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Doctor Collins listened to the paramedics as they wheeled in a victim. "Male - late twenties." they said. No name, no other characteristics. "Found in cemetary by golfers from nearby range. Lacerations on scalp, under temple, chest, back, left leg. Collapsed lung, suspected swelling of the brain." Dr. Collins looked at the figure on the ER cot. "Good Lord. You have been through the grinder, havent you son?" The young man on the cot didn't respond. He was unconscious, and the roughly bandaged cut on his scalp oozed blood through the gauze. The doc looked at the paramedic and back again. "Suspected swelling of the brain... Well then son, we will have to see about that." He called in a team of nurses and co-eds and together they patched up the young man as well as they could. They put a drain in his scalp, to get the fluids out and reduce preassure. They re-inflated is left lung, cleaned, stitched and dressed the cuts and after putting on the last band-aid, finally the doctor could wash his hands, knowing that the boy would pull through.
Late night. After an exhausting ER shift, doctor Collins found himself standing at the foot of the hospital bed containing the unknown young male that was found beat up on a cemetary. He was still out, but he had turned to his side and slept with his left hand under his pillow, his right lay open and relaxed next to his handsome face. No smile graced his features, and he looked simply exhausted. "You poor fellow." Doc Collins said softly. "Wonder how you came to be on a cemetary, all beaten up. There was some grave desecrating too. What did you stumble upon?" The doc sighed and ran a hand through his greyish hair. "I hope it's not some kind of gaybashing... You look cute enough." Another big sigh. "We found the ICE number you have in your jacket pocket. I'm sorry to say it goes straight to voicemail. Some emergency back-up, this John." The young man started twitching his nose and the corner of his mouth. Doc Collins felt sorry. He was probably reliving the bashing in his dreams. "S... Sa...Sam... Sàm... Sammy." the young man moaned, his right hand twitching. 'Poor guy. Probably his boyfriend he's calling out to.' the doctor thought, full of pity.
Doc Collins put his hand on the guys shoulder. "It's okay, son. You're okay." Under his hand, the shoulder stiffened and the left hand shoved around under the pillow. Suddenly it fell still and the young man's eyes flew open. Startled, doc Collins looked into those amazingly green eyes, startled mostly by how cold and hard they were. "Where's Sam?" the young man said in a gruff voice, trying to pull the oxygentube out of his nose. "Whoa there pal... Don't do that just yet." Doc Collins said, taking hold of his hand. "You were found on the cemetary, alone, all beaten up. They brought you here, to the hospital. I'm doctor Collins. I'm the one who patched you up, so please, don't undo my hard work." The startled green eyes flicked to and fro. "Hospital? Crap..." He sounded defeated and slumped back down. "You'll be fine son, just a little time and medication. By the way... What's your name?" No answer. Doc Collins bent over, only to find his patient had slipped under again. Straightening the oxygentube and smoothing the sandy hair, the doc came to a decission. He walked to his office, and picked up the phone. "This is John, leave your emergency after the beep." a rough, manly voice boomed out the speaker. "John, this is doctor Collins, at Canton-Potsdam Hospital in Canton, New York. We have a young man here, who was brought in after a severe beating. He has sandy hair and green eyes. He is unconscious right now, and we couldn't find any identification on him. Please call back as soon as possible." Worried, doc Collins put the phone down and went home.