain and terror. He cried out in his heart, go away! Go away! Don't come! Stay away from me! But they bent down, getting closer and closer to him... He tried with all his might to escape from the weakness and restraint, but the bound limbs couldn't move at all... No! His right hand can still move, it's free! He violently swung his right arm to smash at those eyes, but his fist fell into a palm in mid-air...

"Jason... Jason!"

The spatial mirror image shattered from the heavy pounding of the shout, and a figure gradually emerged from the blurred white field of vision. Feeling like he was waking up from a suffocating nightmare, Jason blinked slowly, a hint of agitation and excitement bubbling up out of deep mental fatigue. "...I can move! I broke free of it! It can't tie me down... Nothing can tie me down!"

Douglas clenched his right hand. "Saw the demon in white?"

"Yeah..." Jason looked at him, his eyes still in a somewhat unfaded trance.

Douglas gave an inconspicuous smile. "I said I'd show you its true face."

He raised his other hand, unbuttoned the buttons of his white coat one by one, followed by a suit and shirt... He has a not so robust, slender and tall body, with a slight brown skin. His skin wasn't as smooth as young people anymore; however, his muscle lines were still permeated in strong and capable aesthetics. The shape of the shoulders and back to the waist was so standard that it could be used as a mannequin. Even when standing in front of people in the most exposed position, he still looks as usual.

"This is its true face." He pulled Jason's hand and pressed it on his own chest, moving slowly. "Feel its warmth? It's neither strong nor mysterious, nor has any distinctive power; it also contradicts, hesitates, errs carelessly, suffers when hurt; it also has the same needs, ideals, and sense of duty as ordinary people, and..." he guided his hand down the smooth lower abdomen, "desire."

Jason uttered a shuddering nasal sound as the other's genitalia began to swell hotly and quiver rigidly in his palm, a trembling rhythm with which he was familiar. Just for a second, he suddenly wanted to laugh, feeling like a little boy left alone in a courtyard at night, shivering at a terrifyingly shaped ghostly mass in the corner — even though he knew in his heart that it was nothing more than a bush in the gloom.

He curled a self-deprecating arc at the corner of his mouth and withdrew his right hand to unfasten the clasp on his left wrist. His eyes flashed bright. "I think I'm cured, doctor. Thank you," he said sincerely.

"I accept your gratitude, and I'd like to ask you for a favor." Douglas leaned closer to him, fingers touching his cheek in sexual hinting. "You know how much I long for you."