Recovery

Chapter 68 - Recovery

Mike and the doctor sat across from each other at a small table inside the office. A closed folder lay between them while the air conditioner hummed softly overhead. Mike was still trying to process what he had seen in Clark's room. The man he had expected to find unconscious had been sitting upright, laughing with nurses and arguing with his doctor.

“I was told Clark was seriously disabled after the fight,” Mike said. “That he might never wake up or even be able to move properly. But I just saw him talking normally. How is that possible?”

The doctor folded his hands and studied him. “What happened to Clark is extremely unusual. His brain injury was severe enough that we didn't expect him to survive, let alone recover. We had to treat him continuously for almost eighteen hours just to stabilize him.”

Mike listened silently.

“For a long time afterward, his brain activity remained extremely low. He couldn't respond to us and needed constant support. We expected him to remain in a coma for months, assuming he survived.”

“So when people said he was brain-dead, they were wrong?”

“Technically, yes. Brain death is different from a coma. Clark was in a deep coma with severe neurological damage, but his chances of making a normal recovery were extremely poor.”

Mike thought of Claire. “What about his family?”

“His twin sister was here almost constantly at first. She would sit beside him, hold his hand, and talk to him for hours. Her partner came often too. They refused to believe Clark was completely gone.”

“Claire stopped coming?”

“Not completely just that her visits became less frequent. At first, she came every day. Later, she might disappear for several days and then visit briefly in the evening. We assumed she was struggling with everything happening outside the hospital.”

The doctor paused. “Then one afternoon, I saw her standing beside Clark's bed with a bottle I'd never seen before.”

Mike leaned forward. “What kind of bottle?”

“It looked old. The glass was dark and cloudy, almost brown or black, and there was no medical label or writing on it. The liquid inside was thick, but I couldn't identify it.”

“What did she do with it?”

“She poured it directly over Clark's chest and arms.”

Mike's expression changed. “She poured it on him?”

“Yes. I went inside immediately because I didn't know what the substance was. I was worried it could interfere with his treatment.”

“What happened?”

“I tried to take the bottle from her, but she pulled it away. I told her she couldn't put an unknown substance on a patient without permission. She didn't argue and simply grabbed my wrist and looked at me.”

The doctor's voice lowered.

“She said, ‘Take good care of my brother.’”

Mike stared at him.

“She wasn't crying or frightened,” the doctor continued. “She seemed completely certain about what she was doing. When she stepped away, I looked at Clark. But..”

“But?”

“That was the strange part. The poured liquid on him was gone.”

Mike frowned.

“I had watched her pour it onto him seconds earlier,” the doctor said. “There should have been something left on his skin or clothing. There wasn't, his skin was completely dry. There was no stain on the sheets or floor either. It was as if the liquid had vanished.”

“What happened afterward?”

“Nothing immediately. Clark's vital signs remained stable, so we continued monitoring him. I assumed it might have been some harmless oil that absorbed into his skin.”

The doctor paused.

“The next morning, a nurse called me because Clark was awake.”

Mike stared at him.

“I thought she was mistaken. But when I entered the room, his eyes were open. He was looking around and responding to us. He was weak at first, but he was clearly conscious.”

“How quickly did he recover?”

“Far faster than anyone expected. We repeated the neurological tests because we couldn't believe the results. His brain activity had improved dramatically, his reflexes returned, and he needed less medical support. Within days, he was speaking, moving normally, eating without assistance, and eventually standing with help.”

The doctor shook his head. “We expected months or even years of rehabilitation. Instead, his recovery progressed so quickly that we couldn't explain it. Physical therapy helped him regain his strength, but the improvement had already begun before it could have made such a difference.”

Mike sat quietly.

The bottle had not been a harmless family remedy.

He remembered seeing something similar before. The dark glass. The strange liquid and Claire.

The pieces were beginning to fit together.

The doctor noticed his expression. “You recognize what I'm describing, don't you?”

Mike considered lying, but there was no point. The doctor was the only person who had witnessed Claire using the bottle.

“I might,” Mike said. “But I need you to describe it again.”

The doctor thought for a moment. “It was small enough to hold in one hand. Dark brown, almost black, with an old metal cap. No label or writing. The liquid was thick and moved slowly when the bottle was tilted.”

Mike listened carefully.

“I've worked here for years and seen hundreds of medications and medical products,” the doctor said. “I've never seen anything like it. I can't explain why it disappeared from Clark's skin or why he recovered so quickly. We can document what happened, but we can't explain the cause.”

Mike lowered his eyes. Now he had no doubt about the bottle.

He had seen it before.

Claire hadn't simply visited her brother that day. She had brought something that had changed Clark's condition in a way even the doctors couldn't explain.

Then the system message returned to his mind.

Claire's Breakdown.

He had assumed it referred only to the emotional damage caused by his victory. But now the meaning seemed far more complicated.

The fight, Clark's injury, Claire's strange behavior, the bottle, and everything that followed were connected somehow.

And Mike had a feeling he had only uncovered the first layer of the truth.

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