The Permutation

Breakthrough (Part 5) Paul

Friday 12:30 a.m. November 4th

Paul had to admit the masked idiot was entertaining. On his nightly strolls, Paul noticed a purple vigilante hopping around from roof to roof, and alternately shivering in his thrift store hoodie, all the while talking to his pet miniature schnauzer. After his date with Cade, the pair had been out every night, no doubt looking for Paul. He took a perverse pleasure in stalking his pursuers; their futile attempts were endearing. Paul chuckled to himself and winced.

When are these damn ribs going to heal?

Soon, he was going to need more than the quilt his mother had sewn for him. Hovering fifty feet in the air, Paul felt the full strength of the Idaho wind. Even with layers of fatty insulation and the protection the Relaxzen Rocker offered, the cold was starting to get to him, but staying home with his mother wasn't an option. Paul needed release. Looking down on the sleepy, little town, Paul felt like a god. A Spider God, and Lancet Falls was his web. He'd spun each thread with tender loving care. Paul supposed he should have thanked Cade, without him, he never would have discovered the secret to his unique gift.

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After Paul got his ass kicked six ways to Sunday, he woke up in a hospital bed with his mother crying over him, and a tingling in sensation in his legs that felt like they'd fallen asleep.

"Oh Paulie, there was nothing they could do." She'd sobbed.

Paul tried to ask what she meant, but was unable to open his mouth. A bandage had been wrapped around his chin. He remembered an impact and a pop. Cade.

"Don't try to talk sweetie, the doctor will be in in a minute."

A young pup of a doctor informed Paul that he'd dislocated his jaw, suffered a concussion, broken five ribs, and sustained permanent damage to his spinal cord. The bastard, probably fresh out of med school, told him he was paralyzed from the waist down like he was reading off a grocery list. After, the doctor added that there was a possibility that he could regain function, but it was not likely. He then smiled like he was doing Paul a favor. Paul wouldn't mind if the condescending twat got hit by a bus, anything to wipe that smug smile off his face. As the doctor left the room his mom said, "Don't worry sweetie, mommy's gonna take care of you until you're all better."

After a week, Paul was already sick of being surrounded by incompetent automatons and the incessant tingling in his legs. Most of all, he was sick of being looked at with equal measures of pity and disgust, like it was somehow his fault. Against heavy doctor advisement, Paul ruled himself healthy enough to return home on an outpatient basis under the care of his mother. Paul was sent packing with non-steroidal anti-inflammatories and a wheelchair.

Joyce had sold her car to get a handicap accessible van. It took three healthy orderlies to maneuver Paul into it. His mother drove him home while Paul's new physical therapist rode shotgun. After a long and arduous process, they finally got Paul situated in his living room, back in the welcoming embrace of the Relaxzen Rocker. Paul barely listened as the physical therapist outlined his care plan. He didn't need to know the details about how he now needed a nurse to wipe his ass and give him sponge baths.

"Oh Paulie," Joyce clucked after the physical therapist left, "this place is a pigsty. Mommy's got a lot of work to do."

From that moment onward, Paul became the sole focus of Joyce Curt's existence. She doted on Paul hand and foot, making him all of his favorite meals, renting his favorite movies, and tucking him into bed at night telling him how handsome he was. As much he told himself he hated it, on some level, Paul was thankful for her mindless devotion.