Dr Williams soaped his hands under water. Important to keep them clean, he thought. For me more than anything. He watched the suds spill into the sink, twirling in clean white loops, neatly gurgling, almost comforting. At last, he withdrew; hands blue and sparkling from the cold.
He dried his hands on a paper towel, one of many stacked along the counter, unused, perpetually unused, bar him. He felt clean. He couldn’t remember feeling anything else. No, of course not. Why would he? The walk to the door gnawed at him. Had he cleaned them? Properly? Really properly? Ought to check. Have time, but then again, shouldn’t delay. Important to keep regular.
He soaped his hands again and again. Rinsed studiously, regularly, irregularly, a mash of washing and cleaning and drying and wiping, again and again. His shirt was soaked, the floor flopped, oiled and spotty under the light. He cleaned it all up. He still had time. Odd feeling; can’t seem to get clean. Did I wash them? Course I did.
He dried his hands. Disposed the flopped towels into the wastebasket. Peculiar having it under the hand dryer. Filthy things. Much better using a towel, a paper towel actually. I should tell them. Next time? Christ, will there be a next time? Well, if there is, it’s not bad for me. Bad for them. Maybe bad for me? Yes, look at you. Really look. It is bad for you. No. If it wasn’t you, it’d be some hack. Good that it’s you, noble even.
Dr Williams opened the door with a paper towel, volleyed it back into the wastebasket and walked out past the guard into the operating room. Two nurses were busy preparing the medication. They began to prepare the gurney. Wonderful. Really wonderful.
The guard left and came in with two other guards and a man. They led him into the room. His feet danced. His wrists jingled a tune. Dr Williams made sure he was quite comfortable on the gurney. He looked at him closely. Lots of nice, good veins. Unlikely to be a problem. Nice clean arms. Good. He felt quite relaxed. He gently rubbed alcohol in the nook above his basilic vein in his left arm. The tall nurse prepared the first drug.
The man tilted his head up towards the curtains. Dr Williams followed his gaze. The man stared lifelessly at the ceiling.
One of the guards nodded for Dr Williams to begin. He walked over to the window, drew the curtains; the people on the other side were waiting. Awful neat faces. They could wait. No point rushing. Ought to keep time though. He asked the prisoner if he had anything to say but the man hadn’t. Expect it’s quite normal to be silent, he thought. Probably fed up talking. Nothing to say anymore. He administered the second and third drug promptly after the first. It was hopeless to draw it out.
The man winced and looked up and seemed to jerk for a moment, then resigned to it all and closed his eyes. It all became quite civilised after that. No pain. Almost certain of that, thought Dr Williams. The man died at 11.24 pm.
After Dr Williams arrived back in the washroom he carefully removed his shirt and walked over to the basin to wash his hands. He gave them a good going over. They looked wonderful.
Image by Couleur from Pixabay – Hands being washed in soap under running water over a sink.
literally stories 
Otto
The poor Doctor suffers from Lady Macbeth Syndrome. This is a brilliant little glimpse at a terrible situation. Well executed (sorry, but it was at very least even money that someone would say that. It would be like passing up a twenty lying on the walk).
Regardless, well done.
Leila
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Never let a good pun go to waste! Glad you enjoyed it!
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Chilling & does a good job of opening a window on how such ‘procedures’ impact all involved.
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Thank you!
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Otto,
An interesting glimpse into a perfectionist who is to perform a procedure that only requires, “close enough”.
A straight forward tale, greatly appreciated by this reader.
Well done!
Ed McConnell
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Thank you!
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Nicely done portrait of a man who clearly enjoys his work.
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I love brevity, and this is a paragon of efficiency. It is possible that one might be reminded of the failure of crime prevention and what to do with the convicted. I have no answsers.
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There is so much to this. There’s the cleanliness, but also the fastidiousness of the question of the towels, and that clever “will there be a next time?” that doesn’t draw too much attention to itself. Before the full story was revealed I wondered about the threat of death and disease he seems to be avoiding, and I think that still works.
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Hi there Otto,
So simple but so thought provoking.
Why bother washing, it’s not as if the prisoner would catch an infection! Does he have a compulsion? It is clever of you putting it before the event as well. For whatever reason, the end line is a wee tad unsettling as our thoughts on simple professionalism is taken somewhere else.
There was a coldness in him, which there had to be but also a humanity, that was an excellent balance as this made me think on a weird sort of professional courtesy!
I just kept thinking of looking after a murderers murder’s hands!
A very interesting piece of work!
All the very best my friend.
Hugh
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I didn’t see where this was going and so the piece really shocks the reader and makes them reflect. The, as said, MacBeth handwashing is really well done and shows (rather than tells) the protagonist’s inner guilt.
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I like the description of the man when they led him “into the room.” Clean hands would be a practical thing for the doctor to focus on in this situation, and the condition of the “patient’s” veins, when there is a giant contradiction with the Hippocratic Oath. The story well shows the inner contradictions the doctor is experiencing, but in the end, he has a technical job to do.
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