As the door closed, the lights went out. The flames in the sconces flickered, once, twice, and then there was darkness. Matthew heard footsteps, from way back behind him, in the corner of the museum. There was someone else there, had been someone else there, the whole time.

Matthew remembered how it had been when Lukas and he had come down here. Darkness, until the door was locked from the inside. The footsteps crossed in front of him, towards the door, and Matthew smelt something, something familiar. He heard a hand on the latch, locking it, and then slowly, the flames in the sconces began to flicker again.

The figure at the door turned. It was the man named Grainger. The overweight man that he had seen at Dr Mueller’s surgery, and whose fragrance Lukas so liked. He crossed the room toward Matthew and pulled a syringe out of his pocket. Without looking at Matthew, or saying a word, he jabbed the syringe into Matthew’s arm, and emptied its contents.

‘Tell them we’re ready,’ he said, speaking into Matthew’s ear, speaking to someone inside him.

Matthew had a brief impression of something moving, of something being done inside him, of people moving into action, but that was the last thing he remembered.

The next thing he knew for certain was that he was in a hospital, the Van, by the looks of it, though the door to his room was locked. He woke, one morning, but had the impression that a lot of time had passed. Not merely hours, or days, but weeks. He remembered, vaguely, the back of a van, being wheeled under the bright lights of an operating theatre, and waking, almost, time and time again in this room, as the days passed, though there had always been someone else there, inside him. When he finally came to, when weeks had passed, he got out of the bed and crossed the room, and tried the door.

It was locked.

And then he remembered what had been done to him. He looked down at the hospital gown. He could feel his cock and balls underneath it – at least, he thought he could, but he was too afraid to lift it. He stood there for a moment, undecided, and then he took a deep breath, and started to lift the cotton fabric.

Blackness.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on a table under a bright light. He had his arms stretched up, over his head, and he was naked. There was a sudden zap, a sting in his groin, and Matthew cried out. A woman lifted her head up. She had goggles on, and something in her hand, some device, attached to a cord, that she had just zapped his groin with.

‘What are you doing?’ Matthew said.

The woman frowned. ‘You wanted your pubic hair done?’

‘Done?’

‘Lasered.’

Matthew frowned.

‘It’ll look fine,’ she said, and bent down again.

There was another zap, a sting, and then a minute or two later, though he must have lost consciousness, there was sting in his armpit.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Dr Zapsting.’

In the very next instant, Matthew was sitting upright. There was a whining sound, the rumble of engines, and the back of a seat in front of him. He was on an aeroplane. He turned his head down suddenly, still anxious about what had been done to him.

He was wearing his tight jeans, the jeans he had always used to wear, and because he was sitting upright in the seat, it was obvious. The jeans were rucked up into his groin, and underneath them, there was nothing. There was nothing there. His cock and balls were gone.

He stared at the place, unable to take his eyes away, and then he realised he was wearing the T-shirt with the squirrel on it, the one that said, “It’s all fun and games until someone loses a nut.” They had dressed him in that. He felt his face flush red with embarrassment. But there was someone standing near him. Feet. He looked up to find a boy, a thirteen-year-old, standing in the aisle of the aircraft, and with his eyes locked on Matthew’s groin. He had his hand on the top of the seat in front of Matthew, and he was staring at the place where Matthew’s gear had been.

He looked up, and met Matthew’s eyes, and then he read the T-shirt, pulling his head back a little. He took it in, looked back at Matthew’s groin, and then, when Matthew put his hands down to cover it, the kid looked Matthew in the face, and smiled.

Matthew turned his head away, towards the window. He looked out, across the person next to him, and only realised, after he had been staring at the clouds for a minute or so, that it was Lukas.

‘Lukas!’

‘What?’ Lukas said, turning to face him as though they had just been talking a minute ago.

Lukas looked just the same as he ever had. Beautiful. His lips red. His skin perfect. His blond hair a little ruffled.

‘Where are we going?’

‘South America, I think.’