The digital clock beside Mike's bed read 5:30 as he rose out of bed. Mike just couldn't wait any longer, as he was sleeping, he had numerous nightmares, and although he couldn't remember any of them when he woke up, he was disturbed enough to get going as soon as possible. Mike hurriedly ate breakfast, took a shower, got dressed, and ran downstairs to the lobby of the apartment. First, he had to check if Jeremy's parents, Victoria and Clay Fitzgerald, still lived in the same house as they did when Mike went to college before driving to the neighborhood; also, he needed their phone number.
He spotted the phone book on the counter and, after checking to see if it was up-to-date, immediately began flipping through the pages. Placing his finger on the page, Mike skimmed through it, paying close attention so he wouldn't miss their name... Oh, thank God! To his relief, they apparently still lived in the same house in the nicer part of town; Mike had gone over to Jeremy's house enough times that he still remembered the address and how to get to the neighborhood. Satisfied, he took out his cellphone.
Mike didn't hesitate to type in the phone number, even though he wished to hear Jeremy answer him, he realized his friend was probably in no shape to do so. While waiting for a response, Mike went over to a chair in the lobby and sat down. Just as he was getting impatient, Mike finally heard a warm, familiar voice from the other end reply,
"Yes? Who is this so early in the morning?" Although she sounded much older, Mike instantly recognized the bright tone of voice Victoria Fitzgerald always used. Mike cleared his throat,
"Uh, I'm sorry, I don't know if you remember me... ~cough~ The name's Mike Schmidt, I was a friend of your son. Um, I actually came over to your house a lot with him..." There was a long pause between the two of them.
"Oh, yes." Mrs. Fitzgerald sounded wistful, "How could I forget? Jeremy talked about you so much! I remember how quiet you were whenever you'd visit, sometimes I'd forget you were even there!" she laughed softly, and then, continued solemnly, "I miss those days. Surely you've heard what happened to Jeremy?"
"Sort of," Mike admitted, "I just moved back here a couple months ago, and I just heard about it yesterday. The thing is, I wasn't given a lot of information; so, if you don't mind, I'd like to come over to your house and hear the whole story from you." After another long pause, Mrs. Fitzgerald finally answered,
"Y-yes, I'd love to speak with you again. You deserve to know what happened to my boy."
"Thank you, I'll be over in a half hour," Mike informed her; Mrs. Fitzgerald mumbled something back, and Mike turned off his phone. He couldn't help but run out of the apartment building, earning him some puzzled stares from the janitors. His heart pounding, Mike literally leaped into his car and drove off. Mike expected the visit to only take two hours at most; however long it took, in his present position he had all the time in the world. Mike had grown bored of spending his days just skimming through newspapers and websites looking for a decent job, he was certain there wouldn't be any offers heading his way anytime soon.
Dark, gray clouds loomed outside, a heavy rainstorm was surely heading this way. While driving along the road, Mike spotted a police car from the corner of his eye, and had to remind himself to slow down back to the speed limit. The drive only took about twenty-something minutes, and Mike pulled into the neighborhood of Fenton Hills. To his dismay, Mike realized that many houses were either in a worse state than he last saw them, or, were up for sale, and even both in some cases.
Near the end of the street, Mike spotted the modest-sized brick house, which happened to be one of the nicest looking houses he'd seen so far. While Mike turned his car into the driveway, the front door of the house opened and Mrs. Fitzgerald herself slowly inched down the porch tightly gripping her cane. She wobbled over to Mike as he got out of the vehicle, she greeted him with a wide smile on her face,
"Mike Schmidt! Oh, how you've grown!" Mrs. Fitzgerald held out her arms and Mike, afraid he'd snap her bones, reluctantly hugged her. Mike observed that Victoria's hands and legs were constantly quivering, and she was frighteningly thin, she could barely touch his shoulders. Mrs. Fitzgerald stepped back and looked up at the sky, "Hm, it hasn't rained here for a while," she noted, "Let's come inside, shall we?" Mike held out his hand with a small smile,
"Need any help?" he offered,
"No, no, you don't need to worry about me," the old woman shook her head and laughed, "I may be a lot slower, but my legs still work just fine!" Still, Mike opened up the door for her when she made it up the porch. The first thing Mike noticed about the inside of the house by just glancing was how much emptier the rooms were. The Fitzgeralds were avid collectors of anything antique, Mike even remembered going with them to a flea market in Waterford once; the house used to be overcrowded with countless junk, and the Fitzgeralds were self-admitted hoarders.
To Mike, without all those crazy items, it was like he was in a completely different household. Mrs. Fitzgerald asked him, "Would you like some coffee?" to which he shook his head, "Well, make yourself comfortable while I go get something," Mrs. Fitzgerald gestured her hand towards a sofa. The woman left the living room at a snail's pace. Mike sat down on the sofa with a sigh and covered his face with his hands,
"Dear God!" he groaned aloud; Mike was almost certain that the fragile Victoria Fitzgerald was completely alone in this old house. Mrs. Fitzgerald came out at last carrying a black book of some kind in her free hand. She came over to Mike and handed him the book to hold, taking a deep breath,
"This came from Jeremy's room," Victoria explained, "He started drawing in it a lot the week before it happened, just take a look and see for yourself." She wearily sat down on a couch next to Mike, who hesitated before opening up the sketchbook. He almost dropped the sketchbook upon seeing the first drawing: It was some kind of cartoonish bear that looked like it was reaching right for him with it's arms outstretched; it looked stiff and plastic-like. With the smudges and scratchy style, it seemed that Jeremy had drawn the picture in a frenzy. Above the bear were the words "Toy Freddy." Mike stared at Mrs. Fitzgerald in disbelief.