Infected: Shift Read Free

politely to fuck off, on his behalf. Doctor Rosenberg called to cuss him out for almost transforming in spite of his aneurysm warning. (It was hard to tell on camera he was starting to transform; luckily, it just looked like he was jutting his chin out, and for some reason was bleeding from the mouth, but Rosenberg knew what it meant. Sadly, the oddly inhuman jump and show of strength was the thing getting him the attention.) Somebody called from a local production company suggesting that they might be open to turning his life into a film.
     
    Pissed off beyond all measure, he asked Dylan if he wanted to go to Vancouver with him for a week. Dylan, who was starting to get bugged by reporters at Panic (they had found him), happily agreed.
     
    They ended up spending ten days in Vancouver. Roan showed Dylan around and surreptitiously loaded up on painkillers and downers, which were so much cheaper in Canada. They stayed in a nice hotel just off the water, small but quaint and very gay friendly, so they didn’t get any shit over that. Their third night there, as they were sitting on a pier people watching and boat watching, Dylan guessed that this was a special place for Roan and Paris. Roan said it was, but only because Paris was from British Columbia; Roan had come to think of it as a second home. He felt better in Vancouver for no reason he could ever name. He thought if he ever got tired of Washington State, he would move up here.
     
    He thought about paying a visit to Paris’s parents, just to say hello, but ultimately decided against it. What would he do besides remind them that their son was dead far before his time? Best to just leave it.
     
    Roan had never done “touristy things” in Vancouver because he was always with a native who knew where to go if you wanted to score crack at two in the morning, or pick up scalped tickets at ten at night (not that they ever bought crack, but it was good to know). But he did a couple of touristy things with Dylan, at Dyl’s urging, and it was kind of nice to pretend to be brain-dead for a while. They had a really good time, and it was good not to have the subtle but obvious subtext of “You’re gonna die soon”influencing everything.
     
    After ten days, they had no choice but to come back. Dylan could get no more time off work, and Roan’s viral cycle was fast approaching. Fiona had said either it was starting to blow over or people were getting the message that he had no interest in participating in a media circus. She also said she had fielded a couple of really good offers and had written them up in case he wanted to look them over. She was holding out hope he’d do an interview with Anderson Cooper and drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet. (A CNN researcher had called, not Cooper. But Fi insisted she could dream.)
     
    He intended to go back to work, but as soon as he saw a news van in the parking lot, he decided to return home. Instead, he asked Fi to man the office and give him a ring if a genuine client—not a media plant (which had happened)—showed up. He did wonder if, this close to his cycle, he should bother working, but fuck it. If he didn’t die this time out, he still had bills to pay.
     
    As a professional courtesy, Dennis drew up legal papers for him, gratis. He hadn’t told Dylan, but he was leaving him the house and a couple other things. He was leaving stuff to Fi and Dee and Randi as well, and at the last minute he threw in some books and stuff for Holden, as he would appreciate them. He also left a note for Matt, because he still felt bad how that all went down. He learned he was lucky that he had no living family to contest the will, as leaving stuff for your boyfriend wasn’t always seen as legitimate. Roan had no idea leaving stuff to other people was for heteros only, but hey, you learned something new every day.
     
    And while he said he wanted to be ultimately cremated, he had actually left his body to Doctor Rosenberg and