Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
August 24, 1979
Dr. Karl Straussen frowned at the charts set side by side on his desk. Although comparatively gargantuan to its diminutive owner, the desk supported no more paperwork than average for the Head of Surgery. However, surgery was not his foremost concern at the moment. The first document tallied Raymond R. Kalahearn’s recovery prior to a certain Pastor’s unwarranted attack; the second listed the results of his most recent examination held only this afternoon. It had been over three years since the original accident, almost a full year between the charts.
The results should not have been nearly identical.
True, Raymond had made remarkable progress by anyone’s standards. If not for the hand of God and the genius of many talented people, he’d have been cold in the ground long ago. However, Karl had hoped- perhaps foolishly- that the boy’s recovery might accelerate if reunited with his friends and teammates. Certainly his morale had improved dramatically, but that seemed to be about all. Raymond was a tireless worker, desperately determined to get back into fighting form- or as much of it as was possible. According to the boys, he was doing well on all fronts. And yet, looking at his own scribbly notations, Karl couldn’t help but feel he was missing something.
Raymond had gained almost no weight and precious little muscle mass since waking from his coma. His body remained wiry and rib-thin. Despite a good diet and a reasonable work and therapy schedule, he seemed to tire easily. He’d often admonished the boy about pushing himself too hard, but in his heart, Karl could hardly blame him. Many patients attempting to recover their mobility adopted a rather childish logic: if they worked harder for longer periods of time, they could regain their independence more quickly. Sadly, physical therapy wasn’t something that could be rushed.
Frowning, Karl peered at the charts and graphs and hastily scrawled notes as if his X-ray vision might be able to uncover a layer of truth yet unseen. Unfortunately, all he saw was the scarred surface of his desk blotter.
“Problems?”
Muscle striation was as recognizable to Karl as freckles and skin tone. He therefore didn’t even blink or bother to refocus immediately; he already knew the face inside and out.
“Julian, see what you make of these.”
Dr. Xerxes obligingly took the charts and scrutinized them himself. Although not an MD, it didn’t take him long to realize the problem.
“Repeating yourself?”
“Hardly.”
“I see. Well I suppose he’s making good progress considering.”
“I suppose,” Karl sighed, accepting the charts again, “but I had hoped he’d be a bit farther along than this.”
“Now, now, you’re getting as bad as the boy. Have a little patience.”
Karl couldn’t help twisting his lips in annoyance. “It isn’t that. Just look at these, he’s made the same or less progress in the same amount of time. Except now he’s in a much more hospitable environment with more access to his therapists and other doctors. I had hopes that he’d show increased improvement, even if only by a little.”
“And he hasn’t?”
“Not at all.”
“That is puzzling.”
“Tell me about it.”
Julian rubbed his chin in thought as Karl did some pondering of his own. “I don’t suppose we’ve missed something? Mina’s certain he’s in a good place mentally?”
“Yes,” Karl nodded, “aside from a few bouts of normal and understandable frustration, she’s given him good marks.”
“Well we know it’s nothing I’ve done,” Julian remarked, referring to the various electronic devices implanted in Ray’s body.
“Julian, please.”
Julian didn’t quite repress a chuckle at his friend’s annoyance. “Just checking off the usual suspects. You know, there is one thing we haven’t considered.”
“And that would be?”
“Are we all completely and unequivocally convinced he’s a lost cause?”
Karl had to think about that.
“Well,” he began slowly, “aside from the notable incident with this brother-in-law, he’s exhibited no symptoms of returning powers, or a manifestation of new abilities. The house psychics deemed him ‘mundane’ in terms of aura and energy. It’s been over three years, and he’s barely had so much as a memorable nightmare.”
“Yes but his body is only just now beginning to pull itself back together.”
“And not very well at that.”
“Mmm…” Julian went back to stroking his chin, brows lowered and a distant look in his eyes. “Do we have anyone who could possibly verify this?”
Karl sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Julian drew up a seat for himself.
“I don’t really have an inventory roster in front of me. The psychics we have on staff are all mid-level, and none of them really know Raymond intimately.”
Julian nodded. “An established relationship of sorts is helpful.”
Silence.
“It occurs to me that we are missing the opinion of one very important party,” Karl remarked.
“And that would be?”
“Your grandson. Charles.”
Dr. Karl Straussen frowned at the charts set side by side on his desk. Although comparatively gargantuan to its diminutive owner, the desk supported no more paperwork than average for the Head of Surgery. However, surgery was not his foremost concern at the moment. The first document tallied Raymond R. Kalahearn’s recovery prior to a certain Pastor’s unwarranted attack; the second listed the results of his most recent examination held only this afternoon. It had been over three years since the original accident, almost a full year between the charts.
The results should not have been nearly identical.
True, Raymond had made remarkable progress by anyone’s standards. If not for the hand of God and the genius of many talented people, he’d have been cold in the ground long ago. However, Karl had hoped- perhaps foolishly- that the boy’s recovery might accelerate if reunited with his friends and teammates. Certainly his morale had improved dramatically, but that seemed to be about all. Raymond was a tireless worker, desperately determined to get back into fighting form- or as much of it as was possible. According to the boys, he was doing well on all fronts. And yet, looking at his own scribbly notations, Karl couldn’t help but feel he was missing something.
Raymond had gained almost no weight and precious little muscle mass since waking from his coma. His body remained wiry and rib-thin. Despite a good diet and a reasonable work and therapy schedule, he seemed to tire easily. He’d often admonished the boy about pushing himself too hard, but in his heart, Karl could hardly blame him. Many patients attempting to recover their mobility adopted a rather childish logic: if they worked harder for longer periods of time, they could regain their independence more quickly. Sadly, physical therapy wasn’t something that could be rushed.
Frowning, Karl peered at the charts and graphs and hastily scrawled notes as if his X-ray vision might be able to uncover a layer of truth yet unseen. Unfortunately, all he saw was the scarred surface of his desk blotter.
“Problems?”
Muscle striation was as recognizable to Karl as freckles and skin tone. He therefore didn’t even blink or bother to refocus immediately; he already knew the face inside and out.
“Julian, see what you make of these.”
Dr. Xerxes obligingly took the charts and scrutinized them himself. Although not an MD, it didn’t take him long to realize the problem.
“Repeating yourself?”
“Hardly.”
“I see. Well I suppose he’s making good progress considering.”
“I suppose,” Karl sighed, accepting the charts again, “but I had hoped he’d be a bit farther along than this.”
“Now, now, you’re getting as bad as the boy. Have a little patience.”
Karl couldn’t help twisting his lips in annoyance. “It isn’t that. Just look at these, he’s made the same or less progress in the same amount of time. Except now he’s in a much more hospitable environment with more access to his therapists and other doctors. I had hopes that he’d show increased improvement, even if only by a little.”
“And he hasn’t?”
“Not at all.”
“That is puzzling.”
“Tell me about it.”
Julian rubbed his chin in thought as Karl did some pondering of his own. “I don’t suppose we’ve missed something? Mina’s certain he’s in a good place mentally?”
“Yes,” Karl nodded, “aside from a few bouts of normal and understandable frustration, she’s given him good marks.”
“Well we know it’s nothing I’ve done,” Julian remarked, referring to the various electronic devices implanted in Ray’s body.
“Julian, please.”
Julian didn’t quite repress a chuckle at his friend’s annoyance. “Just checking off the usual suspects. You know, there is one thing we haven’t considered.”
“And that would be?”
“Are we all completely and unequivocally convinced he’s a lost cause?”
Karl had to think about that.
“Well,” he began slowly, “aside from the notable incident with this brother-in-law, he’s exhibited no symptoms of returning powers, or a manifestation of new abilities. The house psychics deemed him ‘mundane’ in terms of aura and energy. It’s been over three years, and he’s barely had so much as a memorable nightmare.”
“Yes but his body is only just now beginning to pull itself back together.”
“And not very well at that.”
“Mmm…” Julian went back to stroking his chin, brows lowered and a distant look in his eyes. “Do we have anyone who could possibly verify this?”
Karl sighed and ran a hand through his hair as Julian drew up a seat for himself.
“I don’t really have an inventory roster in front of me. The psychics we have on staff are all mid-level, and none of them really know Raymond intimately.”
Julian nodded. “An established relationship of sorts is helpful.”
Silence.
“It occurs to me that we are missing the opinion of one very important party,” Karl remarked.
“And that would be?”
“Your grandson. Charles.”
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