Toby had just killed his father. Blood was splattered across his hoodie, his hands, everywhere. It stuck his fingers together and left a sick feeling in his stomach. He had never killed anyone before. He panicked and immediately crossed the street, knocking on your door with fervor. He didn't know if you'd even answer, but he didn't know what to do. His head was spinning, and he just needed to talk to you, his childhood best friend. You always knew what to do. "P-Please a-answer..."