It didn't take long for Roger to find himself in a hospital room again, sitting on a stretcher bed surrounded by four walls decorated with dancing baby animal paintings. As angry as he was about it inside, he realized he couldn't complain too much because no one had even really done anything to him yet and he'd been here for quite some time. The doctor (he assumed he was a doctor; he had a white coat and a stethoscope) had actually stopped a nurse coming towards Roger with a needle in her hand and instead had put him on the bed and was talking to Eleanor for quite some time. He was given a cup of water, which he was suspicious of so he didn't drink it, to help his sore throat. The young man was listening intently to her as she spoke at great length. Roger half wondered what they were saying. Was he sick? Was he going to die? They're after you. He brought his arms close to his chest and hugged himself.
Eleanor paused to sigh, expecting this doctor to also wave her away and dismiss her concerns about this boy just as that psychiatrist, just as every other doctor that treated Roger had done. "A thirty-eight page letter," the man whistled. "And it was coherent? It made sense?"
"Every word." she replied firmly. There was another pause between the two of them.
"I'm sorry the psychiatrist for the other boy didn't help you much. I can attempt to reach out to him if Roger stays the night here for 'observation'." he emphasized the last word by making air quotes with his fingers.
"Y-You…you believe it?" Eleanor asked in disbelief. "You think it's true? That this really happened to him?"
"I certainly know that traumatic experiences happen to the most undeserving people and those who have no voice of their own to tell their story. Roger seems coherent. He doesn't have speech capabilities but he knows and understands the world around him. This isn't some erotomatic delusion—he truly believes he was being loved. The poor boy has no idea what love is and this may have destroyed his ability to learn its truth."
Eleanor almost felt tears well into her eyes. Finally, someone believed her. Someone believed him. Someone wasn't brushing him aside as a lost cause, a hopeless case, an insane lunatic. "He's…good." she choked out, hating the way her voice sounded. "He does as he's told, he keeps to himself, he's tidy…he's just…just…odd. I know he hears things that aren't there but that doesn't mean—"
"It doesn't mean that he isn't credible in other parts of his life." the doctor finished for her with a gentle smile. "We can get to the bottom of it. We can get him help and justice in one way or another. We've just got to be…creative about it. I'll show the world that his limitations aren't life-sentences." He shuffled some papers in a folder and cleared his throat as a nurse came by. "Now Ms. Eleanor Day, will you sign for this patient's admission to the hospital? I'd like to evaluate him further because I suspect he may have mumps." He winked at the last part. Eleanor smiled. She took the pen.
Roger stayed in the hospital for the night and was grateful to not have had anyone come by and touch him or try to give him medicine or needles or yucky drinks that were slimy. He slept through the night from sheer fatigue. However, he noticed he wasn't going back to the orphanage throughout the next day. Or the next night. Or the next day again. Eleanor was still there with him and she was doing a lot of talking with the doctor as well—the same doctor, the one that didn't hurt Roger. It wasn't until the end of the second day there at the hospital that Eleanor wrote Roger a note stating that she had to go back to the orphanage for the night but she would see him in the morning. Even though he didn't have his friend there anymore, he remained sitting up on his bed watching the doorway; occasionally the doctor would walk by and give a small wave to him. But Roger didn't want to make any new friends. Just Eleanor.
The sun was setting outside the window across the hallway from his room. He watched as shadows began to creep along the floorboards, intently fixated on their irregularities and shapes. He was feeling better—why wasn't he going back to the orphanage yet? Suddenly movement outside the door caught his eye. Someone was coming in. That was odd, people didn't come in to Roger's room. He looked up and was absolutely thunderstruck to see a tall boy, flaming red hair, and green eyes. Jack. Jack!
Roger wheezed. It felt like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs—this was it! This was what he'd been waiting months and months for! Jack was coming to save him, to rescue him, to take him away from everything so that they could live in happiness and love… Roger nearly fell out of bed as he flailed his arms, opening them and reaching out to Jack so that he could he hugged. But the hug didn't come. Jack sat down on the small chair in the room just across from the bed. He didn't move. Roger still desperately attempted to gain the attention from his favorite person that he was craving—he even let out small vocalizations in hopes of Jack giving in and just coming to save him already. He watched intently as Jack grabbed the little chalkboard (which Eleanor and the doctor used to communicate with him through writing) off the counter. This was it. He'd finally tell Roger that he'd missed him, that he was here to take him home. Roger couldn't wait to get his hands on the board to explain to Jack just how much longing he'd felt, how much he'd waited for this…
When Jack passed Roger the chalkboard, Roger grabbed it eagerly and prepared his heart so that it wouldn't burst with excitement. It didn't burst. In fact, it got kind of cold. There was one simple sentence on the board. "You told." Roger quickly scribbled a response, a bit confused as to why Jack was being vague. "I told what?"
"About us." Jack's reply didn't make sense—of course, Roger had written him a letter!
"I wrote to you,"
"They tricked you. It wasn't a letter to me. You gave details about our story."
"Yes, so that you would know that I missed you. I wanted to find you."
"You ruined me."
Roger was confused now—what was Jack talking about? His letter, the letter he'd written—it had to have gone to him. What could he possibly have questions about? After Roger looked up quizzically, the redhead snatched the chalkboard back and began writing furiously. It took a long time before the board was passed back over to Roger. "You said that we had sex. You gave details. You told them that I coerced you with promises and bribes."
"No, I wrote to you, I was trying to explain to you. It hurt sometimes and I was scared but I wanted to make you happy as your second-in-command. We did that so that you could be a man. You said so. You said it would make you a man. So I did it to make you happy because I love you."
"I told you to never tell anyone about it."
"But I was only telling you."
"You didn't, you told everyone. And your doctor told my counselor and now your doctor wants an investigation done and my parents found out. They're going to know what I did to you because you wrote it down."
"You never came back for me. You promised you would come back for me and we could be happy forever. I had to find you somehow. I need you. You said you would always help me. I need help. I'm scared. I hear voices. Please make it stop."
Suddenly Roger felt a stinging slap across his cheek. Jack was close now, fury burning in his eyes and the hand he'd used to hit Roger was shaking. Scared and bewildered, Roger stared at the redhead. Jack grabbed the chalkboard and scribbled on it. "I didn't love you." It felt like someone had taken Roger's heart and dipped it into arctic waters as he read this. Jack didn't love him? All this time he didn't love him? He didn't mean what he'd said when he promised he'd help him and always keep him at his side? Jack wiped the board and continued writing. "It wasn't love. It was power. I said what I said to get you to do what I asked. I didn't mean it." Roger was stunned. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't even feel anything. The chalkboard trembled in his hands as he read this over and over again—it couldn't be. This couldn't be real. Jack took the board back and started writing again. It took several minutes before he was actually finished to hand it back over to the small boy on the bed. "I figured we'd be on that island forever and that I would be king. I knew you'd give me anything I asked of you once I promised you my undivided love. It's how you are. You're a desperate, scrounging whore."
Hot tears built up in Roger's eyes as he processed the venom that Jack had spit at him. He made a whimpering sound from his throat—he trusted this boy, he really believed that it was going to be alright as long as Jack was there. And now…he was finding out it was all a trick, a façade. Roger shakily erased the board and with a trembling hand, he wrote his response. "But I did love you." It took Jack a moment to begin writing again, and Roger could already tell that since it was taking him so long to respond it was not going to be a good one. "If you don't tell your doctor that you were delusional when you said that I coerced you, I'll flip the story and say that it was you who took advantage of the other boys for sex. They'll believe me, I'm not mentally insane. You'll be done for." Jack shoved the board at Roger and gave him a moment to read everything over. When Roger looked up with pain and horror in his eyes, Jack snatched the board and erased all of the evidence of blackmail against the boy. He even brought it to the sink and splashed cold water on it to destroy any remnants of chalkdust; without looking back once, he walked out of the tiny room, leaving Roger feeling ice cold and numb on his little bed.