Who Played Whom Chapter 6
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Gay!Chapter 43 free porn video
An indeterminate time later, I woke up again. The bed had been lowered again, so I was lying rather than sitting, and the blind was fully shut, suggesting daytime was over. A different nurse was in the room but, since she was wearing the same design of uniform as the previous one, I guessed Mr Kafkasian was paying for her too.
The sippy cup had been removed. “Please may I have some water?” I asked, making the nurse start. My voice felt stronger now.
“Hello Mr Randell, it’s good to see you awake at last,” said the nurse with a smile. By some sleight of hand she produced a sippy cup and filled it with water. I gulped it down.
“Would you like a refill? Can I get you anything else?” she asked.
“Is my mum still here? I’d like some more of her soup.”
“I don’t think she’s left the hospital since you were brought in. I’ll go and ask her.”
The nurse left the room but left the door open. I could hear voices outside.
“The FBI agreed with Dr Maltby that I could talk to my son from the doorway,” I heard my mum insisting. “I know the rules.”
There was a short argument but my mum prevailed and she appeared in the doorway. “Hi Kevin, the nurse said you wanted some more soup.”
“Yes please.”
“It will take a few minutes. It’s in the nurses’ freezer.”
She disappeared, then reappeared a few minutes later with another microwaved dish of soup.
The nurse raised me to a sitting position without being asked. I saw that ‘Angie Galthwaite’ was more my type than Gayle, and yet still I felt nothing.
I wolfed down the soup, enjoying the sensation of fullness in my stomach.
“Thanks Mum, that was just what I needed,” I called out.
“Do you need anything else?” she asked.
“Is Dr Maltby still here? I guess I’d better talk to him.” I figured the sooner I talked to him, the sooner I could find out about Joanna, and even what had happened to me to get the medical staff so pleased that I had woken up
“He went back to his office, but it’s only five minutes away,” said Mum. “He said he was staying late and to call him when you were ready to talk. Should I make the call?”
Unlike last time, I felt wide awake after eating. “Yes please. I’d like to get it over with.”
Dr Maltby arrived a short time later, closing the door behind him.
“Sorry I fell asleep on you last time,” I apologised.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Dr Maltby. “I understand completely. Are you sure you’re ready to talk?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “How is this going to work?”
Dr Maltby got out his laptop. “May I record our conversation on my laptop?”
“Will it be confidential?”
“Yes, since you’ll be protected by client-attorney privilege. I’d like you to be completely frank and honest because the more information you give me, the better I can ascertain what should be passed on to the FBI agents.”
“Should she be in here?” I asked, indicating Angie.
“I’m being paid by Mr Kafkasian to monitor you twenty-four seven,” Angie nurse said. “Patient confidentiality applies but if Mr Kafkasian were to question what I’d overheard, I’d be in a difficult position because I wouldn’t have the same legal protection as Dr Maltby. I can wait outside if you want, or I can read my book with a pair of headphones on so I won’t be able to overhear what you’re saying.”
I was impressed by her honesty. “Okay, you can stay,” I said. “Please could you refill my water first.”
“Of course,” said Angie, looking guilty. “I should have done that anyway.” She refilled my water, donned a pair headphones then went to sit in a corner to read a book.
“The FBI agents who want to interview you are good guys and their interview will not be adversarial because you’re not under suspicion of any crime, but there might be details that are not appropriate for them to know,” explained Dr Maltby. “When you’re ready I’ll start recording then I’d like you to give as complete an account as you can remember of the events leading to your being here in hospital. I’m hoping we’ll be able to edit the recording and play it to the FBI agents as your testimony. They’ll undoubtedly have questions but it will expedite the process and the sooner it’s over the sooner you can see your family and friends. Is that okay?”
“Can I have a copy of the recording?”
“Of course, both the raw footage and any edited copy we share with the FBI.”
“Thanks. Just let me get my thoughts in order.”
“Take your time,” said Dr Maltby. “Let me know when you’re ready to begin, and just say whenever you need a break.”
I realised there was no way I could leave out the witchcraft angle, so I’d have to tell it all or they’d likely notice all sorts of internal inconsistencies and non sequiturs. And the police knew about my spending the night in the hotel with Jo, so I couldn’t fudge that. I realised I was thinking for what seemed like quite a long time, but Dr Maltby didn’t seem fazed. I decided the best starting point was that afternoon in the mall when we saw the witch for the first time.
“Can I ask you something? When you look at me, do you automatically think I’m gay?” I asked.
“What a strange question,” said Dr Maltby, scrutinising me carefully. “I’ve never thought it possible to determine sexuality based solely on appearance and you’re no exception.”
Inwardly I felt relief that one nightmare seemed to be over. Dr Maltby’s reply supported my theory that the spell had died with the witch, if the ancient-looking skeleton in modern women’s clothing wearing a functioning gold wristwatch was actually her. “Okay, I think I’m ready to start,” I said.
“Then I’ll start recording,” said Dr Maltby. “There’s a very good internal microphone but it would help if you spoke slowly and clearly.”
I nodded.
Dr Maltby pressed some keys on his laptop, then said, “Dr Keelan Maltby interview with Kevin Randell at...” Then he said the date and time and the name of a university teaching hospital.
“Wait, I’m not at the city hospital?” I asked, as it dawned on me that I wasn’t even in the same state. I decided not to comment that he’d let slip it was four weeks since my ordeal on the mountain.
“I’m sorry, I assumed someone would have told you. Mr Kafkasian had you flown by private plane to a hospital with one of the top neurological departments in the country. This university teaching hospital is about five hundred miles from your home town.”
“How did my mother get here? Where is she staying?”
“Mr Kafkasian has put one of his planes at your family’s disposal. They came to see you while you were still asleep, and now you’re awake I expect they’ll be back again tomorrow. Because the hospital accepts patients from long distances away, they have a facility to accommodate their visitors. Your mother is staying in a room here, although she spends most of the time sitting outside your room.”
“Are there any more surprises in store for me?” I asked.
“Perhaps,” said Dr Maltby enigmatically. “If you have no more questions, I think it would be best to restart the interview.”
I nodded.
Dr Maltby repeated his preamble then I was off. I gave as full an account of events as I could remember, although I self-edited out certain details. Nobody needed to know about Terri’s incestuous flirting with me, the minutiae of my sexual encounters, Dimitri’s bestiality video, Mrs Crocker watching me and Eugenie kissing, Coach Budd kissing me on the forehead, or Joanna and me having sex when we spent the night in the hotel together. Dr Maltby interrupted to ask for clarifications once or twice, but mostly he was happy to let my narrative flow.
Finally I got to the scene in the Calhouns’ yard and my sense of failure when my strength gave out as my expected source of salvation drove his truck into a barn.
Dr Maltby waited for perhaps half a minute then, realising I had finished, added an end note to the recording before terminating it.
“That’s excellent, Kevin. I think we can give this to the FBI with very few changes,” said Dr Maltby. “I also think I can enlighten you about a couple of details without violating the FBI’s intentions. Mr Calhoun has a satellite phone for just such emergencies. Based on his son’s assessment of Joanna’s condition, he used it to summon an Air Ambulance. And he moved his truck out of the way so the helicopter could land in his yard.”
I suppose I should have been relieved in some way that my despair had been misplaced, but I mostly felt empty. It was history. And I still didn’t know Joanna’s condition.
There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said Dr Maltby, “we’ve reached a convenient place for a break.”
The first visitor was a member of the hospital catering staff. “I’ve brought the sandwich you ordered, Dr Maltby.” Then she looked at me. “Hello, good to see you’re awake. There’s nothing ordered for you but if you like I can get the chef to rustle up something quick for you, like an omelette.”
“I’d like some more of my mum’s soup if there is any,” I said.
“Coming right up,” said my mum from just outside the door where she’d been hovering.
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