Disclaimer: All characters of The Pretender do not belong to me. They belong to NBC. I'm just borrowing them for my own amusement.
Spoilers: None really.
Author's note: Please review!!! Any sort of feedback is welcomed!! Merci beaucoup!
Mr. Lyle's Dream.
"Bobby!" a man hollered.
A little timid and scrawny boy came down the staircase cautiously. He was a skinny little one, with messy blond hair. His eyes were filled with fear as he crept down.
"Yes, Mr. Lyle?" he replied in a small voice.
"Bobby," the man began kindly, but his eyes were as cold as ice. "Bobby, did you or did you take my money that I left on the kitchen counter?"
The little boy looked back at the man cautiously. He hated it when Mr. Lyle's voice goes all nice like that. That usually meant trouble.
"What money, sir?"
The little boy could see how Mr. Lyle's face twist into something ugly. The familiar sense of fear began to scramble at his throat, as he sees Mr. Lyle unbuckle his belt.
"Mr. Lyle, sir, I didn't take any money! I promise!" he insisted. He was so scared. Mr. Lyle always did this, especially when he and mother had a fight. Why did he always have to take it on him?
"Bobby, don't you lie to me, you worthless son of a bitch. Tell me where the money is!"
Bobby could feel his filling up with tears. He wanted so much to run away, he was so afraid of this man. Why did he do to deserve all of this? Where was his real mother and father?
"Mr. Lyle, I didn't take the money. I promise. Please Mr. Lyle, you have to believe me!" he wailed.
Mr. Lyle took out his belt, and whipped once in the air, as though to test it. The tears ran down Bobby's face as Mr. Lyle raised his belt.
"Mr. Lyle, I didn't do it. I'm a good boy, Mr. Lyle. I'm a good boy!" he whispered.
Bobby winced and the tears ran down his cheek silently as a sharp crack hit his back. He bit his lip to withstand the pain of being whipped.
"Good boy, eh?" Mr. Lyle roared. "Good boy? You are no good boy, you little worm."
Whap! Another sharp one to his back.
"Mr. Lyle, no, please, I'm sorry! Mr. Lyle, no! I didn't take the money, please, Mr. Lyle!"
Whap! "You sorry, bastard. No, you're not a good boy."
"Mr. Lyle, I didn't take the money! Please believe me. I wouldn't do it! I'm a good boy! I'm sorry, Mr. Lyle, please!"
Whap! "No, if you're good boy, you'd be with your real mummy and daddy." Mr. Lyle seemed to relish with the words real mummy and daddy. "No, if you're a good boy, you'd be with your real mummy and daddy. But you're not. They're not with you. They didn't want you."
Mr. Lyle seemed to revel at every hurt and anguish that coursed through Bobby's face. He couldn't seem to stop crying. That's not true, his mummy and daddy loves him very much. They love him. They wanted him, they were just separated, and that's all. One day, they're going to find him and they're going to take him back, where he's going to be with a family who loves him. He would even have a sister or a brother to play with. No, they're coming for him.
"That's not true! They love me! And they're going to come back and take me away!" Bobby yelled unexpectedly. The pleasure on Mr. Lyle's face disappeared almost immediately. A cruel anger and displeasure had taken its place.
"Are you talking back to me boy? Are you talking back to me?"
Bobby saw the immediate change and the fear scrambled at his throat.
"No, Mr. Lyle. I'm so sorry, please! I didn't mean to, please Mr. Lyle! I'll do whatever you say!"
Mr. Lyle raised his belt again. Bobby crouched on the floor, his little frame aching, sore and bruised from the whipping he got. He tasted blood; he must have bitten his lip trying to endure the pain.
"You worthless piece of shit. Are you talking back to me?"
"No, Mr. Lyle. No, I didn't mean to. I'm very sorry. Please Mr. Lyle! Please Mr. Lyle!" Bobby begged.
"I think someone here needs time in the shed."
Bobby's eyes widened. The shed. Not the shed. He was absolutely terrified now.
"Mr. Lyle, please anything but the shed. I'll be good. I'll be very good, Mr. Lyle, please, anything, anything but the shed. Please, Mr. Lyle!" he shrieked as the monster he called his father came closer towards him.
***
Lyle woke up suddenly, he realised he was breathing heavily and he had broken out in cold sweat. It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.
Lyle sat up quickly and switched the bedside lamp on and grabbed his gun, to reassure himself. He was in his bedroom. He was fine. Mr. Lyle couldn't hurt him anymore.
He managed himself an amused, bitter smile. He was Mr. Lyle now, not the cowardly Bobby Bowman he once was. He had a silly little nightmare. That was all, he wasn't afraid of any nightmare or anything. People are afraid of him.
He looked at his bed and decided he wasn't able to sleep again tonight. He allowed himself a sigh and decided to get himself a glass of water. He walked to the kitchen slowly, allowing himself to recall his nightmare. He shuddered involuntarily. The only thing that was able to scare him was his foster father, he mused. And now, he's locked up somewhere. He deserved it.
He filled up a glass with water and wondered if he should have a hard drink instead. He knew his sister favoured alcohol over any type of beverage, and he understood why. But he didn't want to be reminded of his family in any way whatsoever.
He drank the water. He could still feel a tinge of fear left within him. He needed to wait for a while, letting it dissipate by itself. When he was smaller, he used to think of his real family, who was out there looking for him and the fear and loneliness would go away. Now, well, he had his real family with him, a sister who was very willing to put a bullet in his head, and a father who seemed to think the rat race between him and his sister an amusing pastime. But it doesn't really matter, did it? He was Mr. Lyle.
His mind trailed to Jarod suddenly. The annoying fucking pretender who was bent on making his life pure hell. He had lost a thumb because of this man. He hated Jarod to the death. He hated every aspect of Jarod, his do-good attitude, his looks, the power Jarod had over everyone: Sydney, Broots and even that serial killer Kyle.
The closeness Jarod had with his sibling sparked a rare kind of jealousy within Lyle. He knew Jarod had only recently met that madman he called his brother and they connected. Lyle's thoughts flew to Parker but he extinguished the thought immediately. It didn't matter; he was Mr. Lyle after all.
He shook his head, wondering why he would be bothered by all this shit. His eye caught the calendar as he headed back to bed. He grinned suddenly. He realised it now. It's the same every month. He changed his mind and headed to his study. He sat down by his study and pulled out a fresh piece of paper. With an odd, childlike and angry smile pasted on his face, he took up his pen and began drawing. He drew a lock. The lock that symbolised how he was, in actual fact trap in nightmare that never seemed to end, he thought meaningfully. But, he realised, as a cruel smile grew on his face, how someone would never get out.
A lock for the other Mr. Lyle.