When Christine found a credit card suddenly placed in her hand, her first instinct was to refuse it. She still had some savings—and if worst came to worst, she could mortgage Strange's house.
She didn't want to owe this man any favors. But Alan's grip didn't budge, and she couldn't push the card back into his hands.
"Mr. Alan, this doesn't feel right," Christine said, her eyes brimming with tears. These past days of caring for Stephen had completely drained her.
"Trust me, Christine. Go pay the bills—Stephen has me here with him," Alan replied calmly. Right now, money was the last thing he lacked.
Besides, Stephen Strange never had the habit of saving money. In his current weakened condition, what he needed most was proper treatment.
Seeing how firm Alan was, Christine finally accepted the card. "Alan, we'll treat this as a loan from you to Stephen and me. We _will_ repay you."
Alan smiled. This was the only way Christine would accept the help. As she turned and left the ward, Alan turned back to look at Stephen Strange, whose face was still twisted in despair.
"Have you calmed down a little?"
Strange clearly didn't want to communicate. His eyes were shut tight, lips pressed into a hard line. He refused to even look at Alan.
"Whether you're pretending to sleep or not, I'll be blunt—your hands are completely ruined.
But if you're willing to cooperate now, while they may never fully recover, they _can_ be better than they are."
When Alan mentioned Strange's hands, the two locked eyes—and what stared back was pure unwillingness to accept reality.
After a long silence, Strange finally muttered, voice trembling, "If it were me... I could've done better…"
"But in your current condition, you couldn't do anything at all." Alan spoke the harsh truth without hesitation.
Someone consumed by despair could never succeed.
"This is my number. Once you've calmed down and thought carefully about what I've said, call me."
"You came here just to provoke and mock me?" Strange said bitterly.
"No. I came here to save you—_only if_ you're willing to understand."
With those final words, Alan vanished in the blink of an eye.
Strange's eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't believe anyone could disappear like that—he was convinced it had to be a hallucination.
He blinked again, trying to see through what he assumed was a trick, but there was nothing. Alan was gone.
When Christine returned to return the credit card, she found the room empty.
"Stephen, where's Alan?" she asked. She had assumed Alan would leave some kind of message—how could he just vanish without a word?
She still had his credit card. Did he really not want it back?
"I… I don't know. He said he had something to do and left." Strange, still reeling from Alan's sudden disappearance, couldn't understand where he'd gone.
This was the 28th floor. Alan hadn't gone near the window, and the door was far from where he stood…
"Christine, are you sure they didn't give me any medication? Something that causes hallucinations?" Strange asked.
"No. I checked everything they gave you. At most, you were on painkillers to ease the discomfort. Are you feeling better now?"
Christine noticed that his mental state was far better than before, so she continued,
"Why have I never heard of a friend of yours named Alan?"
...
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