I moved a chair close. “What about your friend?”

“We broke up.”

“But he knows.”

“I just found out a couple weeks ago.”

“You’ve got to tell him and anybody else you’ve been intimate with,” I said. “It’s only fair. If someone had done that for you, maybe you wouldn’t be sitting here now, crying.”

He was silent, staring down at his hands. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I’m going to die, aren’t I.”

“We’re all going to die,” I gently told him.

“Not like this.”

“It could be like this,” I said. “Every physical I get, I’m tested for HIV. You know what I’m exposed to. What you’re going through could be me.”

He looked up at me, his eyes and cheeks burning. “If I get AIDS, I’m going to kill myself.”

“No, you’re not,” I said.

He began to cry again. “Dr. Scarpetta, I can’t go through it! I don’t want to end up in one of those places, a hospice, the Fan Free Clinic, in a bed next to other dying people I don’t know!” Tears flowed, his face tragic and defiant. “I’ll be all alone just like I’ve always been.”

“Listen.” I waited until he calmed down. “You will not go through this alone. You have me.”

He dissolved in tears again, covering his face and making sounds so loud I was certain they could be heard in the hall.

“I will take care of you,” I promised as I got up. “Now I want you to go home. I want you to do what’s right and tell your friends. Tomorrow, we’ll talk more and figure out the best way to handle this. I need the name of your doctor and permission to talk to him or her.”

“Dr. Alan Riley. At MCV.”

I nodded. “I know him, and I want you to call him first thing in the morning. Let him know I’ll be contacting him and that it’s all right for him to talk to me.”

“Okay.” He looked furtively at me. “But you’ll be . . . You won’t tell anyone.”

“Of course not,” I said with feeling.

“I don’t want anyone here to know. Or Marino. I don’t want him to.”

“No one will know,” I said. “At least not from me.”

He slowly got up and stepped toward the door with the unsteadiness of someone drunk or dazed. “You won’t fire me, will you?” His hand was on the knob as he cast bloodshot eyes my way.

“Wingo, for God’s sake,” I said with quiet emotion. “I would hope you would think more of me than that.”

He opened the door. “I think more of you than anyone.” Tears spilled again, and he wiped them on his scrubs, exposing his thin bare belly. “I always have.”

His footsteps were rapid in the hall as he almost ran, and the elevator bell rang. I listened as he left my building for a world that did not give a damn. I rested my forehead on my fist and shut my eyes.