The doctor and the nameless, not so dead man were rushed to the nearest hospital, Miller’s Hospital. The doctor made a complete recovery after only three days. The doctors could only call it miraculous.

As they examined and treated the man who should have been dead, they found wonder after wonder. They all were astonished that he was alive. Every test they ran only furthering their amazement that he was alive.

Almost every one of his bones had been broken only to somehow be set back in place and healed, “As if by the grace of God” as one doctor describing his had stated.

Every bone that had been broken had been set back into place, but that did not mean it was as if they had never been damaged. “Every one of his broken bones are showing signs of healing.” The older female doctor with short brown-hair stated to her gathered colleges.

She placed an X-ray scan onto the light table to give everyone a clear display of what the patient’s condition was. “His condition in a word is unbelievable. This young man simply should not be alive. I have seen soldiers die outright from injuries less than a tenth this serious.”

The female doctor indicated the multitude of broken bones, more than a dozen of those broken bones were what the doctor’s considered lethal. “Please notice the remodeling of the ribs and skull. Dr. Harper would you like to explain the significance of this?”

In response to the question a gaunt man in his mid to late thirties stood up and walked to the front of the conference room. He raised his hand indicating towards the same X-ray. “As Miss Rogers has stated this young man should not, by all reason, be alive. His ribs by the way they are remodeling indicated they broke inwards. This should have puncturing his lungs. This should have led to a quick but painful death as he drowned in his own blood.

“However, as we have all seen he is not dead. This is not to mention…” The doctor furiously retracted his arm and thrust it back towards the top of the X-ray, indicating the patient’s cranium. “From what the police told us this man had his head split open and was declared dead on the scene. Yet he arrived here with large scar where his head should have cracked open.”

Dr. Harper continued, “This man’s skull appears to show signs of significant remodeling like most of his other bones. To put it bluntly, this man is all duct tape and bobby pin’s inside. He should not be alive.”

A week had passed since he had been placed into the intensive care unit of Miller’s Hospital. It was only earlier that day that he had been moved to the long-term care unit. More than a hundred news reporters showed up at the hospital, from across the country, all looking for scoop on the miracle man came and went.

In a bed, in the middle of the long-term care ward laid a nameless man who they could only call, John Doe. His movements were restrained by the full body cast they doctors had put him into, thus was the severity of his injuries. A balding white doctor in his early to mid-40’s as well as a Mexican American nurse with long raven black hair walked through the curtains and stood by the nameless man’s bed side.

“Now miss Clara, I’m sorry Mrs. Clara, I mean…may I call you Clara?” The doctor quickly correcting himself only to begin screwing it up like he always did. He had never been good with women. Looking down he saw the large ring upon her right hand. “Only if I can call you Carl.” The nurse said with a smile.

The doctor quickly recovering from his mistake continued. “Well then Clara, this patient will be under your care from today onwards. You will monitor his condition and care for him. When it comes time for the casts to come off you will have the duty to make sure he is given a sponge bath every day in addition to your other duties here in the Long-term care ward. Do you understand?”

Clara nodded with a smile upon her face. She began to check over the patient as she had been taught in medical school. She felt so lucky to be in America, to have a handsome and generous German husband who loved as much as she loved him.

Clara remembered her life before she had met her husband. She had been born in Mexico City in April of 1937. She was the fifth child and final child born to her parents. They had always been poor, but their parents worked hard so that her sibling’s and her always had enough.

Her parents had died in a gang shootout when she was only ten years old. They died after being caught in between two rival cartels fighting for control over the area. Their grandparents who lived on the other side of the city took them in.

She had often had to listen to the gunshots till late into the night. He grandmother had always been there to hold her hand and comfort her. Her grandmother sung and hummed songs that she had learned from her mother and her mother before her.

Clara cupped the face of the man lying in the bed. He was wearing a neck brace, with his head covered in medical bandages. She could sense there was something different about him. She had always been sensitive to the energies of others.

His was a presence she struggled to describe. His presence reminded her of gentle rain and a raging forest fire. Like the fury of a great earthquake and the stillness of winter she had come to enjoy after she had moved her with her husband.

She began to hum the soft melodies that her mother had sung to her when she had gotten sick or hurt as a little girl.

In the darkness of his not quite sleep, he heard her humming. He joined in knowing the song, knowing it by heart. Although she could not hear him, he joined in her humming in that dark place.