The boots were thunder in the hall. He had known it would be one of those nights when he saw the bottle. The boy was small. He was both short and thin and that was his advantage. He climbed the door frame and set himself on the closet shelf, behind a pair of boxes. When the boy slept inside he often slept up there in the dark and confined space. There was a safety in the dark. There was comfort in it.

He pulled the door to a point of near closure and curled up as best he could. He could still see into the room, but was certain no-one would see him upon first glance. He was tired, but he would not be sleeping tonight. His room was clean, no toy or book was out of place. He would not allow anything to be out of place. He hadn’t been assigned chores yet, due to his age but he was responsible for the room and he would not willingly give the man an excuse.

It had been two years since he had pulled the glass from his chest, two years since he had given up being a child, given up false hope of rescue. The large stuffed dog lay in the center of his bed, an avatar to fool the man should he look in. It wasn’t perfect. The blanket over the head looked awkward and he hadn’t come up with a way to mimic breath yet. A close inspection and the deceit would be seen through, but from five paces at the bedroom door, from a lit room into a darkened one it might pass muster. He had tested it. He had stared for hours, trying to see if it would work, but since he knew he could only see the flaws. Even if the first barrier failed, he was near invisible on the closet shelf. He hoped he could not be seen.