Speaker 1: I was once in a terrible accident. I was on
my way home from work with the elevators were out
of service. I had to take six flights of stairs
after a twelve hour shift. I wasn't paying attention. I
had a terrible fall, and when I opened my eyes,
I couldn't move. I could barely breathe, and I could
see my hand, which in the corner of my eye.
It took me a moment to realize that hand wasn't mine.
I couldn't feel my fingers. In a couple of seconds,
I'd gone from on my way home to barely alive.
I watched my breath condense against the stone tiles. I
could feel anything but a dull pain radiating down my spine.
The more I thought about it, the more my pulse hammered,
and the more light headed I felt. I was bleeding,
but I could I couldn't see or feel from where.
I couldn't call out for help. It was as if
one of my lungs was lagging. I didn't know where
one breath started and another ended. Luckily, my coworker, Andrew,
was working late. He found me and stayed with me
until the EMTs arrived. From that point on, I barely
remember anything. Apparently I was alone on that floor for
about twenty minutes. I was lucky to be alive. It
wasn't a full unbroken neck, but a severe fracture. I
had to go through countless surgeries. Thank god it happened
in company property and that I was fully insured. Not
only did I get the best possible treatment money could
pay for, but they also authorized any additional payments for
pretty much whatever my doctor would recommend. But despite that,
I was a wreck. Looking back. At the time, I
was barely alive. I was just waiting for life to
come back, but it never did. I improved, but they
could tell early on that I was suffering from nerve
root damage. It left me partially paralyzed in my right leg.
There were a couple of other issues that would flare
up from time to time, but nothing life threatening, just
little things like a random pain in my ring finger
or hearing a snapping noise when I yawned. But coming
to the realization that I wasn't going to make a
full recovery, it was devastating. If I like my best
days were behind me, then every reassuring word was like
a sarcastic jab. Over time I got back at my feet.
I went from a wheel chair to crutches to a
cane over the course of a year and a half.
But no matter what I used, the pain was always there,
that dull, throwing pain radiating throughout my body. And every
now and then I get a shortness of breath when
standing up, bringing me right back to that memory of
my face pressing against that door, watching my shallow breaths
condensed on the stone tiles. While I tried to get
back to work and resign myself to a new normality,
there was always that nagging feeling in the back of
my mind that I was living a less a life.
So while I kept up appearances, I was resenting what
I'd become. So during lunch breaks and countless late nights,
I found myself wading through medical articles, expert opinions, and
journals detailing experimental treatments. Nothing was decisive, There were no
secret tricks. It didn't matter if I had one hundred
bucks to spend or one hundred million. This simply was
no way to magically get better. So I looked further.
Alternative medicine, obscure YouTube videos, Everything from nutritional supplements to
faith feeling, but it was all noise. Nothing was pointing
me to a solution. After months of obsessive searching and consultation,
all I got was recommendations for pain medication. There was
nothing else. Then came in late September night which set
me on a new path. I was browsing the blog
of a woman who'd gone through a similar experience as me,
and she was documenting many struggles she faced along the way.
I spent a couple of hours reading her thoughts and
watching a couple of shorts when I noticed something in
one of the common sections. There were rarely any comments
at all, but this one stood out. It just said S. Broune.
That could mean a thousand things, but to me it
sounded like medication. I'd heard them all. At that point,
I had a whiteboard with the top two hundred and
fifty list of various quack solutions I'd heard, and this
one wasn't on there. While I was skeptical, it was
still another lead. There were no responses referencing this, there
were no video replies, and the account had no other comments.
All I had to go off was S. Broune and
the nickname of the poster Yuvia. It's Spanish for rain.
I figured it might be a kind of supplement or
off the book's medication, so I followed the trail. I
searched for all kinds of combinations of rain, broken neck,
s Broune, and a bunch of other topics. It took
me days, but one combination of words sent me down
a rabbit hole that pointed me at a lead. It
was one of those sites where you could secretly rate
your workplace. A couple of disgruntled workers had rated an
employer of theirs particularly low. There were no mentions of S. Browne,
but I think the algorithm latched onto it for some reason.
They wrote as such, my supervisor has been an absolute
cow since her accident, constant unpaid overtime, threats and accusations.
She's taking it out on everyone. I don't care if
she's in a wheelchair. She's single handedly tanking this department.
Then on the bottom of the review and a dendum
added about two months after the initial posting, edit out
of the wheelchair and stell a cow don't work here.
It didn't take me long to look that company up.
Name immediately popped out Rain Callaway. It was a long shot,
but it sounded like this person had overcome a grievous injury.
Maybe there was something there. She worked at an investment
company with a local office. I could drop by at
lunch and hope for the best. I went to see
Rain the next day. While the lead was tenuous at best,
I felt like I had to try. When I got there,
I saw a couple of people leaving the building, all
dressed in fancy black and white clothing with monocolored ties.
There were a handful of women among them, one of
which was given a bit of a wide berth. She
was in her early fifties and was the only one
with a large scarf going for a hell Mary. I
approached her. Excuse me, I said, are you Rain? She
looked up at me. She had dark blue eyes, the
same color as a sunflower broach on a scarf. She
raised an eyebrow, slowing down. What of it? She asked,
I have a question about a comment you made. She
rolled her eyes and turned her back on me. It
said something like es Browne. I continued, I don't know
what it means, but I get the feeling you could
help me. She froze. Her colleagues waited for her, but
she waved them off. She approached me, looking me up
and down with a stiff neck. How bad is it,
she asked, Pretty bad, bad enough to get in trouble
for it. If I can get rid of it, yeah
you can, she nodded, Yeah, you can get rid of it.
She invited me out to lunch, asking me a couple
of personal questions. I told her about my accident and
the lingering issues I had. She in turn talked about
getting hit by a car. She had been paralyzed from
the waist down for two years, but obviously she wasn't
paralyzed anymore. I looked up from my salad. Rain had
this intense stare, like she was weighing my soul. So
what's the secret, I asked. There's a guy, she explained,
But it's gonna cost you. I got some money put away,
I sighed, Just give me the number. Not that kind
of cost, she said, shaking her head. But we can
figure it out. We exchanged contact information. Left. The pain
in my leg was worse than ever. The prospect of
getting rid of that pain kind of emphasized it. You
can't stop poking at it once you know it's there
at night as I went to bed. I got a
text message, a time and a place, no details. Looking
it up online, it seemed to be a hotel, but
I got no room number, no directions, nothing. The next
day I went straight from work to that hotel. I
dressed up in a business casual blazer and hoped they
wouldn't stare too long at the cane. Then again, if
these people worked with those who'd been in accidents, chances
were they wouldn't even notice the cane. But why the secrecy.
I got to the hotel at about six p m.
A pretty fancy place, at least four stars. There was
a small fountain in the lobby with black marble floor.
It smelled of flowers and chemicals. As soon as I
entered the lobby, there was a man by the elevators
waving me over this way, sir. He pressed the button
for the twelve floor for me, but didn't say anything.
It was as if I was supposed to know what
to do already. I stepped into the back of the elevator,
trying my best to stay calm. A hundred thoughts ran
through my head as music played. I had no idea
what to expect, but as sure as hell, didn't expect
what I got. The doors opened to a scene straight
out of a movie. Wide open double doors guarded by
burly men with visible gun holsters. I could smell cigar
smoke all the way out in the hallway. There was
music playing from one of the rooms further in, as
these gorgeous, marble schooled people wandered back and forth, serving
our d'erves from silver platters. I got a lot of
curious eyes on me, but they can't. As soon as
they noticed the cane stepping forward, one of the doormen
stopped me. I thought he was going to check my
identification or asked me to leave, but instead his features softened.
You need any help, sir, no Ah, No, I'm good,
I said, thanks. Enjoy your stay. There are about twenty
five guests in total, catered to by a staff of
about a dozen. It was hard to get a good
read on the other attendants, both because of the dim
lighting and cigar smoke, but also because a lot of
them seemed busy. Some were stuck looking through their phones
while the others were having in conversations with one another,
and the servants you lost their boy Oh. I turned
around to see a man that can only be described
as a living scarecrow, at least six foot seven, pale,
with white hair combed back and jelled, intense blue eyes
hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. I think you're looking
for the men in the inner sanctum, he continued. Just
follow the crutches. The crutches can't miss him, and with
that he left, just like he said. There were crutches
covering the western wall, some short, some longs, some old.
There was a wooden one that looked like it was
about to fall apart. There were a couple of display
cases lining the wall, showing off various strange items. The
first one that caught my eye was half a human
skull dipped in silver. There was a plaque next to it,
the Society of Broken Necks. That was it es brown.
It was a shortened code for whatever this group was,
and the half school was an icon. But what the
hell had I gotten myself into? Was it a cult?
I was browsing the many strange items displayed, trying to
figure out what kind of people I was dealing with.
For example, there was a film reel for something called
The End of Eternity with a frame certificate of authenticity
from director Roy Hampton. I was reading through the fine
print and someone tapped my shoulder. Rain he got a
copy from the congregation at the twelve Sky Assembly, she said,
insane people, but they got all kinds of stuff. Is
that any good? I haven't seen it, she smiled. I
don't think you're meant to, then why have it because
others don't. It was time to meet the man of
the hour. I never got to know his full or
real name, but they called him Garland. First time I
saw him, he was sitting in what I can only
describe as a leather throne. He kept his hands in
two bowls of magenta colored sludge, like a porridge. It
smelled of chlorine and artificial flowers. Garland was the kind
of person but you can tell how old they are.
He had the face and hair of a teenager, but
the grainish beards double suggested he was older than he appeared.
I couldn't get a good look at him, though I
could barely see anything through the dark and the smoke.
Rain went ahead, clearing the way for me approaching him.
She turned to introduce me. I brought you a special friend,
she said, pointing at me. I can see that Garland
smiled nice Cain. He leaned back in his seat, keeping
his hands soaked. He was very deliberate with his movements,
like he explored every single muscle without breaking eye contact.
He nodded at me, I can help you with that.
The rest of that night, I was one of the
in crowd. I literally just had to hold out a
hand to get a drink. Turns out Garland co owned
the place. He was a silent partner to a variety
of hotels, motels, hostels, and event planning services. They were
currently working with a partner up north, aiming to acquire
some cheap new locations in a last in northern Canada.
I didn't like the way he said it, though, and
it kind of sounded like there was someone doing something
they shouldn't. At some point in the middle of the night,
I had to sit down with the rain. She was
a bit tipsy, so she took the time to explain
her relation to Garland. I was paralyzed, she said, waist down,
completely paralyzed. And it got better better, she laughed, better
than I've ever been. One session with Garland, and that's
that one session. One session, she smiled as we clinked
our glasses I could do one session. I'd pay a
lot for that. I stayed there until early morning, Just
about an hour before the break of dawn. As I
stumbled out, one of the doormen called me a cab
and put a card in my wallet, a time and
a place I could barely wait. While I didn't trust
this man, the results spoke for themselves. The thought of
going back to normal ached me even worse than the
dull pain in my leg. The day before the meeting,
I was proofreading and addendum to a contract. I'd been
working on that thing all day, and I wasn't even
trying to seem interested. It was boilerplate stuff, and I
considered just approving it as is without any clarification. I
could barely pay attention anyway. Still, I soldiered on. I
was on the last page when I got an e
mail from a throwaway account. The initial line read our
dearest broken neck friend. It was Garland and his people,
contacting me ahead of my scheduled appoint and instead of
payment for his services, he asked for some information. It
wasn't anything big, just a copy of the document I
was working on. How he knew what I did for
a living was disconcerting at best. There was no way.
While it wasn't important in the big scale of things,
it was technically a company secret. Still, I couldn't think
of a way. Sharing that document would be inherently bad.
It really was just the technicality. I wasn't thinking of
anything but myself. I guess I wanted to feel normal,
and having that within my grasp was too enticing. I
gone too far and seen what kind of people they were.
Say what you will about Garland and his lifestyle. There
was something more to it, something mystical. I sent the
document and covered my tracks. Looking back at it, it
was dumb. I know. I'm sure you've done your fair
share of stupid things behind closed doors as well. I
went to see Garland at the hotel the next day.
There was a small room hidden away in the spa,
behind an unmarked door. It was easy enough to spot.
Rain was waiting for me. You ready, she asked, not
looking up from the floor. Yer, I said, what are
you doing here? I'm your sponsor, she explained, I'm responsible.
She nodded at me and tapped on the door. It
swung open. It was a plain, white room with a
single comfortable chair. It had the same chlorine smell that
I'd noticed the last time I met Garland, the stuff
he rubbed on his hands. Rain motioned at me to
sit down, so I did. I think I must have
dozed off at some point. Garland was just there. I
hadn't heard him enter the room, and he hadn't been
there when I first arrived, and yet there he was.
Rain welcomed him. Seconds later, A cold pair of hands
brush away my hair, and another gently covered my eyes.
Try to relax. Garland said this won't take a minute,
and it really didn't. It's hard to explain the sensation.
I felt like sinking into a warm bath after a
long day, like I'd had a full night's sleep after
a big dinner. My joints relaxed, and all the pain
just melted away. As the pain in my leg evaporated,
I almost cried. There was ap on my shoulder, and
when I opened my eyes it was just me and
I felt fine. The next few days were amazing. I
could literally dance all the way to work if I
wanted to. I slept better, food tasted better, my hair
felt thicker, and my skin got a bit of a sheine.
Everything was just better. The only thing I noticed was
that the moss on my leg was still a bit off.
It was as if the damage was still there, but
hidden away. I was so thankful. I would have done
anything if Garland came asking, and it didn't take too
long before he did. Another email dropped, this time asking
for a whole slew of documents on our Nick project.
Secret stuff the kind you can go to jail for
talking about. And while I was thankful, I had no
intention of incriminating myself, Garland didn't like that, not one bit.
I got one last message from an automated email address,
I can take it all away. It read you got
ten minutes. I didn't know what to believe, but given
how suddenly I gotn't rid of that pain, it wouldn't
surprise me if it was just as simple to return it.
At that point, I still thought it was some kind
of alternative medicine kind of deal. Maybe that was the scam,
having to go back for refills. Either way, I wasn't
about to let it all go to waste. It was
just words on paper. It couldn't hurt me. Besides, there
were plenty of people at that party who'd probably included
with Garland for a long time, and they seemed fine,
so I justified it over and over, trying to make
it seem like a good idea. So yeah, I sent
him whatever he wanted. Seconds later, I got invited back
to the hotel. And that's sort of how it went
for some time. Garland would check on me and I'd
send him copies. He'd invite me over to the hotel
for pretty much whatever I wanted. And yeah, I knew
it was bad, but I felt amazing. It was impossible
to feel bad about my choices when everything in my
body was screaming at me that this was the right
thing to do. I got to sit in on all
kinds of meetings between Garland and some of the other
broken necks. They were talking about renting out a hotel
for something they called the Blue Hill Tried meeting. It
sounded like an event just like any other, but something
about the way they talked about it made it sound
shady as hell. There was always someone strange at the door,
people wanting to hire a step minder, a guy who
collected rare organs, a group of people who talked about
getting back room access to a hotel. I'm not sure why,
but it sounded like they were sneaking into rooms. These
were shady people, and I was okay with it. It
was like a drug. I couldn't stop myself. It felt
like my body was in better condition than it had
ever been, and yet I'd slip up every now and then.
My leg wasn't really okay. It just kind of felt
like it was. I'd seen this and the other people too. Rain,
for example, as soon as she took a scarf off,
her head would bob back and forth like a muscle's
supporting her. Other people in the society had a variety
of issues, but Garland had helped them forget it. One
guy had an inverted knee like an ostrich. There was
a woman who had an arm she could just twist
and turn any way she wanted. Hell, even the doorman
seemed to have issues. I think they had actually broken necks.
The thought hit me that some of these people might
actually die if it wasn't for Garland and his treatment.
Maybe they really didn't have a choice but to serve.
I couldn't help but to notice some cracks in the veneer.
It started with Rain. She was having trouble giving Garland
something he demanded once, and he wasn't happy about it.
He invited me over to the side of his throne
in the middle of a society gathering, and raised his
hand out of the bowl, pointing at Rain. His hand
seemed to mummify. Seconds later, Rain's head swung back and
forth like a bobble head as whatever strength she'd had
in her neck waned. She begged and pleaded, and then
collapsed to the floor. She swore she'd get it done
whatever he wanted. Rain lay in the floor like a
broken doll, barely able to move her eyes and arms.
She had trouble breathing. I wanted to go up and help,
but I couldn't. The entire room was acting like nothing
was happening. When Garland was satisfied with her promises, he
raised his other hand at her. His hand mummified and
Rain's legs started moving again. I offered a help, but
she got up on her own. As she stormed off,
Garland waved me over. You keep doing what you do,
he smiled, and that won't be you. This was the
status quo for months. At least once a week I'd
go see Garland. He got me a new car, he
paid for an apartment, and Whenever I'd ran into a problem,
he'd fix it, be it economical, physical, whatever. He had
a guy for everything, stocks, in investments, he had a
sure thing private jet to Italy on the ground in
six hours flat, no questions asked. But I saw some
nasty stuff. People losing control of their bodies, falling to
the floor, screaming, entire groups of people begging at Garland's feet.
He'd hand out gifts and punishments like it was nothing,
seemingly at random. But to me, I mean I was
doing okay, no repercussions. I was fine, But that changed.
My company was running into issues where competing firms were
beating us to new contracts. We were facing contract breaches
and a loss of revenue. Our stock prices were tanking,
and someone was buying out minor share investors. All of
a sudden, we were getting uncomfortable questions, people being called
in for meetings. It was checking our emails. Sure, I'd
cover my tracks, but I was getting nervous. And in
the middle of all this, Garland wanted more. He didn't
care if I got caught or not. He wanted his
and nothing I said would get in the way. But
I literally couldn't get his documents anymore. He was read alert.
I was sweating bullets. I sent back a message telling
him I couldn't get it. I got the same standard
message as always, I can take it all away. You
got ten minutes. I tried to explain I couldn't get
to it. I checked if I could log into an
alternate account and access the folders anonymously, but there was
no way. Passwords were changed, there were new logs procedures
to record our activity. It was over. I couldn't do it.
I just stared at my phone as ten minutes past,
but there was no message. Nothing. I locked at my leg,
expecting it to wake with the pain I hadn't felt
for so long come back. What was going to happen
to me? I figured I had two choices. I could
try get to Garlands and plead my case, or hurried
back home and tried to cover my tracks. I was
out in the parking lot in about two minutes. Suddenly
I was getting calls from random numbers, texts from unknown people.
My landlord was texting me something about my lease being invalid.
I couldn't even get my car to start. Garland had
people who could shut it off remotely, and I think
he used it. I got in a cab, feeling my
phone buzz with messages and calls. He was all falling apart.
I'd failed Garland and he was pulling the rug out.
I had some incriminating stuff on my own computer that
I had to clear, but that was it. Just one
little car ride and that'd be that. About halfway to
my place, the taxi stopped. He just pulled over by
the side of the highway. The driver leaned back. I'm
on break, he said. Supervisor said, I'm taking a break.
You can't just I gotta get home. I'm on break,
but I got it on break. Didn't matter what I said.
I was stranded. I got out, and the moment my
feet touched the asphalt, he sped off. I was standing
by the side of the highway screaming at him to
come back. He was already dark out, and all I
saw were anonymous cars speeding past that seventy five miles
per hour. I could barely navigate anything on my phone.
I kept getting pop ups. They had evolved from messages
to constant spam. My internet connection was down to Garland
was pulling out all the stops to show his disappe.
I managed to get to a diner further down the road.
Old timey place meant for about twelve guests at most.
There were a handful of other people there, mostly truckers.
They sort of looked like a refurbished bus with the
kitchen welded on. I hurried inside, asking if I could
borrow a phone and call a cab. The two other
guests followed me with their eyes, unsure what to make
of me. The owner didn't seem to mind. She could
tell I was having a rough day. She picked up
a phone and dialed a number. I barely got time
to sit down before I saw her expression change. Someone
was calling her. I was probably being tracked. She turned
to me, looking through a hole in the kitchen door.
She shook her head and told me she was sorry.
Moments later she was out of the door and the
lights went out. Three men entered the diner. The two
truckers looked at them, then me, and promptly left. It
had barely been a couple of minutes, and sure I
was stronger and healthier than ever, but I couldn't take
on three people. As the front door closed, I heard
the click of a telescope bat on unfolding. For a moment,
it was all quiet. I tried to make my case slowly.
I couldn't get to it. I said, I'm sorry, not
good enough. One of them approached me, holding the bat
in towards me like a pointing stick. It poked against
my chest. I could feel my heart beating through my clothes,
as if trying to push it away. You went back in.
You're gonna have to do better. I'm out, I said,
I can't. I'm out. You sure about that. I don't
want to be a problem. The three men looked at
one another. Getting a better view of them, I could
see these were men deep in Garland's pockets. One had
a neck like a bobble head, similar to rain, Another
had these strange ticks from his arm all the way
up to his eye, some kind of nerve damage. And
the third, the guy with the baton. His eyes were
pale white, like he was supposed to be blind, but
he clearly wasn't. He's gonna ruin your life, the blind
man said, ain't no question about it, he already has.
The three of them gave each other a curious look,
and I saw an opportunity. Their guard was down and
I had a clear shot to the front door. Neither
of them had locked it. I had to go for it.
I burst into a sprint, barely making it past the
first two and pushing aside the third. I flew through
the door, stumbling out into the parking lot gravel. There
was a single light post overhead, casting the parking lot
in long shadows. Another twelve or so people waited for
me outside some with crooked legs and backs, one woman
with no lips, a man with an open gunshot wound
to the neck. These weren't the people you'd see at
the parties. These with a secret backbone. I kept Garland
and his group floating. These with the real broken necks,
the people who brought in the money, one more ghoulish
than the next. They circled around me with nie and guns.
One guy was carrying a car battery and cables tossed
over his shoulder. Bad move, said the blind man, Real
bad move. I tried to run for it, but it
was too late. I got grabbed, pushed back, and the
circle tightened. Someone had a bad lung, making their laughs
sound like a stalling engine. A baton strike to the
back of my leg put me on the ground. It
didn't matter what I said or what I promised, they
weren't having it. These were people that without Garland and
his touch, they'd be dead or worse. I was just
the sellout with a bomb leg. They'd done far worse
to far better people, and they were going to do
something far worse than just mess up my leg. Going
to go into detail on the twenty minute abuse. I
lived through the cuts, the beatings, the gasoline water boarding,
all from a crowd of broken bodies, crooked smiles and
heaving laughter. I remember a darkness descending on me as
my head desperately tried to carry blood back to my brain.
I was dipping in and out of consciousness, waning back
and forth between begging for it to end and hoping
I could pull through, that some miracle would show itself. Instead,
I heard Garland as the beating stopped. His voice boiled
its way into my blood stained ear. I could fix you,
you know, he said. If I did, I could put
you right back here. That's a strong incentive. He stepped back.
I heard the crowd and pose itself ready for anything.
But what's the point, he sighed, You're not trustworthy. You're nothing.
He brush some hair aside, and with that he left
and threw all the burning wounds and scathing clothes. I
felt something in my leg, that everlasting, dull, throbbing nerve damage.
True to his word, I was right back to where
I started. One of the truckers who'd been at the
diner had called the cops, but they conveniently only showed
up after the beating was over, and from what little
I heard through my swollen ears, they weren't really there
to check on me. They were there from an anonymous
tip pointing me out as an insider in breach of contract.
I was still in the hospital when I got the news.
I lost everything, my job, my apartment, my car, my phone,
my savings, hell, even my freedom. Some one had served
the prosecutor a case on a silver platter. Four years
was the best deal I could get. Nowadays, that life
is behind me, it feels like yesterday, and the scars
are still there. I know I messed up. I know
a lot of this was my own doing, and I
accept that I'm being honest. I thought I could get
away with it. When you're in that cloud, in that
inner circle, it all just feels right not just physically
but socially. I've seen Rain a couple of times. She's
back in a wheel chair. I don't think Garland appreciated
her role as my sponsor, but she's not out of
his good graces yet. She still has a job and
she refuses to talk to me. I think Garland is
keeping her on a short leash, and if she does well,
she might have a way back in. But me, I mean,
I'm out. I don't know what the society does nowadays,
and I'm not sure I want to. I don't want
anything to do with that part of the world anymore.
I guess I should be thankful that they didn't take
me out completely. Maybe I'm worth more as an example.