The daily serial fictional based on Chicago's Boystown neighborhood: Boystown series by Danny Bernardo

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11-15 Recap (Volume 7)

Fitz and Alex play detective on separate cases in week 3 of BOYSTOWN Volume 7! Catch the launch of Volume 8 on Monday, May 6 with guest writers writing the first week!

11-15 Recap (Volume 7)
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Fitz and Alex play detective on separate cases in week 3 of BOYSTOWN Volume 7! Catch the launch of Volume 8 on Monday, May 6 with guest writers writing the first week!

"What the fuck?" Hunter cried, jumping out of bed and grabbing Fitz's phone.

"I can explain," Fitz said.

"What's to explain? You fucking have Grindr on your phone and are trolling for ass."

"That's not what... "

"I thought we had something. I thought we were... "

"We do. We are. Just look at the profile for a second."

Hunter opened up the app. A picture of a skinny twink stared back at him as the active profile.

"So you're lying to people too?"

"No," Fitz said, sitting Hunter down on the bed. "I'm looking for Tristan's killer."

"You're what?"

"His friends told me that he'd been secretly talking to a catfish. That he was the one who probably killed him. All they gave me was the screen name JacksonMaxium. So I thought if I could find him... "

"So this is part of the investigation? You going undercover?"

"That's the problem. There is no investigation. The case is cold and this guy is just sitting there waiting to strike again. I've got to stop him."

"But... what will you do if you find him? Can you arrest him?"

"I don't know," Fitz said, uncharacteristically earnest. "But I'm going to stop him."


David wanted everything to be perfect tonight. He cooked his better half's favorite meal: rack of lamb with rosemary potatoes. He opened the bottle of chardonay they got on their last Napa trip, the trip where they got the email from the realtor that they were closing on their beautiful condo in Andersonville. David's better half murmured with appreciation at the perfectly cooked meat, sharing office successes between bites. David's better half ooh'd and ahh'd with the appropriate admiration as he brought out the perfectly cooked crème brulee, torching the sugar to a crisp perfection. Dinner was perfect.

David took his better half to see an obscure musical, his better half's favorite kind. While David preferred the reliability of the Rodgers and Hammerstein oeuvre, he held his better half's hand as the harmonious discordance washed over them in rapidly changing time signatures. Never mind that the sultry brunette sang with the tainted promise of adultery. Never mind that the James Dean-esque jilted lover plotted to kill the husband. It had nothing to do with their lives. Nothing at all. It was just a perfect night at the theatre.

David led his better half back to the bedroom under the haze of post-show gin and tonics. He had laid out his better half's favorite sandalwood scented candles around the bed and lit them to reveal the white rose petals that covered the comforter. David lay languidly on the bed and brought his better half on top of him, kissing him with a passion only familiar to them. The whole night had been perfect.

Except that they were both thinking of someone else.


"Brandon, you've got to help me," Alex said, chasing after him on his way to his locker.

"God, Alex, haven't you ruined enough lives?" Brandon said, rolling his eyes.

"Omigod, I wouldn't even come to you if you weren't like a total techie."

"Not helping your cause, Alex."

"Everyone thinks I'm the one who sent that picture of Robbie kissing Mr. Parker and now everyone hates me."

"Do you blame them?"

"But I didn't do it! And you can help me prove it!"

"And why would I do that? What do I get out of it?"

"Um... I'll go to prom with you?"

"Get over yourself," Brandon said, walking away.

"Wait!" Alex called. He took a sigh and held out his wrist, letting the beautiful platinum bracelet gleam.

"Is that... ?"

"It's from Tiffany's. And it's all yours, if you can do this for me."


Brandon pulled up the email that went viral with the picture of Bobby and Mr. Parker.

"So every email server includes... "

"Seriously, I don't need to see the math, Brandon."

"Fine," Brandon said. After a few strokes on the keyboard, a long set of numbers appeared.

"Ok, splainy?"

"Well, that's the IP address," Brandon explained. "And that email definitely came from the school."

"Well, can it tell you who sent it?"

"You mean beyond the totally obvious fake email address that sent it? No, it can't tell me all that."

"Well how the hell... "

"Hold on, hold on," Brandon said, spending the next few minutes zoning into his laptop as he went berserk on the keyboard. Finally he looked up.


"I think I figured out who did it."

"What? How?"

"Oh NOW you wanna see the math... "

"I just don't get... "

"Well knowing it came from a school computer was a start. It also helps that the time stamp on the email was outside of school hours, so there weren't a lot of people logging on to school computers at the time. So, if I matched the time stamp by seeing who logged into a school computer at that time... "

"You can hack into the school computer system?"

"... I was able to narrow it down to one user, within a reasonable doubt."

"Well, who was it?" Alex demanded, trying to get closer to the screen. Brandon quickly pulled it away.

"Tut, tut, young Alex. My compensation?" Alex groaned and handed over his prized Tiffany's bracelet, the only memento he had before Bruce went nuts. Admiring the bracelet on his own wrist, Brandon handed the laptop over to Alex.

Alex found the name on the screen and almost threw it across the computer lab in a rage. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me!"


"Do you ever feel like our work matters?" Ben asked as he got into his scrubs.

"What are you talking about?" asked his colleague Erin. "We save lives."

"God complex much?"

"Ben, we work ER and ICU. I don't know how much more we could matter."

"It's just... I applied for Doctors Without Borders a while ago. That really meant something to me, you know? Affecting change in a country that needs it. I mean, look at the state that America's in. Look how many preventable deaths every year... "

"But if you'd been accepted to Doctors Without Borders, you never would've met your boyfriend. Right place, right time, Benji."

"Yeah. Maybe that's it. Everyday, Charlie is making a difference in his kids' lives. He teaches. He advises their GSA. That's something."

Doctor Nicholls came rushing in. "Scrub up. Incoming in the ER."

"Wonder if it matters now?" asked Erin.


Ben checked the charts as he rushed to the ER. John Doe, approximate age sixteen. A baby. Multiple bruises, broken ribs, cigarette burns on his arm, stab wound in the abdomen. Whatever angst he was feeling would have to wait. He burst into the ER ready to save Baby John Doe's life. As he walked up to the operating table, he recognized Baby John Doe immediately.

It was Charlie's former student Robbie.


The familiar sound that Virgil had grown so accustomed to over the last couple of weeks chirped from his partner's pocket as they patrolled Belmont.

"You're obsessed," Virgil said.

"I'm gonna find this fucker," Fitz said, reaching for his phone.

"Did you even use this app before you decided to go rogue?"

"Gross man." Fitz scrolled through his phone.

"Anything good?"

"Just more partnered guys looking only for chat sending me dick pics."

"Gross. Maybe you should change your picture again."

"Yeah, skinny twink doesn't seem to be working." Fitz scrolled through the stock of photos he'd collected for his case.

"That one! If I were gay, I'd totally do him!"

Fitz changed the profile pic to a muscular Abercrombie wannabe making duckface in a bathroom mirror. "And now... we wait."

Three drunken Wrigleyville fights and a mugging later, Virgil and Fitz unwound with a cup of coffee at the Dunkin Donuts on Belmont and Clark.

"I tell ya man, we need to get off the beat," Virgil said, slipping his shoes off.

"It's beginning to feel like I'm chasing windmills man," Fitz said, taking a long sup of coffee.

"How long ago did you take the detective entrance exam?"

"Almost three years."

"Give it time man. You're like the smartest guy I know. You always trust your gut and it's always right."

"Thanks brother." The oh so familiar chirp of Grindr sounded from Fitz's pocket. A message from a guy who looked a lot like his high school math teacher waited for him. He briskly ignored it and scanned the nearby profiles.

"Holy fuck," Fitz said.


"It's him,." Fitz said, showing him a picture of a muscular torso. "It's JacksonMaxium."

"Fuck! Say something."

Fitz weighed it for a moment. This was the moment, he could get this guy if he played it smart. Played it cool. Played it right.

"Sup dude. ur so hawt," Fitz messaged.

And instantly, JacksonMaxium disappeared. Fitz had been blocked.


We'll be back for Volume 8 on 5/6, with guest writers writing the first week!

Just joining us? Catch up here:

Volume 1 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 2 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 3 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 4 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 5 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five

Volume 6 -
Week One, Week Two, Week Three, Week Four, Week Five


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