Matthew didn’t know what had happened to Lukas. He wasn’t in the bedroom, and he wasn’t in the bathroom. Matthew trawled through all of the rooms. It was too early for Lukas to have gone downstairs, but he must have.

Matthew had a shower. He dressed. And resolved to see his father today, tell his father what had happened to him, what had happened to Lukas, what Dr Mueller had done to them.

He sat down on the bed to put his shoes on, and shook his head. He knew his father wouldn’t believe him, but he would have to. He could arrange for an MRI. And Matthew would have to – he didn’t know what – be locked up or something until they could give it to him. Both of them would have to be. They would have to take it out of their brains, or turn it off. There would have to be something they could do. And in the meantime, someone needed to take control of Lukas and himself. Put them somewhere. Safe. Where they couldn’t hurt themselves.

Put them in straight-jackets.

Matthew went downstairs. Lukas wasn’t in the dining room.

Matthew said to good morning to Mr Sorensen and sat down at the table.

‘Do you know where Lukas is?’

‘I assumed he was upstairs,’ Mr Sorensen said.

Matthew shook his head. ‘No. I haven’t seen him.’

After that, they ate in silence.

Towards the end of the meal, Matthew started.

‘Mr Sorensen.’

‘Lars.’

‘Lars. Can I tell you something?’ He paused. ‘I know it’s going to sound fantastic, but–

‘–and then there was no one there,’ Matthew finished.

Mr Sorensen laughed.

Had Matthew told a joke? Was that it?

‘They’ve put something in my mind,’ he said desperately, almost shouting the words.

Mr Sorensen jumped.

‘And Lukas too. They’ve put something–’

Matthew was upstairs. He was cleaning his teeth, and looking at himself in the mirror.

He turned around, and put his head into his bedroom, looking for Lukas. Where was Lukas?

Matthew rinsed his mouth out and tried to find his phone.

It was in the bed, under the covers.

He phoned Lukas, and listened to his phone ring, and then slowly, he heard it from somewhere else. He walked out of his room and across the hall, and into Lukas’ room. Lukas’ phone was on his night table. Matthew closed his own. He frowned at Lukas’ phone, and picked it up.

It wasn’t like Lukas to go somewhere without his phone.

Suddenly. Quickly. As though he didn’t have any time at all, Matthew phoned Mr Sorensen.

‘They did something. To both of us,’ he said.

‘Where are you Matthew?’

‘I’m in Lukas’ room, and you’ve got to believe me–’

Mr Sorensen was staring at Matthew. Suddenly. Standing there in front of Matthew, and staring at him, as though he had just materialised.

Matthew got a fright. And jumped.

‘Are you alright?’ Mr Sorensen said.

Matthew shook his head slowly, backing away from him.

‘Dr Mueller. Lukas is missing,’ he said, trying to cram as much information as possible into as few words as he could.

But he didn’t go anywhere. He was standing there still.

‘Dr Mueller put–’

‘Well it’s hopeless,’ Mr Sorensen was saying. They were downstairs. Mr Sorensen and Matthew. In the hall.

Again, Matthew jumped.

McCady entered, from the back passage, animated, flustered.

‘No. His car’s there.’

Matthew looked at the time. An hour or two had passed. It was almost eleven.

‘Where is he?’ Matthew said.

The two of them turned to him, and frowned. ‘We don’t know,’ they said in unison.

And it was obvious to Matthew that he had said something stupid. They had been searching the house for Lukas, and Matthew had been helping them.

Slowly, Matthew started to walk upstairs.

‘Dr Mueller,’ he said, turning suddenly, and walking back down again. ‘He put these devices in Lukas and my–’

‘Oh fuck,’ he heard a voice in his head say, and then everything was black.

No. Not black.

There was light there. Above him.

Flames.

Something burning.

And he was sitting.

Uncomfortably.

He looked down at himself, and realised he was naked.

He felt groggy, as though he had been drugged.

His legs were held apart, like a V, and his arms too, like a V, while his back was ramrod straight. Underneath his arse, there was nothing.

The backs of his thighs were on blocks of wood.

His arms, on blocks of wood.

Tied down.

With leather restraints.

He was sitting in some sort of contraption, as though it had been made for this, and…

Matthew looked up.

Cold ripples surged through his body.

He knew this place, this museum.

He was in the torture chamber.