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Chapter 1: Blood Stained Hands

Skulduggery was heavily breathing, heart audibly palpitating. The tears silently poured from his face as he uncontrollably trembled, a dull throbbing sensation in his chest. The overwhelming sense of terror and heat pressed in from all sides, it was illogical but undeniably real. He grasped his head with twitching fingers, desperately pulling at brown messed up hair as he sank to the floor. He was going to die. He was helpless, a mere spectator in his own life. He was going to lose control; he was going crazy. He wrapped his arms around his ribs, bringing his knees up and attempting to regulate his breathing. His eyes squeezed shut, and his hand shot out to steady his twitching leg. The terror lessened. The tingling chilling his arms gradually lifted. He thought reassurances to himself and opened his eyes again. Seeing the new skin covering his hands triggered him again. A chill swept over him as the trembles restarted, and his mind clouded, making him feel detached from reality. He was losing his sense of self, everything slipping from his minds grasp.

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He didn't know how much time had passed until he felt a warm hand against his feverish skin. Someone was talking. He felt the circles being rubbed on his back. He couldn't make out the words they were saying, but the tone was comforting. That was enough to anchor him to be able to make out what they were saying.

"What are five things you can see?" The mysterious person slowly whispered, their voice warm and familiar. He glanced around the room trying to make out its contents through his painfully blurred vision.

"I can see a," he squinted. "A-a drip. Whi-white w-walls. A c- a clock." He took a deep, shuddering breath, continuing to panic.

"It's OK," the voice soothed. "You're doing well. Just 2 more things." He fought the impending sense of urgency, taking a few more deep breaths before continuing to look around the room.

"I s-see a c-curtain an-and a... a pot p-plant." The person hummed and kept rubbing circles on his back.

"Excellent. Now, what are four things you can touch?" He closed his eyes and focused on what he could feel. He lowered his hands and grasped bunches of bedsheets.

"I can- I can feel the sheets, your-your hands rub-rubbing cir-circles on my b-back, the cool a-air a-and the mattress."

"Three things you can hear?"

"A-a heart monitor, b-bustling o-of people and the h-hum of f-fans." His breathing began to stabilise, and his vision noticeably cleared.

"Two things you can smell?"

"Hand-sanitiser and p-peppermint." He was feeling considerably calmer, the last symptoms of the panic attack fading. What was he panicking about again?

"And one thing you can taste?"

"Salt." He took one more deep breath before forcibly smiling and turned around to see a vaguely familiar girl with long dark hair. "Thank you." She grinned warmly at him, familiarity and sadness in her eyes. "What happened? Why am I in a hospital?" She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, wiggling a little bit to get comfortable.

"First, I need to ask you a few questions." He tilted his head at her questioningly. "Dr. Synecdoche asked me to." He had no clue who this Dr. Synecdoche was, but they sounded familiar. "Do you know who I am?" He was bewildered. Did they think he had amnesia?

"I- You look sort of familiar. Am I supposed to?" The young woman frowned, looking almost hurt.

"OK," she said nodding, trying to mask that this bothered her. "What is the last thing you remember?" This was beginning to freak him out.

"I remember," He paused, brow furrowing. "I remember talking to someone in a closet and realising something," he confessed. The girl frowned further. "May I enquire as to your name, miss?" He wanted to know before she could ask him another question.

"Valkyrie," she replied absent-mindedly before snapping back to focus. "What year is it? What's your name? How old are you?"

At least he knew the answer to these questions. "The year is 1886, I'm 34 years old and my name is Henry." He smiled proudly. His pride was short-lived once he caught wind of Valkyrie's expression.

"Oh. Oh dear," muttered Valkyrie. She stood up and walked to the door, before looking back at Henry. "Dr. Synecdoche will be in shortly. I'll be back with some of your friends, soon. Go by the name, 'Skulduggery Pleasant.'" With that, Valkyrie exited the room and closed the door with an immense sense of repressed urgency. As soon as she was gone, he allowed his mouth to relax and the corners dip down. Well that wasn't confusing at all. What kind of name was 'Skulduggery Pleasant' anyway? He refused to go by that name. His was just fine, no need to change it. Henry began to lie back, feeling a sharp pain shoot through his skull as he accidently knocked his head against the wall.

"Ow!" He shot forwards, hand going to the back of his head. He pulled his fingers away, feeling something sticky and warm. His hand was covered in blood. He cautiously reached back to the bloody spot, further confusion ensuing upon feeling bandages there also.

Henry frowned. What was going on?

The Plot Thickens. Tell me what you think. Comment possible ships. Comment your theories. Just comment something, it makes me happy.

I know the chapter is short. Bear with me.

-Your inspired author