Normally Oliver would have no trouble taking the beating for getting out of bed. It would be better than the beating for soiling his sheets (which were washed as least often as possible) as well as having to sleep in that bed all night.

But tonight was different. He had the diary.

Even if the diary didn’t give up its secrets to the rest of the world it would be taken from him, and he would take a severe beating for having a book and stealing the pen.

And he woud lose all that really mattered to him right now forever. Oliver couldn’t take that chance.

As the footsteps came closer and closer he acted on impulse.

He rushed over to the window, opening it as quickly as he could with some effort as it had been painted shut.

Luckily it hadn’t been painted in years and years, and even weak Oliver could force it open.

It was a small opening, but a half starved boy, small for his age anyway, could easily fit.

And Oliver did, diving out as fast as he could.