His hands were shaking, from dread, from fear, from a thousand emotion he could not decipher at once. The muscles in his feet and all over his body had been paralysed with shock, the only part of his body that still functioned properly was his brain, and it was racing, with a million thoughts per second. However, there was one thing that seemed to be clear to him.

"Toby" he voiced, Toby Esquire was dead, the Toby Esquire was dead, murdered, by him, with his hands.

He raised those hands into the line of his vision, and he was met with nothing but blood, a crimson liquid that coated every inch of his hands, right from his fingers down to his elbows.

His eyes went to Toby sprawled across the other side of the room, and he saw that the same liquid had started to form a puddle around his body.

He finally understood, his eyes widening as he took in the information of what had happened, "Toby" he muttered again, Toby Esquire, was dead, murdered by his own hands.

With shaking fingers and an unbalanced mind, he ran across the room, picked up his jacket and the knife he had used to commit murder and bolted from the scene....