Surprisingly, my first reaction to that bombshell was a dumb "Okay." My mind was still putting one and one together to get two.
No surgery at all? I was injured so badly, with two long gashes that would soon be impressive battle scars. I'll probably even be bragging about them to my grandchildren sixty years later. Not to mention the whiplash and concussion. And now he's telling me I freaking healed myself?
Dr Gordon shook his head, as much as he could with a blade at his jugular. "No, you don't get it. I did not perform the surgery on you."
"So who did it?"
He hesitated.
I smiled sweetly as I applied some pressure on the scalpel. "Mr Blade is getting a lil' edgy here." I reminded.
Dr Gordon stiffened. Then his face hardened. "I...I promise to tell you everything, but not with this scalpel digging into my flesh. The notion of getting my throat slit at any second doesn't help my brain recall."
I thought for a while. "Fair enough." I retracted the blade but kept it in my hands. I wasn't taking any chances.
Dr Gordon shifted uneasily. "You weren't supposed to live," he muttered, almost unintelligibly. "It has never happened before, never..."
I held up a hand. "Speak up." I commanded. "Who were the 'they' you mentioned just now? And what is it about me being not supposed to live?"
"Remember the time when I told you about your injuries?" he asked. I nodded. Gash-whiplash-concussion combo. Not hard to forget.
"Well, it appears that I'd kept a vital information from you. You were declared brain dead upon arrival."
"What?"
"Indeed. Your brain showed no signs of conscious or subconscious response; it was as if your brainwaves had subsided completely, with no nerve impulses along the cerebral cortex-"
"Wait," I interrupted before Dr Gordon could progress into PhD Neurology. "Aren't brain dead patients doomed to dwell in coma for who-knows-how-long?"
"No. Brain dead patients are already dead. Or at least, half dead, for their heartbeat and ventilation are basically supported by machines."
I struggled with the enormity of the news. "Wow. So who played Doctor Frankenstein?"
"That you must ask the ones who I was commanded to sent you to, immediately after you arrived at our hospital. They-"
"Wait a minute. You said someone commanded you to send them a brain dead patient?" Things were getting weirder and weirder.
If Dr Gordon was annoyed by my frequent interruption, he didn't dare show it. "Exactly. I received a phone call just moments before you arrived at the emergency room. The mysterious caller gave me an address and forcibly ordered me to send you there. I had no choice, so I personally drove you there in the same ambulance you arrived in."
"What do you mean 'you had no choice'?" I was incredulous. "Aren't there strict protocols around here about a patient's rights and privacy? And how could you be certain the caller wasn't just a sick, vile prankster?"
He squirmed uneasily. "No, he sounded dead serious. Said that if you weren't sent to his facility in half an hour you'll stay in a persistent vegetative state for the rest of your life. And I was dead sure I was unable to save you, no matter how hard I tried. So I thought, 'Why not give it a try?'"
He made it sound like I was a cute little fluffy lab rat. I thought for a second. No, things just didn't add up. "What about the 'this has never happened before' part? Explain."
"I-I'm sorry?" he stammered.
I was getting sick of his lies. Mr Blade flashed and was once again caressing the doctor's throat. He flinched.
"Wha- NO! No, no, I've told you everything!" Dr Gordon protested. I bet if his bladder was full he would've wet himself again. Such a sissy.
"Oh, no. I believe you've not told me everything." I gave the scalpel a hard shove. "Why. Was. I. Not. Supposed. To. Live?"
The middle-aged man began to sob. Holy shit. "Because all the others returned in body bags!" he spluttered. This guy was definitely traumatized by something. Something very sinister indeed.
Between sobs, Dr Gordon confessed it all. How he'd been receiving similar calls since a couple of years ago, to send certain patients to the same location he'd sent me to. How he'd too received stern warnings to keep all those missions a secret. How he'd conformed obediently to climb steadily up the hierarchy of Redwood's administration board, doubling and quadrupling his income along the way. He swore he had no idea what the patients underwent in the facility to end up returning in body bags. He admitted that he was merely responsible for the covering up-the consoling of the dead patients' parents, the explanation of the cause of death, etc. The one thing that spurred my interest was that all the casualties were teenagers, ages ranging from sixteen to twenty-one.
"No." The doctor frankly denied when I asked him if the caller was a fifty-year old necrophile. "I believe the caller wasn't working alone. There must be something at work behind his one-man façade. Something HUGE. And the facility I mentioned? It's enormous."
I really should pay this suspicious facility a visit. "Where is it?"
Dr Gordon seemed reluctant to tell me the address. He'd probably got himself into loads of trouble already by just having this chat with me.
"I need to know. If they're happening to be doing something wrong, I'll have to stop them." Noticing his worried expression, I added. "And don't worry, I'll never rat out on you."
Apparently, the greedy bastard wasn't very happy in losing his chance to advance higher from whatever position he now held in Redwood Hospital. I applied some threatening pressure to the blade.
"Okay, okay!" he squeaked like a terrified mouse. "It's at Bronx-"
What Dr Gordon was about to say was left unfinished, for at that moment, the window behind him exploded with a loud 'BAM!'. Almost simultaneously, the doctor's head snapped forward and blood spurted from a hole that appeared in the middle of his forehead.
A stunned silence followed the sudden blast. My ears were still ringing. Jesus Christ! He's dead! Wha-
Before I could even fully register what was happening, my legs were already leaping into action. I fell into a defensive crouch, eyes sweeping around the room, searching for any clues that led to the doctor's death. I could sense the thoughts that flitted across my mind, almost as if on their own.
Dr Gordon's been shot. By a sniper bullet-at this point my eyes examined the doctor's grotesque forehead-an M-24 based on the ferocity and the amorphous shape of the exit wound. Who would dare to shoot a civilian in plain daylight?
I duck-walked hastily towards the broken window. I could feel the breeze already. Carefully, I peeked out of the ledge. It was clear-literally-as clear as any summer day could be. There was no signs of terror, no signs of people scattering for cover.
The sniper must have used a silencer.
Just when I was about to get a better view, the second shot whizzed past the window, barely missing my scalp. "Shit!" I cursed as I flinched instinctively.
My stomach was literally in my throat. I tried swallowing it. As I sank to the floor, I felt grateful for the cover of the wall, though I knew the bullet could shred past it if it wanted. I shuddered at the thought that the sniper was aiming for me too.
No. I realized suddenly. He could've shot me if he'd wanted to-look at the perfect shot in Dr Gordon's forehead. That was just a warning shot.
My heart pounded as I spotted the warning bullet. The shot had imbedded itself in the ceiling, sending hairline cracks in every direction. They want to intimidate me. First by killing Dr Gordon, now with the warning shot. What are they trying so desperately to protect?
Then I understood with a start. The address of the facility!
Dr Gordon had mentioned the word 'Bronx' but he could not finish it in time before he was brutally silenced. Who knows, it could be a building, a street, a city, a river or even the name of a café downtown. I knew I had to find the exact and complete address, but I didn't know how. Fortunately, my body did. My hands reached up and shut the blinds.
I had bought myself time, but not long. Soon, they would be here to finish what they've started. Even if they didn't, hospital security would be here any moment now. I have to act. FAST.
Springing to my feet, I started ransacking the doctor's desk. It was full of Stick-it notes, files and chewing gum wrappers. No signs of any address whatsoever. Damn.
I tried replaying my conversation with Dr Gordon in my head. He said that the mysterious man had contacted him several times...through his phone! That's it!
Hurrying over to the dead doctor's body, I tried to avoid the pooling blood on the floor as I searched his pockets. My hand wrapped around a rectangular object. I fished it out and grinned. Bingo.
I was about to turn his phone on when the door flew open. It was the middle-aged nurse from the emergency unit. Someone must have heard the commotion in here and decided to make a complaint.
Once look at the nurse's horrified expression and I knew I was in deep, deep trouble. Then she started screaming.
"AHHHH-"
"No, no, NO!" I held up a hand. "You've misunderstood. It's not-"
"Get away from me, you monster!" she shrieked as she backed away from me. One step, two steps...and then she bolted.
I was about to give chase, but I stopped. What's the use of explaining now? I couldn't possibly blame the nurse for her overreaction. Only an insane person would stay cool when she sees a guy sticking his hands into a dead guy's pockets.
No. I was definitely going to take the blame for Dr Gordon's death. The police will come, spray the entire area with fingerprint powder, and all the matches will point in my direction. I will be framed as the killer. Kudos to you, sniper.
Hesitating no longer, I dashed out of the office and made for the emergency exit. The corridor was empty now, but I knew it would be flooding with police and forensics few minutes later.
My mind was numb with shock. I couldn't comprehend, couldn't think of a way to prove my innocence. Or at least to avoid capture. But my body knew. I had no idea why, but I was grateful.
My hands grabbed a pail, a mop and a coiled hose from behind the door of the emergency exit. I spotted a cap lying in the corner. I picked it up and flipped it onto my head. It was dusty and stank of rotten steak, but it served its purpose. I was officially a maintenance worker now.
The orange color shirt the paramedics gave me (my white tee was soaked with Wong's blood) was fitting to my current identity. Nobody turned a head when I trotted down the lobby. No one screamed "Murderer!"
So far so good.
"Hey!" A voice called out from behind me as I was about to enter the back lane of the building that I'd just exited. I froze.
It was a security guard. His blue uniform and badges made it clear. I swallowed nervously. In my most nonchalant voice, I gave him an uncaring stare. I was betting on the antagonistic relationship between maintenance workers and badass security guards. "Yeah?"
"Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" He narrowed his eyes at me.
I pointed. "The back lane?"
He snorted. "There ain't anythin' for you to maintain there, missy."
"Leaking pipe. Got my orders from the Head himself." I was proud with my impersonation. It was as if I was Bob the Builder himself. On a second thought, I added with a frown. "Mind your words, asshole. You wouldn't want to have a mop for lunch."
I knew I shouldn't have added the last line-not when the cops of the entire city would be hot on my heels any minute now-but I couldn't stop my mouth. This guy was being too much of a pain in the ass.
Badass Guard was definitely pissed. He puffed out his chest like a puffer fish and started towards me. His eyes were spitting fire.
"I speak what I want, you little prick. " He spat. He shove a finger at my chest. Hard. "And you better go mind your own business, missy."
In a flash, my fist was in his face. The punch had already knocked two of his front teeth out, but my body followed with an elbow to the side of his head. Badass Guard crumpled to the ground with a soft 'Oof', unconscious before he hit the tarmac.
"Oh shit." I whispered, aghast. I was pissed at his attitude, but I hadn't wanted to hurt him. Well, maybe a little, but not enough to make me knock him out cold.
No, there was no time to mourn over a fallen asshole. With one last regretful glower at the lifeless guard, I took off towards the back lane.
"Password." I groaned. "I knew it was encrypted."
A few moments ago, donned in a typical maintenance worker's outfit, I had managed to escape through the back lane. Nobody stopped or questioned me. I walked out of the hospital compound like a boss.
At first I was unsure where to go. Grab a cab and head home? The police are after me. They know my name-I'd gave it to the nurse along with Wong's details. They're probably knocking on my door right now. No, I couldn't go back.
At last, I decided to hang out in a nearby café. I guess I should probably lay low for the moment, until...well, until I find a way to prove my innocence.
Ordering a cold coke, I fished out Dr Gordon's phone. It was a typical IPhone, with a sleek black leather cover protecting its screen. I flipped it open.
And it asked for a password.
Well, I wasn't surprised. Most teens opt to set a four-digit code for their phones to avoid their parents from reading through their messages. Or to prevent their private photos from being viewed. Whatever.
What surprised me was that this phone asked for a twenty-digit (or maybe alphabets) complex encryption code. I've never seen it before. Not in phones, anyway. These kind of codes only appear in extra security, Maximum-Eyes-Only files, you know, CIA and stuff. And now this phone was asking for it.
BAM. I slammed the phone down in frustration. The old lady in the next table shot me a disapproving look. I mouthed an apology.
How did Dr Gordon manage to initiate such a complicated encryption for his IPhone? He just didn't seem like the computer geek kind. Perhaps he had received it from the ones he was working for. Such a terrible secret they were trying to protect.
The same secret that held the answers I desperately needed. I realized. And as an evidence of my innocence in Dr Gordon's death.
There must be a way. A voice whispered alluringly in my head. A way to crack the code.
Oh really? I thought skeptically. And how do you plan to do that, huh? By cracking the screen? Genius.
No. The voice wasn't daunted by my taunt. Before I could think any further, my hands had flipped the leather cover open. The black and white screen greeted me, almost mockingly.
It was like solving the Master Sudoku all over again. My head started aching, even harder this time. I figured this code must be way more complicated than the Master Sudoku.
It was, but to my absolute amazement, I solved it even faster than the Master Sudoku. One minute I was tapping feverishly on the screen, with my head pounding like a freaking hammer, and the next the phone gave a slight click. The home screen appeared.
Wow. This guy must've had a fantastic memory, as the code was a random jumble of digits and alphabets that made no sense at all. Oh, right. He was a doctor after all.
SHRAKK! Without warning, an abrupt flash of agony struck my head. It felt like my head had been blasted into pieces. I collapsed face-first on the table, groaning. My hands were still clutching the phone.
Nobody had noticed anything wrong with me yet. Except the old lady. She tipped her head and frowned as she saw my constipated look.
"Hey kid. Are you okay?" she asked in a voice that reminded me faintly of Peter Parker's Aunt May.
"Unhh." I moaned. My head was woozy, as if swimming in a murky swimming pool. Do I look like I'm okay, ma'am?
Incoherent, I motioned to my belly as I stumbled at the direction of the washroom. The old lady got the message. She shot me a look of pity before returning to her coffee.
I crashed into an empty stall. My head was being crushed by an Austrian tank. He was there again, the screaming man from the room-wrecking day. I had a feeling what was gonna happen next.
And it wasn't very pleasant at all.
"STOP IT!" I shouted. It hurt like hell, but I had to try to get the man to focus. Well, that's if I wanted the toilet stall to stay in one piece. Or in this case-the entire café.
"Listen to me! You've got to focus and calm down." I yelled. "Focus! Focus on my voice!"
He wasn't yielding-yet. But I could detect the hitch in his scream. He must have heard my voice. I decided to try again.
"Deep breaths! C'mon, breathe!" I clawed at my scalp. "Listen to me, you've got to concentrate! Breathe in deep!"
The man's scream came in distorted hitches now. It was working. A few more seconds and I started to catch the short but deep breaths that he was trying to take.
"Yes! You're doing it!" I encouraged. "Focus and breathe!"
It took a whole five minutes to get him to breathe normally. Amazingly, there wasn't anybody banging on the door of the stall yet.
The man was still huffing and puffing like a steam train, but his sonic assault on my head was finally stopped.
"Hello? Can you hear me?" I asked tentatively.
There was a long silence. I was beginning to worry about my sanity when a gruff, deep voice spoke.
"Where am I?" The voice was somewhat hoarse, but I wasn't sure was it from the screaming or the lack of use.
"Well, if you're expecting a hospital or somewhere posh, I'm sorry to disappoint you," I cleared my throat. "But you're now inside my head."
I could almost imagine the man frowning in disbelief. "What?"
"I know it sounds pretty crazy, but I believe you'd been staying in my head for around two weeks."
"Wait a minute. What's the date today? And who the hell are you?"
I decided to answer the first question and ignore the second. "Seventh of April. Why?"
"Seventh of...what?" I could hear the gears whirring in his head. "April? Did you just say April?"
"Yeah."
"God. Two and a half months..." He whispered. Then, in a rather shaky voice, he asked. "What about the year? What year is it?"
"Um, twenty-fourteen?" Seriously. Was this guy from Limbo too?
The man gave a low whistle. "Unbelievable."
"Are you from the future?" I figured he must be some secret agent sent from the future to...save the world, perhaps? That explains my sudden gain of martial arts abilities. For some unknown reason he'd picked me as his host.
"Just the opposite. I'm from the past."