Ostwall, Amissah, 10416 P.C.

It was a brilliant flash of light that jolted Todd from his sleep. He groaned, jerking the covers up over his head, his heart racing as, for a moment, he thought it might be Henry coming to punish him further for the disrespect he had shown earlier. When no one spoke and no light flashed again, Todd slowly pulled the covers down, blinking in the darkness, unsure of what was happening. He rubbed his eyes, sitting up on one elbow and getting a good look around his room as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Everything was silent and normal. He sought out the little red numbers on his alarm clock for a moment before remembering that he had smashed it. With a deep sigh, he fell back on his sheets. It wasn't unusual for him to have been jolted out of his sleep like that, but usually it from was nightmares or by Henry. This time it must have been his imagination.

He closed his eyes. It felt like only a moment later that Cathy was yelling his name from the kitchen. "Todd! Your meeting is in less than an hour! Are you up?"

He groaned deep in his chest, stumbling out of his bed and going to the door. Testing the knob, he found it unlocked. He blindly made his way to the bathroom, slamming the door loudly so Cathy knew he was up. He looked at himself in the mirror, realizing after a moment that he hadn't changed out of his clothes from the day before. After the funeral, he had thrown on a more comfortable outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, and he had ended up sleeping in them. They looked presentable enough still, he decided.

Splashing water on his face helped wake him up some. He could see the weariness in the sleep creases on his face, in the half-moons slowly revealing themselves beneath his eyes. The cold water couldn't erase the evidence of the restless sleep he had had. His hair stuck up like he had been zapped with electricity, and he fought to comb it down. It stuck out in the back no matter what he tried, evidence that he should probably get a trim again. Right now, that was the least of his worries.

He stood back, studying his reflection in the mirror. Did he look like a respectable young man? Or did he look like a potential killer? He knew the meeting with the detective was really about interrogating him about Michael's death. Since he was the only one who had been with Michael that night, it was a rational notion that he was also suspect. He knew he hadn't stabbed his best friend to death — but he also didn't know who had. That night was a hazy mess in his mind, and the thought of reliving it with the detective made him sick to his stomach. He could only hope he looked trustworthy. And innocent.

To his immense relief, Henry wasn't present when he entered the kitchen. Cathy was there, though, dishing scrambled eggs onto a plate for him. "Eat fast," she ordered. "You should be at least fifteen minutes early."

He accepted the plate without a word, wolfing down the eggs as she buttered toast and dropped it and several strips of bacon on the plate for him as well. He consumed it all, feeling a bit better after being fed. He knew Cathy was watching him with a worried gaze, and he avoided it as he rinsed his dishes and put them in the dishwasher. He was leaving the kitchen when she stopped him with a hug.

"It'll be okay," she whispered into his shoulder.

He gave her a little pat on the back, unused to hugs from her and unsure of how to respond to it. "Yeah."

She stepped back, holding his arms as she looked him up and down. His discomfort grew as he noticed the tears glistening in her eyes. "Stay safe, okay?"

He gave a small nod. "Don't worry about me, Cathy. I'll be fine." Then he pulled from her grasp and went to put on his shoes. She stood near the kitchen door, watching him with her arms crossed tightly against her chest. He knew she was scared, scared that somehow he'd be found guilty and be taken away from her. It was an irrational fear. He wouldn't be found guilty. There was no evidence that he had done the stabbing. None whatsoever.

It was only when he finished tying his second shoe that he remembered his sweater and wallet in his room. "I'll be right back," he said, hurrying back to his room to retrieve the forgotten items. His sweater was laying across his desk chair, and he picked it up and slipped it on as he searched his room for his wallet.

Another flash of blinding light.

Todd ducked instinctively, his arms thrown up to his face to protect it. The light disappeared, and he was left gasping, standing confused and disoriented in the middle of his room. Where had that come from?

"Todd?" Cathy was starting down the hallway.

"I'm... I'm coming..." He still hadn't found his wallet. The strange light was getting to him. Was he losing his mind?

He blinked several times when he saw a light glowing beneath his closet door. Was that where it was coming from? Was it Henry hiding out in his closet, waiting to pounce on him when he opened the door? Or maybe it was Michael's murderer, waiting to silence the only witness.

His overactive imagination was tumbling out of control. It was probably just his flashlight he had accidentally left on in there. With strange determination — to prove his dumb, cowardly imagination wrong — he strode to the closet door and flung it open.

The brilliant flash of light blinded him, consumed him; he was sucked forward, yanked as if a rope had been hooked around his waist. He was flailing, falling, blinded by incredible light, sucked away from his room, away from Cathy, away from everything he had ever known.