It was a happy seeming office: soft yellow walls enclosed a comfy but worn blue sofa which sat against the wall next to the door, an oval coffee table and two matching armchairs opposite. Behind them, a medium sized pine desk that matched the coffee table stood in front of the window, bare except for a desktop and keyboard, and a blue coffee cup for pens next to a barely hanging-on spider plant. The only other personal touches were children's drawings, of varying skill, that were tacked up around the walls. The shelves were full of colourful toys and video games, that looked well-played with, as evidenced by a few missing parts.

The door opened, causing the couple sitting on the sofa to turn sharply.

"Mr. and Mrs. Reed, so sorry to keep you waiting." The owner of the office, Mr. Abney, was an older, bespectacled, dark-skinned black man, with close cropped grey hair and a slightly harried look on his face. He was dressed casually in charcoal slacks and a blue, checked button-up, and carried a thick file in his hand, which he set down on the coffee table before taking a seat in an armchair.

"This is?" Mr. Abney gestured to the severe looking man seated in the other armchair, whose dark suit screamed 'lawyer', and whose lined, greyish face whispered 'too much time indoors'.

"Neville Thornton," Neville Thornton replied primly with a nod.

"Pleasure." Mr. Abney started fiddling with a recording device, before setting it down on the table. "Could I get any of you tea or coffee before we begin? No? Then I'll just start up this recording, then, if you don't mind." He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "The date is the second of December 2136, Richard Abney, social worker, of the Leicester Child Protective Services, conducting the first interview with Mr. Stuart Reed and Mrs. Mary Reed. Could you both state your names for the record?"

"Yes, um, Mary Reed." Her smile did not reach her eyes and her hands were clenched in her lap.

"Stuart Reed, lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy." Stuart's jaw was as clenched as his wife's knuckles, his face otherwise unreadable.

Upon prompting, Neville Thornton stated his name, company and role as the Reed's solicitor. Satisfied, Mr. Abney continued.

"And you both understand that the purpose of this interview is to, is to…" he flicked through his file. "To discuss allegations that your son Malcolm, date of birth the second of September 2123, currently thirteen years old, allegations that state that he is unsafe in the custody of you, his parents, and may possibly need to be removed from the family home." He looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Reed over the tops of his glasses. Mrs. Reed, already white from the stress, had paled even more considerably.

"Understood," Mr. Reed said, curtly. His right arm was draped casually on the arm rest of the sofa, his white knuckles the only thing giving him away.

"And you have been made aware through correspondence the inciting incidence that prompted this investigation?"

"We have, and quite frankly we don't believe a word of it." Mr. Reed uncrossed and crossed his legs again.

"Why is that, Mr. Reed?" Mr. Abney was politely curious, picking a sheaf of paper out of the file.

"Lieutenant."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's lieutenant."

"Apologies, lieutenant. But you were saying?"

"Just that Malcolm has always had a rather fanciful imagination."

"For example?"

"He was always making up stories when he was small," Mrs. Reed offered, shifting forward. "Especially when he was playing with his sisters. And he likes to draw tall ships and come up with stories about battles with pirates. Quite the imagination."

Mr. Abney nodded. "And, in general, how would you describe Malcolm? Other than imaginative?"

"He's a little shy, but he's a good boy. We never had any trouble when he was smaller," Mrs. Reed insisted.

"He does what he's told, when he's told," Lt. Reed said, with no change of expression. He could have been made of disapproving stone.

"Would you say you're close?"

"Of course, but he's a very quiet boy," Mrs. Reed explained. Whatever she was about to say next was cut off by her husband.

"He doesn't like to cause a fuss, but if he needed anything we would know."

"The relationship my clients have with their son is of course a loving one." Mr. Thornton leaned forward. "I have here –" he took a PADD out of his briefcase. "Sworn affidavits from several of the Reed's friends and family members that can testify to that effect."

Mr. Abney took the PADD and spared it a glance before setting it down. "I will look over those later, they should be very helpful, thank you. But Lt. and Mrs. Reed, I have to ask you, you said that Malcolm liked to make up stories – has he ever made up anything like this before? Involving either yourselves, his sisters, or other family members?"

"No. Never." Lt. Reed was resolute.

"Never? He has never complained about his sister being, say, a bit mean?"

"Only the usual squabbles siblings have," Mrs. Reed insisted. "Nothing serious, at all."

"Can you give some examples?"

"Oh, you have children, you must know." Mrs. Reed gestured at the drawings on the walls.

Mr. Abney fixed his glasses, glancing around. "I do indeed, my sons couldn't pay a board game without arguing over it." He smiled fondly. "However, those are done by children whose cases I've been assigned. I find drawing helps them relax a little, and open up."

"They are lovely," Mrs. Reed said, smiling. "You must have a difficult job."

"It can wear you down, I will grant you that. But there's nothing more rewarding than helping a family through a difficult time," Mr. Abney explained. "You see, my job is mainly to work with families to prevent separations unless absolutely necessary."

Mrs. Reed let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Malcolm draws a little."

"Yes, you said he likes to draw ships with pirates?"

Lt. Reed's nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, and he glanced to one side. Mr. Abney took a mental note.

"He used to, never wants to show us what he draws now."

"He still draws those pirates," Lt. Reed said in clipped tones. "Along with other 'fantasy' scenes."

"He shows you his pictures?"

"Occasionally, he keeps most of them hidden in his bedroom."

Mr. Abney nodded thoughtfully. "My own sons used to hide chocolate in the back of their wardrobe, my wife and I were constantly pulling out clothes only to find them covered in chocolate. Boys always have such creative hiding places. Do you know where in his bedroom he keeps them?"

"Under his mattress, not really that creative."

There was a pause before Mr. Abney responded. "How did you come across them?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How did you come across his drawings?"

A muscle twitched in Lt. Reed's cheek. "When I was changing his sheets." His wife was staring at the table.

"Do you look at them often?"

"Occasionally."

"Talented?"

"A little."

"What kind of fantasy scenes does he draw?"

"Fairies, elves, aliens he thinks are out there, that sort of nonsense."

"Does he share his drawings with his sisters?"

"I don't think he does," Mrs. Reed said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"Just to get back to my earlier question before we were sidetracked – has Malcolm ever complained about his sister being a bit mean to him?"

"Just the usual," Mrs. Reed insisted. "Not wanting to share toys when they were little, you know."

"Just to be perfectly clear: Malcolm has never once said that his elder sister has hurt him, or anything to that effect?"

"Definitely not." The tick in Lt. Reed's cheek became more prominent.

"I see." Mr. Abney cracked open his file and started rifling through it. As he extracted several stapled papers he said, "But the thing is, I have several statements from quite a number of your extended family that contradicts you. They claim that Malcolm has often in the past said that Meredith has hurt him or threatened him. You can read them, if you'd like."

Lt. Reed snapped the statements out of his hand, and he and his wife bent their heads over them, flicking through the sheaf. He hesitated before answering. "Like we said, the boy is fanciful, and he likes to blame his sisters when things go awry: falling off his bike; if he forgets to take his medicine; if his medicine goes out of date; anything he misplaces somehow is his sisters' fault; never Malcolm's fault."

"Do you concur Mrs. Reed?"

It was her turn to hesitate. "Well, I wouldn't say he's lying to us, certainly –"

"But he never owns up to it." Lt. Reed cut in again. "Wants us to just believe his version of events, the boy's always completely innocent."

"And we know for a fact that his sister would never do such a thing." Mrs. Reed started to wring her hands as she bit her lower lip, looking earnestly at Mr. Abney. "I don't know why Malcolm is doing this."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Putting us through all this – if we could only talk to him, we could get this all straightened out. This is probably just a joke or a story that just went too far, and now he's too frightened to admit it." Mrs. Reed voice became thicker the longer she spoke. She didn't see the 'calm down' gestures Mr. Thornton was making, and shrugged off her husband's warning hand when he tried to grip hers. "I'm his mother, I'm sure I could convince him to tell the truth."

"And how would you do that? Convince him?"

"Tell him what he's doing to this family," Mrs. Reed said. "I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm. He just spend too much time in his own head, that's all."

"Actions have consequences, he has to understand that." Lt. Reed was successful in gripping his wife's hand this time. "This isn't a joke, or a harmless game."

"Would you mind if i go over the accusations?" Mr. Abney held up another sheaf of paper he'd taken out of file. Lt. and Mrs. Reed shook their heads. "It says here that on the tenth of November of this year Malcolm returned to his dormitory where his elder sister Meredith was waiting with her boyfriend, a Jasper Bardsley-Kemp, you're familiar with him, I presume. So, the two of them were waiting, and once Malcolm arrived threatened to throw his two pet turtles into a bucket of bleach if he did not agree to drink a litre of milk. Could you please describe to me what would happen if Malcolm were to eat any dairy products?"

"He's allergic, he – he'd go into shock." Mrs. Reed swallowed.

"So not a simple lactose intolerance, then?"

"No," Lt. Reed said as evenly as possible.

"How allergic is he to dairy?"

"Very." There was a vein becoming more prominent in Lt. Reed's temple.

"So, obviously, Malcolm would require hospitalisation if he were to drink it, which is what happened –"

"No, it isn't."

"I beg your pardon, lieutenant?"

"Meredith did not threaten her brother. I don't know what induced that boy to do such a thing, but it was not Meredith. Like we already said, he can be prone to flights of fancy. This was just another cry for attention." There was an edge to his voice now.

"You don't believe Malcolm's version of events?"

"Of course not."

"But this isn't Malcolm's version of events."

"What?" That drew both of the Reed's up short. They glanced at each other before turning back to Mr. Abney.

"This," Lt. Reed took the offered sheet and he and his wife looked over it. "Is a statement made to me by Malcolm's roommate. He was already in the room before Malcolm arrived, and Jasper wanted an audience. Both he and Meredith made the boy egg Malcolm on – he feels quite guilty over it." He gestured to the statement. "It's all there. How Malcolm drank the milk, became ill, and once Meredith and Jasper left, he took Malcolm to the infirmary."

"And what does Malcolm have to say about all this?" Lt. Reed asked harshly. He roughly handed the piece of paper back.

"Nothing at all," Mr. Abney explained, leaning back in his chair. "He's terrified. Won't open his mouth."

There was a very long pause. "Then who is making the accusations against our Meredith?" Lt. Reed asked. He was starting to feel a bit hot underneath the collar. "A teacher?"

"Your brother, Archie."

The vein in Lt. Reed's forehead looked like it was about the burst. "What?"

"Apologies, I thought you were aware," Mr. Abney said smoothly. "You see, Malcolm's roommate, no I won't give you his name, told your nephew Callum what had happened. They are in the same year, aren't they, I have that right? Well, Callum went and told his older brother Finlay, and it was Finlay who told his father – your brother."

"He never said anything," Lt. Reed said through teeth clenched so tightly that there was a real risk of fracturing a tooth. "I've spoken to him, he never said anything."

"He filed a police report on the eleventh, after taking Malcolm home with him the day before. Were you aware that this office had granted him temporary custody on the basis of the interview he gave that day, and that of the ones your parents and sisters, Mrs. Reed, gave on the day after that?"

"We knew Archie was granted temporary custody, but we didn't know he was the instigator of all of this nonsense."

"He said that it wasn't the first time Meredith had tried to hurt Malcolm, and that you both were unwilling to even try and stop her from doing it again. It's all there in the documents I just gave you."

Mr. Thornton took them from Lt. Reed and started to look over everything, his brow furrowed.

"This all absurd!" Lt. Reed burst out, his resolve almost gone. "The audacity of you to accuse our daughter of this in the first place is outrageous! She's never laid a hand on him. And if this is all the evidence you have, hearsay, and the attention seeking stories of a child, we'll be taking our son back to school this afternoon."

"It isn't."

"What else could you possibly have?" Lt. Reed asked.

"Malcolm is also allergic to bromelain, is he not?" Mr. Abney started riffling through his files again. "And he's been hospitalized several times in the past for anaphylactic shock, also true?"

"It hasn't been that often." Mrs. Reed shifted uncomfortably. "Perhaps once or twice."

"It was six times in 2128," Mr. Abney said, looking in the file. "Five times in 2129, and another five in 2130, the last being in July of that year. For those three years, Malcolm was sent to the Emergency Department on average every two months. Which is quite a significant amount, wouldn't you agree?"

"He was so young then, it was almost impossible to control what he was putting in his mouth," Mrs. Reed said. "He was with other children, if they had treats, then they usually shared."

"Doesn't he take injections to be able to tolerate bromelain? Who would normally administers those during the time in question?"

Mrs. Reed flushed. "I do," she said tersely. "It's on a prescription which we get from the pharmacy."

"And where is it stored?"

"In the fridge."

"And are you normally diligent about proper storage and administration?"

"Of course!"

"Then how do you explain those hospital visits?"

She went even redder, grabbing fistfuls of her skirt. "He must have eaten some dairy, he doesn't take anything for that."

"But his dairy allergy was only responsible for six of those visits. The hospital determined, and documented," he indicated the file again, "That the others were caused by ingesting bromelain."

"What does this have to do with Meredith?" Lt. Reed snapped.

"She started school here in Leicester when she was ten, correct? In September of 2130?"

"Yes."

"And came home to you in Malaysia every summer, Christmas, Easter?"

"Yes."

"You see, after that, the hospital visits follow a pattern: Christmas 2130, Easter '31, summer '31, summer '32, Christmas '32, summer and Christmas '33, and summer of '34 – only when Meredith is home for the holidays."

"That's quite a stretch, Mr. Abney." Mr. Thornton had been silent for quite a while. "Purely circumstantial, and by no means enough to separate a family."

"By themselves, probably not, no," Mr. Abney conceded. "But according to your mother, Mrs. Reed, Malcolm refuses to take any food from his sister. She's asked him about it several times, and he admitted to her that he has seen Meredith doing something with his medication in the fridge. He's also said that she's given him things like cheese and yoghurt, similar to the incident with the turtles. She says that both her and your sister, Sherry, have mentioned it to you, but you dismissed them. Would that be true?"

"No, none of it," Mrs. Reed insisted. She was starting to feel slightly ill, and weak in the chest. "Meredith would never hurt Malcolm."

"But has your mother and sister brought up their concerns with you?"

"It was hardly a concern, more in passing," Lt. Reed jumped in before his wife could say anything. "If we thought it was serious, we would have acted on it."

"Still conjecture." Mr. Thornton scoffed. "Mr. and Mrs. Campbell don't see their grandchildren as much as Lt. Reed's parents, there's bound to be some hard feelings there."

"Perhaps, but when I asked Malcolm about what his grandparents had told me, he admitted that he has said those things to his grandmother in the past, and further more that he believed them. Would you like me to go over what else they have told me?"