The boy lies among clothes and discarded food containers in the dark room. He has not heard a sound in a long time. He wants something to eat but is afraid to move. Angie said to stay until she or James came to get him. He had fallen asleep, listening to talking from the other room; low, fragmented, urgent. Angie and James. He thought he could hear Troy too. And another voice he didn’t know. It sounded not very nice. 

    But that was a long time ago. Now there is no light reaching him from under the door. Just black. And his tummy moaning.

    The boy feels so tired that he cannot move, just lies in the same position waiting for Angie and James. It’s not sleep tired though, he’s slept a lot since he’s been in here.

    The air is thick and smells of sour food and wee. The boy wants desperately to leave. He needs to eat and he can’t believe that Angie and James meant for him to go so long without eating. He rises to his feet and then thinks better of it, dropping down to all fours in order to crawl to the door in the pitch black. When his small hand at last finds the doorknob he stands and listens, wondering what is on the other side. No sounds that mean he shouldn’t go out. He turns the knob, checks for Angie and James, finds no one. More darkness. But he knows how to get light; he’d never done it himself but he’d seen it done many times. He crawls to where he knows the lamp is, on the floor beside the chair. He runs his tiny hand up from the bottom searching for the button and finds it. The bare bulb glows yellow and in its light he spies an open bag of chips on the floor. 

    He is content to sit and eat the chips but as they become dust at the bottom of the bag he wonders when Angie and James will be back. He misses them. 

    Angie said only babies cry and he knows he isn’t a baby, but he really wants to cry. In his loneliness he feels justified and permits himself a whine. The turning on of that tap, if only by a fragment, is enough; a great sob accompanied by free-flowing tears comes.

    Through his sobs the boy becomes aware of the sound of footsteps on the stairs, echoing in the bare, narrow stairwell. Not Angie and James, they are not this loud. Knock on the door. He is frozen. He wants to hide. He feels certain that whoever it is, this isn’t a good thing.

    Knocking again. He scrambles the three feet to the room and closes the door, feeling immediately safer. Voices, indistinct and echoing, but more distant now.

    He is fumbling with the dirty clothes he so recently lay amongst, trying to cover himself. No tears now, no time for tears. Only heavy breathing and panic and the need to hide.

    At the same moment he feels he is hidden, he hears his name from the other side of the door.

    “Dylan?”

    He does not recognize the voice. His panic deepens.

    “Dylan, can you hear me? Can you open the door? It’s the police. We’re here to help you.”

    He does not believe the voice. He’s not sure what police are but he’s heard Angie and James talk about them in a way he thought was bad. He can’t trust them.

    He hears a loud crack and then more footsteps.

    “Jesus,” one voice says. “Junkies.”

    And then he senses that they are standing in his doorway. He tries to burrow into the floor. He tries to not breathe. 

    Footsteps towards him. They know his name. They are looking for him. He desperately wants Angie and James to come back.

    Sour food, wee and their new smell.

    Now another voice. Not as hard. “Dylan, my name is Ted. I’m a social worker. We’re here because we want to take you to see your Gramma.”

    Gramma? He does not know what that is and can’t remember ever hearing about one. He is suspicious, but brave.

    “I don’t want a Gramma. I want Angie and James. I want to eat.”

    “Of course you do. But I’m afraid you’ll have to come out to do that.”

    He needs to eat and he needs to wee. Dylan waits some more before emerging.

    The man is crouched down so Dylan can look straight at him. But he says nothing. He wants the man to start.

    “What would you like to eat? Anything you want.”

    Dylan straightens, adjusts to serious. “Happy meal. Chicken nuggets,” like he won’t settle.

    “Okay, Dylan, somebody will go right now to get it. It won’t take long.”

    “And chocolate milk.”

    “You got it.”

    “Macdonald’s is that way when you go out. It’s really close.” Dylan’s tiny finger points.

    “Well, that’s a good thing. I’m going to ask one of the officers to go. Please stay here, I’ll be right back.”

    Dylan likes that this man doesn’t say very much. He had expected him to talk a lot. And ask a lot of questions. And tell him things that aren’t true but only said. Dylan really doesn’t like that. Lies never make him feel better. And he is so tired. So hungry. 

    They sit together on the floor, leaning their backs against the wall, legs out in front of them. Dylan rolls his ankles side to side, first together, then opposite. He was used to spending time. 

    Ted rolls his ankles side to side too, matching Dylan’s rhythm. Dylan looks at Ted’s feet, then up at Ted’s face. Ted doesn’t turn to look at him, just keeps rolling his feet. Dylan doesn’t know what to think of this grown up.

    He waits patiently for his Happy Meal.

    “Dylan, do you know who Angie’s mommy is?”

    “Oh yeah. That’s Nan.”

    “We are going to go see Nan.”

    “No. I don’t want to. I’m waiting for Angie.”

    “Dylan, Angie isn’t coming back.”

    Dylan’s feet stop and he looks at the man. He is not smiling. Nothing in his face. 

    Dylan believes.

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