The sound of helicopters makes Kostyantyn's heart jump before he notices that the TV is on, colored flicker on the wall, hushed voices and the sound of gunshots. Why is this on when nothing else is?
He approaches the room, crossing the small hallway. He hears the familiar beep beep of Jack Bauer's ticking clock, probably a repeat on FX. A shadow parts the amber glow for a moment, then disappears. The fictional agent continues to shout at somebody amidst the sounds of guns and helicopters.
Kostyantyn stops cold. His right hand moves back to touch the bottom part of his violin case; an unnecessary but nonetheless vital reassurance that the instrument is still there. It sings a nervous tune in his mind, the notes cautious and somber at the same time. He's never felt such apprehension from the fiddle before. His breath shivering, he forces one foot in front of the other. He forces himself to believe the shadow was a trick of the lights and his mother has fallen asleep on the love seat.
In the room the television is louder, the screaming nonsensical to Kostyantyn as he steps over to the set to turn it off. The sudden silence hurts almost as much as the sounds. The couch is empty, the window open just a crack.