Chapter 4

Jonas was lying on his back and he heard voices. His mind swam with the suddenness of his presence here, wherever here was. He was just in a garden talking to; Joe? God? Wasn't he? Had it been real? It couldn't be real. That was crazy.

The jumble of words started ordering themselves in his head like a self assembling jig saw puzzle. The sense of the voices started filtering through Jonas's muddled mind. His mind felt like it was just floating. It wasn't focused on anything in particular. It wasn't relating to anything in his past or future. His mind just was and nothing really mattered right now. Jonas just lay there and let the words assemble in his mind. They really didn't mean anything to him. He could understand the words but they didn't relate to him. They were just words like you would hear on a radio playing in the background.

"I'm telling you Detective. This has got to be the luckiest guy in the world and he has the most amazing constitution I have ever seen," the first voice said. The voice was shocked, excited and a little bit in awe, all at the same time.

"Right Dr. Corwin," a second voice said. It sounded tired and bored. It sounded like this was just one more case file that he had to deal with. Nothing was ever new and there was nothing to get excited about. It sounded like things were bad and there was no hope that it would ever get better. "First of all, why is he the luckiest guy in the world," the bored voice of the Detective asked.

"Look at this x-ray Detective," the first voice said excitedly. "You saw that knife we pulled out of him. It was long and it went all the way through him and the tip poked out the skin on his back. Look at this," the voice commanded excitedly.

"Look Doctor. I don't know how to read an x-ray and I don't have a clue about what I am looking at," the tired voice protested. "Why don't you just tell me what I am looking at?"

"Detective," the Doctor said quietly, as if he was afraid of letting anyone else hear. "The knife went all the way through him. It just nicked the heart muscle and somehow slid between all the major arteries without cutting one. The knife missed the lung, sort of. It slid so close to the lung that it was preventing the lung from inflating correctly but it didn't cut it. Detective, other than soft tissue damage, the only real damage that knife did going through his body was to chip one rib bone."

"Son of a Bitch," the Detective said under his breath. "Is that even possible?" he asked.

"Two hours ago I would have said no," the Doctor replied. "Two hours ago I would have called any one that suggested such a thing crazy, but," there was a rustle of the celluloid that x-rays were printed on. "But here it is. It happened." The doctors voice was awe struck again, like he didn't really believe what he was looking at but didn't know how to not believe what he was seeing.

There was a long silence in the room. Finally the Detective cleared his throat and said, "OK. He's the luckiest guy in the world." His words had the air of a guy with more things to do than he could possibly get done and he was not going to spend time on a mystery that didn't directly pertain to his to-do list. The voice was resigned to the fact that he would never understand everything. "What about this constitution thing you were talking about?"

The Doctors breath left him in a long sigh and he said, "This is almost as weird as the knife wound." The doctor hesitated and there was the rustling of papers being sorted. Then he continued with, "We examined him completely when he first arrived. That's standard procedure. We do a complete body search for any trauma damage. We take pictures of each trauma found to protect us from lawsuits and to aid the police in later investigations. There is a large bump on the back of his head, presumably from a blow by a blunt instrument. His wrists and ankles had been badly lacerated. His wrists and ankles had been taped to a chair and the lacerations are consistent with him desperately trying to free himself. They were very deep lacerations Detective. He would have bled to death from his wrists alone in another half an hour. The only reason we didn't treat them first was because we thought the chest wound was a lot more serious. I mean, the knife was still sticking out of his chest. All we did to his wrists and ankles was put gauze on them to apply pressure to slow the bleeding and to protect them."

"OK," the Detective said. "Where's the big mystery in that?"

"Um, well, look at his wrists now," the Doctor said.

Jonas felt someone picking up his right wrist and doing something to it. Something was being unwrapped then turned back and forth.

"Do you see what I mean Detective," the Doctor asked.

"Well, I can see that it isn't as bad as you said it was," the Detective scoffed. "That looks like it's, what, maybe a week or two old."

"I agree," the doctor replied. He wasn't put off by the Detectives' disbelief at all. "Now, look at the pictures we took almost two hours ago."

There was another rustle of paper and silence.

"Son of a bitch," the Detective said under his breath. There was another silence then, louder; sterner the detective said, "Doctor, this is an official investigation. If this is some sick practical joke the medical staff decided to pull on the cops then someone will be charged. Do you understand me?"

"This isn't a joke Detective," the Doctor said in a level voice. I saw the pictures being taken. The time stamp is right there on the picture." The Doctor hesitated and said, "This guy doesn't even need stitches now. We figured he would need between 30 and 40 the way he was torn up."

The Detective quietly said, "Son of a bitch," after another long silence but with an air of acceptance. Then, in a stronger voice that sounded like he was trying to take control of the situation he said, "OK Doc. Do you have any idea as to when our miracle man will wake up? I have a dead woman and girl and I need some answers. Whoever did this didn't plan on leaving witnesses but they did, and I need to talk to him."

The words hit Jonas like a ton of bricks. Until that moment he had been floating on a sea of unreality. He heard and understood the words but there was no requirement to relate the words to anything else. He didn't need to remember anything. The detective's words brought all the memories flooding back in a tsunami of pain and grief. The basement! Sheila and Liz were dead! Jonas's breath caught in his throat for a moment. He couldn't hold back the wracking sob that escaped him. He tried to roll to his side so he could curl up and die. His Sheila! His Liz! They were dead. He couldn't roll over because his arms were strapped down, just like in the basement when he was taped to the chair. He strained and jerked at the bonds and pulled one loose.

"Shit," the doctor said. "Nurse, I need some help in here," he yelled.

Jonas rolled to the side that was still secured and curled into a fetus position. "Oh God," he grated out through a wracking sob. "How could you let this happen? They were innocent," he screamed.

"It happened because a Protector was not available. You agreed to go back to the pain and grief and loneliness of being human. You agreed to be a Protector so other innocents don't die. Get control of yourself,, f and be a Protector. I have a mission for you."

The words thundered in Jonas's mind. "Joe," he thought? "Is that you? So it was real?"

"Yes. Now get control of yourself so you can get out of there. I have a mission for you. Innocents are in danger and you must protect them. I'll give you the information that you need when you leave the hospital."

Jonas rolled onto his back gasping with the force of the words in his mind and his sobs but he was getting control. It took him a moment longer but he was able to quiet his breathing. He still felt the pain of the loss of his wife and daughter. That would be with him for the rest of his life. He prayed that time would lessen the immediacy of it. A corner of his mind almost smiled at the thought. Prayer had a whole new meaning to him now.

"Nurse," the doctor was still yelling. "Give him 50CC's of..."

"Doctor," Jonas grated out. "I don't need anything. Please don't give me any more sedatives." His throat still hurt from his screaming in the basement. The corner of his mind that was constantly analyzing everything around him idly wondered at the incongruity of his wrists healing so quickly and his throat still hurting. He dismissed it.

Doctor Corwin towered over the bed. He was a late middle aged man that was well over six feet tall but he looked like skin and bones. He was nearly bald and his face looked like he was already looking for a casket. Jonas was aware of a kind of shimmer around the man. It was a bright blue green color. It was the color of a strong life and commitment to life. The doctor was startled and he looked down at Jonas but he held up his hand in a stopping gesture to someone that Jonas couldn't see.

"Sir," the doctor said crisply. "You really need to lie still. You have been hurt badly and you could cause yourself additional damage by moving."