Authors: Angella Graff
“Oh God,” Mark breathed, sitting down in the office chair hard. He let the notebook drop to his lap and put his hands to his face. “They know.”
“Who knows?” Abby demanded, snatching up the notebook.
Mark let out a breath and tried to calm himself. “I don't know who they are, but the doctor is in contact with people who know Yehuda, know
who
he is, and from what I can tell, whoever these people are, they have taken him.”
Chapter
Twenty
Greg Asclepius was talking, but all Ben could hear was an angry buzzing in his ears. He was certain his face was red with rage, and his hands would have been trembling, had they not been holding his espresso cup almost tight enough to crush.
Ben could barely take the religious nonsense his sister was always raving and ranting about, and having to deal with Mark's claim to be immortal was enough to send Ben over the edge. Now, he was sitting with this doctor, a well-respected doctor, with a well-respected degree from an Ivy League university, who was telling him that ancient Greek Gods were possessing comatose patients and using their bodies as puppets.
“You know what, you need to stop talking now,” Ben said, having not heard a word Greg had said for the last two minutes.
Greg pursed his lips, his eyes boring into Ben. “I apologize. It was a bit much.”
“It's not a bit much, it's a bit crap,” Ben snapped. “The very idea that you're asking me to believe in this nonsense is absolutely absurd. You're a doctor, for god's sake, I expected some level of professionalism from you.”
“I wouldn't be telling a person such as yourself, Ben, if I wasn't able to prove it,” the doctor said quietly.
Ben snapped his jaw shut and crossed his arms. “Prove what, exactly?” he asked through clenched teeth.
“The truth,” Greg said. He looked down at his watch and then back up at Ben. “I have a patient in the rehabilitation hospital across the street that I visit once a month. I will be willing to provide you access to his entire medical file, if you agree to sit in the hospital with me until around two o'clock in the morning.”
“And what happens at two o'clock in the morning?” Ben asked tiredly.
“My patient will rise from his bed and walk out of the hospital,” Greg said simply, spreading his hands open.
Ben quirked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Listen, I'm prepared to offer you all the information you need on your John Doe, as well as the information you need on your homicide case. All I ask is that you sit with me for this one night and let me prove it to you. I don't expect you to believe me. I don't even expect you to believe what I have to say in total, even after you witness what happens tonight. If I'm wrong, and I can't prove anything to you, you're welcome to report me to the board of Medical Directors as incompetent and I will resign.”
Ben stared at the doctor and let the offer sink in. “You do realize this is insane, right? I mean honest to God insane. I should report you now, actually, and have you locked up for providing false information on a homicide case.” Ben said the words, but the truth was, he had already decided to give the doctor a chance.
He couldn't quite say why he was going to agree, but something in him was pressing him to go with the doctor. He didn't want to think about why, otherwise he would just walk away, and it was possible that his sister's safety was at stake.
It was obvious Greg could tell that Ben had made his decision, and he cracked just the barest smile. “It will be worth your while, I swear it.”
Ben didn't say anything as Greg got up from the table and led the way outside. Ben said nothing as he followed the doctor to his overly large SUV and got into the passenger seat.
“I'm human, in case you were wondering,” Greg said suddenly as he pulled onto the street. “I'm not immortal, and I don't have any unique abilities.”
“Okay,” Ben said casually, but he had been wondering. He was wondering just how far this doctor's delusion went, and whether or not he had gone off the deep end as far as Mark had.
“I know more than the average human, I've had help throughout my life, but one day I will grow old and die, just like every other human being.”
“Well that's a relief,” Ben said a little snidely.
The doctor gave a quiet chuckle and pulled into the hospital parking lot. It was late, and the security officer at the gate looked tired and annoyed. Greg produced his badge to the officer and within a few moments, they were permitted into the staff parking lot.
“I occasionally treat patients up here. I specialize in neurological injuries, and although my treatment tends to extend to patients who are recovering, occasionally I'm called in to oversee a long-term patient who shows no prospect of waking up from their coma.” Greg got out of the car and Ben followed suit.
“How long have you been treating this particular patient?”
“About a year and a half,” Greg said. He swiped his badge at the door and they walked inside. “A colleague of mine has provided me an office here for temporary purposes. It has access to my database back in my office, and I can give you access to all of the medical files. That, of course, could get me fired and cost me my medical license, but believe me, it's worth the risk.”
Ben didn’t respond as they walked into the elevator and Greg pushed the button for the third floor. The elevator doors opened to a wide hallway that smelled overwhelmingly of disinfectant and starch. Ben was still a little shaken up from his short visit to the hospital, and the smell made the surgery site from his head, which had healed nicely, itch just a little.
Absently, Ben brushed the back of his head as he followed the doctor down the hall, past a few turns and to a small office behind a very large, thick, wooden door. The office was empty, which Ben expected from the late hour, and the lights were off.
Greg flipped a switch and a couple of the desk lamps switched on, casting a sort of hazy, yellow glow over the room. “My colleague suffers migraines, so I apologize for the dim lighting.”
“It’s fine,” Ben said with a wave of his hand. He was busy scanning the walls of the office where diplomas and certificates were framed. Most of them were for a doctor Jonathon Winston, but a copy of Greg’s Harvard M.D. lined the walls, along with a couple of awards he’d won in the field of Neuroscience research.
“Here,” Greg said, interrupting Ben’s investigation. Ben looked over and saw Greg sitting behind a desk, a computer chiming the start-up program through small speakers. “I’ll get everything linked to my computer, and then you can explore the patient files.”
Ben hesitated. “Seeing as that’s against the law without a warrant, I’m not so sure I’d like to be accessory to this breach of patient privacy.”
“This patient is going to die soon,” Greg said, sounding a little sad. “He’s about to be taken by one of the old gods, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. You might as well have a look before this all happens.”
“Is that a threat?” Ben asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Is this some kind of game, Dr. Asclepius? I’ve taken down serial killers, monsters who were smarter than I am, and far crazier than you. If this is some sort of sick game that you’re playing-”
“I promise, detective, that I am on your side,” the doctor vowed. “All I ask is that you read through this file, and then you watch, nothing more. When the night ends, if you still don’t believe me… well, we’ll go from there.”
Ben didn’t like the secrecy, nor did he like the direction the conversation was taking, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it now. He sat down in the doctor’s chair, the computer open in front of him, and he put his hand over the mouse.
The desktop was conveniently labeled enough to where he was able to navigate into the patient database. The database was slightly outdated, but not so far as to resemble a DOS system, or anything Ben couldn’t figure out.
“The patient number is 782583, and the name is Charles Wighbon,” Greg said from across the room. He was standing in front of the window, peering through the blinds at the nurse’s station across the way.
Ben typed the information into the system and began to read. Charles, it seemed, was in a freak accident. The patient’s record noted that a police report was taken and that it appeared the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and careened off an embankment. The patient suffered severe head wounds and injuries to the spinal cord.
Ben read on for a good ten minutes, taking in every note every doctor had taken. Greg’s notes were in there, about once a month it seemed, as he visited the patient over the last year and a half. From what Ben could decipher from all of the medical terminology was that Charles had been in a coma, but every so often, his brainwaves would spike to a level equal to that of a fully conscious patient, however there was no physical symptoms to coincide.
Looking up at Greg, Ben sighed. “So what am I supposed to do with this information, exactly?”
“Do you have any questions?”
Ben sat back and crossed his arms. “Let me see if I have it right. This guy, Charles, was in an accident, fell asleep at the wheel, nearly died. He’s been in a coma ever since, injuries to the spine and brain were severe enough to kill him, however he’s able to be sustained on minimal life support. The reason you haven’t suggested pulling the plug on this guy is because every now and again, his brain starts acting like the brain of a conscious person, and you all have been trying to figure out if he’s going to start waking himself up.”
“That’s correct, very good,” Greg said, sounding impressed.
“I’m not an idiot, doctor,” Ben snapped.
“I never intended to suggest such a thing,” Greg amended quickly. “You see, from the beginning of my treatment of this patient, he’s displayed some unusual brain patterns. Some are consistent with dreaming, which means he’s capable of consciousness. Some, however, are consistent with, say, a person in the middle of a university lecture. Sometimes there’s nothing at all, and sometimes there’s the occasional, small spike. The patient has never been consistent other than we know to consistently expect something new from him.”
“And tonight he’s going to just get up out of his bed and walk out?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” Greg said with a short nod.
“And how, exactly, do you know this?”
Greg hesitated for a moment, peering back down the hall before walking over to the side of the desk and sitting down in one of the less comfortable patient chairs. “It was about six months ago before my contact became aware of this patient, and he informed me that a particular being was interested in Charles. He possessed a particular gene, if you will, that allows his body to be used. The only problem with his body was…”
“The spinal injury?” Ben asked, getting it, though his mind still rejected any of this as truth.
“Exactly!” Greg said excitedly, but immediately dropped his voice again. “The good news was that the patient’s spine was healing, which isn’t common, especially in a patient who is comatose. Normally patients recover from spinal injuries with rigorous physical therapy, and the most Charles gets is a daily muscle stimuli from one of the physical therapy staff members.
“However, about four months ago, where there was no physical response to stimuli, the patient started displaying involuntary reaction in his left side, which is where the paralysis initially occurred.”
“What do you mean involuntary reaction?” Ben asked.
“There are parts of your body, nerves, tendons, etc., that you can stimulate to cause your body to react involuntarily.”
“Like those old television shows where the doctor bangs on your knee with a rubber hammer?” Ben asked.