Chapter 4 - ROOM 408
Two hours later, Saint Leopold Memorial Hospital was under siege by both the press and local authorities.
A man coming back to life in a casket was a miracle story that local news stations seized upon instantly. Outside the emergency entrance, satellite vans were parked six deep, their news anchors broadcasting live updates into the rainy sky.
Inside Intensive Care Room 408, the atmosphere was dead silent save for the steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep... of the heart monitor.
Nathan lay propped up in the hospital bed, hooked to an IV drip, an oxygen cannula resting beneath his nose. He was pale, exhausted, and barely conscious, but his vital signs were stable. Ellie sat on the edge of his mattress, refusing to move, holding two of his fingers in her small fist like an anchor.
Clara stood near the foot of the bed, her hands folded tightly. Standing across from her were Dr. Marcus Vance, the Chief of Critical Care, and Detective Raymond Miller of the Chicago Police Department.
"It’s called Lazarus Syndrome," Dr. Vance explained, his voice measured, smooth, and practiced as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "It’s an extremely rare phenomenon where a patient experiences a delayed return of spontaneous circulation after CPR has ceased. The pressure build-up in the chest cavity gradually releases, allowing the heart muscle to restart."
"He was cold, Doctor," Clara said, her brown eyes burning with a sharp, protective anger. "He was in a refrigerated morgue for over twenty-four hours! How does a man survive that if his heart stopped on Tuesday?"
"Hypothermia can sometimes slow metabolic decay," Dr. Vance replied with a professional, sympathetic smile. "It's a medical anomaly, Mrs. Cross. A miracle, frankly. You should focus on his recovery."
Detective Miller, an old-school investigator with graying hair and a worn trench coat, stood near the window, quietly taking notes in a small notepad. He didn't look convinced by the doctor’s smooth explanation.
"Doctor Vance," Miller spoke up, his gravelly voice cutting through the room. "Who signed the initial death declaration on Tuesday night?"
Dr. Vance’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. "That would be Dr. Elizabeth Reed. She was the attending trauma physician on duty during Mr. Cross's admission."
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"I'd like to see the full telemetry and monitoring logs from his admission," Miller said flatly.
"Of course," Vance agreed smoothly. "I'll have medical records send them directly to your precinct."
