Chapter 3
Green

He had checked the blood test three times before searching for the original vial in the pile that was still waiting to be examined by the lab technicians. For all the good that did. It only confirmed what he had already seen.

The problem was, what he had already seen didn't make sense. The red little round blood cells he was expecting to see were nowhere to be found. Instead, the red hexagonal-like blood cells that met his eye in the microscope could not be interpreted as sick cells. These just weren't human cells.

He told as much to Dr. McConnell as the older doctor looked at him as if he were nuts. Exactly the same reason why Dr. Alec Holt had kept his mouth shut at the lab, and all the way to this room: Everyone would think he was nuts. He needed a senior doctor to check his data before going "public", or at least before informing the rest of the medical staff.

"You read too much science fiction," Dr. McConnell told him, though he didn't sound too convinced about that. He extended a hand so Alec could give him the lab results. "What did you find, besides alien blood cells?"

"I'm not making this up," Dr. Holt said with indignation.

"I'm not saying you are," McConnell said as he started to scan the lab sheets. "But something is making him sick..." he trailed off as he turned the pages. "He tested negative for drugs." The older doctor frowned, and turned his eyes to Max. "Where were you, kid?"

"What are we going to do?" Alec said as his eyes diverted to Max's form.

"We're going to keep doing tests until we find what's wrong with him," McConnell said, his eyes back on the lab sheets.

"You know what I mean. He could be dangerous. Who knows what he did to that girl? And you were there, when that... that... invisible force... Was he attacking us?" It did sound like a science fiction novel, Alec would give that to McConnell, but this thing was serious, and he suddenly felt light-headed at the thought that the man who was lying on that stretcher was not really a man.

"Calm down, Alec. Don't freak out on me." McConnell's stern voice cut through Holt's fear clear and sharp. "Take a minute and think this through. He could very well have thought we were attacking him in the ER, so he was defending himself. And it was a very feeble defense as well. If we're going to find out what he did to that child, we need to get him well enough—"

"... her."

They almost didn't hear the whispered sentence. Alec had assumed Max had been unconscious all the time, and as his own heart double its beating, McConnell turned to him and said, "Get him some water". He didn't have to be told twice. All he wanted was to get out of that room.

What were they going to do?

He had changed locations. That was about all he knew as he was trying to regain consciousness. His eyelids felt so heavy, and the thin fabric over his chest did nothing to warm him up. He was getting cold faster than he had ever experienced in his life.

Someone was talking, but he could hardly make sounds, let alone words. The voice was addressing him now. It sounded worried. It sounded like... "M- Michael?" His throat was still dry, but a little hope surged in his heart at the thought that Michael had finally found him.

"No. I'm Dr. Jay McConnell. Do you know where you are?"

Max felt his spirit sink. He wasn't safe yet... he wasn't anywhere he knew either. What if something had happened to Michael? What if— A shiver ran through his back halting all thought. He was so cold now. For the next few minutes all he could think about was that. He had to warm up, somehow, because he was so cold it tore at the very center of his being.

No sound penetrated the warmth cocoon he found himself in some time later. Minutes, hours? Murmurs started to drift his way, the voices vaguely familiar. The old one, and the young one. They sounded as if they were arguing about something. About... him.

Max focused all his attention on listening. He felt drained, exhausted really, and it was getting harder to remain awake.

"... He could be dangerous..." Snatches of conversation made it to his mind. He tried to shake his head "no". How many times did he have to say it? Why wouldn't they believe him? Why were they...

"...If we're going... what he did to that child..."

What child? He couldn't remember. He honestly didn't know... A memory passed through his mind of a little girl jumping through hoops. Of a pink bunny that could use a bath, as the same girl dragged it everywhere. And that same laughing and carefree face looked at him from half closed eyelids, life running out of her.

"I healed her..." Max managed to say, willing them to believe him, because he had no more strength to keep fighting them.

The voices stopped talking. A door was opened and closed in the distance, while someone bent over him.

"Don't try to speak just yet."

The old voice. He liked that voice. "I'm Dr. Jay McConnell. You're at Saint Paul's Hospital. You're safe here. We're not going to hurt you." Max felt a hand on his forehead, and tried to open his eyes. Something cold sneaked to his chest, making Max withdraw a little.

"I'm just listening to your heart..."

That makes two of us, Max absently thought as he could hear his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears. It was going fast. He should be running.

The door opened again and a second later water met his thirsty mouth. God, it felt so good. He was allowed two drinks, and then the paper cup was taken from his lips. He needed so much more.

"Easy... easy there... it's not going anywhere," the doctor said. A doctor... it couldn't be a good thing. It suddenly occurred to him that he was trying to tell them he had used his powers to heal a girl without knowing if they already knew. The cup returned, and Max tried to drink again as much as he could.

"You're going too fast..." off again, but this time Max had to rest his head for a second.

"What were you trying to do?" The young voice this time. It sounded uneasy, and a bit forceful. "Did you leave a handprint on her?"

Max slowly nodded, hoping to get some water before explaining himself. He did, but this time he swallowed slowly, a hand helping his head so he could drink more comfortable.

"You said you healed her," the older doctor said, "why the handprint?"

Max saw that pretty face again, the blond curly hair, the carefree laugh and the pink bunny. He remembered something else too. "I didn't... I didn't finish..." it was easier to talk now that his throat wasn't so dry, but concentrating was still a tricky act. "I started to... just enough for someone to... to notice. I can't help the handprint... It's always there..."

"Is she going to be okay?" Urgency colored the younger doctor's voice. Max didn't know. He hadn't finished. He had never really started it to finish it.

"Just enough time..." he whispered, finally opening his eyes to put a face to those voices. The light blinded him, and his eyes hurt. He closed them again.

"I want you to think hard, Max. Do you know what's making you sick?"

Blinding light illuminated Max's memories. The monitor's beeping went sky rocketing to match his own heartbeat. As the flight or fight instinct took over, Max's only thought was that he had to get out of there, the memory the old voice had stirred too powerful for Max to distinguish it from reality.

He felt a surge of pure adrenaline run through his veins, finally being able to fully open his eyes, sitting on the stretcher with all the intention to flee. Strong hands took hold of his arms, preventing him from moving anywhere.

"Let me go!" Max desperately said, not really knowing where he was, or who was with him. His hazel eyes met the older man's blue ones. Max's right hand lurched forward, shoving his assailant as far as he could with his mind. It wasn't much, and Max caught sight of the other man in the room. He was trapped, and they were coming for him.

His only other defense came from his green shield, and he used it without hesitation. In a way, it was easier to hold than telekinesis ever was, but it was only defensive. He had no offense working on his behalf, so he knew he would have to keep it up until he reached the door and, once out, melt the doorknob so he wouldn't be followed. It could work.

A drop of sweat ran down his left cheek. The beeping of the heart monitor was all the sound there was, and Max looked down at himself to start detaching the electrodes from his chest. Hadn't he done this already?

His feet found the cold floor as the monitor's line went flat, the last electrode hanging from the bed. He attempted his first step just to find his legs weren't all too firm. His left hand gripped the stretcher, as his right hand kept the shield up.

"Max, you're not well," the older man's face was distorted through the green electric shield. Max knew he wasn't well. He felt it in the weakness of his body, and the nausea that had risen as he had stood up. "We're not your enemy," the man insisted, as Max shook his head to think clearly. The shield was draining his strength, every ounce of it. He could turn it off and make for the door.

His mind assaulted him with a memory of a similar scenario. He hadn't reached the door then.

Max was panting, and the room was swaying once more. He had to get to the door; he had to get out of there. He had to keep running until he met Michael. That was the plan.

That was the plan.

His shield finally collapsed as Max started to run for the door. He hadn't reached 3 feet before he felt the stabbing sensation of a needle on his back. His vision had been blurring already, but whatever was in the needle accelerated the process of turning his world black.

Dr. Holt was barely able to hold Max before he hit the floor. McConnell was right behind him, as they both had run after their fugitive alien. He had seen the younger doctor grabbing a syringe from the crash cart as Max had practically jumped from the stretcher. If Jay was ever going to run a 104 fever, he hoped he would be just as energetic.

An alien. Uh. Well, maybe not. They knew he wasn't human. They didn't know what he really was. Whatever the case, it was easier to picture this man as an illegal immigrant than someone not belonging to the human race. The problem was, no human being would have a glowing chest, or a glowing, green… thing, but those facts only intrigued Jay McConnell more than anything in his entire medical career. If this being was, indeed, from another planet, the implications would crash on him later on. Right now his mind was dealing with the problem at hand: How to keep him alive.

"We should keep him sedated," Alec said, breathing heavily. Holt was scared, there was no denying it, but fear rarely served for good judgment, something both doctors knew. McConnell nodded in agreement. Another stunt like that was bound to get Max hurt. At least for the time being, they better keep their very frightened patient out of the loop.

Putting the mess they now found themselves in aside, they started to work, keeping things simple. Or at least trying to. They both lifted Max's body to the stretcher, McConnell trying to sort out what had happened. His mind came up blank.

What had happened, anyway?

"Shit, what the hell was that green thing?" Dr. Holt said as he re-attached the electrodes, the monitor coming to life once again. Max's heart was determined to set a new world speed record, it would seem.

"You gave him metropolol in the ER, right?" Holt nodded as he went for the IV, finding a good vein in seconds. "We'll keep that. If he doesn't improve, let's switch to Bretylium once we get him to the ICU." Let's hope we find the right drug to get that heart under control.

"He'll need a cardiologist," Holt absently said as he prepared the metropolol dose, almost as if reading McConnell's thoughts. As long as they were both busy with their patient, it was harder to sit down and digest the fact that he wasn't really human.

"Well, he's already got a neurologist and a traumatologist. The kid is in good hands," McConnell humorlessly joked as he once again checked Max's pupils.

"What the hell was that green thing?" Dr. Holt repeated while injecting the drug into one of Max's veins, both men watching the cardiac monitor for signs of it slowing down. It was.

"I don't know," the older doctor sincerely said, "but whatever is making him sick is already doing a number on his kidneys and liver. This green thing has just stressed his heart to kingdom come."

Holt stopped watching the vital signs and turned to look at the senior neurologist. "You can't take the data from those tests seriously. His biochemistry is not human. We don't know what we're dealing with here!"

Dr. McConnell took a minute to answer as he took Max's temperature again: 103.1 ºF. "We must be doing something right," he quietly said. Sighing, he turned to look at Dr. Holt.

"That's why we're sticking to the metropolol. We already know it works as it should." Holt's face was still skeptical. "Listen, we already know the basics are the same: One heart, two lungs, a central nervous system that shuts down with sedatives. A cold response to a high fever. He's not that different."

"We have no idea why his blood pressure is so unstable," Holt answered back.

"We have no idea what is causing this fever to begin with. He's not high on cocaine or suffering from withdrawal syndrome as you first thought. Whatever it is, once we figure it out it will explain the symptoms and will show us the way. Just like any other patient."

"We might end up killing him," Holt argued, looking more agitated now than before. "We can't just go 'trial and error' and hope we get lucky. He can't possibly react as human beings in all ways."

"Which means we're short on time," McConnell said with a small smile, going to the crash cart for another vial. "Keep doing the tests. Start by looking for uncommon psychotropic substances."

"What? Why? Why not infections? You think he's immune to viral or bacterial diseases?" One never knew, McConnell guessed at Holt's question, Max's very red and very human-looking blood finishing filling the vial.

"His white cell count wasn't that high," Dr. McConnell answered as he gave the dark blond man the blood. Dr. Holt didn't move to take it.

"Why are we doing this?" the younger doctor asked, concerned. McConnell frowned.

"Why shouldn't we?"

The parade of expressions that crossed Dr. Alec Holt's face would have been highly comical in any other circumstance but this one. He was stuck between being upset, scared, surprised and worried. "Why?" he finally was able to say, "Because we don't know what we're dealing with, that's why! Because we have no idea what he's able to do! Next time, it might be... it might be..."

"Laser beams?" McConnell supplied. Holt glared.

"You know what I mean, and don't tell me this thing isn't freaking you out as well."

A tense silence followed for a couple of seconds, the monitor providing Max's heartbeat as background music. "What is freaking me out is not knowing what was done to him. I don't understand what's going on anymore than you do, but instead of thinking what he is, I'm more concerned with who he is."

Lowering his voice, he continued, "I believe he did try to heal that child, and that it cost him dearly. Don't be blind, Alec. Right before your taxi driver showed up, this walking enigma of ours was running from someone. Someone with enough medical knowledge to cause those needle scars on his arms, and those bruises in his ankles and wrists."

Alec's eyes went down in search of those, his frown deep, clearly conflicting with what McConnell had concluded and his own fear. "He could still be dangerous. Especially for other patients."

"That's why I asked for an isolated ICU room. Listen Holt, I'm not stupid, but I think this man deserves the chance to at least explain himself. He wouldn't have stopped to aid that girl if he didn't care."

Both men stared at each other, the older willing the younger to believe him, or at least to give a chance to the sick man in between them. "Whoever had him is probably looking for him. And in the state Max got to your hands, how much longer do you think he would have lasted?"

Dr. Holt's face hardened. He had left Max beside the wall, and now his low priority patient had turned out to be a whole lot more.

A whole lot more indeed.

"Not to forget the mystery surgeon who did the biopsies as well."

"What?"

"There are fine scars on his abdomen." All the pieces fitted, but it was still circumstantial, McConnell knew. They could be dealing with a very dangerous being, but so far Max hadn't tried to hurt them, just to escape. He just hoped it was making as much sense to Dr. Holt as it was making to him.

The traumatologist didn't lose time as he went in search of those scars. McConnell's pager beeped.

"What the hell is that green thing?" Holt suddenly exclaimed as he took a step backwards. McConnell looked up from his pager, half expecting to see a reprise of the green shield. He almost wished that had been the case.

Green electrical lines were intermittently running through Max's arms. Dr. McConnell turned to look at Max's face, and then to the heartbeat monitor. The man was decidedly out like a light. He was not doing this on purpose. "Did it hurt you?" he asked Alec, both men fixed on the snake-like phenomenon.

"No. Not at all." Curiosity winning over, the young doctor finally placed his hand over their patient's arm, the electricity going up and down in seemingly erratic paths, but never touching Holt. "I don't feel anything."

"Did you find that cooling blanket?" McConnell asked, his eyes back at his pager.

"No, I ran to do the lab tests as you went ahead with the ice bath. Why? I thought his temperature was actually coming down?"

"It is. But we're going to have to hide those arms of his. We've just gotten our ICU room."

"That's one lucky girl," the cardiovascular surgeon said as he emerged from the OR. "Had you taken ten more minutes, that artery wouldn't have held."

Dr. Susan Lake uneasily smiled. "There were no complications?"

"It was easier than routine surgeries, that's for sure." They kept walking down the hall. "Any more kids like her?"

Three kids had been admitted to Saint Paul's Hospital ER. The first girl was already at the ICU after surgery. The second boy had been declared dead after ten minutes of resuscitation efforts. And the third girl, Sarah Meyer, had just made it out of open heart surgery. Out of the three children -out of all the victims- only Sarah had had the mysterious handprint.

Now, Nicholas Cramer, the surgeon, was looking at her intently. Though she had told the OR staff she had no idea what -or who- had left the handprint -and in a very technical way, she really didn't know either answer- Nick's baby blue eyes bored into hers, almost coaxing her to tell him the whole story about a stranger that had barely been admitted into the ER, and two hours later had almost collapsed over Sarah's stretcher.

Susan shook her head no. "She's the only one with it."

"Are you sure no one else has that handprint?" he openly asked now. The insistence was a bit unsettling. Susan Lake had never been a good liar.

"I've been working in the ER for six hours, and just came here when I heard you were finished. Sarah was the only victim with that freaky print on her chest four hours ago, and no one else has shown it since then either."

Unlike Dr. Alec Holt who had seen hexagonal blood cells and felt invisible forces, Dr. Lake didn't have anything concrete but a young man who in delirium believed he had somehow healed the girl; who had almost passed out in the ER room, and had gripped the girl's stretcher in an effort to not hit the floor. She had seen the stranger's hands: Clean. She had looked for gloves, for paint, for any indication that would point to what had caused it. And just like Alec Holt, she would wait. At least until she had solid proof before opening her mouth.

One thing was for sure, though: She was not going to take her eyes off that man. Once she could find where Dr. McConnell had placed him, that is.

A nurse passed them in the hall. Nick looked at her uneasily, and followed the woman's progress with impatient eyes. Once she was out of earshot, he turned to look at the pediatrician.

"Listen. There was something... similar about four or five years ago, in Houston, I think. Five patients with cancer, all kids. One Christmas morning, BANG! All healed. It was labeled a 'Christmas Miracle' because angels healed those children."

"Angels?" Susan asked, not sure where this was going, "Because it was Christmas?"

"Because they all had a silver handprint on their chests. The thing is, out of the five, only three were Christians, one was Jewish, and the other's family didn't follow any religion."

"It was a hoax," Dr. Lake said as a matter of fact, though her heart was racing now, her mind back to the man, bending on the stretcher over the small body of Sarah Meyer.

"That's what everyone thought. A hoax, or a diversion. The kids were undergoing experimental treatment, after all. I didn't hear much about it afterwards, probably the hospital not wanting to mess with their 'miracle', but I remember the part about the handprint. And the last thing we need is people thinking there are angels wandering around, healing the wounded, or what have you. We already have a crisis here."

"What... what do you mean? That the fewer people who know..."

"The better. Exactly. I've already warned my staff. We are going to run tests on it, figure out what the hell that silver handprint is. But quietly, and I suggest you do the same. If you find someone else, some other related incident—"

"You think it's dangerous?" Dr. Lake interrupted the veteran surgeon. "The handprint?"

"I don't know, but I don't like it. It's not paint, at least nothing commonly known. It just doesn't seem to be doing anything. No inflammation, no burnt tissue. It's just there." Dr. Cramer sighed in frustration, while Susan's thoughts raced through all the negative implications. The surgeon looked down at his watch. "I better keep going and start those tests. The sooner we know, the safer these people will be."

There was something about that statement, something about the fact that it could be more than just one little girl, that made Susan's heart skip a beat. Dr. Nicholas Cramer hadn't walked more than four steps when she called him.

"Dr. Cramer. It might be nothing, but there's something you should know. About an ER incident…"