David was perched on the edge of his bed, his bloodshot eyes darting around the room like a hummingbird. He mindlessly picked at the myriad of scabs that dotted his arms and legs. Behind him, there were books scattered about. Some looked old, others new, and a few were his school notebooks. At first, it looked like he had been doing research all night, but the candles and incense burning about the room told me different.
He had been acting weird these past few weeks, and tonight I came up to his room with several questions in mind. Now, I had only one.
Where is my son?
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