David drove to his house in silence. He felt shaken by his meeting with Max's parents; they had been polite, sure, but there was something menacing about them, and David didn't feel happy leaving Max with them. But there was nothing he could do now unless Max contacted him, so he shoved his worries to the back of his mind.

He pulled up outside his place and got out. The apartment he lived alone in was small but bright, well furnished and clean. David was ready to sleep and got into bed as soon as he had locked all the doors and turned off all the lights. He placed the walkie talkie on his bedside table.

He lay in warm darkness for about half an hour, unable to relax. Finally he got up to make some tea. His body was tired, but his mind was jittery and anxious. He knew why... Max was on his mind.

The boy's father hadn't spoken a word to him. His mother hadn't even looked at him when she saw him for the first time all summer. The more David thought about the pair of them, the more peculiar they seemed: was it coincidence that Sasha has covered her arms? Was she hiding bruises, or was David being paranoid? ...Rahim's grip had been so strong; too strong. He knew there had been something wrong with his twisted smile. And Max hadn't even greeted his parents- but kept him head bent and his eyes down the whole time. Was that habit? Was he expected to behave like that at home?

David made himself some peppermint tea and then sat on the edge of his bed cradling it in both hands. His room was pitch save from a strip of golden light running from a crack in his curtains. It lay over the walkie talkie. Illuminated it as though to impress it's importance.

David heaved a great sigh. The tea settled him a little, although he still felt riled.

He lay back down and closed his eyes, forced himself to switch off, to deny himself of any thought.

Finally he felt himself beginning to slid away into unconscious- when the walkie talkie crackled into life.