Post by James Nightingale on May 18, 2021 17:36:50 GMT -5
James Nightingale sits on the edge of his armchair, his arms pressed into his knees as he leans forward. He rocks slightly, staring at the broken mirror on the wall of his private chambers.
Nightingale’s behaviour had been rapidly deteriorating in recent months. He had already flown close to the mark with his actions, showing little remorse for his foes. He was always cold and calculated, a predator without any sign of weakness, with no chinks in his armour.
But now? Now his behaviour had become more erratic. The talk amongst the locker room, and even between members of MS-13 was that Nightingale was losing control, losing his mind. He appeared more distracted, he’d be seen talking to himself. Was he truly crazy, or was he talking to someone?
Nightingale continues to rock as he stairs upon the broken glass within the old mirror. He stands and begins to shuffle towards the mirror, reaching out to touch it with his right hand. He closes his eyes and immediately the image of James Harrison trying to escape the mirror replays in his head. The words “Please… Please free me” are repeated over and over again within his thoughts.
Suddenly pain originates from the end of his index finger. James winces and pulls his finger away from the broken mirror, a sharp, jagged edge of the broken mirror slices open the tip of his digit. He raises the injured finger to his face, staring at the wound as blood begins to trickle out. He applies pressure to the wound with his thumb, stemming the blood flow.
The words continue to play through his mind, “Please… Please free me”. Nightingale turns his head to a closed-door at the back of his private chambers. He walks over to the door, opening the round handle with his left hand, whilst he continues to apply pressure on the wound on his index finger. The door opens, and Nightingale begins to rummage through what now appears to be a cupboard. After a moment, he retrieves an old box, carrying it with his left hand whilst resting it on his right forearm. He walks over to his desk, dropping the box down on his table with a thud.
Nightingale raises his head, checking the mirror once more, but his own reflection stares back at The Angel of Death through the shards of the shattered mirror. He then draws his head back down to the box once more, blowing on it. A plume of dust jumps up from the box, Nightingale steps back to avoid inhaling the dust. He then wipes away the remaining clumps of dust with the back of his left hand, then slowly lifts off the lid.
James stares down at the contents of the box. After shuffling some documents aside he pulls out an A4 sized piece of paper. Old and creased, the paper includes a screenshot from the King City NHS Foundation Trust’s staff Facebook page from the Annual Trust Nursing Awards. The picture contains Nightingale in his former life when he was known as James Harrison. Then a highly decorated Senior Charge Nurse and devoted husband and father, James was much loved by both his colleagues and by his patients. He had been the recipient of the Nightingale Nurse of the Year award at this ceremony, an accomplishment he was deeply proud of. The photo showed James Harrison holding his award, a glass lantern, whilst standing next to the presenter of the award, Robert Busby.
Robert had long been tormented by serious thoughts of self-harm and suicide. He originally had become an acquaintance of James’s whilst they were in secondary school together in 1996. They shared a similar passion for professional wrestling, which was discovered when Robert made a chance discovery of a copy of Powerslam magazine creeping out of James’s bag whilst they sat together in an English literature class. But just as soon as a strong friendship was forming, they were separated.
Robert’s parents divorced, and his mother decided to move away, taking the young teen with her. And just like that, their friendship ended. They didn’t see each other for fifteen years, nor did they keep in contact.
Then one day they were reunited…
James Harrison awaits the arrival of his next patient within the Resus room of his Emergency Department. He takes a deep breath as he slowly puts on another pair of gloves. The entrance doors to the clinical area are pushed open, and a paramedic wheels in an ambulance stretcher with a man sprawled across it. His clothing is bloodstained. He has pressure dressings applied to both wrists. James eyeballs both dressings as he helps the crew slide the patient onto the hospital trolley whilst dealing with the backdrop of the patient’s constant pleas of “Please… please free me”.
It had been another busy night, and here was another ‘self-harmer’. James fades out as he takes a handover, the eager paramedic’s words were merely background noise as James stares at the latest patient. Then suddenly, his ears perk up, his attention is drawn by the sound of the patient’s name… Robert Busby.
James squints as he looks once more at the patient’s face, then realisation strikes him as he whispers “my god” quietly to himself.
Robert had been dealt the cruellest of hands. His wife, suffering from severe postnatal depression, murdered both of their children, smothering them in their sleep before hanging herself from the back of the children’s bedroom door using one of Robert’s belts. Robert made the horrific discovery of his dead children laying next to each other on his oldest child’s bed, having been arranged accordingly by his troubled wife after committing the heinous act. Not only had Robert found his children in such a state, but he also had to force his way into the bedroom, pushing past his dead wife in the process.
This loss was enough to drive anyone over the edge. For a long time, he struggled with his loss, and his subsequent mental health issues related to his family's death. Eventually, he chose to relocate back to Kings City in hope of a fresh start. The change of scenery helped for a while, but some wounds cannot be healed easily, and on what would have been his youngest child’s second birthday, Robert’s mental health relapsed once more, and he attempted to end his life by slashing his own wrists.
However, in Robert’s moment of desperation came James, reunited by fate on a busy night shift at the King City Hospital, years after their last encounter.
James stayed with Robert for hours that night, even suturing his wounds. He listened to Robert, listened all night. He couldn’t tell him “I know how you feel,” no one could say that. Not even James, whose wife and two children were tucked up in bed at home.
Simply being an ear though to Robert was what the troubled man needed. Soon their friendship was rekindled, with James acting like a guiding light to the then lost Robert. After receiving the help needed with James at his side, Robert was rehabilitated of sorts, finally ready to move on with his life. He even nominated James for the prestigious prize at the Annual Trust Nursing Awards, which he won in a landslide vote.
But sadly the good times didn’t last.
Robert soon relapsed once again, the wounds left behind by the actions of his desperate wife were fatal. Despite James’s best efforts, he couldn’t guide his friend out of the darkness once more.
Nightingale runs his right hand across the photo, paying little regard for the smudge of blood left behind which now covered Robert’s face. He closes his eyes, he witnesses several flashbacks of Robert to the backdrop of his desperate plea, “Please… please free me…”
And then one final flashback…
Robert is lying on his bed in the foetal position, sobbing whilst James is standing next to him. An overweight, lazy Healthcare Assistant, Peter, is sat in the chair supposedly providing one-to-one supervision.
“Robert, you need to let me help you. I know for one second I cannot begin to imagine what you are going through because I can’t. No man or woman should ever experience your pain. But your kids, they wouldn’t want you to live your life this way. You need to live your life for them,” states James.
“James I just cannot do this anymore. I close my eyes and I see their dead bodies. When I sleep I have nightmares of Caroline smothering them in their sleep. I’m just exhausted, I am weak, and I cannot do this anymore. And why the hell have they slapped this damn section on me! I can’t even go take a shit on my own,” replies Robert.
James sits down next to Robert, putting an arm on his shoulder.
“You are not weak, I’ve seen many weak people here in all my years as a nurse and you are not one of them. I want to help you, please let me help you. The section is there to protect you, you are really vulnerable at the minute and we cannot risk you trying to hurt yourself again”.
Robert sits up and finally looks at James.
“You can help me by taking me for a smoke. But I have to take a piss first...”
James stands up and walks to the door.
“Sure thing mate, let me get my coat and fags, it’s bloody cold out there tonight. Peter, can you?”
He gestures to Peter that he needs to go into the toilet with Robert.
A short time later James returns to the room with his coat to collect Robert. To his shock, he walks in to find Peter still sat in the chair playing on his mobile phone with no sign of Robert.
“Peter where the fuck is he?!?!” James asks, frantically.
Peter looks up and points to the toilet door.
“He’s in the loo mate, he has been in there a while probably taking a massive dump,” replies the lazy Healthcare Assistant.
James drops his coat and quickly runs for the door.
“You know damn well he isn’t supposed to be in there on his own,” states James.
He bangs on the door.
“Robert… Robert, please open the door you know you’re not supposed to be in there alone,” he cries out in desperation.
No response. James' heartbeat begins to race as if it is going to jump out of his chest.
“Robert… Robert open up!”
James tries to peek through the crack in the door, and what he sees sends a shock throughout his body. He can only see Roberts’s legs, as he is hung from the ceiling. James jumps back from the door in a blind panic; his mind has gone blank in the horror witnessed. He then snaps back into reality.
“PETER! RUN FOR HELP!!... NOW!!!”
Peter leaps to his feet in only a way a big fat waste of space can, dropping his phone in the process and lumbering to the door. Within seconds the emergency alarm sounds. James grabs a fire extinguisher from the wall and starts bashing the door repeatedly trying to break the lock. His heart pounding, hoping he can breakthrough in time to save Robert. The lock breaks and the door flings open, Robert has hung himself with a chain from the toilet, his face blue and mottled, eyes bulging. James drops the extinguisher and charges for Robert, lifting his legs as he gets to him to take the pressure away from his neck. The resuscitation team arrives, not sure what situation they are coming to.
James, already exhausted from holding up the dead weight of Robert yells, “Get me the ligature set now!!!”
The ligature set is used to cut down hanging victims. A ladder is quickly located and Robert is cut down, causing both he and James to crash to the floor. James bangs his head on the way to the ground. This, combined with being physically exhausted from holding Robert up for such a length of time has left him physically unable to perform CPR. He is led out of the room by a colleague, exhausted and disorientated whilst the members of the resuscitation teamwork on Robert. Their attempt was however in vain because, despite their best efforts, Robert was pronounced dead.
Nightingale takes a deep breath, and he opens his eyes. He circulates his thumb over Robert’s face once more, then he proceeds to scrunch the picture up into a ball. He walks over to the open fire on the other side of his chambers with purpose. He pauses for a moment, before raising his right hand above the fire, dropping the scrunched up photo into the roaring flames.
He places his right finger in his mouth and sucks the wound caused by the sharp broken mirror. As he does this, he again walks over to the broken mirror, looking confidently at his reflection within the broken shards.
“Robert represented a necrotic wound, rotting from the inside out. He was waiting to be put out of his misery, he just needed that push. My former self tried to help him, but in truth, he proved to be the catalyst I needed to allow The Matriarch into my life”.
“At the time, Robert, I tried to guide you into the light, but it was you who guided me into the darkness”.
“Howard Black has been lingering in Limbo. Like a terminal patient waiting to draw one last breathe, awaiting for The Angel of Death to guide you to your final resting place. You may have dreams of calling it quits at Evolution against a hand-picked opponent, but fate has a different blueprint, my long term planning will come to fruition as I will… make… you... quit…”
Nightingale smiles sadistically.
“You caused yourself a self-inflicted fatal wound at Uprising when you interfered in my affairs, a wound which you cannot recover from. Your retirement tour finally comes to an end, one stop short of your preferred destination, no one can guide you to Evolution”.
“At least Sarah will have a front-row seat to your demise. If your lucky, she may hop over the guard rails after the match, and try and stem your own blood loss, cauterise the fatal wounds inflicted by my hands”.
“But despite her best efforts, she will fail. As will your attempts to derail our Eradication Campaign once more, you will fail. Your dreams of having your grand send-off will end as I will… make… you… quit…”