April 2012
It felt like years had passed before Christine came to collect Gwen. Before she could ask any questions, Christine was giving her answers.
"The surgery was successful," she said, sounding exhausted, but pleased. "He'll be in pain, for sure, but he'll live. We put eleven pins in his hands to hold the bones together. It was the best we could do, considering. We hope that with time, he will be able to make a full recovery."
"Can I see him?" Gwen asked. Her voice was weak from lack of use. She cleared her throat and swallowed. Her eyes had dark circles under them. She hadn't slept at all through the night. She had explained to her boss what was happening and he excused her from work for as long as she needed. She had also contacted the Martinez's and told them that she wouldn't be going to their house after all. Early that morning, Alex had come with flowers. Gwen didn't say it, but she appreciated the gesture.
Christine nodded in response to her question and led her to the room where her father lay, recovering. His hands were bound with white bandages and suspended in the air. His face was bruised and purple, but any sign of bleeding was gone. It looked as though he had had stitches as well. Gwen felt tears threaten to spill at the sight of him, but she forced herself to stay calm. She refused to lose control. He's alive, she told herself. Focus on that.
She took the seat on his left in silence, and sat down. Her hand gently reached out and gently combed his hair out of his face. Christine took the seat on his right. "You should sleep," she whispered to Gwen. "You look exhausted. I'll take you home and call you when he wakes up."
Silently, she shook her head. Christine knew that it would be futile to argue with the girl. She was far too much like her father, too stubborn, too proud. Gwen would stay by his side until she was sure he was ok.
However, exhaustion seemed to overcome the girl and after a few hours, she fell asleep, curled up in the chair.
Christine watched her with some sadness. She had worked with Stephen so long and known him so long that she felt like she had watched Gwen grow up. Even as a child, she had been far too serious for her own good. Always so composed, filled with dry sarcasm, and a seeming dislike of others. Christine knew that deep beneath that layer, however, lay a girl who cared very much about those around her. But Stephen said that ever since she had learned how her mother died, she had turned into the Gwen she was, even today.
How would these events affect the young girl who had already lost a mother? How might her personality change now? Would she withdraw even farther? Would she put up walls to protect herself? Would she pretend that she didn't care about the one person she openly showed affection too?
Beside her, Stephen stirred. She leaned closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her, breathing heavily. "It's ok, it's gonna be ok," she reassured him softly.
He said nothing and looked away from her. His gaze landed on his hands, which were suspended in the air and practically covered in fixators. "What did they do?" he got out, looking at his injuries in horror.
"They rushed you in a chopper. It took a little while to find you. The golden hours for nerve damage went by while you were in the car," she started to explain.
"What did they do?" Stephen repeated, louder.
Christine bit her lip. "Eleven stainless steel pins in the bones. Multiple torn ligaments. Severe nerve damage in both hands. You were on the table for eleven hours."
Stephen gasped, as if he could not believe it. "Look at these fixators."
Christine listened to his broken voice sadly. "No one could've done better," she told him sadly.
Slowly, he turned to look at her. "I could've done better," he said.
There was nothing to say to that. He was right. Stephen was the best surgeon Christine knew. Knowing him, he could've easily fixed this sort of damage all while playing guess that tune with his assistant, Billy. All this came so easily to him.
"Where's Gwen?" Stephen finally asked after a minute or two of silence.
"On your left," Christine said, nodding to the sleeping girl in the chair. Stephen turned to look at his daughter. "She hasn't slept since she arrived at the hospital, after the police told her what happened. I told her to sleep and she refused, but I guess exhaustion won out."
Through all this, the girl did not stir. She remained silent, the only sound being her breathing. "Should I wake her?" Christine asked.
Slowly, Stephen shook his head. She looked exhausted and worn out. He could see the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was messed up, a sure sign that she was tired. For Gwen was usually so particular about her appearance. She always wore nice, matching clothes, a full face of makeup, and her hair was always perfectly in place. The only times he had seen her look less than perfect was when she was either sick or tired. "No," he said softly. "Let her sleep."
Christine nodded and stood up. "You should rest, too," she whispered back. "I'll check in later with some food and water, if you're up to it." With that, she left the room and closed the door soundlessly.
Stephen watched his daughter as she slept. Normally, she looked very peaceful in sleep, and younger than her eighteen years. Now, however, she looked worn. She could've been ten years older than she was. Gwen never worried like this. Not over tests, not over piano recitals, not over college applications, not over job interviews. She was normally so calm and carefree. Seeing her like this made Stephen feel worried for her. How would she be feeling, after his accident?
Bitterly, he thought, Can't feel much worse than I do. His body was sore; the drugs were wearing off. But more sore was his mind. How was he supposed to work like this? Why couldn't the other surgeons be more competent? Why couldn't they be more like him? Had he been able to instruct them in the operation, his hands would've been far better off than they were right now.
Nearly an hour into his vindictive and bitter thoughts, Gwen stirred beside him. She slowly lifted her head, running a hand over her hair. The gesture brought the tiniest smile to Stephen's face. Always trying to look perfect. She looked over at her father and saw that he was awake. This woke her up. She uncurled her legs and leaned closer to him, looking a little annoyed. "Does Christine know you're awake?" she croaked out. Stephen nodded. Gwen scowled. "She should've woken me up."
"I told her not to," Stephen explained. "No offense, but you look terrible."
Gwen snorted loudly. "You should take a look in the mirror." He started to laugh but ended up coughing. His daughter's face softened. "How do you feel?"
"As well as can be expected," he said. Then, he turned a bitter expression towards his hands. "Look what they've done," he exclaimed. He knew that she of all people would understand his annoyance, because she, like he, was usually the smartest person in the room. "Look at these fixators."
Gwen shrugged. "Christine says it was West on your surgery. He probably did the best he could."
This time, Stephen snorted. "West's best work is not even my worst." Gwen was used to hearing her father insult Dr. West. It was a prejudice that she had inherited, and when she saw him at the hospital, their greetings were usually terse and cold. Even so, she didn't feel that it was West's fault that her father had injured himself so badly. She had been hiding it well, but she was angry at her father. Angry at him for driving so recklessly. He of all people should have known better. "I could have done better," Stephen told her.
He expected Gwen to agree. He expected Gwen to curse West's work with him. He did not expect, however, for her to snap at him. "Yeah, you could have," she burst out angrily. "Let me guess, you were on the phone while going ninety in the rain on a steep cliff. What the hell did you expect would happen?" Stephen was so shocked that he couldn't even form a reply. Gwen never argued back to him. She always accepted what he said.
Gwen let out a sigh and blinked rapidly. She was on the verge of crying again. Standing up sharply, she barely turned her head to him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted. I'm going to get something from the cafeteria."
Before he could protest, she had stormed out of the door.
Stephen was required to stay in the hospital for about a month. Gwen made sure to visit him everyday. They almost always had dinner together, unless she was working the late shift. She stayed at home, alone, which was starting to drive her crazy. She hated the feeling of the empty flat. She couldn't wait for Stephen to come back home.
Occasionally, Gwen would help Christine with her father. With his bandaged hands, he now needed assistance doing even the most simple of tasks: brushing his teeth, shaving, cutting his food.
Stephen hated it. Gwen could tell by the way he pursed his lips and the look in his eyes every time someone had to do these menial jobs for him.
"It's only one more day until you can get the bandages off, and then you can do it all yourself," Gwen reminded him during dinner one night, as she cut up his salmon that he had ordered from the hospital cafeteria.
Stephen merely grunted and mumbled unitelligibly to himself. "How was your last day of school?" he asked. It was the last day for the seniors. They had finished off the year and walked down the halls and out of the high school building triumphantly. Graduation was next weekend. Luckily, Stephen would be out of the hospital for it.
"The best school day I've had since elementary school," Gwen told him. "We didn't do much, really. It was just a lot of yearbook signing and saying goodbye and crying." At this she rolled her eyes. It was rare for Gwen to cry. There were a few movies and books that could make her cry, and of course, she cried over her father's accident, but she was usually quite composed. When her class had read Where The Red Fern Grows in sixth grade, her whole class had cried except for her. Maybe it was because she had never had a pet, or maybe it was simply because she just didn't care. Whatever the reason, she had never been quite as emotional as the rest of her peers. "Alex is having a grad party on the Saturday before graduation. She says that I should go."
"You're an adult," said Stephen. "You can go if you want. Just make sure to watch your drink at all times and don't drink too much."
"Why drink at all?" Gwen asked with her usual disdainful tone. "So I can damage my liver and get addicted by the time I'm twenty? No thank you. I'll stick to Dr. Pepper."
"I think you're addicted to Dr. Pepper," Stephen told her. "That's not much better than being addicted to alcohol. And it's a very unhealthy habit that you've picked up. Probably from Billy. I don't like that he's encouraging you to be unhealthy."
"Thank you for your assessment, doctor," she replied sassily. "What prescription would you recommend?"
"Watch it," he told her, though he was barely repressing a grin. "You may be an adult, but I can still kick you out of my house."
Gwen smirked. "Why, so you can starve?"
"I know how to cook."
"If that were true, we wouldn't be eating Chinese take-out every time it's your turn to cook."
"If the bones in my hand weren't shattered, I would smack you," he mumbled. Gwen snickered.
She finished up her sandwich and gathered up her trash. "I told Matt that you're getting out tomorrow. He's given me the day off to help you settle in back at home. So I'll be here early tomorrow to help you." Stephen nodded, suppressing a frown. He did not like how much time she was taking off of work to help him out. It made him feel like an invalid. "Any specific set of clothes you'd like me to bring you?"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "If you bring me some stupid, mismatching clothes, I'll kill you," he told her sharply.
She just laughed. "Come on, dad. Would I ever?" He mumbled something about how she was secretly evil, making her laugh again. "I'll text you when I get home. Call me if you need anything. I'll see you tomorrow, otherwise."
"Bye," he replied. She leaned down and gave him a sort of half hug (it was the best they could manage since he was stuck in bed) before leaving him alone for the night.
She went back home. It was quiet, so she put on some music. That made the emptiness tolerable, at least. She pulled a Dr. Pepper out of the fridge and started to wander aimlessly around the flat. Gwen couldn't wait for tomorrow. Then there would be someone else here, someone she could see. Someone that would make her feel safe.
That night, she fell asleep on the couch while she continued her binge watching of That '70s Show.
The next morning, Gwen got up in a hurry and quickly got ready. She straightened her lengthy hair, put on her makeup, put on a pair of jeans and her Elton John concert t-shirt. Then, she grabbed some clothes from her father's room: just a simple pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. She stuffed them in a small bag, as well as his usual comb and cologne, then hurried out the door to catch a taxi.
At the hospital, the doctors were getting him ready to leave when Gwen walked in. It was Christine and Nic West that were in the room and they both knew Gwen, so they simply nodded when she came in silently and waited in the corner.
Christine was unwrapping the white bandages from around his left hand first. When she finished, his hands were shaking. He couldn't seem to straighten his fingers. Gwen could see the anger and frustration in his face. Christine looked pitifully at him as she unwrapped the other hand. The results were the same. He could not straighten his fingers completely, and his hands trembled.
Stephen made an angry sound and let his hand drop. "Give your body time to heal," West told him gently.
"You've ruined me," he practically spat at West.
"Thank you, Dr. West," Gwen quickly cut in before anyone else could say anything. "We should get going. Thanks for everything."
Christine gave her an understanding nod as she grabbed West's arm and pulled him out of the room. Gwen walked up to his bed and dropped off his bag of things. "I promise I didn't choose anything stupid," she told him, trying for a joke.
Stephen did not laugh. He simply reached for the bag and tried to grab the handle. But his hands were shaking so badly that he could not get a good grip on it. "Ah!" he shouted angrily.
"Hey, it's ok," Gwen tried to calm him. "Look, you just need some physical therapy, right? Remember when I broke my finger? I broke it right through the growth plate and after we took the cast off, it didn't work right. But I took a week of physical therapy and it was put back right."
"This isn't a broken finger, Gwen," he snapped. "I shattered every bone in my hands. It won't go back to normal in a week."
Gwen's temper leapt a little. "I never said it would fix itself in a week," she said. "I just said that it could get better after some physical therapy. Obviously it's going to take longer than a week." He did not reply. Obviously he did not want comfort right now. He wanted to be angry. And Gwen was fine with him being angry, but not at her. It wasn't her fault that he had decided to drive like an idiot.
"I'm going to wait in the lobby unless you need help," she said stiffly.
Stephen caught her tone. He sighed. "I'm sorry I shouted," he said in a low voice. "I'm just… worried. I don't know how soon this can be fixed, if it can be fixed at all. That means that I'll be without a job for an unknown amount of time. This could mean a lot of things. It could affect how we're going to pay your tuition, it could- "
"I don't care about my tuition," she told him. "Our priority right now will be getting you back up to full health."
An awkward sort of silence fell over the two of them. After a while, Gwen said again, "I'll go wait outside unless you need help."
"Can you unzip the bag?" he asked, trying not to grumble about it too much. She was trying to be patient, so he would try to be patient too.
She nodded and grabbed the bag, unzipping it with ease. "If you need help dressing, I'll send in Christine," she offered. Stephen nodded. Gwen left the room and saw Christine in the hall.
"How is he?" Christine asked. She was not asking for a physical examination, but a mental one. No one knew Stephen better than his own daughter. She would be able to read what he was hiding from others.
"He's angry," Gwen shrugged. "And worried. And somewhat embarrassed. He'll probably need help changing, though he won't want my help with that. It's better if you do that. I shouldn't have brought jeans. I should've known that they would be hard to put on with injured hands." She felt somewhat stupid for not having thought of it previously.
Christine shook her head. "We all hoped that his hands would've healed better," she told Gwen. "You did nothing wrong. I'll go help him change."
"Thanks, Christine," Gwen sighed. Christine went back into Stephen's room. Gwen wavered down the hall to the lobby, where they would need to check out. How he was supposed to sign any paperwork though, Gwen had no idea. She could fill out the other information, though. Besides, her handwriting was better than her father's anyway.
Stephen came out minutes later, looking both upset and embarrassed. Gwen helped him fill out what paperwork they needed to fill out before they paid what their insurance would not cover and left the hospital in a taxi.
"I was thinking we could order out something tonight," Gwen said as they drove, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm in the mood for Italian. What about you?"
"Yeah, Italian, sure," Stephen replied.
Gwen wondered how long this painful awkwardness would last. She was so used to being able to talk to her father about anything. He was her only true friend, her confidant, her companion. He often said the same thing about her. Neither of them exactly made friends easy. Christine was the only one who really seemed to like them. Ever since she had been a kid, she had told anyone who asked, that her father was her best friend. It always made the teachers coo sickeningly over how sweet the answer was.
Was that all about to change now? Was something as stupid as a car accident and a pair of injured and shaking hands going to change that for them?
Dinner was easily just as awkward as the car ride back. They tried to make conversation, but it was like everything in their lives had changed. Nothing could ever be the same again.
Little did they know just how much this accident would change their lives.
"You're going to call Etienne today, right?" Gwen asked her father as she pulled on her raincoat.
He nodded. Etienne was a French surgeon that her father had met before at several conferences. He was gifted, nearly as gifted as Stephen himself. They had become (somewhat like) friends, and Stephen was going to ask him about performing another operation on his hands, to see if he could fix them. Gwen had to bite her tongue. This would be his third operation. She was sure that at this point, her father's hands were beyond repair. But she knew that this was important to her father, so she said nothing.
"Fingers crossed, then," Gwen said. She pulled her hair pack into a ponytail and checked her reflection in the mirror to make sure there were no fly away hairs. "I'll be back by seven. Christine is coming to check in later today. Also, Martha from the maternity ward is insisting on dropping off another casserole for us, so that'll be delivered around six."
"I'm forty-three, Gwen," he reminded his daughter, which brought a smile to her face.
"Doesn't mean you can't be helped." He just grunted at that. A few weeks previous, the two of them had had an argument. Gwen wanted to stay home from college so she could look after him. Stephen had almost refused, saying that her education was more important and that he wasn't an invalid. Gwen flatly refused. They hadn't really discussed the issue since. It was like they were trying to pretend it didn't happen. "Like that beard for example. I wish you would let me shave it. You look like a freaking hobo."
Stephen rolled his eyes. "Shut up," he said and she chuckled a little. "Have fun at work."
"I'll try," she said and she gave him one last wave before opening the door and leaving him behind.
A few hours later, Stephen was getting ready to call Etienne when there was a knock on the door. It took him a while to open the door with his shaking hands, until finally, cursing slightly, he finally got it open. There was no one there. He was about to slam it shut furiously when he saw a plate of cookies on the doormat. He furrowed his brow and bent down to pick them up. There was no note. Gwen hadn't said anything about cookies being dropped off, but he figured that these were most likely from someone in the hospital that had heard of his predicament and were taking pity on him. Grudgingly, he took the cookies and brought them inside. They were still warm and gooey. Delicious. He put them on the kitchen counter before returning to the dining room table to call Etienne.
Little did he know that Clara Anderson was walking away from the building, hoping that Stephen hadn't seen her through the peephole.
Etienne picked up and they started to discuss his options, ignoring the formalities. Stephen took the optimistic view, while Etienne remained a pessimist. "I've looked at the x-rays you've sent me and the documents… I just don't see how it's going to work," Etienne said.
"Look, I know it looks impossible but- "
Stephen was cut off. "What you want from me is impossible, Stephen. And I have my own reputation to consider."
"Etienne, wait," Stephen pleaded desperately.
"Bon chance, mon ami," he said in French before hanging up. In anger and frustration, Stephen shoved the tablet as well as his papers, documents, and pens off the table. They scattered on the floor as thunder boomed outside.
He got up and started to pace, thinking thoughts that only a desperate man thought. He would not accept defeat, as so many told him he should do. He would keep looking for ways to solve his problem. He was not giving up. He thought about the surgeons in Tokyo that he had read about recently. They had a new procedure that might be a good solution. It was experimental and expensive, but still a possibility…
As he paced and thought, Christine came in, using the key that Gwen had given her. "Hey," she greeted, placing her bag and keys on the hooks that were by the door. She caught sight of his face and her happy expression dropped. "He won't do it," she guessed. She knew that Stephen had been planning on talking to Etienne today.
Stephen neither confirmed nor denied her theory. Instead, he started to tell her about his thought process. "There's a new experimental procedure they're performing in Tokyo. If I could get a loan together, just a small loan…"
"Stephen, you've always spent money as fast as you could make it, but now you're spending money you don't even have," Christine warned him as gently as she could. "Maybe it's time to stop."
"No, now is the perfect time not to stop because you see, I'm not getting any BETTER!" he shouted.
"Some things just can't be fixed," she tried to plead with him. "And that's ok."
"Life without my work- "
"Is still life," she finished. She had to try to make him see that it wasn't over for him. He was acting too rashly. Gwen wouldn't tell him off, so she had to. "This isn't the end. There are other things that can give your life meaning."
"Like what? Like you?" he snapped out harshly.
Christine looked at him reproachfully. "Ok, this is the part where you apologize."
"This is the part where you leave," he shot back.
She sighed in anger and sadness. There was no way to make him see. He was too proud and too stubborn. "Fine. I can't watch you do this to yourself anymore."
"Oh, too difficult for you, is it?" he asked mockingly.
"Yes," she said. "It breaks my heart to see you this way, Stephen."
"Don't pity me!"
"I'm not pitying you!" Christine's voice was raised now, near a shout.
"Oh yeah? Then what are you doing here? Bringing cheese and wine like we're old friends on a picnic. We are not friends, Christine, we were barely lovers. And you just love a sob story, don't you? Poor Stephen Strange, charity case! He finally needs me! Another dredge of humanity for you to rescue. Send him back out into the world, hearts humming. You care SO MUCH don't you?" He was shouting again, trying to hurt her as much as he was hurting. As if it was her fault he had gotten injured in the first place.
Christine did not shout back. She knew that he was hurt and angry, but she was not going to accept this kind of treatment from him. He would have to find someone else to shout abuses at, because she was done. "Goodbye, Stephen," she said softly. She picked up her bag and keys and started for the door again. Then, another thought struck her, and she whirled back around. "But maybe you want to think about how your actions are affecting your daughter. Because she does care. She somehow manages to care about someone like you and all you're thinking about is yourself and your future." Stephen had no words. There was nothing he could say, really. "Think about her before you try to fly off to Tokyo or wherever it is you're going next." With that, she left the flat, slamming the door behind her.
Gwen came home to a dimly lit apartment. Normally the lights at home were bright and welcoming. Dad's probably asleep, she thought to herself as she took off her coat and hung it on the wall.
She walked into the kitchen for a Dr. Pepper and saw her father in the living room, sitting by the lamp, reading over a file. "Hey," she greeted, popping off the lid of the bottle.
"Hey," he replied distractedly. He turned the page a little and looked behind it. Gwen saw the casserole dish on the counter that lay untouched, as well as a plate of cookies. Martha must've gone the extra mile today. She took a cookie and bit off a small bit. It was delicious.
"I saw Christine at the hospital," she ventured cautiously. Christine has told her that they had argued. Stephen didn't acknowledge her words. "She told me about Etienne. I'm sorry. I really thought he would do it."
"It doesn't matter," Stephen lied, trying to brush off the disappointment from earlier.
It did matter, of course, but Gwen didn't contradict him. She moved into the sitting room and collapsed on the couch opposite of him. "What are you reading?"
"A file that my P.T. gave to me," he explained. He put down the file, looking somewhat excited. "He told me yesterday that he had once seen a man with a complete C7 C8 spinal cord injury. He should never have been able to walk again. But my P.T. claims that he saw him walking down the street one day. I didn't believe him, but this is the guy's file. He was healed."
"Healed of a C7 C8 spinal cord injury?" Gwen scoffed. "No way. Let me see." Stephen passed her the file and she looked it over. From what she could understand, he apparently had healed. Stephen came and sat beside her on the couch again. He pointed out features of interest in the x-rays, explaining what she didn't understand. "But, then… how did he get better? There's no way it was just physical therapy. Did he see a surgeon or something?"
"I'm not sure," Stephen said. "It's not in his file. But look, he's put his name in there." He pointed to a sticky note with the name Johnathan Pangborn written on it, as well as some other details. "According to my P.T. he plays basketball at this location on Saturday mornings. I think I'll go see him tomorrow to see what he did."
"That's a good idea," Gwen said. Of what she was reading and seeing was true, and Pangborn was truly healed of such an injury… then it was certain that her father would be healed and then their life could go back to normal. It was a happy thought. Even if it meant one more operation, it would be worth it. "I've got tomorrow off. I'll come with you."
Stephen did not protest this. Gwen smiled and they spent the rest of the evening eating Martha's casserole and cookies and pouring over Pangborn's file.
They set out around ten o'clock the next morning to the address the P.T. had put on the sticky note. The basketball court was under a bridge covered in graffiti. There was a group of about ten men playing basketball together. They were shouting and dribbling loudly, trying to be heard over the sound of traffic. They watched as one player made a basket and a time-out was called.
Johnathan Pangborn, whom Gwen recognized from the photo in his file (and from when they Facebook stalked him) jogged over to the fence where they stood, waiting. "Johnathan Pangborn," Stephen began. "C7 C8 spinal cord injury, complete."
"Who are you?" Pangborn asked.
"My name is Dr. Stephen Strange," he told him.
Pangborn slowly started to walk back toward them. "I do know you, actually. Both of you. I came to see you," he pointed at Strange, "and couldn't get past your secretary. And you were one of the nurses that treated me after my accident." He pointed now at Gwen.
Gwen looked closely at him and realized that she did recognize him. She vaguely recalled helping Christine see to some of his minor needs. He had looked so sad and hopeless then. These past few years had changed him, though. This brought a surge of hope to Gwen's heart. Surely if whatever he had done had cured him, it could cure her father as well.
"You were untreatable," Stephen replied.
"No glory for you in that, right?" Pangborn shot at him. He started to walk away.
"No! Wait!" Stephen begged. He held up his hands, which were shaking. "I need help too," he admitted in a low voice. Pangborn stopped, clearly torn between pity and revenge. "How did you get cured? Please?"
Pangborn sighed and looked over his shoulder, as if afraid someone would overhear them. "Alright. I'd given up on my body. Figured my mind was all I had left, so I should try to elevate that. I went to visit holy men, sacred women. Until I found my healer. And my mind was elevated. And through that… my body healed." Stephen and Gwen exchanged looks filled with doubt and amazement. "There were deeper secrets there, but I chose not to stay. I decided to take my miracle and leave. The place you're looking for is called Kamar Taj. In Kathmandu, Nepal." He could obviously tell that they were at least considering the possibility of what he said. "Good luck," he said, running off to rejoin the basketball game.
They rode home in silence, both of them thinking hard about what they had heard.
Gwen was doubtful. Holy men? Sacred women? Body healed through spiritual and mental elevation? It sounded like a bunch of madness to her. She didn't really believe in that spiritual sort of stuff. It was the sort of dream that desperate people chased.
Which, unfortunately, they were.
From the moment they got home, Stephen practically ran to his room. Gwen stared for a minute before she followed him into his room. He had his phone held up to his ear. "Hello, yes, I'd like two tickets for the next possible flight to Kathmandu, Nepal." He paused and listened to what the other line had to say. "Next week, great. I'll take them… Stephen Strange and Guinevere Strange… It's a Visa card and the number is 8765 4321 0987 6543… Great, thanks." He hung up and tossed his phone onto his bed. Then, he started to dig in his closet. He pulled out a suitcase and started to fill it up.
"Are you serious?" Gwen burst out suddenly. He looked up, as if he hadn't noticed that she was there. "We're just going to take off, like that? We're not going to discuss it?"
"What's there to discuss?" he asked. He had not stopped packing. "If there's even a slight possibility that it could work, I think we should take it. Then life can go back to normal and you can go to Cornell and- "
"What about my job, dad?" she asked. "I have a job here. It's how we're making our money. If I stop that, then what are we supposed to do? Forget Cornell, how are we going to support ourselves?"
Stephen seemed unconcerned. "We'll be fine. Once I'm healed, I'll get my job back and everything will be fine." He stopped packing and moved to stand in front of her. He placed two hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eye. "Please, Gwen. Do this for me. I promise things will be better afterwards. We just have to take this chance."
He looked so hopeful that Gwen could not bear to take that hope away from him. Even though she doubted that this little adventure would lead to anything, she decided that it would be better to know for sure. Slowly, she nodded. "Ok. Let's go."