"Years."
This was the thought of Connie Rogers, as she gave a slight chuckle at her wandering thoughts. It had been two years. Two long, suffering years since the accident. Well, it didn't look like an accident at all really. It just looked a silent wish granted by her late son.
"Toby…"
She cringed her shoulders at the thought of his face. The face she saw that night. It wasn't his. It just wasn't. She just didn't want to see it. It was filled with a mocking hatred, that slowly engulfed her son. Yes, that was it, it wasn't his choice right? Toby didn't mean it right?
"Right?" She began to mumble under her breath. She was in her living room, well, her sisters living room. Connie had been staying with her sister, Lori, since that night. She was lying on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. Her arms covered her forehead, as she was reliving her final moments with Toby, as he bellowed over his father's body. The stench of the ripped organ tissue that stank up the room, the sheets of blood draping him and the walls, there was so much…
Connie moaned. She motioned her body to face the couch cushions and pressed her face against it. She knew her husband was a drunken halfwit, but she knew somewhere, deep within, he was still the gentle knight in khakis, who loved her company more than his drinks.
She narrowed her vision. But he was gone now. Just like everything else in her live. She lost it all that day. The day she came home with Toby from the clinic. She shuddered at the thought of the Toby from then, to the one who was deranged. It was all so confusing to her, it dashed through her mind at unthinkable speeds, and she just couldn't keep up with it all.
She brought herself up from the couch, and sloughed over, shoulders narrowed at their sides. She raised herself to her feet, and shuffled across the living room to the kitchen. The kitchen floor was chilled, which gave her instant goosebumps appearing and disappearing on her calfs. She turned to the fridge, and saw the calendar.
It was saturday night, Lori had gone out with some friends, in order to get over a recent breakup, which means she was flat out wasted. As Connie brushed her fingers against the calendar dates, until her finger finally planted on the correct one.
"Mothers day.."
Connie remembered the time Toby was in 3rd grade, and he brought home a glamorous card. It was shaped out to be a heart, and within it was a picture of them both. He even wrote a quaint poem, which she could still remember to this day.
Connie began to murmur bits of the poem, "We will always be forever together…" She trailed off and moved her hand to her side. She felt like she was going to breakdown right there, but held it all back. It was all behind her now. Her husband, her son, her dreams, dead.
She walked out of the kitchen, and fled to her room, to overcome her depressed thoughts by slumbering. Once she entered her room, she leapt to her bed, already in her nightwear. She curled her head into her pillow, and then faced the clock.
It was 11:34, she would always go to sleep at a decent time, but this was a bit late for her. She shifted her view to the ceiling, and began her night.
It was windy, it was cold, and he was lost.
The leaves blew into his face, ticking his cheeks with their rough edges. He brought his hand to the side of his face and used it as a shield from the wind. He cracked his neck to look at his surroundings. He was in a neighborhood, the street lamps all ill with the dimness of burnout bulbs and shuddering flicks. He looked at his sides, where his blood rusted hatchet's hung loosely to his belt.
"Maybe I shouldn't have brought them…" He began to twitch in his nervous state, but he kept moving through the street. If he was correct, she should be in this neighborhood. He hadn't seen her in two, three years? No, two, he was sure of it. Two years since he left, then taken into the company of his new friends, and his family. He even had a close friend, and wanted to be something more with her.
He stopped his march, and looked up at the star painted sky. He could see his close friends face in the stars. Even if it wasn't there, she was everywhere to him now. She was all he needed. But, he just had to see the one who loved him first.
The one who he never stopped loving.
A glass shattering was heard from the kitchen as Connie shot up from her sleep. She looked at the time. 2:12. Maybe Lori came back from her alcoholic adventure, and stumbled into something. Maybe a vase, or glassware, or…
She was just making up excuses for her not to leave her room. She knew it wasn't Lori. Someone was there. Someone who wanted who knows what.
She crept up from her sleepy state, and got to her feet. She looked around her room, for a weapon, or blunt object. She always had a fruitful personality, but she was never into room decor. Cold sweat began to shiver down her spine. She took light steps to the door, and turned the knob slowly. She peered through her door, into the dim hallway.
There was a light on in the kitchen. A clear view of a shadow reflected from the newly formed light. She brought her head back into her room quickly, face now pale with fear.
She knew she had to do something. She moved her head around in search of her phone. But she remembered, she lets it charge in the kitchen of all places. She put her hand to her forehead, in both hatred for herself, and in frustration.
She peered her head back out. The shadow has dimmed, as if it had moved around a bit, getting used to the area. She opened the door a bit more, and marched silently through the halls, trying her best to hide her presence.
As she closed in on the kitchen entry way, the shadow has shifted, and somewhat, twitched in a way. Chills ran down her spine, as she kept up with her journey. She was on the outside of the kitchen now, listening to the sounds around her.
She heard hitched breathing.
She took a deep breath. She stepped into view.
"Lori?"
"Crap.."
Of all the things he had to do, it was to push over vase? Why would someone put a vase at the edge of the counter? He began to use his foot as a broom and swept the glass under the table. Maybe no one will notice…
He turned his head toward the back door, now housing a gap where the doorknob used to be. He had used one of his hatchets and used it to naw off the knob. He chuckled at his forced entry plan, which he thought was both clever and creative.
He then whispered to himself, "Gotta grow up Toby.."
He put his hatchet back to his belt's side, and strapped it on. He looked around at his surroundings. He hadn't been in a well put home like this in a while. He twitched at his lost memories, which were being overwritten by the new ones. As he was lost in thought, he was unaware of the silent footsteps closing in on him.
That's when she came.
"Lori?"
Toby flicked his head around, and saw the one thing that had always protected him through his life. He was in a shock of happiness, and froze in it.
Until she began to scream.
Toby came back to reality, and motioned his arms in a calming way, trying to tell her to cease the shrieks. Her mouth was wide with fear, and she raised her hands to her face.
Toby cringed at her cries. He raised a hand to her, he yelled "Please stop!"
She ran across the kitchen floor, dashing toward a drawer. Toby remained in place, as she fiercely pulled open the drawer open. She pulled at it too fast, causing it to crash to the floor, various utensils clicked and clattered on the floor.
Toby began to slowly walk toward her as she was now had picked up a knife from the clattering mess. It was a steak knife, small, but could cut deep if needed. She held it with sweaty palms, and pointed it at Toby.
Toby stopped his walking, and backed away a bit. He inhaled.
"Hi."
Connie gave him a look of confusion and fear. She held the knife firmly in her hands, trembling. She glanced at his small axes. She felt like she had seen them somewhere before, but that didn't matter now. There was a man in her house. She had to get help.
"Who are you?"
She had spoke with such bravery, it appeared to stun him. He began to shake, in what looked like anger, yet, disappointment.
He brought his hands to his sides, and looked at the floor beneath. He let out a soft laugh.
"You don't recognize me right? Been so long.." He trailed off, and looked into Connie's eyes. She was shaking all over. She didn't know how to respond. Who was he? Was he a stalker? So many ideas came to her mind, but couldn't think of a proper response.
They remained silent for what seemed like hours. Until the intruder began move toward her. She quickly slashed the blade around in the air, forcing him to move back.
He looked so worried for some reason. This frightened her, bringing back the stalker scenario to her mind.
"I'll ask again, who are you?"
He gave away a twitch. "Any mother would know their own kid right?"
Toby breathed deeply after his comment. Now he had done it. She looked at him, her eyes wide with confusion. She really didn't recognize him. He bowed his head off to the side, but kept his eyes locked on the knife. His mother, the first person who cared for him, didn't recognize him.
"My son is dead."
Toby turned his head to his mother, now raging at him, knife posed toward his chest. He flinched and shifted to the side, but not fast enough. The knife pierced his left shoulder. There was such throttling force, she was able to pin him to the wall. His mother pushed the knife in further, and began to twist the blade, scratching the bone.
She began to screech. "How dare you mention my baby boy! You sick psycho!" She continued to push the knife in, but Toby just stood there, taking it all in.
He didn't scream, didn't curse at her with unthinkable words, didn't even push her off.
He just twitched.
Toby brought a arm up to grasp one of her shoulders, but she scuttled backward, releasing the blade. She fell on her back, hitting the hardwood floor, now dabbed with blood. The knife remained in Toby's shoulder. He grasped it's warm hilt, and tugged it out. Blood gushed from his wound to the floor, creating nauseating noises, which seemed to sicken his mother.
"Please, you gotta trust me, I'm Toby, Toby Rogers!" He paced toward her, blood smearing him arm to elbow. She cowered backward, pressing against the fridge. She looked so frail.
So afraid.
Connie pushed herself closer to the fridge door, giving it all her weight. She refused to hear this man's fantasies. He was a psycho to her. She was shaking in fear. She felt around for a weapon, a object, anything to save her from him. She wasn't ready to die. Not yet.
Not now.
"Can't you hear me?" She shuddered at his words, as they ripped her spine to shreds. She heard a rustling from his direction. She turned her head slightly to see him poking into his pockets. He was using his right arm for this, due to the fact the she had stabbed his other. He reached deep into it, and pulled something out.
It was a piece of folded paper.
It was crinkled, and seemed to be in his pocket for quite some time. The paper was red, but gave away a yellowed color. He kneeled down to her. As he was doing this, she saw something glisten by his feet. It was the bloodied knife. She had a chance. It was small, but she was willing to do anything at this point.
She dove head first forward, reaching her arms out to the blade, grasping it by its sharpened face. She gritted her teeth, and swung her arm to his leg, as an attempt to shank him down.
Until the back door was forcefully kicked down.
Connie turned her head around only to be met by a mud sooted boot. Her nose pushed itself in, breaking it. Her eyes became crossed, and her senses nulled. She felt herself slam against the leg of the table, forcing it to break. The table crashed on to Connie, and she let it.
Her vision began to blur with colors, her eyes began to shut.
The final things she saw was two sets of feet in the kitchen, and the smell of blood that slowly soothed her to sleep.
They were walking, both Toby and ClockWork. As they were walking back to their home, Toby, eyes now reddened underneath his goggles, stared back at the house. He felt something grip his shoulder. It was Clock. "I'm sorry I had to barge in like that," she choked out. Toby just gave her a blank glare.
Clock looked at his shoulder wound, now strapped down with duct tape and dish towels they "borrowed" from the household. Clock shuddered, "When I heard the yells, I just got so afraid that I - that we would lose you. She..." Toby still showed no sign of clear emotion. He just glared her down, with his dulled eyes.
Clock took a breath in. "She is still alive thankfully. I'm just so sorry. I didn't want to resort to those actions. We were all just…"
She paused for a second, giving away her guilt. She brushed up close to Toby, who was still emotionless.
"We were just worried. Please forgive us, forgive me." She leaned into Toby more, now her hands to his chest, gripping at his jacket. Toby didn't respond, just gave away twitches.
Always the twitches.
In his hand, he still had it. The crumpled paper, now damp with sweat and betrayal. He stepped away from Clock, and began to unwrinkle the paper. As he was doing it, it began to take shape.
It's bent edges shaped out a heart. It wasn't perfect, but it was all he had. All he had to give that was, and never will be given.
He removed his lenses and set them atop his forehead. He wiped his eyes, and stared at the paper. Tears fell upon the paper, wiping away all the ink, splattering it.
He crushed the paper in his palm. It crunched up, along with his loathing feeling toward his mother. It hurt him, mentally and physically. Tears bundled up once again in his eyes, but held them back. He refused to be weak like that again.
"Toby…"
Toby looked up and saw Clock, her hand was outstretched in his direction. She quivered, "You know, their are already people who love you, right?" Toby clenched the paper in his hand.
He gave a weak smile behind his mask, "I know that Clocky," He gripped her hand in his and they both began to walk back. He tossed the paper over his shoulder. It played plentifully in the wind, as it fluttered down back to the softened earth.
Toby turned his head to look back at it. He smiled.
He was so glad he had kept it after all the years…