Maxwell lingers at the doorway, bracing himself for what he will find in the room. Is the blob truly gone, or is it hiding, lurking under the sheet, or in the shadows, waiting. Waiting. Waiting to do what? To suck his blood like a leech? That would explain its colour. Or perhaps it will draw itself into a straw, wiggle up his nostrils, liquefy and ingest his brain. Maxwell shudders. He has to collect Jess’ things; they have to leave - this very minute. And that brings up another issue. Should he take only Jess’ things? Or should he pack for Adam as well? Is he prepared for that? Is Jess prepared for that?
Maxwell steels himself and steps in, eyes glued on that red spot at the base of the wall, ears piqued, listening for the slightest shuffle. He hurries about the room collecting Jess’ things, ignoring Adam’s. When Jess’ suitcase is packed and waiting by the door, he decides to go back and gather everything belonging to Adam. He doesn’t know what could be used as evidence. Adam’s things would serve their police better than Water Island’s WIC.
Maxwell scans the room. He searches corners; it’s suddenly important for him to collect everything. He pulls out his phone; still can’t make a call, but he can take pictures. He takes lots of pictures. He can also take a picture of the blob. Who’s going to believe him otherwise?
Maxwell climbs up on the bed, searches for the blob underneath. He sees something in the shadow - in the shape of a sleeping cat. He shines his phone’s flashlight onto it. The blob writhes, shrinks; it’s much smaller than it was when it was crawling towards Jess. It’s still frightening - and disgusting. It makes Maxwell sick to look at it. He takes his pictures, hops off the bed, then drags the suitcases from the room.