In the end I help dad stagger his way to the sofa, where he collapses and rolls onto his side. I unlace his shoes and pull them off, then fetch a bottle of water from the kitchen and set it in arm's reach. I turn off the light on my way out, and he's already snoring. I go up and check briefly on my mother. She's unconscious still, a damp cloth now draped over her eyes. I stand at the door and watch her slow, regular breathing. For a moment I want very much to cry, but I don't. Instead I shut the door and go downstairs to make myself some food.
It's been like this ever since Darren went missing. It's as if when he went he took a little part of mum and dad with him, and now all they ever want to do is sleep. For that matter, I feel sometimes like he took a little part of me too. I try not to let it hurt me, but it's there, that missing piece, that emptiness. Sometimes I can feel it so keenly that I'm afraid if I look down at my stomach I'll see a hole.
I microwave myself a meal from the freezer and sit in the kitchen, eating without really being hungry. Something about tonight is setting me on edge. Darren and Lynch and everything all swirling around in my head. Normally when I feel like this I go for a run, but right at this moment I just don't have the energy. I feel dizzy, confused.
For a while I stare at my reflection in the kitchen window. And then I have an idea; I'll go to the house, go check on Lynch. Maybe take her some more food. Yes. I nod at my reflection. A walk is just what I need.
Twenty minutes later I'm standing outside the unlit house, and feeling unaccountably nervous. It looks so dark and dead it makes me think of a haunted castle. For a brief moment I reconsider, then shake myself, walk quickly up the path and open the door.
The hall is empty, as if the kitchen. I walk quietly through the rooms, feeling my way along the walls with one hand. Nobody here. "Lynch?" I call, but for some reason my voice comes out as barely more than a whisper.
In the lounge there's a stack of paint tins and a few pieces of cheap wooden furniture covered over by a dustsheet. In the front room there's a ladder leaned against the wall. Bare wiring protrudes from the walls like tufts of metallic hair.
I head cautiously upstairs. The boards creak beneath my feet.
"Lynch?" I call again. Then I push open the door to the main bedroom and from the darkness beyond someone lunges towards me.
