Schiller found a somewhat haggard Strange outside the intensive care ward at Presbyterian Hospital. Normally, this surgeon kept his appearance impeccably groomed; one glance was enough to tell that he had a cleanliness obsession.
But now, his beard looked as though it had not been trimmed for at least a week. His suit and shirt were covered in wrinkles, his collar sat unevenly, and there was even an unidentified water stain on one trouser leg.
Schiller quickly assessed his appearance and concluded that Strange probably had not gone home to change or clean up at all that week. Instead, he had remained here, locked in a struggle with someone.
Schiller walked over and sat beside him. Strange said in a slightly hoarse voice, "Stay away from me. I haven't showered in four or five days."
"While I'd like to say this might be exposure therapy for your cleanliness obsession, I doubt you'd agree with me. All right, tell me, what exactly is going on?"
Strange hesitated. His expression had remained tense, and it was clear that he was trying not to break down. But in the end, he could not hold on. He looked at Schiller as if asking for help and said, "You have to help me talk him into it. He needs treatment. He needs to stay here, lie in bed, until he recovers."
Seeing Strange reveal a vulnerability he rarely showed, Schiller sighed softly. Still, he patted Strange on the shoulder, rose to his feet, and said, "I'll go see your brother and do my best to persuade him to stay."
With that, he entered the ward. Victor, lying in bed, looked somewhat like Strange, but years of farm labor had made him far rougher-looking. Though he was not old, his bearing was already very mature.
"Oh,