The first time she died, she was told she died of asphyxiation. They found her in bed, her bedding strangling her, wrapping around her face and neck in a hold. Her face had already turned blue when they recovered her, her body starting to grow cold, all vital signs lost by the time she reached the hospital. She woke up soon after, making everyone think it was either a miracle or a misdiagnosis when she walked away. The second time, it was poison. She was lucky it was in a public place, paramedics having rushed her away in an ambulance soon after she collapsed, but it did not stop her heart from stopping, at least according to the hospital records. By the dozenth time, she had enough, having long gotten accustomed to the strange and varied ways death came to her and refused to stick.

 

That was what the young woman claimed, as she sat before me in my consultation room, her expression far too serious for the tale she was spinning. I almost dismissed it as another prank from my long-time rival, had it not been for the fact the hospital records corroborated her story from my screen.

 

“Forgive me if I am wrong,” I said, unable to hide my skepticism. “But you should go to the police or a private investigator. I can’t help if someone is trying to kill you. Not that they appear to be succeeding. I am only a doctor.”

 

“Not trying to kill me, Dr Alia. Have. Multiple times.”

 

Not that she was wrong, if you were being technical about it. The clinical records had declared her dead multiple times, before her ‘miraculous’ recovery each time.

 

She shook her head. “I know why it was happening. What I am here for is what came after.”

 

~ * ~

 

I could not help myself. I stayed in my office long after the last patient had gone, going over the records. The browser was open on my phone, as I painstakingly checked each and every date, the corresponding news articles and death notices painting a story I wasn’t sure I wanted to admit to. Dr Jacob found me, my station still open with her medical records.

 

He peered over my shoulder, glancing at the notes. “What’s this? An administrative mistake?”

 

I shook my head. I debated with myself before deciding to consult him. “Look at these reports first.”

 

He sat down, turning the screen towards him before going through the records. I found it amusing to see his growing disbelief, feeling a sense of validation, knowing I was not the only one to react that way. He went back, going through the records, multiple times before turning to me. “Is this for real?”

 

“I know what you feel. I talked with the paramedics and technicians who did the tests. I even called the nurses and doctors who made the diagnostics. They all said the same thing.”

 

He ran a hand through his hair, seemingly unconcerned about how it made his hair stick up for once. “This doesn’t make any sense. And these are all from the same person? Not different people with the same name accidentally put under the same patient id?”

 

“I had the patient confirm it herself. She even agreed to a blood test.” I turned the screen back to me. “It looks like the lab is currently processing it.”

 

“We should tell them to express it.” He stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, unexpectedly loud. He paced, mumbling to himself as he pulled out his phone.

 

I stopped him, my hand closing over his phone. “What do you mean we? There is nothing urgent about this.” Yet, an insidious whisper warned in my mind, but I ignored it with effort.

 

“Don’t you understand what this means, Alia? This is a gamechanger. If we figure out what stops her from dying every time, it is like…like we found the elixir of immortality or something, I don’t know,” Jacob said, throwing out his hands passionately.

 

“It is not that simple,” I said, unsure how to share my misgivings.

 

“What do you mean it is not that simple? We are talking about lives here. Forget about how much the rich would be willing to pay for it, but think about how many people we can save if–”

 

“But what if the cost is too big? What if someone else has to die for it?” I could not help interject. “Jacob, I know what this means for you. But…” I sighed. I turned my phone around, showing him my searches. “I looked at the records. Cross-referenced them. Every time she survives miraculously, someone dies. Always with the symptoms of whatever killed her. Even if they were nowhere near anything that could cause it.”

 

Jacob stilled. I could see he was listening, but his expression showed a stubborn refusal to be persuaded. At least he was listening. I could empathize with him. I wish I did not, but I did. It would have been a gamechanger for him. If we could crack this, there was a chance this could save her.

 

“I know it is hard to believe, but what if there was something supernatural about this. What if there was a need for, I don’t know, some sort of a cosmic balance or something, like those people talk about. We can’t just kill someone to save another. It goes against morals. It is not right.”

 

“What if you are wrong though.” Jacob argued. “What if there is no magical wushu like you are talking about? What if there is a simple scientific explanation for all of this?”

 

I hesitated. “Maybe you are right. I hope you are. But we need to be careful, just in case.”

 

“You and your caution. Mark my words, you’ll see someone die, someone you could have saved, if you continue this way. If it was me…” He shook his head before walking away. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet. His words echoed in my mind. Was he right? I don’t know. Maybe that was the difference between me and him. Still, the temptation of his words remained, tempered by my own concerns.

 

The patient returned the next day. For obvious reasons, I will not give her name. There was nothing in her reports that showed any abnormalities. She did not appear surprised, a hint of acceptance in her eyes, as though she was confirming a deeply held suspicion.

 

I know Jacob met her shortly after she finished her consultation. I did not know what they said, but I knew they kept in touch after. That was the last time I saw her, the patient, but I knew it was not the end of this.

 

I saw the obituary a week later. I attended the funeral with Jacob’s sister, who recovered miraculously. Did he regret it? I was not sure I could make the same choice.