It's early morning by the time they return home, up in southern Oregon. It's a small one bedroom apartment, with a cracked window and some neighbors rough around the edge and a few stays in county jail. Sometimes Timmy misses his bed. His old home. Soft, a whole room all to himself, and all his games. But those days are farther and farther apart now. He realizes that what he has is far better than he could ever have hoped it could be. Somehow, beyond all reason, Vicky and he have made it work.
"Make sure to fix the landlord's car tomorrow, twerp. Get a few bucks knocked off the rent. " Vicky says.
"I will." he replies. As the couple settles in for the night, Frank Johnson, seasoned detective with a hobby in vigilante killing, pulls up to their little apartment. The mad man steps out of his car and drops a cigarette on the ground, stomping the spent rollup into the asphalt. He's ready to bring Timmy Turner back, and put an end to the life of Vicky.
"I'll make sure she screams as much as Timmy did. As much as his parents did."
Detective Johnson takes out several keys and small metal hooks. His expertise at picking the locks allows him easy access into Vicky's and Timmy's home. He stealthily weaves his way through the small living room, past the kitchen, and approaches the bedroom. He can see the pair so easily. But he needs Vicky alone. He waits silently for nearly an hour. Finally, Vicky wakes up. Vicky rubs her eyes and looks down at Timmy with a smile. The expression of love simply disgusts the detective further. Vicky maneuvers her out of the bed so she doesn't wake Timmy, and starts heading for the kitchen. Johnson moves beside the door as she passes, and is soon behind her. He keeps a safe distance, knowing she could prove faster and stronger than she appears. She fetches a cheap plastic cup and turns the faucet on, getting a cup of water.
"Vicky Valentine." He whispers. She drops the plastic cup, spilling water all over the floor. She turns around and glares at the intruder.
"What do you want?" she hisses, hiding her fear behind cold eyes. All she receives is a vicious smirk. The same kind she often wears. Now her fear is rising. Rising further than it's been in a long time. The last time she felt this way, her sister had discovered the love between her and Timmy. The first time, she had discovered her own feelings for the sweet blue eyed boy. Her legs begin to shake. She doesn't know if this man wants to rape her or simply kill her, but the only thing she says is "Don't hurt Timmy." Detective Johnson drops his malicious grin. He seems dumbfounded that this creature would care about the boy. And then his face becomes a vicious snarl.
"She thinks she cares?! This sick, stupid animal thinks she loves him?!"
The detective walks over and smacks his pistol across Vicky's face, and then pushes her to the ground. The seasoned detective is much more able-bodied than Vicky. He smears her face along the tiles and punching her in the stomach. Vicky whimpers and soon begins begging him to stop.
"I'm just getting started." he whispers, eliciting a squeal of pain from his victim. He stands up and drags her away from the bedroom and approaches the door, holding her up with both hands to prevent her from trying to scream or attack. She kicks her legs up and tries to wrap them around Frank's arms, but he simply continues walking. He shoves her down on the ground and takes his gun back out, aiming right at Vicky's head. She stares down the barrel of the gun, wondering if this is the end, or if this mad man simply wants to play with her more. Vicky gulps and prepares for the end.
"I'm sorry Timmy. I'm so sorry. Please don't be scared."
Vicky and her attacker are too occupied to notice that Timmy is already awake. He focuses on his terrified girlfriend, and the man standing tall above her, ready to put an end to her life. He doesn't know what this stranger wants, nor does he care if he gets hurt or worse in the crossfire. He simply leaps forward, charging at the deranged man and sending him off balance. Vicky lunges into action, burying her early fears as she tackles the detective. Timmy and Vicky both reach for the gun, trying to tear it away while keeping themselves outside the barrel's path.
"Fucking piece of shit!" Vicky shouts.
"Get away from her you creep!" Timmy screams. They're loud as can be, trying to wake up enough of their neighbors to attract attention to the early morning brawl. Both know that the other's life hangs in the balance, and at any moment this battle could be fatal. Frank Johnson pushes and shoves and wiggles to shake the pair off. He even drops his gun for a moment, which causes Timmy to jump for it. But without Vicky and Timmy holding Frank off together, he regains his resolve and shoves Vicky aside. He strikes Timmy in the head, sending him to the ground with a loud thud.
"Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit!" Vicky screams. The frenzied detective swings his pistol at Vicky, sending her to the ground. She charges back up, racing for the gun, only for the Detective Johnson to grab her mouth and shove her back down. She hits her head on the living room table, releasing a loud grunt as the detective again points his gun at her.
"Stay down." he says casually, almost scolding her for attempting to save her skin. He turns to Timmy Turner and glares. "You should go back in the bedroom, kid."
"I'm… I'm not leaving." he mumbles, his head scrambled from the concussion.
"You're gonna be safe soon, got that? Now get in the bedroom."
Timmy gasps at what the Detective said. He realizes that this person isn't here to rob or murder them, but to find him and bring him back. No matter what answer he gives, no matter his pleading. So instead of pleading, he dashes to Vicky's side. Her eyes pop open as Timmy stands in front of her, shielding her with his body.
"Get out." Timmy demands, glaring straight up into the eyes of the seasoned killer. And for a brief moment, the man who has seen everything is dumbfounded. How can Timmy be standing in front of her, defending her for all the years of kidnapping? He can see the scars over Timmy's body. Vicious marks of lust left by the wolf Vicky. "Got to be brainwashed. Stockholm Syndrome."
"No." he replies, quickly regaining his resolve. "Get out, twerp. You don't want to see this."
"You don't have the right to call me that!" Timmy shouts angrily. "Only she does!" More silence. Timmy doesn't budge. He remains motionless, shielding Vicky from harm. "Get out now before someone calls the cops. Get the fuck out!"
Now the detective can see it. Timmy Turner isn't being held hostage. He isn't terrified of dying, he's terrified of losing the person he loves more than anything in the world. "This kid… there's something wrong with this freak."
The mad detective is ready to pull the trigger and blast away the teenager. His shaken sense of right and wrong won't allow him to let Vicky slip away, but now that he realizes Timmy is willingly with her, he won't allow Timmy to escape either. They're both monsters in his eyes. Timmy sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes. He's ready to protect Vicky to the end. What he isn't prepared for is what comes next. Vicky shoves Timmy aside and charges the detective, taking a bullet in the stomach and her left shoulder. As blood shoots out, Vicky reaches for the gun, pushing it aside, and grabs onto the detective's throat. She latches onto him, shaking him around while strangling him like a deranged monkey.
"Try and shoot my twerp?! Fucking die, you fucking piece of shit!"
Timmy goes for the ankles, lifting his attempted shooter off his feet and sending him to the ground. Vicky is able to keep him in a grapple, slowly choking the life out of him. Before she can try and finish him, there's a loud banging at the door.
"Police! Open up!"
Vicky keeps her hold on the attacker as Timmy backs away. "Twerp, get a shirt on." Vicky says, trying to keep the deranged detective in her hold. Timmy rushes into the bedroom and changes his clothes. Timmy hurries over to the door and pulls it open, realizing it was already unlocked by the psycho hunting him.
"What the hell is going on in here?" one of the cops' asks. "This asshole tried to kill us!" Timmy says as Vicky releases her hold. The deranged detective slips away and stands up. He marches up to the cops with his hands in the air. They draw their weapons as he approaches and shout "Get on the ground!"
"My name is Detective Frank Johnson. I was hired to search for these missing persons. One is a kidnap victim for nearly three years, and the other is his kidnapper. They invited me in and tried to ambush me."
"He's full of shit." Timmy says. "This is my sister, and this psycho tried to kill us."
"The boy is lying."
"He's just a crook trying to get you to let your guard down, don't listen to him."
"Alright!" the other cop shouts. He asks the detective to step forward and show his I.D. to the cops while the other calls an ambulance for Vicky. Detective Johnson slowly retrieves his wallet. He checks his right pocket, but finds it isn't there. He checks left, and takes his wallet out. "Could have sworn it was in the right side." he thinks as he takes it out. He opens his wallet, only to find that his ID is nowhere to be found. Sometime during the scuffle Vicky had taken his wallet, swiped his ID, and slipped it back in.
"I think my ID may have been stolen." he mumbles as he's placed in handcuffs. "We'll figure everything out at the station." the cop says. In the next several minutes, Timmy stays close to Vicky, checking her wounds over and trying not to cry at the sight. Blood is slowly leaking down her shirt where the bullet hit her shoulder, and her side has a hole, like someone cut out a piece of skin.
"It'll be okay, sis." he says.
"Twerp, I really, really fucked up, didn't I?"
"No, you didn't. You stopped that jackass from killing me."
"Yeah, but… I'm not sure… not sure I'll make it."
Vicky soon passes out from her wounds. Timmy sinks into her, but soon he feels a firm hand on his shoulder. The paramedics have arrived with a stretcher. "I don't need it." Vicky mumbles as she stands up.
"You've been badly wounded."
"I said, I'm fine. I'm getting in the ambulance myself." Timmy and one of the officers follow Vicky to the door before she falls down. "Yeah, you're not going anywhere." the paramedic says in a joking tone. Timmy resists the urge to yell at the man as he brings the stretcher out of the home. Detective Frank Johnson sits quietly in the back seat of the police cruiser as Vicky is moved into the ambulance, all the while the neighbors begin gossiping about the commotion. "Was that Victoria?" "What the hell happened?" "There was a lot of screaming. I hope she's alright. She's the nicest neighbor ever."
Timmy ignores the questions and spreading rumors. The only thing that matters is being with Vicky. Timmy locks and shuts the door to their house before heading off with Vicky. "You can't come with." the paramedics say. "I'm not leaving her." Timmy declares, filled with worry as Vicky passes out in the ambulance. "I'm not… I'm going to be there… if she… if she's gone and I'm not there, I'll never forgive myself."
The paramedics reluctantly let Timmy on board, knowing he'll never let them leave without him. The officer walks up and tells the teen "We'll be over to ask some questions about the assault later. For now, you just stay calm. Alright, kids?"
"Uh, yeah." Timmy replies as the paramedics slam the door. Vicky grumbles like she's simply irritated at the ongoing madness, but Timmy knows how close they came to being discovered, or worse, killed. He knows the police will be back, and that it will simply be a matter of time before Vicky and he are discovered. Their home is now a crime scene, a crime scene with a hidden suitcase filled with some nine hundred thousand dollars and Vicky's blood leaking onto the floor, providing a potential DNA link back to the pair of them. This was the hour at which everything would collapse.