Rentboy

amazed at these people and how quickly they acted. “I had no idea what my
    dad and Maputwa were up to, and that slimy bloke, Howard. Eddie didn’t either. He had less of a
    clue than me.”
    “We know that, Fox. As soon as you knew the seriousness of the situation, you worked to
    prevent it. You did the right thing. You’re both very brave.”
    “It was God’s idea to come to your people,” Fox said. “I didn’t think anyone would believe
    me.”
    “God?”
    “Godfrey Rooke.”
    “Ahh.” Conran went into his briefcase again to remove a document. He placed it on a clipboard
    and handed Fox a pen. “Read this and sign it.”
    The Official Secrets Act was emblazed across the top of the document in calligraphy. Fox read
    the act and scrawled his name at the bottom.
    “I must go now,” Mr. Conran said. “Get well, and I will arrange a psychologist to assist you
    with the PTSD.”
    Conran was at the door when Fox said, “I want to see Eddie. I want to say sorry for all the lies I
    told him.”
    “He’s already had two surgeries today, his leg and his face. Two different surgeons were
    needed, so he won’t be in any shape to communicate for a while. Aside from that, his debrief is more
    extensive than yours. You can see him after you both leave here if you want to. You may be well
    enough to leave the day after tomorrow. Even though your physical injuries were more immediately
    life threatening, his will take longer to heal.”
    Mr. Conran had the most reassuring voice. Why couldn’t he have a dad like him instead of the
    nutjob he got?
    “Get some sleep, Fox.”

    * * * *
    It was still dark out when Fox sat upright and dropped his feet to the floor. Experimentally he

    pushed himself up off the bed until he was standing. He felt quite steady and attempted a couple of
    steps. He was naked, and while that didn’t bother him in the least, he doubted it would be a good idea
    to go in search of Eddie like that. A built-in wardrobe across the room caught his attention. Inside he
    found a dressing gown that, while it was new, looked like something Eddie’s dad would wear. “Very
    fetching,” he said, looking at the navy blue and gray stripes. After some fiddling around he figured out
    how to unhook his intravenous bag from the pole, slide it through the arm, and pull on the dressing
    gown. Decently covered, he pushed his IV pole outside into the dim corridor.
    It was more like a hotel than a hospital, nice furniture, none of that utilitarian plastic and metal
    crap NHS hospitals used. Vases of fresh flowers adorned alcoves and tables in the waiting areas. The
    place wasn’t that big, but it was incredibly well equipped. He didn’t get far before a uniformed
    security guard stopped him.
    “Can I help you, sir?” No one had ever called him sir before. Goths were the least likely people
    on earth to be called sir. Aside from that, it reminded him of his father.
    “Name’s Fox. Take me to Dr. Edward Atherton’s room.”
    “I’m not sure I can do that, sir,” the man said.
    From a nearby nurse’s station a couple of nurses came hurrying over, one male and one female.
    “Let me help you back to your room, Mr. Baillie.”
    They were not going to treat him like an Alzheimer’s patient, and he was not going anywhere
    without checking that Eddie was still in the land of the living. “I’m not going back to my room until
    I’ve seen Eddie. Now take me to Eddie, or I’ll start screaming.” After a brief demonstration, his still-
    raw throat was killing him, and the nurses quickly assured him they would see what they could do.
    One rushed back to the desk and got on the phone. The other said to the security guard, “Get him a
    wheelchair. He shouldn’t really be out of bed.”
    The relief he felt when he sank down into the comfortable wheelchair was huge. He hadn’t
    realized how exhausted he was. For several minutes Fox sat resting while the security guard held on
    to the handles of the chair to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.
    “Right, what’s this?” A youngish male doctor walked up to him.
    “Take me to my boyfriend, Dr. Atherton, right now.” If he sounded really determined, they
    would have to comply with him.
    “All right, but he was still asleep last time I looked in on him.” He took control of the
    wheelchair. The sensation of riding in the chair was not pleasant. It moved too fast when he was still
    a bit dizzy. He felt really out of control to have someone else moving him