"How can I help you?" the nurse asked.

Glen opened his mouth to say something but the nurse behind the counter seemed engrossed in some paperwork.

"Do you have any business here, sir?" she looked up menacingly.

"Yes. Uhh… I'm Glen Wilson. I was here for some weeks. Uhh… Actually I wanted to thank the paramedic who brought me here."

"Were you a patient here, Mr. Wilson?" She seemed a bit polite now.

"Yeah, I was."

"On the behalf of the paramedic I accept your thanks and am happy to know that you are doing just fine." She went back to her paperwork.

"Could you give me his address? I would like to thank him."

The phone rang. The nurse talked into it for some minutes and then hung up. She looked at Glen again. No menace, no sympathy, only a blank stare.

"I was saying that I understand how busy you are, and I think that the paramedic might also be on duty right now. But that man saved my life and I would like to shake his hand and convey my heartfelt gratitude."

The nurse smiled. "When were you brought here? The exact time, sir and…"

Glen walked back home. He opened the piece of paper he had been clutching in his hand. 'Jim Burton, 13 North Wayhire Street.'

The Queer's name was Jim Burton.

He saw Maggie sitting on the stairs of the house. He hid the piece of paper. "Hi Maggie."

"Where have you been?"

"I met Bertha today," explained Glen.

"I know; she called." Maggie looked away.

"So?"

"It's 9:45 in the evening. You are late."

"I had some business."

Glen went to his room and closed the door behind. 'Tomorrow,' he said to himself.
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