Rentboy (26 page)

Thrashing about, he tipped the chair and felt hands gripping him roughly, righting the chair and holding it still. In another second the water he was inhaling from the wet towel was nearly cut off when something else covered it. Maputwa had wrapped the plastic bin bag over the towel and was twisting it tightly at his neck.

Fox couldn’t move or breathe. Fear and panic shot through his muscles and brought bile up from his stomach into his mouth. Powerless to spit it out, he began to choke. He was going to die.

Do anything to me. Rape me, beat me, but don’t take my air.

Survival instincts kicked in when death was imminent. In an attempt to dislodge the towel and bag, Fox shook his head so violently he felt as if he had dislocated the vertebrae in his neck. All the time he could hear Eddie screaming his name.

“That’s enough. Stop now.”

The voice filtering through his fear was his father’s. The bag and towel came off at once. Gratitude flooded him. Even his father could not watch him being tortured and was sorry he had suggested it. The sudden light after the moments of blinding darkness caused Fox to close his eyes as he gasped for breath. Burning yellow bile spilled from his mouth down the front of his shirt.

It was over. But it wasn’t. The sight of the bin bag lying on the floor brought on a fresh wave of nausea. Fox couldn’t remember eating that day, but there was something in his stomach, because it came up now, spilling down his shirt and between his feet as he leaned forward. The water he had inhaled dripped from his nose. Even when the water had cleared and his stomach was empty, he gasped for air as if it had been cut off again.

The fear in the pit of his belly had become a knot tightening like a tourniquet. He feared it would never go away again. A tear ran down his cheek when he looked at his father’s face on the screen.

He must love me, because even he couldn’t watch me being tortured.

“Dr. Atherton, are you ready to talk to us?” Baillie asked.

Fox looked at Eddie, who nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just don’t hurt Fox again.”

“Eddie, don’t. So many innocent people will die. I can’t bear to step on an ant, and you’ve got more morals that all these arseholes put together. We can’t let people die.” As he said the words, he felt vaguely safe. William Baillie would put an end to this. He would not let them hurt his son again. But what if they turned on Eddie? He could not see his father because of the angle the iPad was being held at. “Sir, please make them stop.”

Howard leaned down into Eddie’s face. “Dr. Atherton, are you ready to give me the formula? If you are, Mr. Maputwa will release you both, and when you are done, these men will drop you at the nearest hospital. You really should get something done about that leg.”

Eddie looked at Fox. “I’m going to tell them what they want. I can’t let them hurt you again.”

“They’re not going to hurt me anymore. Dad, tell them, please.”

“Do it again.”

His father’s voice was clear and loud in the silent room.

“Torture Fox again just to show these fools who they are dealing with. If I was there, I’d do it myself.”

In a dream Fox watched Maputwa soak the towel for a second time. As he approached him with the dripping cloth, the man was grinning so broadly every one of his yellow teeth showed in his dark gums. The red veins in his eyes stood out like a mad Jackson Pollock painting. The numbness that had followed the first assault was gone in a flash. Fight-or-flight gripped Fox’s body, shooting adrenaline through his muscles just as it had a few minutes ago. But he could not fight them, and he could not run. His scream tore at his throat.

Again he inhaled water as the bag wound tightly over the towel, cutting off his air, squeezing the remaining water from the towel, which Fox inhaled as he gasped for breath. There was none of the peace he found with cutting, only unimaginable fear, followed by pain as the water burned his breathing passages and the panic of finding himself unable to breathe. On and on it went as Eddie screamed and Maputwa laughed.

Again William Baillie’s voice said, “Stop now.”

The bag came off and then the towel. Every breath Fox took was painful all the way from his nose down into his watery lungs. He was drowning as he sat there.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Eddie said, and this time Fox did not tell him not to. The towel and bag were thrown onto the floor at his feet. As if they were writhing poisonous snakes, he attempted to shimmy his chair away from them. Just looking at them made him want to throw up again.

In the madness of their dilemma Fox could focus on nothing but staying alive, on his next breath, and on Eddie, who was about to hand over everything he believed in to save Fox from further pain.

A pop like a champagne cork escaping a bottle sounded in the suddenly still room, followed instantly by another and another. The noises came from both ends of the kitchen. One by one in breathtaking succession the men dropped to the ground, Maputwa, Dr. Howard, the minders. The whole thing happened so fast, and the men were so stoned they could not get out their weapons in time.

In a daze Fox looked at the men scattered about the floor, every one of them with blood streaming from their heads.

“Fox?” Eddie gasped.

“We’re gonna die,” he replied.

Two men walked into the middle of the room. One came through the back door, the other from the door to the hall. One was very tall and handsome with a shaved head and startling blue eyes, the other younger, slender, beautiful, with short blond hair. They wore identical black clothing and made no sound when they walked. The bigger man spoke into his lapel. “All clear. Maputwa is dead. The targets are safe. They need medical assistance ASAP. Give us two minutes to get out of here.”

The tall man looked at the younger man. “You check those three. I’ll check these two.”

“I killed one outside the back door, sir. He was unconscious but not dead.” The younger man had an American accent.

“Good boy,” the older man said in a tone and with a look that spoke love.

Methodically they went from man to man, putting a second bullet through the back of each head. “I don’t suppose you could kill my dad as well,” Fox said.

Without a word the man looked at him, and then the two disappeared out through the back door into the night. The rain had stopped, and for a moment Fox looked at Eddie in the silence and then around him at the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Water seeped up from his throat, and he was choking again, unable to breathe.

Something was choking Fox. There was something in his throat. He was awakening out of a dream where he had been drowning, suffocating. Filled with fear, panicked, and at the same time angry, Fox grabbed at his face, only to have his hands grasped and pulled away. He tried to sit up and was pushed back down.

“Get the fuck off me!” he screamed.

“Everything is fine, Afton. You’re safe. You’re safe. Stop fighting.” Only his mum called him Afton, but it wasn’t her voice.

Fox opened his eyes. Two women, one in a white coat, the other dressed like a nurse, looked down at him.

“There’s a tube in your nose going down your throat. If we let go of your hands, you mustn’t touch the tube. Okay?” the doctor said.

Coming to full consciousness, he panted, “’Kay.”

The doctor leaned on the bed rail with both hands. “And there is a drip in your hand supplying you with fluids. Do you know where you are?”

“Sounds like a mental health question.”

Both women smiled. The nurse said, “You are in St. Mark’s. It’s a private hospital just outside London.”

“Private? I don’t know who is going to pay you,” Fox said. “I doubt my dad will. He tried to kill me.”

“Don’t worry. It’s taken care of. Do you remember what happened to you?”

The kitchen, Maputwa, drowning. Those two blokes in black who shot the place up. Eddie. “Eddie!”

The doctor pressed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Dr. Atherton is in surgery. They’re trying to put his leg back together. He also has a fractured cheekbone, which was repaired earlier today. He’s going to have a fair bit of metal in him by the time he’s done.”

“Will he…” He could hardly say the words.

“Oh, he’ll live. He has serious injuries, but it’s you who were in danger of dying, not him. You were brought here in the nick of time. I’m going to pull the tube out of your nose now. It will feel strange, but don’t worry; I’ll do it quickly. Ready?”

He wasn’t ready, but she did it so fast he had no time to protest. A horrible pulling sensation was followed by the feeling that a worm or something equally gross was slithering up his throat and out through his nose, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of panic. He gagged and coughed, grabbing at the doctor’s hands.

“Calm down, Afton. Everything is fine.”

“Don’t fucking call me Afton. My name’s Fox.” He had no idea why he felt so angry and out of control.

“Fox,” she said. “I’ll write that on your chart. Now I’m going to remove your catheter.”

“What’s that?”

She drew down the light blanket and sheet. “It’s in your penis to take the urine. It’s standard when you have surgery.” As she spoke, she pulled it out. Again a slithering feeling made his stomach muscles tighten, and the end of his cock stung.

“Are you done fucking around with me?” He really should not be speaking to them like that. He was not even conscious when they removed him from the farm, because he had no memory of anything but bringing up water and choking.

“Yes, we’re done. Someone will be in to debrief you soon.” She stood up straight. “All right, Fox.” It seemed she had not taken offense at his tone, because she kept hers calm and kind.

“Debrief? Sounds like the military. Why do I need a debrief?”

“Everything will be explained.” She indicated a red cord attached to the wall. “That’s a call button. Pull it if you need help with anything. Don’t get up without help. You’re still weak.”

The nurse straightened the bedding, and they both left.

For a long while he lay alone in the private room. It was really pretty with nice curtains and proper armchairs, not his choice in design, which was far more dramatic, but it was nicer than any hospital he had ever seen. There were flowers beside the bed. He looked over at the window. The curtains were drawn, but the gap between them showed it was night out. Was it the same night, or had days gone by?

Shit! Mum and the twins. Are they all right? Is she feeding them?

William Baillie’s face filled his head.
Fucking bastard. You told them to torture me, you fucking bastard. You told them to do it again after I threw up.

The memory of the towel and the plastic bin bag brought panic rising up in his chest again. He sat upright, gasping for air, but he felt so weak. His back hurt; his chest hurt.

“Shall I fetch a nurse?” A slim, tallish man in a well-tailored suit watched him from the door.

“I’m all right. You are a doctor?”

“No.” The man closed the door and pulled a chair up to the bed. “My name is Stephen Conran. I need to talk to you about what happened.”

“I’m really worried about my mum and my sister and brother. Mum can’t look after them properly. She drinks.”

“Someone has already been over to your home to tell Mrs. Baillie where you are. She seemed to be coping quite well, though they did say she had been drinking. I’ll send someone over there again to check on your siblings. Don’t worry about them. They’ll be fine.”

Another whoosh of memory came back. It was as if everything that led up to this moment had been wiped away in the fear of his near-death experience. The towel and the bin bag were like a rebirth of some sort. Like everything before it was a dream. “Oh, I remember now. Everything is such a blur when you think you’re going to die. You forget things because they don’t seem important anymore. All that matters is being alive and being able to breathe.”

Conran nodded as if he understood completely. He had really nice eyes, a pale blue. Not the startling blue eyes the big bloke had. “Who were those dudes who shot everyone? The young one with the American accent and the big bloke?”

“Don’t worry about them. They did their job.”

“But I want to give them a big kiss.”

Conran gave a little laugh. “I’ll pass that on.”

“Can you get them to kill my dad?”

After a pause, Mr. Conran said, “We don’t do that sort of thing, Fox. We don’t kill people on request. It is unfortunate those men had to die, but it was the only way to get you and Dr. Atherton safely out of there.”

“I’m glad they’re dead. They were evil. Was it you the vicar spoke to?”

“Yes, we had a long chat. He’s a good man. You were right to confide in him.”

“So you’re MI6.”

Without acknowledging the question, Mr. Conran continued, “He told me your father, Captain Baillie, ordered you to steal Dr. Atherton’s computer. Do you feel well enough to tell me about it yourself?”

“All right.” From the first order to lure Eddie, he told Mr. Conran everything. Several times he had to pause while the man held a glass of water for him, allowing him to sip from a straw. “My throat feels raw.” He left out the part about the sex, but he made certain to say, “I knew I loved him, almost from that first day. He’s totally weird, he never gets jokes or anything, and he eats Pot Noodles, but he’s great. He’s really great.”

With a gentle smile, Mr. Conran patted his shoulder. “That’s lovely. Can you continue?”

The last thing Fox wanted to talk about was what happened in Eddie’s house, but he did his best. “My dad was on Skype.”

“Captain William Baillie? He works as a mercenary soldier now he’s retired. Is that right?”

“Yeah, but I only just found that out. He told Maputwa to torture me to make Eddie talk. Then he told him how to do it and when to stop before I died.” The fear of the moment flooded back. Fox gasped, gulping in air as the memory grabbed him again. “I couldn’t breathe without inhaling water. I was drowning sitting up. My dad told that drug-crazed psycho how to torture me.”

Mr. Conran took Fox’s hand. “It’s much worse when you are betrayed by someone you love.”