The Mad Doctor Wants My Hands novel

The smell of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I stared blankly at the reflection of the ballroom chandelier.
Veronica Salk nudged me with her elbow, the wariness in her eyes as sharp and cold as ice.
I knew what she feared, just as I was afraid too.
Jeff Fitzpatrick wore a sharply tailored white coat, his sleeves rolled up to the forearms, revealing hands with clearly defined wrist bones.
Those hands had carved seventy-two wounds into my skineach precise, avoiding vital points, yet enough to let my blood slowly drip away.
"Cynthia, Veronica," his voice was as gentle as a spring breeze, "there is something I want to say to both of you today."
The colleagues around began to jeer, camera shutters clicking incessantly.
In my previous life, it was at this year-end team building that Jeff Fitzpatrick, holding a diamond ring, let his gaze drift between Veronica Salk and me.
Back then, blinded by love, I reached out first and became the enviable Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
Now, looking back, that was not a proposalit was a ticket straight to hell.
"I hope to choose one of you to be my wife." Jeff Fitzpatrick lifted the velvet box, the diamond's brilliance stabbing painfully into my eyes.
The murmurs among colleagues grew louder; some said that Veronica Salk and I were the luckiest women in the hospital.
My stomach turned over, the excruciating pain from my previous life's last moments seeming to spread once more.
Veronica spoke before I could, her voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor, yet unwaveringly resolute.
"Dr. Fitzpatrick, you must be seriously ill."
The entire room instantly fell silent; even the sound of shutters ceased.
Jeff Fitzpatrick's smile stiffened, and a flicker of scrutiny entered his eyes as he looked at Veronica Salk.
I immediately stood up and took a half step back, lining up beside Veronica.
"Dr. Fitzpatrick's proposalwe simply cannot accept it." I deliberately stressed the words "cannot accept," finally suppressing the nausea churning in my stomach.
Jeff Fitzpatrick furrowed his brow, and the gentle mask on his face began to crack.
"Can you tell me why?" He pressed on, his tone already carrying an unmistakable air of authority.
Veronica snorted coldly, her gaze sweeping over his hand.
"Why? Just looking at your hands makes me feel sick."
Those words stabbed at Jeff Fitzpatrick's heart like a needle; I saw his knuckles pale slightly.
In the previous life, it was with these very hands that he repeatedly cut open my palms, documenting the responses of nerves and skeleton.
"Veronica, don't say that." I grasped her wrist, the touch so tangible it brought me to the verge of tears.
In the second life, I thought that letting her go would bring me peace.
I voluntarily transferred out of cardiology and took refuge at a suburban community hospital, no longer daring to even hear Jeff Fitzpatrick's name.
But on that afternoon, five years later, the delivery man brought a cold package.
When I opened it, I almost collapsed to the floor.
Veronica Salk's bones were perfectly separated, each one cleaned to a pristine white and neatly wrapped in sterile gauze.
Beside it lay her skin, the edges sewn like a work of art, just as Jeff Fitzpatrick stitched those laboratory animals.
Only then did I realize that Jeff Fitzpatrick never wanted a wife, but a "component" that met his requirements.

"It seems you both have a deep misunderstanding about me." Jeff Fitzpatrick slipped the diamond ring away, his voice settling back into calm.
"Why not come to my private laboratory tomorrow? It might change your minds."
His invitation hovered with an unyielding pressure, just as when, in a past life, he convinced me to marry her.
"We're not going." Veronica Salk tugged me, intent on leaving.
"Don't be so quick to refuse." Jeff Fitzpatrick stepped forward, blocking our path.
"In the laboratory, I have my latest research results. They might even be useful for your 'profession,' Veronica."
He deliberately stressed the word "profession." Veronica and I exchanged startled looks simultaneously.
Veronica Salk's profession is a bone picker, a craft passed down through her family and known to very few.
She can piece together shattered bones, leaving no tiny fragment unaccounted for.
How could Jeff Fitzpatrick possibly know?
"Tomorrow at three in the afternoon, I will have the driver pick you up." Without waiting for our reply, Jeff Fitzpatrick turned and strode toward the center of the banquet hall, leaving behind a tall yet ominous silhouette.
When we returned to the apartment we shared, neither Veronica nor I spoke.
She was the first to turn on the light; the warm yellow glow dispelled some of the cold.
"You're back too?" Her voice was choked with tears.
I nodded, tears finally slipping down my cheeks.
"I'm sorry." I went over and embraced her. "I was so foolishI've dragged you into this."
In my first life, Veronica Salk and I grew up side by side and entered medical school together.
We both fell in love with Jeff Fitzpatrick, the man celebrated as a "surgical genius."
Because of him, we tore each other apart, hurling insults, and shattered a decade of friendship like broken glass.
Only after marrying Jeff Fitzpatrick, as I had hoped, did I realize he married me solely for my hands.
My hands are naturally steady, with neural reaction speeds three times faster than most people's, making me the perfect "template" for delicate surgical procedures.
He locked me in the basement of the villa, which had been converted into his private laboratory.
"Cynthia, just once, only take a tiny piece of nerve tissue." He would coax me like that before every surgery.
But one time became two, and two turned into countless.
My palm was cut open, stitched up, then cut open againseventy-two times in all; the anesthesia wore off, and in unbearable pain, I watched the fresh blood stain the operating table.
"He said my bone density was unique, perfect for experiments in skeletal regeneration." Veronica Salk's voice slipped through the gaps in her fingers.
"In my second life, I hid from him, but he still found me."
"We can't hide anymore." I wiped away my tears, my gaze growing resolute. "Tomorrow, when he takes us to the laboratory, he's definitely up to no good."
"Let's go." Veronica lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot. "I want to see exactly what he's planning."

At 3 p.m. the next day, Jeff Fitzpatrick's driver arrived downstairs exactly on time.
The car left the city, heading toward the outskirts.
The laboratory was located in the basement of a secluded villa, secured with stringent access control.
Jeff Fitzpatrick personally greeted us at the door, his white coat immaculate.
"Welcome to my secret base." He pushed open the heavy iron door, and a scent of formalin and alcohol hit us immediately.
The laboratory was vast, filled with all manner of precise instruments.
Most striking was the operating table at the center, where a white rabbit lay.
The rabbit's body was opened, its organs clearly visible, while on a nearby tray lay the sutured organs.
"This is my latest achievement; the survival rate after organ transplantation has improved by thirty percent." Jeff Fitzpatrick's tone was laced with pride.
"Look at this suturing techniqueisn't it flawless?"
I stared at that rabbit, a storm churning in my stomach.
In my previous life, it was on an operating table just like this that he "studied" me, piece by piece.
"Dr. Fitzpatrick truly 'loves' your work," Veronica's voice was icy cold, "you even conduct experiments during your breaks."
Jeff Fitzpatrick missed her sarcasm and instead smiled gently.
"Medical research requires complete dedication." He approached a glass cabinet showcasing various specimens. "Take the hand, for instancea steady hand is a surgeon's lifeline."
His gaze settled on my hand, the greed in his eyes unmistakable.
I instinctively clenched my fist, my nails digging into my palm.
"There are also skeletons," he said, looking once again at Veronica Salk. "Skeletons with moderate density and intact structures are the best carriers for regeneration research."
Veronica stiffened, her face turning deathly pale.
"Dr. Fitzpatrick, we still have matters to attend to. We'll be going now." I pulled Veronica and turned to leave immediately.
"Don't be in such a hurry." Jeff Fitzpatrick stepped in front of us. "There are still some things over there that might interest you."
He pointed to the desk in the corner, where a sketchbook and several medical reports lay.
Veronica and I exchanged a glance, then slowly approached.
The sketchbook was open to an anatomical drawing of the human body.
Strangely, the hand and skeleton areas had been repeatedly corrected, annotated with various data.
Those data matched perfectly with Veronica's and my medical reports.
On the adjacent medical report was the name "Miranda Donald."
The name sounded familiarshe was Jeff Fitzpatrick's assistant, a girl who always kept her head down, her face pale.
The medical report recorded her various physical indicators, with a red note beside it stating, "Organ compatibility 60%, further observation required."
"So Miranda Donald was merely a test subject." Veronica Salk murmured to herself.
Jeff Fitzpatrick's footsteps sounded behind me, carrying an icy sense of oppression.
"You are very clever." His voice lost its earlier gentleness. "Now that you understand, you should know that resistance is useless."
"Aren't you afraid we'll call the police?" I forced myself to ask calmly.

Jeff Fitzpatrick laughed, disdain lacing his laughter.
"Call the police? Who would believe you?" He pointed to himself. "I am Jeff Fitzpatrick, chief surgeon at Municipal Hospital No. 1, a leading authority in the medical field."
His words were like a bucket of cold water, dashing my last flicker of hope.
In my previous life, I also tried to call for help, but everyone thought I was mentally unstable out of jealousy for Veronica Salk.
Jeff Fitzpatrick's reputation was impeccableso spotless that it concealed all his crimes.
"Think it over carefully." Jeff Fitzpatrick walked to the door. "My engagement banquet is in three days. I expect your answer by then."
"What if we refuse?" Veronica Salk asked.
Jeff Fitzpatrick glanced back at us; the coldness in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine.
"Then you will become like rabbits in the laboratory, part of my research results."
When we stepped out of the laboratory, the sky had already darkened.
The evening breeze brushed against my face, carrying a biting chill.
"We cannot just sit here and wait for death." After returning to the apartment, Veronica was the first to break the silence, "His weaknesses are his reputation, and Miranda Donald."
I nodded, beginning to gather my thoughts.
Jeff Fitzpatrick is able to do whatever he wants, all thanks to the aura of his "genius doctor" reputation.
Once that aura shatters, he will lose everything.
And Miranda Donald, as his test subject, surely knows many secrets.
"We have to find Miranda first." I took out my phone and began searching for information about her. "We also need to gather evidence of his illegal experiments."
Just then, the doorbell suddenly rang.
Veronica Salk and I exchanged a glance, each seeing caution in the other's eyes.
At this hour, who could it be?
I walked to the door and peered through the peephole.
Two men stood outside the door; one wore a black jacket, his gaze defiant and unruly; the other was dressed in a suit, exuding a calm, composed aura.
"May I ask if you are Cynthia Martel and Veronica Salk?" The man in the suit spoke softly, his voice gentle.
"We are from the Stephenson Group. My name is Cedric Stephenson, and this is my younger brother, Frederick Stephenson."
Stephenson Group? A chill ran through me.
It was the largest company in the city, involved in multiple fields such as healthcare and real estate.
How could they have found us?
I didn't open the door, remaining cautious. "If there's something to discuss, it can be done over the phone."
Cedric Stephenson took a business card from his pocket and slipped it into the gap beside the peephole.
"We have come to discuss a collaboration with you." His voice was earnest. "Regarding Jeff Fitzpatrick's illegal drug experiments."
At the mention of "Jeff Fitzpatrick," Veronica Salk and I both froze in shock.
I opened the door and let them in.
"We've been investigating Jeff Fitzpatrick for quite some time." Frederick Stephenson wasted no time. "He used our family's pharmaceutical factory to produce illegal experimental drugs."
Cedric Stephenson added, "We discovered he conducted experiments on living peopleMiranda Donald was one of them."
"Why are you looking for us?" Veronica Salk voiced the question I held in my heart.

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