The Ghost Doctor

CHAPTER 1B — The Disgraced Healer

“Wait, come back!” someone shouted. But Justin was already moving.

He ducked into the crowd, the flashing lights of approaching ambulances slicing through the rain. Cameras snapped. Voices followed him like ghosts. “Doctor! Doctor! What did you inject her with?”

“Sir, what’s your name?”

“Is it true you killed a patient at St. Mark’s?”

He kept walking until walking turned into running. His shoes slapped against the pavement, echoing between the tall glass towers.

Inside a deserted parking structure, he stopped. His lungs burned; his hands still trembled. When he looked down, faint blue lines pulsed beneath his skin, flickering like veins filled with lightning.

“What’s happening to me?” he whispered.

The echo answered with silence. He flexed his fingers; the light dimmed, then vanished. Only the faint ache remained, a dull reminder of something impossible. His phone buzzed again. Dr. Miles.

Justin answered, still catching his breath. “Miles, listen, something just happened downtown. A girl, she was dead, but she came back. I think”

“Justin,” Miles cut in, voice urgent. “Don’t come back to the hospital. The board’s meeting right now. They’re suspending your license.”

Justin blinked. “What?”

“They say you disappeared after killing a patient and that you’re interfering with a government case. The press is outside. Reynolds told them you fled.”

“He framed me!” Justin’s voice cracked. “He, he’s lying!”

“I know,” Miles whispered. “But it doesn’t matter. The whole city’s watching that video right now.”

“What video?”

“The one of you… bringing that girl back to life.”

Justin froze. “Someone recorded that?”

“It’s everywhere. Newsfeeds, social media, everywhere. They’re calling you the Miracle Doctor.”

“Then they know the truth.”

“No, Justin,” Miles said quietly. “They think you’re dangerous.”

The call ended. Rain hammered the roof of the parking garage. He leaned against a pillar, staring at the city lights reflected on wet asphalt. Dangerous.

Maybe they were right. He had no idea what he’d just done, only that he shouldn’t have been able to do it.

Then headlights swept across the concrete. A black sedan rolled to a stop near the exit. Two men stepped out, suits dark against the rain. Not reporters. Too calm. “Dr. Forbes?” one of them called. “We need to ask you a few questions.”

Justin backed away. “Who are you?”

They showed badges, not police. Something else. “Department of Health Investigation,” the taller one said. “You’re wanted for unauthorized medical practice, tampering with controlled substances, and obstruction.”

Justin’s pulse spiked. “You’ve got the wrong idea.”

The agent’s tone sharpened. “Then come with us and explain.”

He saw the syringe glint in the man’s hand. Sedative. “Yeah,” Justin said softly, stepping back toward the shadows. “I’ve heard that one before.”

Then he ran. Bullets of rain chased him down the stairwell. Shouts echoed above. He burst into the street, blending into the chaos of traffic. A taxi screeched past, horns blaring.

He crossed against the light, darted into a narrow alley, and stopped only when he reached a dead end. Breathless. Cornered.

He pressed his palms to the brick wall, and felt that same heat surge again, stronger this time, searing through his veins. The brick hissed under his touch, steam curling in the air.

Justin yanked his hands back, horrified. “What the hell am I?”

A phone buzzed somewhere behind him. He spun. It was a street vendor, filming with a shaky hand. “Hey! You that doctor from the video?” the man said, eyes wide. “You’re famous, man! They’re calling you a freakin’ angel!”

Justin turned and vanished into the darkness. Hours later, headlines blazed across every screen in the city.

MIRACLE DOCTOR BRINGS GIRL BACK TO LIFE — THEN DISAPPEARS. WHO IS THE MAN WITH THE HEALING HANDS?

At a hospital conference room, Dr. Reynolds watched the footage in silence, a glass of bourbon in his hand. The light from the screen flickered across his face.

“He’s not done yet,” he murmured. “But I will be ready when he comes back.”

Far from the city center, in a damp apartment lit only by a single bulb, Justin sat at a table. His hands were bandaged. His eyes hollow.

He opened his notebook, the one filled with sketches of cells, equations, and theories no one had believed. At the top of a new page, he wrote two words: Start Over.

Outside, sirens wailed. The rain never stopped. And for the first time, Justin smiled. Not out of hope. Out of purpose.