[Fiction] The Sparkle Project

[Runesmith]

Dead patients certainly took up more time than living ones. Lynn wearily shuffled out of the ICU room, avoiding the family huddled outside (that was someone else's responsibility, thank god), looking for an empty EMR workstation to sit down and chart the failed resuscitation effort. The hospital management expected nurses to not only assist in resuscitating patients, while jumping at every order the physicians yell (brandishing charged defibrillator paddles, like idiots), but also remember every jab and shock given during the chaotic few minutes, including the exact times they were given, and chart all of that in to the electronic medical record once done.

Their recently-installed, cutting edge, fifty thousand dollar patient monitors (which had part of the word "intelligent" in their model name, probably added by some overpaid marketing guy with a bloated ego) only sent vital signs (which, during a code would look like - heart rate = 0, breaths per minute = 0, blood pressure = 0/0, Pulse Ox = 85... big surprise) to the EMR. An underpaid and over-worked nurse had to remember everything else and key them in to a bloody computer. For that kind of money those monitors should have something like Alexa built-in that would understand everything being yelled out during a code, and automatically chart in to the EMR, like they do with vital signs, she reflected. Lynn was clearly in the wrong job - she should have the job of that marketing guy.

However, Lynn had an ace up her sleeve. Whenever she ran to attend a code blue, she would switch on the audio recording on her phone and put it in her scrubs pocket. Recording anything without permission in a hospital was a big no-no, and she could face disciplinary action if found out, but that was a risk she was willing to take. She could listen to the recording afterwards and chart the meds without missing anything.

Before she could locate a quiet alcove where no one would notice the earphones, she heard a booming voice yell out, "Lynette!" It was Melissa, the unit secretary - an ancient and irritating hag who made it a point to get everyone's name slightly wrong. "While you were busy, you got a fancy gift box delivered. By some fancy courier, none the less. I left it in the pantry. So you got a boyfriend now?" she announced to the whole world.

"Thanks, I'll get it later," Lynn answered, heading to the other end of the ward. No, she didn't have a boyfriend, but had no desire to discuss that with the woman that most nurses called Melisandre, after the red witch in Game of Thrones - in reference to the witch's appearance after taking off the necklace.

Most nurses actually found boyfriends to be a burden (unless they were also nurses). After a grueling shift, all you wanted to do when you got home was to fall down on the bed and sleep... then eat... maybe masturbate, then sleep again (and then wake up and go back to work). Boyfriends needed constant attention, and most guys seemed to think of nurses as the bimbos depicted in their favourite porn movies - always horny, ready, and creative. With her 8th year in critical care nursing, Lynn had settled down to the tried and tested one-night-stand-on-your-day-off strategy. The box must be an early birthday present from her sister... although, why would her sister send it to the hospital instead of to the apartment?

She almost forgot to take the box when she left. It was small, light, a perfect cube wrapped in shiny purple foil, adorned with a pink ribbon, and no card. There was no rattle when she shook it. It maybe just an elaborate prank, an empty box with nothing inside... but even as a prank, who would spend money to deliver an empty box by courier? And what was the point anyway?

When she finally got home, she fell asleep with the box still unopened on her bedside table. After she woke up, and after a slapped-together sandwich and the cursory masturbation, she remembered the box.

It was packed full of styroform beads that immediately spilled out and clung to everything. Nestled inside was a smaller box that looked like the boxes that engagement rings came in. When she opened it, Lynn found a small USB stick instead of jewellery that she thought it might contain.

Her curiosity aroused, Lynn booted up her laptop and plugged the stick in. Inside the stick were six video files, numbered 1 to 6. She clicked on the first, and after the customary annoying spinning wheels that software engineers loved to add just to piss off people, the video started to play. It started with a black background, with the song "Pour some sugar on me" by Def Leppard - one of her favourite 80's songs. The words "Happy Birthday" appeared letter by letter as a cute little unicorn hopped across the screen. The video ended with a "Play Next?" message on the screen.

Lynn clicked on the second. It started with the same song, but it sounded like the song was not a sound track, but was coming from a radio in the background of a video recording. When she recognized the video, Lynn's blood froze in her veins.

[Runesmith]

Lynn had grown up in a rather conservative, very close-knit, middle-class family, with her mother and sisters. The all-woman household had made her somewhat shy with the boys at school, and her mother's steadfast refusal to date had instilled in the girls the feeling that they should follow suit. Not that she had much chance to go on dates with boys either - she was always with her mom or a sister no matter where she went. As a result, she was a late bloomer when it came to the dating scene. It wasn't until she was at college that she had even gotten the chance to speak to guys alone.

She hadn't had a boyfriend until the second year at college, and had been a virgin up to that point. With studies being a priority, none of the relationships at college really worked out, and when she graduated and landed a job with a prestigious healthcare network she bid goodbye to her then boyfriend with no real regrets.

Rob had been in a way, her polar opposite. The scion of a wealthy physician couple, he had breezed through medical college, oozed confidence and glowed with youthful exuberance. As soon as he had walked in to the ward on the first day as an intern, all the nurses were swooning over him, with Lynn being no exception.

Rob never had girlfriends. He had girls. He partied. He enjoyed every moment of his life. Still, he wasn't a poser playboy. He simply had that charm. Women were attracted to him long before they even knew how rich he was.

Rob, on the other hand, never flashed his wealth. There was no flashy sports car, no designer clothes. He was serious about his chosen profession, was compassionate and caring with the patients, had excellent bedside manners, and had an extremely curious, intense, and intelligent mind. These were the main reasons why Lynn developed a serious crush on the young intern.

Lynn took an effort to change her roster to match his schedules. During long boring night shifts they chatted, joked, flirted, and consoled each other when they lost patients. Rob told her about his intention to join Doctors without Borders and help people in Africa and Asia rather than take over his parents' private practice. Still, Rob treated her more as a colleague and friend than a potential love interest.

Lynn wasn't upset that she didn't get invited to his birthday party, just a week before his internship ended. She wouldn't have felt comfortable with his circle of friends anyway. Instead, two days later, when they shared the night shift again, she baked him a small cake and brought it to the hospital. It was summer holiday time, and there were hardly any planned surgeries scheduled. The ward was practically empty. There would never again be a chance for the two of them to be that alone at work. That was also probably why she took that crazy decision to bring a bottle of vodka as well.

That was a violation that could have cost her job. So was sneaking in to an empty day surgery room with Rob and doing vodka shots from paper cups. Having sex on the procedure table would have been grounds for instant dismissal. So was recording those videos, with her dancing and stripping to the tune of Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and going down on him.

Rob had recorded those videos on HER phone at her insistence. His phone was lying on a procedure cart playing music. HER phone was the only one that had had those videos. She had never even sent them to Rob. Some time later, she had probably erased those... or that phone probably died and she threw it away. She couldn't even remember.

That had been the first and last time they had been intimate. Rob finished his internship and a few months later flew to Somalia or Sudan or somewhere wih a DWB mission. He hadn't kept in touch. Lynn had known he wouldn't.

How had those videos surfaced now? Who had sent them? More importantly, what did they intend to do with them?

[saltychip]

As always... I love it

[Runesmith]

Unable to stop herself, she clicked on one video after the other. Lynn had led a sheltered life, and this was by far the craziest, most impulsive thing she had ever done, and up to this day she couldn't tell why she had done it. Maybe it was the fact that she would probably never see or hear from Rob again once he finished the internship. The strangest thing was that she had never felt guilty about it - the sex part that is (she did feel terribly guilty the next day about all the protocols they had broken, and what could have happened if a patient had had an emergency while they were distracted). She hadn't prayed to the lord for forgiveness, as she had done previously and since after casual sex. This had felt different - like having sex with a boyfriend.

The video showing her stripping off her scrub top followed by the bra... the one where she is kneeling in front of him and pulling his scrub pants and Calvin Klein briefs down in one smooth motion, and taking his erect cock in to her mouth while her hands were still gripping the pants... She couldn't remember actually whose idea it had been to take the videos. She couldn't remember a lot of details from that night... but the videos were bringing the memories back.

The video where he is bending her over the procedure table, pulling her scrub pants down exposing her white cotton panties, slapping her ass playfully before pulling her panties down and thrusting deep in to her... As she watched, she felt an unusual feeling of arousal spreading through her and a slight wetness between her legs, even though she had masturbated less than half an hour ago.

The one where she is lying completely naked on the narrow procedure table and he gets on top of her, trying not to make them both fall off as he kisses her passionately... she could almost feel his tongue in her mouth.

Why hadn't she ever watched the videos that had been on her phone? Was it a sense of shame? Or was it fear of what she had let loose that night? As she watched him cum inside her, clambering off the table, the two of them scrambling to wipe everything before remembering that the camera is running... she decided that it was because maybe it would have been too painful to watch. She had felt empty inside when he had never bothered to call or text, even though she knew he wouldn't, and even though he hadn't made any such promises.

There was one more video left.

As she feared, the final video wasn't sex. It was set to the same Def Leppard sound track, with a Star Wars crawl of text. It was a message for her.

[Runesmith]

Lynn read the words as they scrolled up the screen.

Well, you certainly did pour some sugar right there, didn't you?
Do you like watching yourself fuck like a dirty little slut?
No, don't lie to yourself, Lynn... After all, these videos did get you wet, didn't they?
More than any porn you've watched.
What about the thought of a stranger watching you do these dirty things?
That gets you wet too, right?
Again, don't lie to yourself.
You see, I know you better than you know yourself.

Regardless of how you were brought up, inside you is a cum guzzling whore that is waiting to be unleashed.
Believe me, you want it unleashed.
Just think about your life has been in the last few years.
Work, sleep, an occasional vanilla fuck...
Maybe you masturbate, but I doubt that gives you much fun either.
None of the cocks you have had in your cunt have aroused you as much as you were aroused that night, have they?
Have you ever wondered why?
I'll give you some time to reflect on that...

The words crawled off screen and only the sound track remained playing on a black screen. Lynn was in shock. Whoever this was, they knew a lot about her... her public life and her private... and even, apparently, her thoughts. The worst thing was, some of the things they said about her personality and thinking seemed... well, admit it, Lynn... they were also true. Yes, she could feel the wetness down there. And reading herself described in those demeaning, dirty terms - instead of anger and outrage, they seem to be making her... well... somewhat even more... excited.

In Lynn's life, sluts were always other girls. The girls in school who knew how to attract the boys and did dirty things with them. Like Sally, who bragged about sucking off the guys in the football team. Like the girls in the cheer-leading squad who were rumored to make out with the players behind the bleachers after practice. Or Jasmine, the skanky Filipina nurse at work whom Lynn had seen emerging from the on-call intensivist's room, with her scrubs and hair in disarray practically every time a male intensivist was on night shift (and yes, Jasmine openly flirted with many of them)... and also once when that very pretty Dr. Janice was on-call. Now that's someone Lynn would even call a whore (which is exactly what the other nurses called Jasmine behind her back).

Fuck was a very dirty word for making love... but in a way, she didn't actually make love with her occasional one-night stands. There was no love, just sex.

And that word this video used for her vagina... that was so, so dirty. At home, they had never even used a word like pussy. It was always either vagina, or "the lady parts". That word... the word "cunt"... that was so dirty and demeaning. And yet, just thinking "I have a cunt" made her lady parts embarrassingly wet. How did the person who sent her the video, whoever they were, know her so well? They weren't kidding when they said they know her better than herself.

A new set of words started crawling up the screen while Joe Elliot was boasting that he was sticky and sweet from his head to his feet.

Did you think about what I said, Lynn?
Were you honest to yourself?
Do you know why the things I said seemed to cut way too close?
Because they are true, and you know that.
You aren't living your life as who you really are.
You are living your life the way your mother wanted you to be.
Like you family, relatives, and friends want you to be.
A good girl.
This is why your life feels so empty, grey, and aimless.
This is why you don't feel alive... Alive, like how you felt that night.
Do you really think that is something bad?
Can something so good really be bad?
Do you want to discover who you are?
Do you want to be free of the invisible cage that holds you in?
Think about it. What's your answer?

No? Are you too afraid to learn how to live the life you were born to live?
Don't worry - I am not going to send these videos to the hospital or post them on the internet.
You will be safe...
Well, hopefully... I mean, it's not something I can guarantee, right?
I mean, in this digital world, things always have a way of coming back.
Like these videos you made long ago.
If I found them, the chances are that someone not as nice as I am might find them too...
Unless I remember to scrub them from the place where I stored them online.

Is your answer yes?
Are you courageous enough to start this journey?
Do you want to bring color in to your black and white existence?
Do you want to live, instead of just existing?
Do you want to feel instead of going through life numb?

If you are curious enough to discover yourself, download the messaging app called Kik, and create an account for yourself.
Then send a message saying "I am ready" to the following user...

After the 2nd time she repeated that video, Lynn reached out to her notepad and wrote down the username in shaky handwriting. It was only around the 3rd or 4th time she viewed it that she understood the subtle, rambling, and loosely worded threat. That hadn't actually been necessary. The wetness soaking her white cotton panties was proof enough of that. The fact that she wanted to read those dirty, demeaning (and true) words over and over again was proof of that.

[Runesmith]

However, before she went further there was something she needed to rule out. Lynn was no stranger to stalking people on Facebook, and she did regularly check Rob's profile. There were only two people who even knew those videos existed, and she was the only one who had a copy - she was pretty sure she never sent Rob those videos, especially as he disappeared from her life just a few days later, after perfunctory goodbyes and a box of donuts in the staff lounge.

It couldn't be him. His profile pic showed him smiling with a bunch of kids in an impoverished village in Mali. His status was set to "in a relationship", as it had been for many months. Most of the photos also featured that pretty Belgian eye surgeon who had been responsible for that status change. She had to admit - they made a perfect couple... young, happy, vibrant, tanned... the kind of photos that you see in magazines.

Arranging the courier delivery of a USB stick while being halfway across the globe was not beyond the capabilities of someone who had access to the kind of resources Rob had, but it seemed unlikely. Not only was he smitten by his blonde, green-eyed, Flemish goddess, he would probably not even remember who Lynn was by now. As she logged off the fake "Carol Wilkins" profile she used for stalking, she was surprised that she felt somewhat disappointed. She had been secretly hoping that maybe he had broken up and had remembered her, and... well.. actually, the thought of him sexually blackmailing her (maybe in to doing things even more daring than the videos) excited her, while it also simultaneously angered and disgusted her.

It took her some courage to download Kik and create an account. She used the same "stalker" email address, and when the app bullied her in to giving a phone number, she entered the number of the burner phone she had used long time ago when setting up the fake Facebook account. Not that these precautions made much sense when her blackmailer obviously knew her name and where she worked.

It took her a while to figure out how to search for the username - the stupid app kept showing her other, unrelated users while she was tapping out the username, and the one she wanted only appeared after she had keyed in the whole username. She was right not to trust an app this crappy with her real phone number.

With shaking fingers, she tapped out "I'm ready" and clicked "Send".