"But what about the truth? You hurt kids. Like poor, little Shawn."

"You've been for a ride in a brown-panelled station wagon, haven't you?"

When Nicky was young, he consumed colouring books. In particular, his favourite was the kind where you had to connect the dots. He could picture it, the safari animals on the cover, the blue felt spine. He could feel it in his hands and sense the strain of his eyes from feverishly scanning the tiny numbers. He had been good at connecting the dots and he relished being able to watch an image come together as he worked away at it. Now as he pieced together the reality of Julian's plan, he saw it was terrifying.

When Nicky gave no response, Julian grew impatient. "You think I'm kidding?" He barked, pounding his fist against the closet door. "Your mug will be all over the six o'clock news tonight. Wanna know why? You were the one. You were last seen behind the wheel of the station wagon they're looking for. And you'll be the only one who knows where the kid is."

Nicky's face dripped with sweat. There wasn't anything Julian could say that would make sense to him but what was coming out of his mouth was the furthest from fathomable. "Except I've never driven any station wagon, numb nuts!" He coughed, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Well, that's the beauty of computers, isn't it?" Julian said, scraping something across the floor – away from the door.

"They'll figure out it's not real!" Nicky said, though not so confident knowing how little time they typically have to find a missing person and how good these computer whizzes could be.

"But not in time." Julian had clearly been planning this for months. Stalking him, watching his movements, knowing he was crumbling under the pressure.

"And the other thing … I don't know where the kid is!"

"But don't you?" His voice sounded closer now. From under the door, he heard something slide across the floor before he felt it nestle beneath his thigh. Another followed. And then another. Contorting himself, he could faintly make out in the minimal light that these were polaroids. He was leaning closer, painfully, craning his neck to make out the small dark figure captured in the photo when suddenly the door swung open. After his eyes adjusted to the light of the room, he saw the photos were of a young boy posed stiffly in each of them and dressed only in a pair of thin underwear.

"Look familiar?" Julian was almost giddy as he scooted to his knees next to Nicky. Nicky had already shut his eyes, the closet spinning around him and he thought briefly about those last two pulls of Maker's Mark. He hadn't the faintest idea how long ago it was that he swallowed them, but he reasoned they could not just now be hitting his bloodstream.

Noticing Nicky's silence, Julian struck him across the face and gripped his jaw tightly in a vice. He forced his head to lower and meet the gaze of the photos' terrified subject. "Open your fuckin' eyes or I'll cut off your eyelids!" Julian's tone betrayed his frustration. Things weren't going as planned. "Now like I said… anything look familiar?"

Horrified, Nicky did see something in the background of the photos that looked familiar. Wallpaper. His wallpaper. The wallpaper that lined the walls of the very room they were in. These photos had been taken here.

"Now you're going to touch them." He said, reaching for Nicky's hand.

"What? Fuck no. You want my prints?"

"You got it." He stalled a minute, smiling. "You gonna stop me?"

He picked up Nicky's limp hand and the action sent a sharp throbbing pain up into his dislocated shoulder. With no mobility in either of his arms, Julian was right: there was nothing he could do to stop him.

His fingerprints now all over the photos, there was nothing else to think about but the boy who had evidently been in that very room. "Where is he? What did you do?" Nicky croaked, feeling dizzy again.

"I knew you'd be eager to meet him. But unfortunately, Denis can't come out to play right now." He sounded genuinely disappointed.

"Oh God! What did you do?" Nicky yelled, shimmying his lower body further out of the closet.

"That's a question for you to answer, remember?" When Julian stood with the photos resting on a kerchief in his palm, he was breathless and panting. His grin spread from ear to ear and beads of sweat rolled off his chin. "Now if you're good, I'll put these somewhere safe. But if not, I'll have to send them to your police friends. Got it?"

Jonathon found Shawn on his bedroom floor. It had been an early night for Jonathon, he got some much-needed rest, but he was hit suddenly with an immense amount of guilt as he came across his ward, his knees tucked under him, fast asleep on the rug. Crouching down beside him, he gave the boy a shake, his forehead creasing tighter than his usual permanent display of ceaseless concern and strain.

"Shawn, wake up, buddy," he said, giving the boy a slight jolt of the shoulder.

Not a sign of having heard him was evident and given the kid's recent insomnia, Jonathon quickly resigned to allowing Shawn sleep. Gently and swiftly, he lifted him onto the bed, adjusted the blinds to shield the room from the impending rising sun, and left the room shutting the door behind him.

The nights were long around here. It was still dark at that early hour. Sometimes it felt that dawn would never come. While sleep was something that Jonathon welcomed at any time of day, he'd spent countless nights up with Shawn, gazing out at the black sky, and wondering if the darkness would eventually cease with the rising of the morning sun as Mother always promised or simply swallow them whole. The days were about adjusting to life as it has become and the nights were about facing the events that made life become this way. Sleep was Jonathon's escape but Shawn wasn't so lucky.

Jonathon tore off his sweaty t-shirt and let it fall to the floor as he padded into the kitchen. From the top shelf, he pulled down a bottle of Jameson whiskey and covered the bottom of a glass. Just a drink before his coffee to keep the guilt at bay.

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He hadn't been out for long. Stretched out on the couch with a half cup of coffee wedged between his hand and chest, he'd fallen asleep.

It was still early. With the living room shades still drawn, it was anyone's guess if it were morning or night. All except the clock on the VCR. It shone a harsh green illuminating the lower half of the TV stand and, as Jonathon's sleep-filled eyes adjusted enough to the glow, they made out a blurry 8:25 AM. And as this registered, a sense that they were late for something overcame him.

School yes but he'd already decided without deciding that they needed a day. The therapist? Not unless this is Monday or Wednesday. The pediatrician. He was supposed to take Shawn for bloodwork last week so the doctor would have it in time for the appointment. Too late to postpone. Not that he would if he could. There were days when Jonathon thought Shawn would be better off in the hospital. He was at his absolute lowest back then in the mental health ward, but he was safe and there was always someone there – someone who knew what they were doing – to make sure Shawn was getting what he needed. Albeit it may have been more like giving him his meds through an IV or meals through a feeding tube, but he wasn't going to slip away on their watch like he was evidently doing on Jonathon's. So yeah, there were days just like these where thoughts like this got the better of Jonathon.

Sorry again for the long wait. Hope some of my old readers are still out there. Thanks to everyone for reading! More coming soon