For a second, Tristan felt like he had entered an alternate reality; uncertain if the man beside his bed was really his husband, and he'd simply forgotten. But the letter from Jed, the suitcase by the door... everything was still so fresh in his memory. 

"You're my husband..?" he asked him. 

The man nodded, grateful that Tristan was avoiding his eyes. 

"I'm going to take you home. I've already spoken to your workplace and told them what's happened."

Tristan's thumb hovered over the security alert. "My workplace?" he asked. "Where do I work..?" 

The man's hands were back in his pockets. 

"There's a little foreign supermarket here, and you work there most days. I spoke to Tibur... ah, you probably don't remember. He's your coworker, and he was very worried about you. But they've said you can take whatever time you need to recover before you go back. There's no rush..."

Who the hell was this man? He'd said his name was Caleb. That he was Tristan's husband. The latter was a lie, so why would the first be the truth? Tristan had never seen him before today, and there was no way to gauge what he was trying to do. 

"If you're happy to leave, the doctors are ready to discharge you. The cast will stay on for a while, but the other dressings can be changed at home. They've said your memory is likely to return on its own... but they're willing to keep you in a little longer for observation if you don't feel comfortable leaving yet. It's only if you're willing to leave that you're free to do so."

Staying in the stifling hospital room was bearable, but it couldn't last forever. How long could he pretend not to know who he was? He was sure they already knew he was pretending. 

"Where would you take me?" he asked. 

What did the answer matter? It would probably be another lie. Tristan had no money, all that remained to him was his body. Did he want his organs? His identity? Surely there was a simpler way to get them than having to pose as his husband. 

Caleb adjusted his glasses. 

"We have an apartment not far from where you work... there are two bedrooms, so you could have your own space while you recover. There's even a lock on the door..."

Tristan wanted to laugh. These were his options? Stay in hospital until they kicked him out, or leave himself at the mercy of an unhinged stranger? Without his ID or his bank card, he couldn't even access the little money left in his account. 

"How did you know I was here?" asked Tristan, "They said they didn't find my ID..." 

Caleb tapped at the floor with his shoe as he shifted his weight. 

"I was looking for you. You matched the description I gave them... it's not like you to just disappear." 

How Caleb knew what he was like remained a mystery. While the man stared at his feet, Tristan tried to remember if he'd seen him somewhere before. He looked like he worked out, but the last time Tristan had been to the gym was when he still lived in Cabi. There was a chance he could have come into the store, but it was usually quite quiet, and the customers that came were often familiar.

I don't know you. Why do you want to take me away?  

The doctor arrived and interrupted Tristan's worried thoughts. 

"Have you had a chance to talk things over, Mr Scott?" he asked. Tristan nodded as the doctor turned to his 'husband'. "We just need to perform some checks, would you mind waiting outside again..?" 

Caleb politely stepped away as the curtain was drawn around them. 

"What do you want to do?" he asked Tristan.

I want to see my dad... 

"With this type of condition, recovery of your memories can take weeks, or even months. Triggering or stressful environments can likely slow your progress. Do you understand what I'm saying..? I wouldn't recommend putting yourself in a situation where the trauma is likely to be repeated..." 

Tristan understood well enough. They thought his 'husband' was abusive. Maybe the man outside really was; Tristan didn't know. He'd never met him before. 

"What are my choices?" he asked the doctor.

 "We can talk with the authorities. They'll be able to liase with immigration and discuss your case. If you're in Modesh under duress, we can find a way to send you home."

Tristan felt his body tensing.

"Since there was no evidence of assault, and the injuries you suffered were determined to be a result of your accident, the police have not been alerted. If you are happy to be discharged, we can release you into the care of your husband; he has already submitted evidence of your relationship. Speak with the authorities, or leave, Mr Scott. Those are your options."

Things were too strange. What evidence? What the fuck was going on? One thing was for certain, he wasn't prepared to leave like Jed had told him to. If this man was offering him a chance to stay in Modesh, what did it matter if he was a stranger? Jed had been a stranger to him in the end. He was used to other people making choices on his behalf, and this wasn't so different. Staying to spite those hastily scribbled words was the option he wanted to choose for himself. 

Maybe you're better off just booking a flight home. Fuck you, Jed. I'm not going anywhere.

"I think I'd like to go home" said Tristan, "With my husband..."

The doctor shrugged. "Okay" he said, "I'll talk with him." 

A nurse arrived at his bedside with a change of clothes. 

"These aren't mine" Tristan had told her. 

The woman didn't speak much English. The foreign gentleman had told her in Modeshi that they were for his husband. 

"Your clothes" she said, leaving the bag and continuing on to check the other patients. 

The hooded sweatshirt was soft, and the sweatpants too long, but Tristan changed out of his hospital gown and put them on. He found he couldn't raise his arm to fit inside the sleeve, and so the zip was fastened with his cast still trapped beneath the fabric. 

"Do I just go..?" he asked, as the nurse busied herself on the ward. She simply nodded and waved him to the door.

In the corridor, Caleb was waiting for him. 

"Can you walk?" he asked Tristan, "Do you want my help..?" 

The wounds on his legs may have been superficial, but the pain as he walked was almost unbearable. 

"I'm okay" he lied, "Where do I need to go?" 

Caleb awkwardly held his arm beside the patient's body, ready to catch him in case he should fall. 

"The elevator will take us to the parking garage. It's not far." 

Tristan leaned his hand against the wall, withstanding the discomfort of being on his feet. "Where do I need to go to pay..?" he asked, "Or will they send me a bill?" 

Caleb's hand was hovering close by. "It's paid" he said, "It's all paid. Are you sure you don't want my help? Do you need a wheelchair? Would that be better?"

"I said I'm okay..." Tristan told him feebly as he limped to the elevator. 

In the basement, Tristan wondered if this would be when the man would choose to attack him. It was dark and secluded; he didn't need to pretend to be concerned about him anymore. Caleb's hand was pushed into the pocket of his slacks, the fingers clenching into a fist. 

"What now..?" asked Tristan, closing his eyes and bracing his broken body. 

The car was unlocked with a resounding beep. 

"I'm parked here" said Caleb, "This is our car."

The door was opened for him. 

"Can you get in on your own? Or do you need me to help you get in?" asked Caleb, his innocent words sounding full of threat and malice under the flickering light above them. 

Tristan was torn. He should have been scared, he should have been terrified. And yet all he could think of was those early days when he'd started dating Jed; all those times he'd check and double check if he was comfortable. All those times he'd pretended to be concerned. Tristan sat down in the passenger seat and gently swung his legs inside. What did it matter anymore? 

When Caleb sat down behind the wheel and closed the door, Tristan was overwhelmed by the scent of his aftershave. It wasn't bad... it was almost recognizable. Jed had quite the collection of designer scents that Tristan wasn't allowed to touch. At first he thought he wore them for him, and then he realized they remained unused unless Sarah and Carl were joining them. 

"Is is too strong?" Caleb asked him, noticing Tristan sniffing the air between them. "I'll open the window."

Tristan found that fastening his seatbelt was difficult. Caleb reached across without thinking and did it for him. The action was so seamless, almost as if it happened every day. 

"Let's go home..." he said, pulling his hand away from the unnervingly close proximity of Tristan's body.

The streetlights were lit as Caleb drove them onto the narrow, twisting streets of Modesh. Jed didn't drive; but Carl and Sarah had two cars between them. 'Can't we ask one of them to pick us up?' he'd asked, standing at the curbside with two boxes of champagne, as they'd waited for their overpriced taxi. 'They're hosting' Jed had told him, 'getting there on our own is the least we can do.' He'd been in Sarah's car only once after arriving in Modesh. It was before he started working, and she'd found a shopping mall in the west of the island that she didn't want to visit alone. Tristan had carried her bags and given her money for gas.

"Is it too warm?" Caleb asked. "I can close the window but I worry my cologne is too strong... I rushed over when I found out what happened and I guess I wasn't thinking. I don't usually wear so much." 

Tristan wondered why a man he'd never met would rush to see him in the hospital, much less why he'd put on aftershave to do so. 

"It's not too strong" said Tristan, "It just smelled familiar..."

The window was closed and the air-con turned up so high that Tristan felt cold. Caleb apologized when he noticed Tristan shivering, adjusting the temperature until he was comfortable. Outside, the restaurants were closed as they passed, and yet the sidewalks were crowded with people. 

"What day is it?" asked Tristan. 

"Sunday" came the reply. 

It was only the night before that Tristan had come home to find the suitcase. Maybe Jed was already in Cabi by now. He'd always found the rundown buildings of Modesh so much more interesting than the bland new complexes of Cabi. Maybe he was just romanticizing things again; like his dad's old shirts or the can of soup he'd hidden. Tristan clenched his fist. Had Jed packed them or thrown them away? He hadn't thought to check. What had happened to his suitcase..? His hand reached for the door.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Caleb asked him. Tristan shook his head. The reflection of his tears in the window said otherwise. "We're nearly there. But let me know if you need me to pull over. Whatever you need, you can tell me." 

Tristan shifted in his seat. "Because you're my husband..?"

"Because you're hurt" said Caleb.

Nothing much happened on the car ride. Tristan watched Modesh from the window, unaware that Caleb's eyes kept drifting from the road to his profile as they got closer to home. 

"This is where we live." 

Tristan recognized it at once. Not because he'd been there before, but because it was the building that Jed had wanted to move to. The apartments here were well beyond his boyfriend's meagre budget; even Sarah and Carl's house was cheaper than a unit at The Phoenicia. 

"This is where we live?" Tristan repeated. 

The barrier raised as his license plate was scanned, and Caleb pulled into his private parking garage in the basement. Tristan had a thought as the stranger turned to smile at him; what in the American Psycho was happening..?