The next morning, Adam drove back to New York.
At the medical center—
"How'd last night go?" Adam asked, tracking down Christina.
"You think I can't handle things?" Christina shot back with a yawn, then added, "Oh, and that favor I owed you? Consider it paid."
"Of course." Adam grinned, nodding. He chatted with Christina a bit more before heading into Mr. Martin's VIP room.
After a quick check-up, everything looked good.
By the time daylight hit, Dr. Shepter showed up and got straight to the surgery. It was a minimally invasive procedure—using an endoscopic scalpel through Mr. Martin's nasal passage to remove a Rathke's cleft cyst from his pituitary gland.
The surgery wasn't complicated; it was all about precision. And just like that, it was over.
Stepping out of the operating room, Adam ran into George in the hallway, buzzing with energy.
"Adam, you gotta live in the moment, man!" George said, pointing at him dramatically. He grabbed a chart from the nurse's station, did a little spin-dance move, and strutted off, practically glowing.
"What's up with him?" Adam asked, half-laughing, half-confused.
"Dr. O'Malley got a blessing from the Big Guy upstairs today," the know-it-all nurse said with a smirk.
"A blessing?" Adam perked up. "What, did he score some rare surgery or something?"
"Nope," she chuckled. "He almost went to meet God this morning, but then God sent a holy pigeon to bring him back to earth. Told him to enjoy life now and check in with the man upstairs when he's old and gray. That's why he's so hyped."
Adam pressed her for more details and finally pieced it together.
So, earlier that morning, George was outside the hospital buying a donut for breakfast. Right as he was about to take a bite, a splat of bird poop dropped from the sky and landed smack on his donut.
Grossed out, George chucked the tainted treat on the ground.
Cue the pigeon swooping in to munch on it.
It was straight out of some old comedy—like that scene in Wulin Waizhuan where Lao Xing, fresh from begging in the capital, saw Lao Bai with a chicken leg, spat on it, and went, "You gonna eat that?"
No? Cool, then he'd take it. His spit, his rules.
Adam had a sneaking suspicion this pigeon was a crafty little mastermind, pulling a fast one for a free snack. Who else could've dropped that perfectly timed poop bomb?
George, clueless about such antics, didn't suspect a thing. Seeing the pigeon chowing down, he decided to just walk away.
But the second he stepped aside—
Bam! A figure came crashing down from above, flattening the pigeon and the donut—and covering the exact spot where George had just been standing.
In other words, if it weren't for that miraculous bird poop, George would've been the one pancaked.
Turns out, the falling figure was a window washer who'd plummeted from the fifth floor. If George had been hit, he'd be dead—or at least crippled.
But here's the kicker: the guy who fell should've had a collapsed lung, a shattered spine, and a severed artery. Instead? Just a busted leg.
A freaking miracle.
No wonder George was bouncing off the walls.
At noon, in the cafeteria—
"Look at this!" George said, rushing over to Adam and proudly waving a pigeon claw like it was a trophy.
"That's the holy pigeon that saved you?" Adam asked, eyeing it.
"Yup!" George said, twirling the claw reverently. "I pulled it off the patient's back and asked to keep it. Gonna get it made into something later—my lucky charm. God's watching over me, man."
"Pfft!" Christina snorted. "That pigeon got splattered flat on the guy's back. With all those feathers, why not collect 'em and make a hat? Call it your 'Lucky Bird Crown from God.'"
"You don't believe in God?" George shot her a glare.
"I believe in science," Christina fired back.
"Then explain what happened to me today!" George pressed.
"Dumb luck," she said with a grin. "Oh wait—bird poop luck!"
"Alright, chill," Adam said, stepping in as the two started to bicker. "George, didn't you just say to live in the moment? Arguing with Christina isn't exactly living it up."
"She's got no respect," George grumbled. "It's like the patient—such an awe-inspiring miracle, and they don't even care."
"Hm?" Adam's curiosity piqued. "The patient's not happy?"
"Yeah," George griped. "This miracle had three witnesses: the pigeon's in heaven now, so it's just me and him left on earth. We should be bonding over our second chance, thanking God for teaching us to seize the day and live a little.
But he's just sulking, won't talk to me, and keeps saying I'm too loud…"
"You don't see the problem here?" Adam hinted.
"What problem?" George blinked.
Christina leaned in, listening.
"Remember a while back when I saved that cross-dressing guy who jumped off the hospital roof?" Adam said. "If I hadn't grabbed him in time, it wouldn't have just been a high heel smacking my buddy Barney in the head. You think that was a miracle?"
"Wait—you're saying the patient didn't fall by accident? He jumped?" Christina caught on instantly.
"If it was an accident, he wouldn't be acting like this," Adam said, shaking his head. "George, you really should thank God. Otherwise, you'd have died for nothing."
"What?!" George froze, his face turning red.
He'd thought he and the patient were bonded by some divine gift. Now it hit him—the guy was almost his killer.
The twist was too much.
"I'm gonna talk to him!" George snapped, jumping up with the pigeon claw in hand and storming off toward the ward.
"These suicidal types—don't they have any decency?" Christina muttered. "If you're gonna off yourself, at least look down first. Is it that hard? Always dragging innocent bystanders down with them—what's the deal?"
If jumpers just took a quick peek below, they could avoid hitting anyone at free-fall speed.
"Ugh," Adam sighed.
It wasn't rare. Sometimes it was a two-for-one deal—one jumper, two dead bystanders.
Even sadder? Sometimes the jumper survived thanks to a "human cushion"—some happy-go-lucky pedestrian who didn't make it, while the one who wanted to die got hauled off in an ambulance and patched up by doctors.
In George's words, was that God's punishment?
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After they finished eating and stepped out of the cafeteria, they ran into George again—his face flushed with anger.
"Jerk!" the usually chill little guy spat out, cussing for once.
"So, he jumped?" Adam asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah," George fumed. "He wouldn't admit it outright, but he didn't deny it either—just let it hang there. No wonder he didn't vibe with my excitement. Total jerk. Almost killed me and doesn't even say sorry."
"Get him a shrink," Adam suggested.
Per protocol, anyone with mental health issues like that needed counseling.