Right now, Toby was dreaming of his past.
He was going upstairs like he usually would in the mornings so that he could call his mother for breakfast. Normally, all he would have to do was knock on her bedroom door, and she would open it with a gentle smile on her face, one that was reserved for him.
This time, however, the door remained shut no matter how incessantly he was knocking on it. When the door didn’t seem like it would open any time soon, he started to sense something wrong.
Without wasting another moment, he called for one of the household staff to unlock his mother’s bedroom door with a spare key. But instead of a warm smile, what greeted him as soon as the door swung open was the strong scent of blood. As he walked in, he realized that the coppery smell was coming from the adjoining bathroom.
The color drained from his face as he slowed in his tracks, but when fear seized him, he barreled toward the bathroom like a madman.
The bathroom door had been left ajar, and when he skidded to a stop at the doorway, the horrific sight within instantly came into view.
His mother hung by the side of the bathtub, her face and body splattered with blood. Slumped on the ground, she was holding a razor in one hand while the other was submerged in the water-filled tub.
The water in the bathtub had been colored red by her blood, while she had already gone cold and lifeless.
The bloody scene was burned into the back of Toby’s mind ever since, only to resurface every year on his mother’s death anniversary so that it could torture his soul and remind him of his devastating loss.
There were even times when the scene would evolve into an entirely non-existent one, like right now, where he dreamed of his dead mother suddenly rising to her feet and slowly walking over to him. She was covered in her own blood as she questioned him hauntingly, “Why was I made to carry you in the first place?”
She went on to accuse him of being the reason why she was trapped within the Fuller Family, kept from pursuing her own true love. Then, as he stood there frozen, she reached out her blood-stained claws and strangled him.
Toby woke up in shock, his bloodshot eyes snapping wide open, and his breathing came out ragged.
Jumping at his sudden awakening, Sonia didn’t recover from the shock for a while, and when she did, she lowered her head as she gently patted his face. “Toby, what’s wrong?”
It was as if Toby couldn’t hear her at all. His pupils were dilated as he stared up at the ceiling in terror, and his lips moved like he was saying something.
Bending down, Sonia put her ear close to his lips and finally heard him mutter, “I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” Sorry? She frowned, confusion filling her eyes. Why is he apologizing? And to whom?
She glanced at him worriedly and realized that he was having something like night terrors, and his thoughts were not of his own conscious mind. She quickly reached for his shoulders and shook him, yelling, “Toby, wake up! Wake up, please!”
She couldn’t let him stay in this trance for too long, or it would start taking a toll on his mind. He has to snap out of it and regain his thoughts.
Perhaps her shaking did the work, for Toby’s pupils started to constrict back to their normal size, and his gaze was slowly focusing on Sonia instead of the ceiling. He stared at her in a daze, and after a couple of seconds, he muttered weakly, “S-Sonia?”
He sounded hoarse, his voice so unpleasant that it reminded Sonia distinctly of the quack of an old duck. All the alcohol he had taken had obviously fried his vocal cords, and she couldn’t help but grow angry at him as she let go of his shoulders, snapping sarcastically, “Seeing as you recognized me, I gather that you’ve sobered up a bit.”
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