Perhaps the most apt descriptor was haunted.

You see, most people assume that when confronted by the miraculous, they would accept it with open arms. That it would be a time of joy and validation. But think about it. Think about being confronted with something that was at odds with your entire’s lifetimes worth of understanding of things like reality, tangibility, cause and effect. Would that feel good? Or would it be a little scary? Would it feel like the first time neanderthal man discovered fire? Miraculous yes, just don’t get burned.

At any rate, that’s about where Dr. Wu was at. Corey watched her expectantly, tuning in to the dazzling sea of microexpressions that crossed her features as she looked at Corey’s most recent CT scan. She looked confused. She looked scared. Corey felt bad for that. He never meant to undermine her reality. Force her to take a red pill she wasn’t ready to take.

Corey, I think something must be wrong with….

There’s nothing wrong with the scanner.

But….?

There’s nothing wrong with the scanner. I’m sorry. In retrospect, the apology confused even him.

Casting another glance at the scan, she wheeled back on Corey. Who did this work?

I don’t understand what you mean.

This surgical work. Who did it?

Nobody.

Corey...she spoke his name with a sort of breathless frustration. Why aren’t you being honest with me?

I am. No doctor was responsible for that.

I’m going to run another scan.

Please don’t.

I….she stopped short. I still can’t clear you to wrestle.

What? Why?! Visibly tensing, he leans in as he speaks.

Because what I’m seeing doesn’t make sense! She bit, harder than intended. Relenting, she quieted her voice. I’m very confused.

I know. It’s ok. He paused. But it’s clear as day right there that my injuries have healed.

There is no trace of tissue damage at all. She marveled, perhaps equal parts to Corey and herself.

Yeah. It’s...yeah.

But I need an explanation before I can clear you. What happened?

What happened?

I can’t tell you. It’s too complicated and honestly you wouldn’t believe me if I did.

Even the damage from last year’s injuries have gone. Your surgical scar is gone. There’s….she stammered. All gone.

You have to clear me. You have no reason not too.

The doctor’s eyes wavered between Corey and the scan. I….yes. I….you’re cleared, Corey.

Thank you! Corey bounced off the examination table. Thank you Dr. Wu. For everything.

She sat down in a rolling chair, gaze distant and unfocused. But then, before Corey could leave, she spoke. Corey, do you believe in God?

Corey stopped and turned around. Yes.

Do you believe this was a miracle?

In a way, yes. It was anything but.

Huh. The sound was noncommittal. Good luck Corey. No offense, but I hope I never have to see you again.

Corey laughed. Feeling is mutual. Thanks again.

He slipped out the door, and Dr. Wu watched him go. She sat in silence for a protracted series of moments before refosuing on Corey’s miraculous scans. Maybe I need to go back to Church...she mused aloud to the four walls.

Last Year

Kyle Patrick could have never dreamed his life would end like this. His Ram Pick-Up going at full throttle down an open stretch of highway, the piercing gumball lights of the police in his rear view. A duffel full of freshly, though dishonestly, acquired money in his passenger seat.

Not when he was six and having the time of his life with his friend Quan on a trampoline.

Not when he was ten and busting that first Charizard out of a pack of Pokemon cards.

Not when he was 16 and clumsily fumbling with Tracy Kiernan’’s bra strap.

And now, not when he was 31 years old could he have dreamed life would end like this. But his little brother’s insurance was woefully inadequate and leukemia didnt care if you could pay your premiums.God Brandon, I tried. I hope you know I tried. His gaze rested on the bag again. He had to dump it. Yeah. Dump it, and then maybe at least some of them would give up the pursuit. Maybe then he could get away. In his heart of hearts he knew it was a terrible plan. But he also knew these townie cops would be chomping at the bit to shoot something when this was all said and done, and Kyle at least wanted a chance of living through this.

Without looking, he hooped his wrist around the bag’s strap, preparing to drag it over to his window to dump the contents onto the racing asphalt.



The man in the road had quite literally come from out of nowhere. And Kyle moved instinctively, cutting the wheel to a hard left to avoid striking him. But he cut too hard, and the truck’s momentum, and there was a lot of it, soon sent it careening up on two wheels, and then none, as it hit the ground spinning end over end.

Kyle, our poor unfortunate Kyle, had neglected his seat belt. He was ejected through the windshield, the bag of money splitting open as a grim afterthought to the carnage of flesh meeting unforgiving road over and over. The street was like so many gnashing sedentary teeth, taking Kyle’s body and pulping it over the course of over 100 feet. When it finally came to rest, a stripped down identitless parable of the human condition, we see that the money he had been carried had smeared into the street on a sea of his blood.

The blood seeped into the cracks and crevices of the street, pulling the errant bills with it. Flowing at an unnatural clip until...until….

The police would later make sure to leave out of the official report that Kyle’s blood and entrails had coagulated with the money in a form that looked disturbingly like a face. Nobody would want to think them cranks of course.

But, unbeknownst to the living world, the world of cars and shopping centers and 9 to 5’s, Kyle Patrick had unwittingly concluded a ritual of sorts. A ritual that had inflicted something more onto this Earth.