Author's Notes - Thank you to all who read the first two chapters. This one's a little short, but things are starting to get troublesome for Philip! I hope you enjoy Chapter 3. As always, reviews and feedback are appreciated. Chapter 4 should be up by the end of next week.

The truck trundled down the dusty lane, into the darkness, away from the house and the kindly couple who had taken him in. Philip gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white and sharp fingernails curving around the plastic to dig into his hand. He forced himself to focus on the pain, not to let himself be pulled into the swirl of confusion threatening to overwhelm him. The truck hit a slight bump in the track and veered towards the field. He swung the wheel to the left and back onto the track towards the main road he saw coming up in the distance.

He tried not to dwell on May and Stan, tried not to wonder whether May was hurt after he'd shoved her out of the way to escape the house. He tried instead to focus solely on driving the truck, on getting to civilisation. But he found it impossible not to question what might be happening to him. He'd heard voices, as real as if there was a person speaking right beside him. And he was so sure, so positive that what he was hearing was real, that the blank stares and confusion May gave him in response to his insistence that she must hear the voices too had angered him. Though the sensation of anger felt alien to him, as though whomever he had been before he had awoken in the field rarely experienced such anger. The feeling only served to make him more uncomfortable.

As he drove on, he calmed a little, and began to rationally analyse what had happened. He'd heard voices, he was sure of that. And it was not simply that May denied hearing them too that had angered him, but the thought that he was imagining them. He was absolutely certain that what he'd heard was real. The first voice had been a man; he'd recognised it, though he couldn't quite place it. The voice, though not commanding at the time, had made him think of orders, of responsibility. The second voice had been a woman. Compassionate but firm, and he'd felt his heart warm a little on hearing it, but he couldn't place why. These were not just random voices in his head; he knew them. Had he left the source of the voices back at the farmhouse? He hadn't heard them since leaving. Should he go back?

No. He thought of Stan and his shotgun, of the anger he'd directed at May. He couldn't go back. They'd let him into their home, fed him, allowed him to stay, though they had no idea who he was, and he'd repaid their kindness with an attack. He doubted they'd understand if he tried to explain. No. It was better that he move on. And hopefully he'd hear the voices again.

He'd reached the main road; a sign at the junction appeared to point towards what he hoped was a town. He turned left towards it and after another ten minutes of driving shops, offices and a more urban landscape unfolded before him.

Darkness had truly set at this point, and Philip found himself exhausted. Perhaps the adrenaline from his outburst had worn out. He pulled down a dark side-street, between a Chinese restaurant and a convenience store, turned the engine off and pushed the seat back until he was reclining. He'd just get a few hours of rest, and then he'd begin the search for the source of the voices.

Carly hung her head. No response from Philip, despite her pleas. She supposed she shouldn't have expected an answer, if Mac hadn't managed to get through to him either.

Jeff poked his head back around the door. "Jeff Junior's asleep." He said, not quite quietly enough for her liking, and he slid back into the living room.

"Good." She replied, carefully schooling her face so that any trace of worry disappeared.

"So…" He started, and she knew he was angling for something. "I know I said I could take him all day tomorrow, but I really need to go into work."

It was the presumptive way he said it that set her off. "No Jeff." She closed her eyes.

"C'mon Carly, you can take one day off."

"No, Jeff. I can't. I'm going to be out all day tomorrow. I need you to take him." She tried to calm her voice; whilst she wanted to yell at him about responsibilities and broken promises, she knew by now that she'd get further if she played it nice.

"I thought you were only working a half day anyway?"

"No, I'm in all day. Look, please Jeff, it's really important." She could feel him getting angry, tell that he was trying to relax, so she sat still and quiet.

He breathed out, slowly, in a way that suggested reigning in his temper was taking a great deal of effort. "Ok. But you owe me." He didn't wait for her thanks. Just stood up and walked out.

She hoped he'd actually be back in the morning to take the baby. Or she'd have to take Junior looking for Philip too. She wanted to call him again, but it would do no good spending the night fruitlessly trying to get in contact. If she was going to find him, she'd need to go looking, and for that she'd need her sleep. She sighed and pulled herself off the couch to get ready for bed.

Philip woke to sunlight shining in through the truck's rear window, reflecting off the rear-view mirror and into his eye. He groaned and stretched his arms behind him. It took a moment for him to work out that he was in a truck. For some reason he'd had an image of a garage right before he'd opened his eyes, but he had no idea why. No memories had come to him in the night, and he'd heard no more voices. His stomach grumbled and he realised he was starving. He pulled the chair upright and began rummaging in the glove compartment and under the seats, hoping to find some loose change. He came up with a crumpled receipt and a stale French fry, but no change. His stomach grumbled again. Part of him immediately thought of the convenience store to the side of where he'd parked the truck. And the other part of him felt immediately guilty. The hungry side won, and justified it to the guilty side with the argument that he couldn't remember who he was; he had no idea if he was a good person or not, but right now he was a hungry person, and that could easily be fixed.

It must still have been early; there were very few people on the street behind him. He hoped this would work to his advantage if he planned on liberating some snacks from the store; fewer people about, fewer people to notice him stealing. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His blondish, chin-length hair was scruffy from a night sleeping in a truck. At least he was cleaner than he'd been yesterday though, he thought. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, trying to make himself look a little more respectable.

On opening the truck door he realised he had no shoes on. So much for looking respectable. He made a note to try and get hold of some shoes as well. But food first. He took the keys from the ignition and slid onto the tarmac, trying to avoid the few shards of broken glass which littered the floor. He locked the driver's door, pocketed the keys and made his way to the main street. It was empty; the eerie quiet only present so early in the morning almost deafening in a strange way. He pushed open the door to the convenience store, and immediately felt his heart leap into his throat as a bell tinkled above him. Shit, so much for subtle!

He glanced down the aisles at the checkout counter; a tiny, ancient man squinted and smiled at him. Philip waved, nervously. Straight away he knew he'd get no shoes here, but at the very least he could get some food. He ducked down another aisle, out of sight of the till. Bars of chocolate and bags of candy lined this aisle. Not exactly a well-rounded diet, but beggars couldn't be choosers, he decided, and began loading chocolate into his pant pockets. The bell tinkled behind him, and he immediately stopped what he was doing and made for the exit, passing a middle-aged man in a suit, with his arm around a younger woman. The pair looked at his bulging pockets with suspicion, but carried on to begin their shopping.

Once outside, he made immediately for the truck, unloading the haul onto the passenger seat, and tearing one bar open with his teeth. Half-way through the second bar he began to wish he'd stolen some water too. He glanced the couple from the store walking past the alleyway, saw them notice the truck, and considered getting out of town, further away from the farm. It occurred to him that May and Stan had probably reported him, and their missing truck, to the police and mentally kicked himself for not ditching his getaway vehicle last night. Better late than never though, he thought, and began stuffing the chocolate back into his pockets. First, he'd get shoes, then he'd get another car. He hopped down from the driver's seat and felt his heart sink. Into the opening of the alleyway walked two police officers. He considered running for a moment, but the realisation that he had nowhere to go hit him like a tonne of bricks. Instead he put his hands into the air and turned as one of the officers pushed him down onto the hood of the truck.