He’d come to with the same numbness filling him; from his peripherals and what was left of his senses, he could tell he was laying flat on a table, strapped down by his hands, feet, and neck. A candle next to his table dimly lit the room. There was a sharp, weird sensation coming from his left hand. He feared the worst, but he could feel his fingers moving. “Dogtor,” he called out, his speech slurring.

Theo was left there alone for several more hours before the man returned. “You killed your mother,” his voice bounced off the walls of Theo’s head. The boy tossed and turned as much as he could, trying to break loose to cover his ears. “You killed your sister,” he said. “No, I didn’t . .” Theo spat out weakly. The man tightened the strap around the boy’s throat. “Admit it.”

He continued to fight against it, grunting at the pressure crushing his neck. “I . . did . . nothing,” he hissed out, his eyes growing darker. “That’s not what your father said, before I butchered him.”

Upon hearing the doctor’s words, Theodore lost control and began to thrash about, his mouth foaming and a gray haze coating his eyes. The doctor smirked and leaned over Theo in observation. “That’s right,” he muttered as he observed the activation of the boy’s muscle fibers. Before long, the table began to warp underneath Theodore’s wrist strap as it was bending the metal. A shock froze the doctor before he quickly administered painkillers that resulted in the child passing out shortly.