"The Immortal Patient"

 

HOSPITAL ADMISSION

The night was a symphony of thunder and rain, the kind that rattled every window in the city and soaked the streets into dark mirrors. Inside St. Helens City Hospital, the atmosphere was even heavier than the storm outside. A patient had just been wheeled into Ward C, and the sight of him was enough to leave the doctors whispering in uneasy tones.

The man looked perfectly healthy—young, in his mid-thirties perhaps—but his file told a story no one could believe. The chart was dated 1925. The name was the same, the photograph uncanny, and the medical details identical.

Dr. Harrow, the senior physician, stared at the yellowed pages with disbelief. “This has to be a mistake. A clerical error… or a cruel prank.”

But as the patient turned his head slightly on the pillow, his lips curled into a mysterious smile, and he spoke in a calm voice that silenced the entire ward.

“I told you I’d be back. You always forget me… but the storm never does.”

The nurses exchanged nervous glances. One of them whispered, “This man is… ageless.”

The thunder outside cracked again, as though echoing the word.

ZANE AND ELI – APARTMENT COMEDY

Miles away, the storm pressed against the windows of a high-rise apartment. Zane Faulkner sat cross-legged on the sofa, a cup of coffee balanced perfectly in one hand, his other hand lazily flipping through a newspaper. His coat was draped across the armrest, and that familiar smirk played on his lips.

Across from him, Eli paced nervously, chewing on his thumbnail.

“This weather is unnatural, Zane. I’m telling you, every horror movie begins like this. First thunder, then lights flicker, and finally—bam!—we discover the neighbor is a vampire.”

Zane chuckled softly. “Relax, Eli. If vampires existed, they’d have better taste than living next to you.”

Eli groaned, collapsing into an armchair. “You always mock me, but I’m serious. It’s been days since we solved a case. Days! Do you realize what boredom does to a man like me?”

“Judging by your face,” Zane replied calmly, sipping his coffee, “it makes him uglier.”

“Ha, ha, hilarious. I’m suffering here while you’re enjoying your coffee like some saint of serenity. I miss the thrill, Zane. The danger. Even the way Lyra rolls her eyes at you—”

Before Eli could finish, the television flickered, the storm interfering with the signal. Then, the news anchor’s voice cut through:

“Breaking news. St. Helens City Hospital has reported an unprecedented case tonight. A patient has been admitted under extraordinary circumstances. According to hospital records, his medical file dates back over a century… yet the patient appears alive, young, and unchanged.”

Eli sat up as though electrocuted. “Did they just say—immortal?”

Zane’s smirk deepened. He set down his coffee cup with deliberate slowness. “Looks like the storm has delivered our boredom cure.”

“You can’t be serious,” Eli stammered. “A man from 1925 walking in alive? That’s… that’s supernatural!”

“Supernatural?” Zane’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Eli, when will you learn? There are no ghosts. Only men hiding secrets.”

And with that, Zane stood, pulling on his coat, calm as if he had been expecting this very moment.

ARRIVAL AT THE HOSPITAL

By the time Zane and Eli reached St. Helens, the rain had turned the hospital’s stone steps into rivers. The grand old building loomed like a sentinel against the storm, its windows glowing faintly.

Inside, the corridors buzzed with unease. Doctors whispered in groups; nurses avoided eye contact. A hush fell as Zane entered—his presence somehow commanding without effort.

Dr. Harrow, clearly shaken, approached him. “Mr. Faulkner… I don’t know if even you can explain this one. The patient—he shouldn’t exist.”

Zane raised an eyebrow. “Everyone exists, doctor. The real question is: why here, why now?”

Eli shivered beside him. “I told you. Ghosts. Definitely ghosts.”

Zane ignored him and followed Harrow into Ward C.

There he was. The so-called immortal patient. Sitting upright now, his smile still lingering, his eyes too calm for someone under medical observation.

Zane studied him silently, his gaze dissecting every detail—the faint scar across his left hand, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes flickered toward the storm outside the window.

“You’ve been waiting for me,” Zane said at last.

The patient chuckled. “Not for you, detective. For the storm. It always brings me back.”

Eli whispered, “Why do they always have creepy lines ready? Can’t they just say hello like normal people?”

EARLY CLUES

Over the next hour, Zane examined everything—the patient’s file, the lab results, even the dust patterns on the old documents. His mind worked like a razor, cutting through confusion.

The patient’s blood samples were normal, but there was a peculiarity: his DNA didn’t match any modern database. It was… off, as if belonging to no known ancestry.

The heartbeat readings showed a rhythm that wasn’t quite human—slightly faster, yet steady, like a metronome.

“Impossible,” muttered one of the junior doctors. “If he’s human, he shouldn’t be alive this long. And if he’s not…”

Zane interrupted smoothly, “Then he’s lying. Every anomaly has a design.”

Eli blinked. “Design? You mean someone made him?”

Zane smirked again, but gave no answer.

Later, when the patient was left alone for the night, strange things were reported. Nurses swore they heard him speaking languages long dead—Latin, Old French, even snippets of Greek. One nurse fainted after he described her grandmother’s wedding in perfect detail.

Zane recorded everything, his calm demeanor never cracking. Eli, on the other hand, demanded coffee every half hour, his nerves fraying.

THE ARRIVAL OF LYRA

Morning brought no answers, only more questions. And with morning came Lyra.

She strode into the ward, trench coat gleaming with raindrops, her presence instantly changing the air. Her eyes met Zane’s, a flicker of both irritation and something unspoken passing between them.

“Of course,” she said dryly, “if there’s an impossible case in the city, I should’ve known you’d already be here.”

Zane offered a cheeky half-bow. “And miss the chance to impress you? Never.”

Lyra rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips betrayed the hint of a smile.

Eli muttered from behind, “Here we go again. Romance in the middle of ghost territory. Classic.”

Lyra joined the investigation seamlessly, scanning the patient’s records. “This handwriting… it matches documents from a century ago. No forgery. Which means this file is authentic.”

Zane leaned over her shoulder, smirk intact. “So, Lyra, does that mean you’re leaning toward ghosts?”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t push your luck.”

STRANGE QUESTIONS

As the day progressed, the mystery deepened.

Zane discovered that the patient had appeared before—every twenty to twenty-five years, a similar case had been logged in hospital archives. The details were faint, hidden in bureaucratic shadows, but undeniable.

Witnesses swore they had seen him decades ago, unchanged.

When Zane questioned the patient directly, the man gave only riddles.

“I was born in this storm. I will die in this storm. And when it comes again, so will I.”

Eli whispered to Lyra, “See? Definitely a ghost.”

But Zane was already pacing, his eyes darting over the walls, the vents, the patterns in the ward’s architecture. His brain never rested, always connecting threads others missed.

“Storms,” he murmured to himself. “Not coincidence. A pattern. But why here, in this building?”

The patient chuckled again, his mysterious smile unbroken. “Because this place remembers me better than people do.”

CLOSING PART ONE – THE SUSPENSE BUILDS

That night, as thunder shook the hospital once more, Zane stood by the ward window, watching lightning illuminate the patient’s silhouette. Eli sat hunched on a chair, muttering about ghosts and coffins. Lyra leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, pretending disinterest but stealing glances at Zane.

And the patient, lying calm on the bed, whispered just loud enough for Zane to hear:

“You’re close, detective. But you won’t solve me before the next storm.”

Zane turned, his smirk sharper than ever. “We’ll see about that.”

The storm roared, the lights flickered, and the mystery of the Immortal Patient grew deeper.

NEW SHADOWS IN THE HOSPITAL

The storm had not relented. Lightning cracked across the city sky, thunder shaking the hospital’s ancient foundations. Zane remained as calm as ever, leaning against the ward window, sipping yet another cup of coffee.

Eli yawned nervously. “Do you realize we’ve been awake all night? I’m starting to hallucinate. That patient just winked at me.”

Zane smirked. “He winked because you look gullible enough to believe his ghost stories.”

Eli groaned. “You’ll regret mocking me when his eyes start glowing and he floats out of bed.”

Lyra entered with a folder of fresh reports. “Before Eli starts auditioning for a horror film, I have news. The patient’s bloodwork—again—shows anomalies. His DNA has patterns… repeating fragments. As if… as if he’s been printed rather than born.”

Zane’s eyes sharpened. He tapped his finger against the coffee cup rhythmically. “Printed… or replicated.”

The patient, silent until now, laughed softly. “You’re closer than most, detective. But still far from the truth.”

DEEPENING THE INVESTIGATION

Zane insisted on inspecting the hospital’s archives personally. With Lyra beside him and Eli trailing reluctantly, they descended into the basement, where old records gathered dust.

The dim light revealed files dating back over a century. Zane’s eyes darted swiftly, pulling out specific folders with unerring instinct.

“Look,” he said, laying documents across a table. “1925, 1950, 1975, 2000… every twenty-five years, a patient with the same name, the same face, the same scar.”

Eli swallowed hard. “That’s not normal. That’s… that’s a horror franchise.”

Lyra scanned one page carefully. “These signatures… they all match. Even the handwriting of doctors who filed them is identical across decades.”

“That,” Zane said softly, “is because the doctors weren’t just doctors. They were custodians of a secret experiment.”

Thunder rumbled above as though agreeing with him.

A STRANGE DISCOVERY

Following a faint trail of old blueprints, Zane noticed something peculiar: the hospital’s architectural plans showed an unused sub-basement beneath Ward C.

“Every old building hides its sins underground,” Zane murmured, smirk curling.

With reluctant help from Eli and Lyra, they found a locked iron door in a corridor long forgotten. The lock was rusted, but Zane’s quick hands and Eli’s clumsy complaints soon had it open.

The air inside was stale, electric, as though the storm itself bled into the chamber.

Rows of abandoned equipment stood covered in sheets. Strange glass cylinders, old medical apparatus, and faded journals.

Lyra brushed dust from one journal, her voice hushed. “Project Eternum… human replication trials. Conducted 1925.”

Eli squeaked. “Replication? As in… cloning?”

Zane’s calm voice echoed in the chamber. “Not just cloning, Eli. Replication with memory transfer. They weren’t creating copies. They were… continuing one man through generations.”

On a table lay dozens of photographs. The same man. The same face. Across decades.

THE PATIENT’S CONFESSION

Back in the ward, Zane confronted the patient directly.

“You’re not immortal,” Zane stated flatly. “You’re replicated. Recreated every twenty-five years. Same body, same scar, same memories carried forward.”

The patient tilted his head, amused. “And what does that make me? Man, machine, or memory?”

“An experiment,” Zane replied. “A living archive of a dead doctor’s obsession.”

The patient’s smile faded for the first time. “You think I never questioned it? Imagine waking up every quarter-century, the world changed, but you unchanged. Friends gone, places vanished, yet you remain. Immortality is not a gift, detective—it is a prison.”

Lyra’s eyes softened. For a moment, pity flashed across her face.

Eli muttered, “Prison or not, I’d still trade places. No wrinkles, no bills.”

Zane smirked, but his gaze stayed locked on the patient. “You’ve hidden because you don’t want the truth known. But truth has a habit of catching storms.”

BUILD-UP TO THE REVEAL

By evening, Zane had gathered every relevant person—the doctors, the nurses, Lyra and Eli—into the hospital’s main hall. Rain pounded the windows, thunder rolling overhead, giving the room a stage-like tension.

Zane stood at the center, coat collar turned up, eyes gleaming. He raised a hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, voice calm yet commanding, “we are here not for a ghost story, but for a story of science, secrets, and repetition. Tonight, I’ll answer the questions haunting this hospital for a century.”

Eli whispered, “Here comes his Sherlock mode. Get ready for the lecture marathon.”

ZANE’S GRAND REVEAL

Zane began, pacing slowly.

“First question: How can a man admitted in 1925 still be alive today, unchanged? The answer is simple—he isn’t the same man. He is the continuation of one.”

He lifted a file. “The medical records from 1925 match those from 1950, 1975, 2000, and now. Every twenty-five years, he reappears. Not coincidence. A cycle.”

He gestured to the patient. “His DNA shows repeating sequences, patterns of replication. He was not born like us—he was designed.”

Gasps echoed in the hall.

Zane continued, voice steady. “Second question: Why storms? Why always during heavy rain and thunder? Because Project Eternum used storm-generated electricity to activate the replication chamber beneath Ward C. The storm is not a symbol—it is the mechanism.”

Lyra whispered, astonished, “The storm itself is his birth cry.”

Zane’s smirk deepened. “Precisely. Third question: Why the same scar on every version? Because each replication was not flawless. The scar carried forward, a fingerprint of the experiment.”

He paused, letting the silence build.

“The patient is not immortal. He is a living chain of replications. Each storm, each cycle, rebirth.”

Eli raised his hand timidly. “So… basically… he’s a really creepy photocopy machine with legs?”

Laughter broke the tension, but Zane only smiled faintly.

THE SHOCKING REVEAL

Finally, Zane’s voice dropped lower, pulling everyone in.

“And now the last question: Why here? Why this hospital? Because this hospital was built not as a place of healing, but as a place of experiment. The founders hid their secret project beneath its walls. Every staff rotation, every record alteration—designed to keep the truth buried.”

The patient looked down, his smile gone.

Zane stepped closer. “You are not immortal. You are the shadow of a dream. And that dream belongs to men long dead.”

The hall fell silent. No one spoke. Rain drummed the windows like applause.

AFTERMATH

Doctors murmured, some horrified, some fascinated. The patient lay back, eyes closed, his enigmatic smile returning faintly.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “Immortal or not, I remain. Until the next storm.”

Lyra crossed her arms, voice sharp. “We should dismantle that chamber before the cycle repeats.”

Zane gave her a playful glance. “You always ruin the romance of mystery with practicality.”

She glared. “And you always enjoy being insufferable.”

Their eyes lingered, the air electric not from the storm but from something unspoken.

Eli interrupted, “Hello? Creepy immortal guy still here. Can we leave before he reincarnates in front of me?”

THE FINAL SECRET

Later, when the others dispersed, only Zane, Lyra, and Eli remained in the quiet ward.

Zane’s expression shifted—still calm, but sharper. He leaned closer to them, voice lowered.

“The official explanation ends here. But the real truth… is something I’ll share only with you two.”

Eli’s eyes widened. “There’s more?”

Zane’s smirk returned, but his tone was serious. “Yes. The patient we saw tonight… he is not the last. The chamber we found was not deactivated. It has already prepared another. Somewhere in this hospital, another version of him is waiting.”

Lyra’s breath caught. “Another… already alive?”

Zane nodded slowly. “Which means… this cycle is not history. It’s present. And it hasn’t stopped.”

Eli’s jaw dropped. Lyra’s eyes froze wide. Both stared at Zane in stunned silence.

The detective took a calm sip of his coffee, turned toward the storm-lashed window, and delivered his final line:

“Ghosts don’t live forever, Eli. But secrets do.”

The lightning flashed, casting the ward in stark white, and the story ended with their shocked silence.