THE DOCTOR IS IN

By Anthony Crute

Florida, Sacred Heart Hospital

The nurse sat back in her chair and sighed. She had been on shift for four hours and had so far had to do nothing but read The Da Vinci Code, which she had borrowed from a patient who now slept about twenty feet behind her. She was a ward nurse on night shift, which basically involved her sitting at the end of the ward and dealing with any problems that arose.

The heat was sweltering as always in the middle of summer in Florida so near the Everglades; even the dark night sky did little to cool the soaring temperatures. The crickets chirped through the cracked open window while the buzz of fireflies that lit the sky filled the gap between the cricket’s melodies.

The night was quiet.

Doctor Stephen Strange landed with a thump in front of the desk, careful to angle his body as not to disturb the nurse. “Ow,” he gasped as he slowly lifted himself up on his elbows. He turned his head to gaze up at the nurse who turned a page and yawned.

“Who said bedside manner had gone…? Oh, that’s right, you can’t see me.” He smiled as he spoke. He talked to keep himself amused and to keep his mind from the pain.

“Master,” said Wong as he seized his master under the arms and helped him to his feet. “The Demon has grabbed the patient.” Wong’s face was bleeding from the demon’s response to his first attack when Strange had been blasted away. He had launched in with a kick and had been caught by a flailing wing.

“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” nodded Doctor Strange to the nurse. His hair flopped forward as he bowed his head. The act of being thrown thirty feet out of a door and down a corridor would knock the appearance of even the most well turned out gentleman.

As Sorcerer Supreme he had a huge amount of mystic might and, using this power, he had clouded the perceptions of all the patients and staff during the course of his battle. The ill patients and overworked staff had enough problems to deal with without finding out that Hell was real and was currently leaking out into a serious burns unit down the hall.

Stephen Strange began to walk quickly down the corridor. His blue tunic was stained with blood from a small wound he had received to his shoulder and his red cloak of levitation billowed behind him. Wong walked a step or two behind him, a serious look spread across his face as he flexed and stretched his muscles preparing for whatever may come.

Doctor Strange was flexing other things (namely the world around him) as he muttered quietly under his breath as he started a spell. Much of magic was ritual. While you could simply exert your own will over reality itself to change things, it was like using a hand grenade to kill a bee, but more dangerous. If the demon had a strong enough will or enough mastery over the mystic arts, it could use them against you. The words and motions protected you from this, thus magic ritual was very important.

Doctor Strange flung the doors open with his hands and strode into the room. His brow was creased and energy crackled around him. All living things had this crackling energy in various strengths; energy even when unmasked was invisible to a normal man but like electricity to a demon. Their hair (or whatever else they had) stood on end and when coming into contact with the Sorcerer Supreme, the utmost protector of his universe, it was like being struck by lightning.

The Demon’s head jerked upwards and its tongue flicked out like a great snake. Its skin was black and red, but unlike a salamander it shifted, shimmered and changed across the surface of its body. Gigantic horns twisted from the demon’s head with two smaller pointed ones from its brow. It was around nine feet tall, and giant, leathery wings and a long-spined tail sprouted from its back. “Strange!” it hissed through its jagged teeth and pointed with its human-like hands. The claw on the end of its finger dripped blood slowly.

The blood was from the chest of one of the burn victims who the demon had carved up. Ancient lines and symbols glistened, which caused the man to sit up. Another man on the other side of the demon did the same with the same markings. The blood markings of the cuts on their bodies glowed bright red with power.

The men screamed a deep, throaty scream, sending blood from their throats as they moved forward. The sound was of inhuman pain. Their skin suddenly shredded and was ripped away as two smaller demons with similar skins and pointy horns as the larger demon but much smaller and without the other trappings burst forward.

“Wong,” informed Strange with a tiny head nod. “The larger demon is a mother and these are her children.” Strange nodded gently at Wong who looked at the demons and then back at the doctor.

“I should try not to harm them?” The request seemed odd based on what they had just done to two innocent men.

“No,” smiled Strange, “I was just warning you that when you strike them it will be a red rag to a bull and I will have to act with split second timing to send them back to the hell dimension they come from. Pretty standard, really… kick their asses.” Strange looked at his bald companion, who fell into a fighting stance but still threw his master a raised eyebrow. “Too old to say that?” he queried. Wong smiled gently and launched forward. “It’s the moustache you know…adds years to the appearance.” With that, Strange launched forward.

Wong took up position directly before Strange. His master needed time to work and it was up to Wong to keep the ravenous demons away long enough for him to do his job.

Wong’s knee landed in the face of the demon as he leaped in the air and then landed his elbow to the top of its head as he came down. He landed gently, bending one leg while straightening the other and splaying his arms behind him like a bird in flight. He paused for a second before twisting his body as he leaped into the air and connecting with a foot to each child, sending them flying backwards into some equipment with a loud crash.

Wong turned and saw the bull. The demon roared and Wong instantly understood the true power of hell. As the sound rattled in his ears he felt all happiness drain from him. All joy, love, every happy thought or feeling he had ever felt faded slowly away and he felt like he would never feel anything but terror again. Wong, however, was a consummate professional and with unending grace he hurled himself into the air. His hand pressed hard between the creatures horns as he catapulted himself over the monster and rolled to his feet behind it.

Wong turned and this time was unable to move. The creature’s face towered over him. It had turned on a dime and towered over him; its claw flew up and then came crashing down.

Even the most confident professionals sometimes faltered, and Wong was unfortunately counted in this number. He did what most do when threatened with a split second choice that could mean life or death: he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and let fate decide.

Wong’s eyes slowly opened to see the demon’s face contorted and stretched. Its foul breath poured onto his face but the creature itself (and thankfully its claw) was restrained by one of the weapons at the command of Doctor Strange: the crimson bands of Cyttorak.

Wong glanced up at his master. One hand was stretched out controlling the bands while the other made the final few gestures as Strange continued to mutter. His mouth opened wide as he screamed the last word of his incantation. “…Garblech!” He was speaking in some dialect unheard by humankind for millennia and known only to a few.

The portal ripped open with a small explosion. This was a primal force of true nature, the energy and vibration energy that made all things. Wong looked through the swirling red portal to what he could only assume was a certain part of hell reserved for the worst of sinners. He felt his stomach turn, followed by his entire body as his feet were swept from under him. He suddenly felt the bands of Cyttorak wrap his arms as they pulled him forward away form the portal.

Doctor Strange’s other hand had the bands tying him tightly to the doorframe. Wong stared in wide-eyed wonderment as the three demons clawed for anything to grip onto as they were drawn backwards into the portal. The force on Wong was so strong that even Doctor Strange was having trouble holding onto him. Like wind to areas of low pressure, Wong’s goodness was moving towards the area of most evil.

The demons were being drawn in for a completely different reason. This was their home and despite the ‘devil’s’ will, Hell the place itself let no one escape without a fight.

It always seemed curious in the mind of Doctor Strange that Hell worked in such a way, drawing in the largest source of good and the largest source of evil. Curious, but it made sense in a sick way, hedging its bets to get the most it possibly could.

Wong stared through the portal, feeling the power of hell. The hate, fear and longing to die all over again. He could feel the flames on his face but these were not ordinary flames of fire but rather flames of damnation. In years to come he would find it impossible to describe what it felt like but whenever he thought of it he could feel a part of himself crying in pain.

The demons bodies twisted like water down a plughole until, with one final scream, they vanished and the portal sealed. The bands vanished also, and Wong dropped to the floor. The pain moved through his body but he shrugged it off as he stood and looked down at his master who sat in a crumpled pile on the floor.

Strange flipped the cloak of levitation from over his head and looked up at his companion who was offering an outstretched hand. “I’m getting too old for this,” gasped Stephen as he was dragged to his feet. He placed his hand on the lower lumbars of his back as he stretched, then turned to leave the ward.

The two men walked shakily down the hall. “Excuse me! Who are you?” questioned the nurse, standing behind her desk as she saw the two approach.

Strange sighed. He really wished he had the lack of morals to cloud her perceptions again but to do so when there were no urgent matters would be wrong. He smiled gently and looked to Wong.

“I’m sorry, I’m an orderly here… I’m new,” said Wong in a flawless American accent. “This is Doctor Strange,” Wong twirled his finger around next to his ear to indicate Stephen’s craziness. “He was injured in his HOME,” Wong stressed the word. “I’m just taking him to get stitched up.”

The nurse nodded and smiled before turning to Strange. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, very slowly.

Doctor Strange smiled weakly, sighed and nodded slowly before walking away from the woman. Wong walked after him. “You enjoyed that a little too much,” grinned Strange as he talked in a hushed tone, limping as he walked.

“I apologize, master. I did not intend to offend,” Wong nodded in a half bow to Strange as he walked behind him.

“It was because I asked you to hand wash my boxers wasn’t it…? They’re pure Agorian silk, you know. They’d break the washing machine,” Strange looked at Wong who tried to remain non-committal and not look at his master.

The two turned the corner of a corridor and stopped. A small child stood before them, his hair a light blonde and his skin white and pallid. The child could have been no older than seven; he suddenly gasped and held out his arms before falling forward. As he fell he called out “…Help Me!”

Doctor Strange moved forward and caught the child before lowering him to the floor. His medical training kicked in immediately, checking the boy’s pulse and tilting his head backwards to make sure the airway was clear. “Wong!” he commanded as he motioned to the child and then stood, moving back around the corridor.

Wong seized the child up in his arms as Strange began to shout “Nurse! Emergency! We have a non-responsive child; convulsions, most probably a fit, running a temperature with rapid heart rate.”

It didn’t take long for a gurney to be wheeled to the boy, and then two nurses and a doctor were sprinting down a corridor followed by Doctor Strange and Wong. It took minutes of furious working to help the boy. Doctor Strange stood outside the emergency room and watched, understanding every order and movement, wishing that he could get into the room and somehow help the boy. Wong stood close by. The alternative remedies he might have used to help the boy were still a mystery to western medicine but they raced through his mind nevertheless as he prayed.

Once the boy had stabilized everyone left but one doctor. Doctor Strange and Wong stared through the glass for a few more minutes.

“Master, we should really go. You are weakened and it’s a long journey back home without your power.” Wong’s hand gripped Strange’s shoulder as he tried to comfort his companion. Doctor Strange held up his hand to deny Wong’s request.

“No, we stay, we stay until were sure he’s okay.” Strange turned to Wong, who gave him a worried look. “If a true problem arises with magic… I’ll know and I’ll deal with it, but until then we stay. He asked for my help.” Strange’s voice cracked as he spoke. He turned slowly away from Wong to see a doctor moving towards them.

“Stephen?!?” the doctor asked, in a voice Strange recognized. The man had dark hair that was greying slightly around the temples, and his face seemed vaguely familiar although Doctor Strange couldn’t place it. “How are you?” asked the man with a huge smiled as he took Strange’s hand and shook it happily.

“I’m fine, I’m wonderful… I’m sorry, I have no idea who you are?” Doctor Strange half cringed and half smiled as he shook his head.

“I suppose you wouldn’t recognise me anymore. I was in your medical school class… Michael Howitt?” The man smiled and suddenly all the memories came flooding back to Doctor Strange. The two men had never been close friends but had enjoyed some good nights with shared acquaintances.

“My god Michael, you look fantastic… you must have lost 200 pounds!” Doctor Strange exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Michael smiled and patted his stomach in only the way a larger man can, one who had lost the weight but retained the right to pat his stomach in such a way. “Who would want to listen to an obese doctor these days? I saw you when I came into the room, apparently you were the one who raised the alarm.”

“Yes… I was visiting a friend when I ran into the young man before he collapsed. Is he okay?”

“He’s stabilised, its all we can ask for… make him comfortable until the inevitable.” Michael sighed and pushed his head onto the glass.

“Terminal?” asked Strange, his voice soft but flat as he spoke.

“Cancer, in his brain. It’s affecting his nervous system, he’s in constant pain and can barely move most of the time. He’s only got a few days at the most.” Michael put his head on the glass again and sighed.

“He’s one of those isn’t he?” asked Doctor Strange. Michael tilted his head up to Strange and raised his eyebrow. “One of those who change your life, something about them… a spark of life.”

Michael nodded. “And he’s going to die,” he said. He stood up and coughed before straitening his jacket. “I have rounds to do,” he sighed. It was obvious he was just pushing his emotions aside. “I get off in an hour or so, and I’d love to go get a coffee or something.”

Strange smiled lightly and nodded. “That would be nice.”

“Perhaps you’d like to go sit with Sam, he shouldn’t be out for long… hope you don’t mind me saying but you look like you could use a spark.” Michael smiled and laid his hand on Stephen’s shoulder and walked away. Stephen looked at the boy and felt compelled to walk into the room.

20 minutes later…

Doctor Strange was sitting sunken low in the bedside chair. He had barely moved since he entered the room. The gentle beep of the heart monitor was like his own heartbeat; he was aware of it but it was not intrusive. Wong had retired to acquire board at a local hotel or motel since it looked like the two would be spending the night.

Slowly, Sam began to stir. “Good morning,” grinned Stephen, glancing up at the clock that said 2am.

“Morning,” smiled Sam weakly. “You saved me.”

“Yes I did,” smiled Strange. “Well I caught you, it was Dr Howitt who did the real work.”

Sam smiled gently. Since he had been in hospital Dr Howitt was very close to him. His parents had died a few years ago and he had been staying with the nuns in the orphanage.

“So what do you do?” Sam was an inquisitive child who wanted to know everything.

“I’m a doctor too,” smiled Strange. Sam creased his brow and squinted at Doctor Strange for a few seconds. Strange still wore his blue tunic and cloak of levitation, and the Eye of Agamotto lay around his neck.

“You look like a magician?” queried Sam. He motioned at Strange’s dress. Doctor Strange glanced down at his tunic and cape and smiled.

“Yes, I suppose I do.” He motioned to Sam before leaning in closer to the boy, and said, “…tell you a secret… promise not to tell?”

Sam nodded slowly. Doctor Strange began to mutter a few words and then, as he clicked his fingers, a single tiny flower picked from a nearby garden appeared in his hand. A huge smile spread across Sam’s face as he reached for the flower.

His fingers brushed the stem gently, causing the petals to burst into life as they dropped and then began to flutter around the room. They were tiny butterflies that popped and vanished into the air leaving the scent of cotton candy. It was a simple illusion of the senses on Strange’s part but Sam’s smile beamed through the room. “…I am a magician.”

“I’m going to die, aren’t I? Soon, I mean?” Sam’s eyes betrayed the wisdom of his words, for he knew the inevitable.

Strange thought about lying for a few seconds and then sighed as he turned his head away. “I’m sorry… let’s not talk about this.”

“Can you do something?” queried Sam “You’re a doctor, and magic… like Harry Potter.”

Doctor Strange hated Harry Potter with a passion but he kept this to himself for the moment. “I’m sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do.”

Sam smiled sadly and nodded. “No one can do anything, that’s why the Make-A-Wish people came to see me?”

Strange nodded slowly. He was well aware of the Make-A-Wish foundation and their work to ensure a final request of terminally ill children was met. “I wanted to go somewhere covered in snow. It doesn’t snow in Florida you know.”

“I was aware,” Strange smiled warmly at the child. Sam’s eyes closed briefly and he grimaced as pain ripped through his body.

“I’d have gone skiing and built a snowman and had a snowball fight… but I got too ill. The Rock came to see me though,” Sam smiled.

“The Rock! Well that’s great… I have no idea who he is but I’m sure with such a colourful name he’s really groovy… I mean cool.”

Sam laughed. It was obvious that Strange was hamming it up to get a rise, but Sam didn’t mind; he actually found the man funny.

The two continued to talk until Sam began to yawn and slowly drifted off to sleep. Strange sat looking over the boy for a few more minutes before Michael returned and the two men departed.

Across the street…

The two men sat in the diner that looked out across the car park of the hospital. It was a small hospital without a public canteen so it was always busy with visitors and the family of patients. The fact that the hospital canteen served food that would most likely wind up with your family visiting you in hospital meant that the diner was always full of staff.

At the late hour only Doctor Strange, Michael and the waitress were there. Wong had been contacted and told to stay at the hotel he had rented until further word.

“So what have you been up to? I heard about the accident,” Michael sighed and did the ‘you okay?’ head tilt, which Strange had gotten used to whenever talking to someone he’d known before his accident.

“I’ve been keeping myself busy,” Strange nodded. He had no idea how he would start to tell Michael about his life without ending up in a padded cell. He had been one of the world’s top surgeons until a car accident had irreparably damaged his hands. It was that accident that had set him on his path to magic.

“You know. when I saw you I was convinced it was fate. Sam is dying but there’s still a chance. We can’t afford any of the world’s top surgeons and then one walks in and picks the boy up.” Michael smiled as he looked over his coffee cup to Strange, who was lowering his small cup of tea to the table.

“Michael,” Strange sighed. “Please don’t do this to yourself… or to me. There isn’t anything I can do… my body isn’t up to it.”

“Maybe you could try, it’s been a while… or talk another surgeon through it or something, looking over his shoulder to remove the tumour. There must be a chance. You’re his only hope.” Strange gripped his cup as tightly as he could and stared across the table at Michael, his voice flat and dispassionate as he spoke.

“Michael, believe me, I would if I could… if there was any chance I could do it I would help, but I can’t.” Doctor Strange looked away from Michael. He could barely look the man in the face as he shot down his only hope.

“Can’t or wont?” Michael spat it as an almost accusation.

“Can’t,” spat back Strange. Michael turned his head to look out of the window and then back at Strange.

“You haven’t even tried,” he said, his eyes becoming glazed as tears formed. Sam had touched him on a deep level and Stephen could understand it, but there was nothing he could do and Michael was opening old wounds. “Maybe you could use your… other talents.”

Strange raised his eyebrow at Michael “I’m not sure I follow you. I think we should call it a night.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You may keep a lower profile than all the other supers out there but you’ve been spotted and you’ve been filmed. Demons over New York, The Avengers splitting up and who knows how many others. You may keep a low profile but I’ll tell you something you’ll never know… you keep track of the person who was top of your medical class. You have magic powers and you have to be able to do something!” Michael had raised himself up so he was standing, then glanced over at the waitress who was looking slightly scared and sat down across from Stephen again.

“I’ll make this clear Michael… watch.” Strange stared at Michael and lifted his cup of tea. Michael stared at the cup for a few seconds till he noticed its slight tremor. The tremor continued and grew more and more pronounced, causing tea to slosh over the side a little at the time. It increased until tea cascaded over the edge of the cup and it shook like it was in an earthquake. The strain on Doctor Strange’s face was visible and it didn’t subside even when the cup slid from his hand and collided with the table shattering into many pieces.

“Do you think I enjoy being waited on hand and foot? I don’t have a manservant for decadent reasons; Wong takes care of me because I am unable to do so myself. I find it almost impossible to do the simplest of tasks, like housework or cooking. I used to love to drive and draw but now am unable. I can’t even hold a cup of tea for more than a few seconds damn it! I’ll put it in simple medical terms: dexterity reduced by 70%, flexibility 82% down, muscle wastage 60% and on and on and on… my hands are next to useless.” Strange was visibly upset about showing his disability. “If my magics could do anything to help nerve damage, don’t you think I would have done something about my own debilitating affliction which robbed from me the one thing I truly loved in life… being a surgeon?”

Strange stood to his feet and strode over to the counter without even glancing at Michael. He placed some money on the counter for the drink and the cup and smiled weakly at the waitress. He had quite enough this evening and would wait somewhere else before contacting Wong.

“I’m sorry, Stephen,” said Michael as Strange walked towards the door. “I’m sorry, I just thought that maybe there was something you could have done.”

Doctor Strange stopped.

The next day…

Michael walked down the corridor pushing Sam along in a wheelchair. He was making small talk and talking quickly about nothing. He had taken a few minutes before entering Sam’s room to make sure he was composed and none of the sadness he felt would show to the boy. Sam needed other people to be stronger as he grew weaker.

Sam was in a lot of pain this morning and could barely move; it was a bad sign, indicating that the disease was moving into its final stages. It had taken a lot of effort to get Sam out of bed and into his wheelchair. The pain was excruciating and tears left red tracks down the length of his face by the time he was sitting comfortable.

A small blanket was wrapped tightly round his legs. Sam wasn’t speaking much as he was being pushed down the hall. He had in his hand a new design morphine infuser which he clicked every now and then when the pain in his body became too much.

Sam and Michael entered the elevator and Michael hit the ground floor button. “A nice walk around the grounds will do you the world of good Sam. It’s a lovely day and the Sun will feel good… promise.”

Sam moaned slightly in the affirmative to acknowledge Michael. The lift doors slid open with a ping and Michael walked quickly through the main lobby. Patients and staff crowded round as the two walked towards the entrance. Many couldn’t believe what they were seeing, and some had already headed outside.

Sam squinted and groaned as they stepped into the blinding light outside, his eyes bloodshot and stinging with pain in the light. He suddenly opened his eyes wide to take in what he was seeing.

People lined the sidewalk staring towards him. They were dressed in the usual light T-shirts and pants designed to keep you cool in hot weather, but that was suddenly inappropriate. Sam shivered slightly as the tiny white flakes touched his skin.

The grounds of the hospital and the hospital only were covered in a good foot of snow, which continued to fall as Sam watched. The flakes twirled and twisted in the air as they fell through the air.

A giant invisible dome stretched across the top of the hospital, enclosing it in a giant snow globe in which real flakes of snow fell.

Michael smiled as he saw the joy on Sam’s face and noticed he had stopped administering morphine. Sam grabbed hold of the arm rests and with a little help from Michael made his way to his feet and walked almost normally away from the chair and into the snow.

Doctor Strange stood on the roof of the hospital, his arms outstretched as he ensured the snow continued to fall. His mind repeated the incantations over and over again but his eyes watched Sam and Michael closely as they played in the snow.

His eyes took in every nuance of the scene below for an hour or so, from the snowball fight to when the two built a snowman. Other patients joined in until everyone was having a great time, but Doctor Strange’s eyes remained on Sam and Michael until Sam eventually sat down in the wheelchair and slowly closed his eyes. A wide smile remained on his face.

Doctor Strange smiled as well, but a few small tears also rolled down his face. He had been around for a while and in his work seen a lot of people come and go but he still felt a huge amount of loss. He had stopped practising years ago but this still reminded him what it was like to be a doctor; no matter how many came and went, it always felt like it did when it was the first.

Doctor Strange slowly lowered his hands and stopped his magics as he watched Michael tend to Sam, and then wheel him back inside. Doctor Strange looked down at his near useless hands and squeezed them into a fist for a second or two before the pain began, then opened them again. He would never be a doctor again but that didn’t mean he couldn’t help people… when nothing could be done he had done something and whilst it did not save Sam’s life it did bring him joy and his fondest wish granted in his last moments.

Doctor Strange was far from useless. He smiled as he began to descend from the roof.