Twisted Fates | ironstrange (Book 1)

Jonathan Pangborn

Stephen sat in a large, beige colored room. Weights, bars, and other exercise equipment lined the walls, but Stephen's attention was fully on his hands.

A small, metal contraption rested on his palm, thick rubber ropes pulling at his fingers, forcing his fist closed. His task was to fight against the device and force the fist open. A young doctor sat across the table from Stephen; a supervisor he never caught the name of.

"Up. Up. Show me your strength!" The young doctor encouraged, much to the chagrin of the older doctor.

Stephen groaned in frustration, his fingers curling into a fist once more. "Ugh! It’s useless!"

"It’s not useless, man, you can do this!" The other doctor cheered, putting a hand on Stephen's shoulder.

Stephen faught again, pushing the doctor's hand off his shoulder and letting out an annoyed huff when he found the he couldn't pull his fingers back. "Then answer me this, bachelor’s degree." He hissed, looking up at the physical therapist.

The therapist nodded.

"Have you ever known anyone with nerve damage this severe, do this and actually recover?" Stephen asked, upset and furious with himself, the therapist, and the world in general.

The younger man frowned. "One guy, yeah. Factory accident, broke his back; paralyzed. His leg wasted away and he had pain in his shoulder from the wheelchair. He came in three times a week, but one day he stopped coming. I thought he was dead. A few years later, he walked past me on the street."

Stephen stared at the other doctor in shock. "He walked?"

The young therapist nodded. "Yeah, he walked."

"Bullsh*t." Stephen exclaimed in disbelief. "Show me his file."

The younger man bobbed his head. "It can take me a while to pull the files from the archive." A grin made it's way onto the therapist's face, "but if it proves your arrogant a*s wrong, it’s worth it."

~

Stephen sat at a circular granite table in his apartment, overlooking the city on New York. He tried writing his name with his shaky hands, but it was messy and unintelligible.

His therapist had suggested the exercise and now Stephen was doing it whenever he could, including in the middle of a zoom meeting with an elite French surgeon he had met at a conference a few years ago named Etienne.

"I've looked at all your research, I've read all the papers you’ve sent, but none will work." Etienne informed. "I… I don’t think you realize how severe the damage is, I-"

Stephen looked up at the screen. "Look, here’s the thing, I-"

Etienne sighed, cutting Stephen off. "At best, I’d try and fail."

Stephen looked back down at his incomprehensive name scribbled over and over again.

"Look, I understand," Etienne continued. "But the bottom line, I… What you want from me is impossible, Stephen."

Stephen growled, his frustration rising. "Come on…"

Etienne shrugged. "I’ve got my own reputation to consider." The Frenchman made a move to disconnect the call.

"Etienne, wait!"

Etienne shook his head sadly. "I can’t help you. I'm sorry, Stephen."

Etienne ended the video call and Stephen desperately help back furious tears. "No. No, no, wait!"

~

Later, when Stephen had calmed down enough to think properly, he began to sift through medical files, his hands shaking every move. He watched as a small paper fluttered out of the stack onto to floor. Confused, he picked it up.