The Skeleton In Her Closet

Prologue

Toby looked up from his notebook, his pen poised in his hand. The page was covered in black scrawled writing, dots of ink everywhere on the thin pages. 

A knock sounded at the door, and he flipped it shut, staring through the small rectangle window in the locked door. 

"Toby, your father is here to see you." A woman who was dressed in a uniform with no writing or badges said staring in the door with cold hard eyes at me.

Toby smirked, tilting his head sideways cockily. "Thanks my lady." He mocked, standing up.

He was wearing a white tank with a unbuttoned plaid shirt over top, and baggy ripped jeans. 

"That sort of disrespect-"

"It's not disrespect miss." He said shortly, pushing past her into the hallway.

"Hey, hey!" She gasped, grabbing him by the shoulder. He whisked around, staring her straight in the eyes. Toby was just as tall as her, maybe an inch taller, so he had leverage.

Another guard rushed over, cuffing Toby's hands in front of him. 

Toby ripped his hands away. "Get off me," he spat.

They each grabbed him by the shoulders and guided him down the hallway.

He was careful to recompose his cocky, I-could-care-less look that his dad hated so very much.

As they made their way into the visiting hall, Toby gazed around, looking for his blasted father.

The guards released him and faded off into the shadows. 

Toby sat down at a small square table and on a tiny wooden chair.

There was a moment of silence.

"Toby." The man said, expressionless.

"Neil." Toby said, just as expressionless. 

"Why can't you just call me-" The man began exasperated.

"Dad? Because you're not a father to me." Toby snarled. 

"I've tried to reach out to you!" 

"You were the one who pushed me away in the first place." Toby denoted.  

"I am trying to help you!"

"By sending me off to a jail for kids? Yeah, great job." Toby snapped sarcastically. 

"It is not a jail-"

"What's with the handcuffs and guards then?"

"If you would have preferred to be send to actual jail where they only feed you oatmeal-"

"Look, I can't do this, Neil." Toby said, pushing his chair away from the table.

His father stared after him in shock. Normally, Toby enjoyed these fights (because he always won, but Neil wasn't about to admit that).

Toby kicked his chair down, glaring back at his father once before being guided away by the guards, shoving them off of him, snapping "I can walk on my own, thanks."

Neil sat there for a moment, quiet and despondent. 

"He hates me." He said to no one in particular. 

A man sitting at the check in desk looked up with a sad little smile. 

"Underneath all of that anger, he does love you."

Neil rose up from the little wooden chair, heading towards the door, pulling his jacket back on over his shoulders. As he swung open the glass door he looked back at the guard, a bitter smile on his face.

"Prove it."