*I don't think I could lift the drum that high,' was my doleful conclusion.

*No, no! Don't hit it with the drum!' he pleaded, his teeth chattering with fear. *It would make too much noise! They'd hear you!'

*Would they?' My gaze followed his, towards the iron door in his cell. *Are they close by?' I whispered.

*Maybe.'

*In the next room?'

*Upstairs.'

*Do they live upstairs, then?'

*How should I know?' he yelped. *It's not like they let me use their toilet!'

*Okay, okay . . .'

*Just get me out of here! '

*Shh! Okay!' Unnerved by his mounting hysteria, I was tempted to beat a retreat. But since my only escape route led into the bottom of a swimming pool . . .

Suddenly I had a flash of inspiration.

*Hang on a" wait a" I've got an idea,' I said, turning.

*No! Don't go!'

*Shh. I'll be back.'

* Don't leave me here! '

*I'm not! Okay? I'm just getting something.'

He didn't believe me, though. I could hear him begging piteously as I raced back down the tunnel; it was pretty obvious that he was in a bad way. Any minute now, I felt sure, he would flip his lid and start screaming like a maniac. So I didn't linger when I finally reached the pool. Without a moment's hesitation I burst through the hatch, stumbled over to the drainage outlet, and snatched up the aluminium beer can that someone had left there. I didn't even pause to check for unexpected noises or movements.

Then I returned to my fuzzy-haired friend, who had fallen to his knees in despair.

*It's okay,' I assured him. *Look a" see? I had to get this.'

He was sobbing too hard to ask why. But his expression, as he stared at the beer can, told me exactly what he was thinking.

He was thinking, What the hell use is a beer can?

*I'm gunna make a shim. I've done it before.' Not only that, I had successfully used my beer-can shim to pick a lock. *You can tear this stuff with your bare hands, if you fold it properly first.'

*How a" howa"'

*Just gimme a minute, all right?'

I can't pretend it was easy, making that shim. Ripping up aluminium requires a lot of patience; unless you concentrate hard, you end up with crooked rips (not to mention cut fingers). With so much whimpering going on, I found it hard to focus.

*So what's your name?' I said at last, when the impatient atmosphere got too much for me. I wanted to distract the guy from his fretting and fuming. *Mine's Toby Vandevelde.'

*I'm Sergio. Pereira.'

*How long have you been here, Sergio?'

*I dunno. How should I know? They took my watch. I got no calendar . . .' He sounded peevish, but at least he wasn't jigging up and down. *I guess you're a werewolf too, huh?' he said, wringing the tears from his eyes.

I grunted, not quite sure how to respond. The jury was still out on my status as a werewolf . . .

*It's a family curse,' Sergio continued. *That's what the priest told us. My parents thought I had a demon in me, but when they called the priest, he couldn't get rid of it. He said it was genetic. Seventh son. You know?'

*Mmmm . . .'

*They didn't believe him. They didn't believe that they had bad blood, so they tried to beat the devil out of me. They locked me in a pizza oven.'

*A pizza oven ?'

*Wood-fired. You know. Very thick.'

*Buta"'

*When the police found out, they put me in a foster home. Is that what happened to you?'

*Nuh.' I was nearly finished. *I live with my mum.'

*Does she lock you up?'

*No.'

*And you haven't killed her?'

*Of course not!' He was beginning to freak me out. I didn't want to listen to any more of his weird family history. *Okay a" so this is done, now. I just have to haul the drum over here . . .'

* I killed someone. It wasn't my fault. Gary and Lincoln a" they made me do it.'

*Uh-huh.' Boy, I was squirming. *Hang on a tick.'

*They wanted me to!' he groaned. *I woke up and he was dead! I couldn't help it!'

*Sure a" fine a" but d'you think we could talk about this later, please?' The drum was even heavier than I'd expected. I found myself panting as I dragged it towards the gate. Meanwhile, Sergio just went on and on and on, as if he couldn't shut his trap.

*They said they were police,' he gabbled. *That's why I went with them. They knew my name. They knew where I was living. I thought, "They must be police." But they weren't . . .'

I climbed up onto the drum, trying to ignore his high-pitched chatter. By stretching my arms above my head, I could reach the padlock without too much trouble. I soon realised, however, that actually picking the damn lock wasn't going to be a piece of cake. Not from that position.

*I don't know how they found out where I was,' Sergio was saying. *Someone must have told them all about me. Like my dad. Or my brother. Maybe my dad was scared that I'd come and get him one night. Maybe he wanted someone else to lock me up.'

Fiddle, fiddle. Flick, flick. I was sweating bullets, and my arms were beginning to shake. Come on , I thought, you bastard lock!

*Except that Dad didn't know my address,' Sergio added. *The social worker wouldn't tell him. That was her story, anyway. Maybe she was lying. Maybe she was the one who told Gary.'

*Goddammit!' That lock just wouldn't cooperate. So I took a couple of long, deep breaths before trying again.

Flick-flick. Flick-flick-flick.

*It could have been her,' croaked Sergio, oblivious to my struggles. He was staring off into space. *She knew where I was. But so did the lawyer. And Dr Olsen. And Dr Passlow. And Mrs Tennanta"'

*Dr Passlow?' I interrupted, cutting him off. *You know Dr Passlow?'

Sergio goggled up at me. *Huh?'

*Dr Glen Passlow? From Mount Druitt hospital?'

Sergio shook his head. *I've never been to Mount Druitt,' he mumbled. *I come from Orange. They took me to Orange Base Hospital . . .'

But he was missing the point. *Paediatrician?' I pressed. *Balding? Ginger hair? Ring a bell?'

He nodded slowly. *I guess,' he faltered. *Except that he was in Orange.'

*When?'

*Huh?'

* When were you in hospital? '

*Well . . .' He thought for a minute. *I was in hospital after the pizza oven. Before I went to foster care. And I was in foster care for three months.'

*There you are, then. He could have moved hospitals.' I suddenly realised that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing, so I fixed my attention on the padlock again. Flick, flick. Flick-flick-flick . *If you ask me,' I said, conscious that my face was growing hot with the effort of keeping my arms raised, *Dr Passlow must have something to do with this. Unless it was the priest. What was your priest's name? Was he called Ramon Alvarez?'

*No.'

*Did he ever mention anyone called Ramon Alvarez?'

*I don't think so.' Sergio sounded completely dazed.

*What about Reuben Schneider? Have you heard of him?'

*No.'

*Sanford Plackett? Nina Harrison? Bridget Doherty?'

*Why are you asking me this?' Sergio whined. *I don't know any of those people. Why should I?'

*Just wondered.' At that moment something went click a" and the padlock released its clenched jaw. I can't tell you how unbelievably good it felt when that happened. I was so surprised, I nearly fell off my drum.

*Oh!' I exclaimed. *Oh my God!'

*What?'

*I've done it!' The chain clinked as I pulled it through the bars. *Look! Oh my God!'

*Shh! Not so loud!'

*Yeah. Right. Sorry,' I muttered, climbing down to the dusty floor. It occurred to me that the chain would make a very good weapon. *We should keep this,' I proposed, swinging it like a lasso. *I bet you could really hurt someone with it.'

But Sergio wasn't listening. He had pushed the gate open, and was squeezing through the gap he'd made for himself. Without even stopping to say *thank you', he bolted past me down the tunnel.

*Hey! Wait!' I called after him. *What about the drum?'

*Shh!' He hit the brakes and whirled around. *Stop shouting !'

*I'm not shouting. I'm asking nicely.' Lowering my voice to a hiss, I fixed him with a stony glare. *You wanna help me with this drum, or what?'

To give him his due, he came straight back. Though he didn't say anything that I actually wanted to hear (like *sorry' or *thanks' or even *I owe you'), he picked up one end of the drum and began to retrace his steps a" facing backwards.

*Hang on,' I said, from the other end of the drum. I'd slung the chain around my neck like a scarf. *We should do this sideways.'

*It's okay. I'm fine.'

*You'll fall.'

*No, I won't.'

*You will if you can't see where you're going,' I insisted. *It's dark down there.'

*Just hurry, will you?' He was frantic. *Stop farting about!'

With a shrug I gave in a" and we shuffled off into the shadows. Sure enough, Sergio soon came a cropper; because he was moving too fast and couldn't see where he was going, he caught his heel in a shallow dip that caused him to sit down abruptly, dropping his end of the drum.

It made a hollow bong as it hit the ground.

*See? I told you.' Impatiently I readjusted the thing until it was sitting at a sensible angle, with each end facing a wall. *If we do it like this, we can both keep our eyes peeled, and it'll be much quicker . . .' I trailed off when I realised that he was crying again. *What's wrong?' I said. *Did you hurt yourself?'

*I'll never get out,' he sobbed. *I'll never get out.'

*Course you will. We're nearly there.'

*I'm gunna die in this hole . . .'

*Sergio!' I spoke sharply because he was dragging me down. His terror was infectious. *Snap out of it! Stop being such a wuss!'

*You dunno what's it like,' he moaned, then yelped as I gave him a hard little kick on the shin. *Ouch! What are you doing?'

*I'm getting you out of here, okay? Stand up!'

*All right, all right. You don't have to yell at me . . .'