This is my second entry to MusicNeverStops474's Christmas Contest, even though this was originally never meant to be Christmas-themed. As you'll be able to tell, I just slipped in a few Christmas references just to fit the genre. This story will be similar in mood to "Remembrance of a Moment's Paradise," so be warned.

Taking a deep breath, Tobey pushed open the double doors of the hospital wing, his face wrinkling in disgust as that persistent, unidentified hospital odor wafted by his nose, even though the chemical it was associated with was unneeded here. After all, there was no medicine to cure the mind.

A wizened old man in a bathrobe shuffled by, muttering incoherently under his breath. His milky white eyes darted around frantically, and yet the pace at which he walked was a leisurely stroll. Upon reaching the end of the corridor, he would turn and walk the other direction in an endless back and forth motion. Most children Tobey's age would find such behavior disturbing, but Tobey had been here enough times to accustom himself with the sight. Honestly, he would rather not have been here at all, but since his mother had shooed him away while she prepared for another court case, he had found it prudent to spend Christmas with at least one of his parents.

As he scribbled his name onto the sign-in sheet at the front desk, the nurse at the counter smiled sadly at him, her eyes filled with a pity he didn't need. Tobey averted his eyes, used to the glance. He had been here enough that nearly all the nurses knew why he had come.

Turning to the clusters of 'patients,' his eyes sought out his father, hoping this would be one visit he wouldn't regret.

"Tobey!" exclaimed a man in his early forties, waving eagerly from his seat around a white round table. His expression was bright and jolly; however, his actual physical features were worn and haggard. His face was noticeably unshaven, for none of the 'patients' were permitted to have razors, knifes, or any other sharp objects. He was dressed in a gleaming white jumpsuit, similar to those of prisoners, reinforcing the idea in Tobey's mind that this place was a prison and his father a criminal.

Shyly smiling, Tobey approached his father, taking a seat by his side. "Merry Christmas, Tobey," he said, pulling his son into a strong, clinging hug, the relief of company on this holiday clearly spoken in his voice. Neither had brought a present, knowing the gift of company was more than sufficient. As they hugged, Tobey couldn't make himself believe his father was insane.

"Merry Christmas, Daddy," replied Tobey as they broke apart, using the childish endearment for the sole purpose to delude himself that none of his childhood had been missed. Oh, but it had. Four years. Four very, very long years, which could never possibly be replaced.

It was Tobey's mother who had him committed. At first, the oddity of his mental state was subtle, easy to hide in public with a hasty change of topic or a few pills each morning. Perhaps someone would notice the way he would stare into space a second too long or paced incessantly, unable to stand still, but other than that, there was nothing. No one had known of his condition for quite some time. Even Tobey had been oblivious for quite a while, wholeheartedly believing the snatches of fanciful nonsense his father told him before his mother had the chance to cover his ears. Stories from terrifying alien abductions to blissful fantasies of the McCallisters achieving a fortune beyond anyone's wildest imagination had graced the young boy's ears, and the only reason he believed it was because his father said so.

But that didn't mean he was a bad parent. No, to Tobey, he was the fun parent, the playmate in boredom and the faithful ally who would side with him whenever his mother denied him a pleasure. Still, Theodore's abnormality couldn't be hidden. He would shut himself up in his library for hours at a time, with nothing but the scratching of a pen on paper to affirm his vitality as he wrote secret messages upon thousands of pieces of paper. Tobey had never dared to read them, terrified of the pages as if they were a magic spell that would drag him screaming into his father's world of insanity. Then, Tobey had mustered up the courage to sneak inside one day to discover to his horror that the words weren't even in English, but rather in a strange pattern of symbols written not in ink, but in the writer's own blood.

This had been the final straw for Tobey's mother. Tobey's father was utterly incompetent, both in providing income for the family as well as in domestic duties. Upon seeing the pages covered in blood, Claire had called up the Fair City Hospital and had her husband permanently committed.

And so the police came, quietly and discreetly in the middle of the night. Tobey's father went without a fuss, peacefully surrendering himself to the authorities. She spread the story that her husband was working abroad in Germany, and so it was that Claire McCallister was left to raise her only son in peace, without the burden of harboring a madman.

However, Tobey, who was the mere age of seven at the time, had been horribly confused, left to ponder the arrest of a father who had never committed a crime, save that of insanity. His mother had simply told her son that his father was very ill and would not be home for sometime, a lie parents often told their children so as not to burden themselves of explaining the harsh pains of reality to the innocent. Over time, however, Tobey had deduced what had happened to his father. The transition was so gradual that Tobey couldn't even feel upset; his father's absence had become a natural part of his everyday life, and the lies slid as easily from his lips as if they were the truth.

By the age of nine, his father's existence had become an embarrassing secret, a mark of the utmost shame. Why would his mother even marry such a man in the first place? But still, he came to visit his father every two weeks, each encounter more painful than the last.

Tobey wasn't even sure he loved his father anymore.

"How are things here?" asked Tobey, always concerned for his wellbeing.

"Oh, it's the same as always," Theodore said casually, never wanting to talk about himself. "What's been happening with my son?"

"Well, I won my very first Inventor's Contest on Saturday," Tobey began proudly, launching himself into a very animated description of the event, as well as the other idiotic projects, which couldn't possibly hold a candle to him. As he spoke, his father listened attentively, desperately drinking in every detail. Tobey wanted to cry. These brief get-togethers couldn't replace an entire childhood, but his father still deluded himself into thinking it was possible. He had just missed too much. The sad fact of the matter was that Theodore stopped being Tobey's father the day he left his son in the worst possible way.

From there, the conversation went smoothly, until the topic began to veer into hazardous waters, at least for Tobey.

"I received another message today," Theodore said in an undertone, leaning inward in a secretive manner.

Tobey gritted his teeth, knowing where he was going with this. His father was always receiving cryptic 'messages,' whether in newspapers or books or magazines. Casting his eyes down, he thought of the rules his mother gave him: Don't speak more than necessary, don't encourage him, don't disagree, don't ask questions, just nod your head and change the topic as quickly as possible.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but I have to go," Tobey interrupted abruptly. "Mother wanted me home by ten."

Theodore nodded his head, trying to reveal as little disappointment as possible. Before saying his goodbye, Theodore told his son what he said every single time they met. "I'm going to get out soon, Tobey, and then I'll fulfill everything I've promised you and Claire."

Tobey bit back a scream. His father had given him a million hopes, dreams, and promises, all of them lies. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't he see the world through everyone else's eyes?

This is it, thought Tobey. This is the day I tell him I don't believe a word he says. This is the day I tell him he's crazy.

But as always, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"I know, Dad. I believe you."

Hiding his tears, Tobey pushed open the hospital doors and stepped back into reality, knowing his father would never keep his promise.

Now, as I'm sure you noticed in this story, Tobey's father is alive. I know this clashes to the common inference that he died, but I recently uncovered a canon clue that goes against that: Tobey's mom is Mrs. McCallister. If her husband had died, she would become a widow, thus changing her legal title from Mrs. to Ms., because Mrs. only refers to a married woman, and once a spouse dies, the marriage becomes null and void... I think. Correct me if I'm wrong on this. However, if I'm right, then that means Mrs. McCallister's husband is still alive, just not seen in the show.

As for any personal reference, I'll let you be the judge of that.

Love to all,

Bella