Chapter 2

Timmy was eight when Mr. and Mrs. Turner began gardening. With Mrs. Turner's OCD, and Mr. Turners obsessively competitive mindset, gardening became more of a lifestyle and less of a hobby. Two hours into an emergency run to Home Depot, Mr. and Mrs. Turner still hadn't realized they left while Timmy was napping and had given no warning of their departure. In a panic, Timmy awoke alone. Three hours in, and Timmy's heart was racing. Where are they. When will they be back? Will they be back? Negative thoughts rushed through his mind, until he crumbled into a heap on the kitchen's tile floor. Sobs turned into sniffles as another hour passed, and before long he found himself digging desperately through a phonebook. It had been six hours since he had last seen or heard from his parents, and Timmy had finally found a reassuring word in the phonebook. Babysitter.

In his childish desperation, he dialed the number and waited for several rings. Once he heard the fourteen year old's shrill voice pick up on the other end, he began to blubber out his crisis.

"Mommy and daddy gone. Please help. Don't know where. Don't know when. All alone." His broken sentences melded back into sobs, and the young lady took down his address with an unseen grin. Desperation was what she fed on, fear was her delight - but Timmy didn't know that, and neither would his parents.

It was roughly ten o'clock at night when the Turner adults returned, coming home to a quivering child and a welcoming red-head. All it took was a few sly words, a few sneaky gestures, and the ears of uncaring parents before the babysitter convinced the Turner adults that her help would ease their lives of the stress of having a child. Relieved to go back to their gardening, they dismissed any suspicious behavior and went on their merry way.

Little did they know, Timmy was no longer quivering from fear of abandonment, but instead of his new babysitter's sadistic wrath.

"Shut it, twirp!" She shouted when Timmy attempted to call out to his parents once more. It was too late, they were lost in their own world outside. Dwindling into whimpers, Timmy backed away but it was no use. He was within her grasp.

"Vicky, please.." He whined, with no prevail.

"You're mine now, twirp." She grinned, looming over his petrified form. "And you'll wish you really had been abandoned in the first place."

Vicky quickly discovered that it was easy to overpower Timmy, with his petite childish and female form. Being six years older, and therefore six years bigger, made Vicky's games almost too easy.

Timmy often fled to the safety of his friends' homes whenever he could, but more often than not his parent wouldn't allow it.

"Stay home and do your homework." His father would chime.

"Vicky will help you, you should also do your chores." His mother would add.

They didn't realize the way he cringed whenever Vicky was mentioned, or the shakiness of his voice when he would ask for torturing instead of Vicky's help. They were oblivious, and worsley, they didn't want to know in the first place. Having a child was becoming more of a nuisance than a gift, a sidetrack to their real focus - gardening, and competing with the neighbors (the Dinklebergs) for the title of best in town. Mrs. Turner's controlling OCD didn't help ease the situation of its tension, and Mr. Turner was too passive to seek any sort of help. Gardening would've been more of a laughing matter, if it weren't the fact it had become a trigger that Timmy despised with all of his typically meek spirit.