The Ghost Doctor

CHAPTER 2 — The Hidden Healer

Rain hammered the tin roof of the derelict building as dawn crept across the city. Inside, Justin Forbes stared at his hands again, bandaged, trembling, still glowing faintly beneath the gauze whenever he flexed.

He whispered to the empty room, “You wanted a second chance. Here it is. Don’t waste it.”

A knock shattered the quiet. He froze. Three sharp raps, pause, two more. Not the police rhythm. Too deliberate.

He opened the door a crack. A gaunt man in a gray hoodie stood there, clutching his side. Blood soaked through his shirt. “Are you, are you the doctor?” the man rasped.

Justin hesitated. “Who told you that?”

“Street lady near the bridge. Said a guy saved a kid last night. Said he lived here.”

Justin’s pulse quickened. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The man swayed. “Then I’m dead.” He fell forward, collapsing into Justin’s arms.

Instinct took over. Justin dragged him to the table, clearing away notebooks and broken tools. “What happened?”

“Stabbed,” the man groaned. “Wrong debt collector.”

Justin peeled the shirt aside. Deep puncture, still bleeding. “You need a hospital.”

“No cops.”

Of course not. No one who came to him wanted the law involved. He grabbed the last of his medical supplies, saline, thread, a dull needle.

His hands shook as he sterilized them over the flame of a lighter. “You’re lucky,” Justin muttered. “I’m apparently good at impossible things now.”

The man managed a weak grin. “Then do the impossible again, Doc.”

Justin worked quickly, suturing under the dim bulb. Blood pooled; he pressed harder. “Hold on,” he murmured. “I—can’t”

“Don’t you quit on me.”

He pressed both palms over the wound. Heat pulsed again, searing through his nerves. The air smelled of iron and ozone.

The man gasped, arching off the table. Justin’s eyes widened, tissue knitted together before his eyes, bleeding stopped, skin sealing smooth.

He stumbled back, chest heaving. The patient sat up slowly, dazed. “What the hell did you just do?”

Justin stared at his hands, shaking. “I don’t know.”

The man touched his side, whole, unscarred. “You’re, you’re some kind of angel.”

Justin shook his head. “No. Not even close.”

A voice cut through the doorway. “Angel? That’s one word for it.”

Justin spun around. A woman leaned against the frame, early thirties, trench coat soaked from rain, eyes sharp as glass. “How did you get in here?” he demanded.

“Door was open. You really need better locks, Doctor Forbes.”

He froze. “Who are you?”

She flipped a badge just long enough for him to see the emblem, then hid it. “Let’s call me Lydia Cross. Investigative journalist. And you just made me very rich.”

“Get out,” he said quietly.

“Relax, I’m not here to expose you… yet. But the city’s losing its mind over you. Two cops were shot trying to stop looters at the accident site. Everyone wants a piece of the Miracle Doctor.”

“I’m not a miracle.”

“Tell that to the twelve million people streaming the video of that kid breathing again.”

He swallowed hard. “You came for a story.”

She smiled faintly. “Maybe. Or maybe I came to see if the rumors are true, that you can bring the dead back.”

Justin met her gaze. “Rumors get people killed.”

“Sometimes they make legends.”

Lightning flashed behind her, outlining the rain. Justin said nothing. Lydia glanced at the unconscious man on the table. “Looks like you’ve already started your clinic.”

“It’s not a clinic.”

“It will be.”

The rain thickened, drumming against the window as if the whole city wanted in. Lydia stepped farther into the room, eyes sweeping over the scattered notes, the blood-stained cloths, the faint blue glow still ebbing beneath Justin’s bandages. “So,” she said softly, “what exactly did you just do to that man?”

Justin’s voice was hoarse. “I stopped the bleeding.”

“I’ve seen bleeding stop. It doesn’t heal itself.”

He turned away. “You should go before you start believing things you can’t unsee.”

Lydia smirked. “Too late. I already do.” She reached into her coat and dropped a small envelope on the table. “That’s a location and a name. Someone important wants to meet you.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You will be. He runs an underground network, people who pay for discretion. People the hospitals won’t touch. They’ll protect you, in exchange for… miracles.”

Justin shook his head. “Sounds like a trap.”

“It’s survival,” she countered. “The agents looking for you aren’t giving up. Someone’s paying them to make sure you vanish quietly.”

He studied her face, searching for the lie. “Why help me?”

Lydia’s smile faded. “Because my sister’s dying. And the doctors say there’s nothing left to try.”

The words landed hard. Justin looked at the man he’d just healed, breathing peacefully on the table. Maybe this curse could do some good.

He picked up the envelope, weighing it in his hand. “If I do this… I’m not saving anyone for free.”

“I didn’t think you were,” she said. “Midnight. Dock 47. Come alone.”

Before he could reply, she slipped out into the rain. Hours later, Justin sat by the window, the city glowing below him in shades of neon and smoke. He turned the envelope over again and again. Dock 47.

He could ignore it. Disappear. Change his name. But a low hum started beneath his skin, the same pulse that had brought the girl back, the same strange rhythm that wouldn’t let him sleep.

It wasn’t a gift; it was a demand. He sighed, grabbed his coat, and stepped into the storm.

Dock 47 lay on the city’s edge, a stretch of forgotten warehouses and half-drowned alleys. One flickering lamp lit the pier. “Thought you wouldn’t come,” Lydia’s voice said from the shadows.

“I almost didn’t.”

“Good instinct.” She nodded toward a rusted door. “They’re inside.”

Justin followed her through a maze of corridors until they entered a wide room filled with people, homeless, wounded, coughing in the damp air. Makeshift cots lined the walls.

An older man in a tailored vest stepped forward. “Doctor Forbes. Or do you prefer Miracle Man?”

Justin’s jaw tightened. “Who are you?”

“Call me Rafe. I run this place. People pay for what hospitals deny. You heal; we keep you hidden.”

“And if I say no?”

Rafe smiled thinly. “Then the people outside find you first.”

Justin scanned the room, faces full of pain and fear. A child clutched her mother’s arm, eyes sunken.

He exhaled. “One patient,” he said. “Then I decide.”

Rafe gestured to a cot. “Start there.”

The child was barely breathing. Fevered. Skin gray. Justin knelt, hands trembling over her chest. “Don’t die on me,” he whispered.

The heat surged again, stronger, wilder. Sparks flared beneath his palms. The girl gasped, air flooding back into her lungs. Color returned to her face. The room erupted in murmurs and gasps.

Rafe’s eyes gleamed. “Gentlemen,” he said quietly to two men near the wall, “make sure no one ever finds this doctor again.”

Justin looked up just in time to see the glint of a gun. Lydia shouted, “Justin, down!” The first shot rang out, slicing through the darkness.