Chapter 125: Searching for a Miracle
Stephen was a very proud man, and after becoming disabled, he became extremely sensitive.
At the rehabilitation center, his therapist often tried to counsel Stephen and help him with exercises to restore his hands. But the therapist's words sounded harsh to Stephen, who frequently mocked the therapist's education.
As a Ph.D. holder and expert, Stephen was accustomed to mingling with highly educated individuals. To him, a bachelor's degree was nearly akin to basic literacy, and he didn't hold back his disdain.
"You arrogant fool, even now you can't keep your mouth shut," the African-American therapist said.
"Are you his new therapist? How do you put up with his foul mouth? Anyway, it's no longer my concern. Here's the medical file I promised him," the therapist said to Frank, handing over a file before leaving.
"A medical file?" Frank picked it up and glanced through it.
The file wasn't Stephen's; it belonged to someone else. Although Frank couldn't understand much, the person in the photo seemed to have a severe condition.
"Well, it's none of my business," Frank said, casually tossing the file onto the table.
Glancing at the intoxicated Stephen, Frank turned to the computer to check his email and reply to Walter's messages.
A few days later, Frank woke up to find Stephen uncharacteristically sober, sipping coffee and intensely studying the medical file.
"Heading out?" Frank asked as Stephen got up and put on a coat.
"Yeah, I have something to verify," Stephen replied.
"I'll come with you. We're out of booze anyway," Frank said, joining him.
The two arrived at a street basketball court where a group of men were playing.
"Jonathan Pangborn, complete spinal cord injury at C7-C8, quadriplegia, paralyzed hands," Stephen said to one of the men.
"Hey, that name..." Frank paused, realizing it matched the name in the medical file.
"Who are you?" asked the man on the sidelines, drinking water and eyeing Stephen with suspicion.
"I'm Stephen Strange, a neurosurgeon...well, I used to be," Stephen introduced himself.
"Now I remember you. I visited your office once, but you wouldn't even see me. I couldn't get past your assistant," the man recalled.
"With your injuries, I couldn't have helped you. No one could. But you found hope in despair and performed a miracle. How did your body recover?" Stephen inquired.
Given the man's medical history, he shouldn't even be playing basketball but bedridden and immobile.
"What are you trying to say?" the man asked, frowning.
"I'm searching for my miracle," Stephen pleaded, raising his uncontrollably trembling hands.
The man hesitated, seeing Stephen's desperation.
"Alright. I had given up, but I decided to exercise my brain, the only part of me that still worked. I learned from a group of sorcerers."
"A group of strangers carried me up a mountain, where I met sages. Eventually, I found a mentor who expanded my mind and elevated my soul. Somehow, my body healed," the man explained, pointing to his head.
"How is that possible?!" Stephen was stunned.
He had considered many possibilities but never this. Growing up with a materialistic worldview, this was beyond his comprehension.
"There are many mysteries there, but I couldn't invest the energy to learn more. I couldn't leave my family behind. Once the miracle happened, I returned home."
"If you're seeking a miracle, only there can heal your hands," the man said.
"Where is it? How much will it cost?!" Stephen asked excitedly, grasping the man's shoulders.
"It's called Kamar-Taj. Going there isn't about money; it's about luck. Good luck," the man said, patting Stephen's shoulder before returning to the court.
"Kamar-Taj...Kamar-Taj," Stephen muttered all the way home.
Back at his apartment, Stephen searched the internet for 'Kamar-Taj' but found nothing useful, only irrelevant information.
"Frank, do you think Kamar-Taj is real?" Stephen asked, frustrated by the search results.
"Who knows?" Frank replied, munching on squid strips and watching TV.
"The news is discussing Tony Stark's recent kidnapping by the Ten Rings terrorist group," the report said.
"Rich people always seem to have problems," Frank remarked with a hint of schadenfreude.
"His body healed, so Kamar-Taj must be real. Only magic could heal such injuries," Stephen insisted, lost in thought.
"Whether Kamar-Taj is real, I can't say, but magic certainly is," Frank replied nonchalantly.
"Magic is real! You truly believe that?" Stephen's head shot up, eyes wide.
"Of course I do," Frank said, sipping his beer. After all, he'd recently sent a demon packing.
"Yes, it must be true. I must heal my hands, no matter the cost. I will find Kamar-Taj," Stephen vowed, eyes bloodshot with determination.
In the days that followed, Stephen stopped drinking and using substances, focusing all his energy on searching for clues about Kamar-Taj and magic.
He spent a lot of money and was often scammed, buying all sorts of fake magical items, including dubious ointments and black market intel on Kamar-Taj.
"Don't drink that; it's obviously a scam!" Frank yelled, tossing a suspicious bottle from Stephen's hand into the fireplace.
"Stop! That might be real!" Stephen protested, reaching for the flames.
"There's no way that's real. Remember the ointment that nearly ate through your skin?" Frank reminded, pulling Stephen back.
(End of Chapter)