Disclaimer: The Listener is not mine. If it was, there would be a second season by now and I would give Toby a hug…daily.

This is written in Toby's POV. It's written in the present and italicized for the past. There are pedophilic moments, which include sexual innuendos. Be warned.

Warning: This contains small spoilers from Episode 8 'One Way or Another'. It's somewhat based off of what Toby said in the janitor's closet.

We were being honest, right? Well, not entirely honest, at least on my part. She needed comfort and I gave her assurance. She didn't need to know everything, right? I mean, she is the only detective I know that would bust a guy's nose in front of her boss for 'DNA'. She's tough, but I don't think I was tough enough to tell her. She didn't need to know the real reason I freaked when I saw Anna's memories. I just want to forget.

The thoughts were clearing away faster now, it seemed. But that could be because of what time it is now. I looked at the clock, noting that I had only four more minutes to completely shut the voices out until he would call up and come tuck me in. I didn't want to hear his thoughts again. But every night since I've been here, he tucks me in with those…those thoughts.

He seems like a nice guy, but those thoughts are so loud…I can't block them out. Ray says that 'some people are more focused or are more emotionally attached, which may create stronger thoughts that might be harder to keep out.' Either way, I don't want to hear his thoughts or see if they'll actually come true. Donald's a nice guy and a caring husband…I don't want his secret to come out in the open.

I glance back at the little wooden clock sitting idly on the night stand. Only a few more seconds-

"Toby? Hey little guy, I'll be right up to tuck you in. I'm just going to call my wife and tell her that we're going to bed soon," he called up from the hallway downstairs. Oh no, I forgot. Margaret had a late business conference. That means I'm alone…with him and his thoughts.

"Toby, hey, Toby!" I returned back to my seat in Oz's Pumpkin, "Dude, you should get some sleep. You looked exhausted. I know you said you don't have insomnia, but that 904 case really did a number on you." I could feel him looking over at me as he drove towards my apartment. Once I get home, I'll go to sleep and forget all about that third foster home. I'll forget everything…

I crawl deeper into the bed as the covers draw closer to my body. I can hear every footstep over those terrible thoughts. There's a knock and my bedroom door slowly creaks open as the hallway light floods my room, creating a large shadow of a man over me and the bed. He clicks on the nightlight and sits on the edge of my bed. His thoughts start pushing past my barriers. They're sickening sounds of pleasure that create shivers down my spine.

"Hey, you cold kid?" he sweetly asks, "Here I'll warm you up." I try to protest but his thoughts become stronger and my head starts to throb. He removed the cover over me and started rubbing my arms. My voice didn't seem to be working as I tried to yell out and tell him to stop.

He changed positions, sitting on my hips, as he started to rub my chest through my shirt. I could feel every bone in his fingers massaging over my ribs. I finally found my voice, whispering for him to stop and pleading for him not to hurt me.

He stopped but only to look me in the eyes and then start removing my shirt. Tears leaked out of my eyes as I tried to push him off of me. But he merely grabbed my wrists in one hand and caressed my side with his other; his thoughts so intense with desire that I cried out in pain.

"Here you are, my man. I'll see you at work tomorrow, then?" Oz stretched in his seat as I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my bag.

"Sure, thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow," I answered, not really even thinking about my movements as I got out and closed the discolored door behind me. I heard the car leave as I walked up to the building, feeling like a robot. A thoughtless robot, stuck in a bad dream.

I had to stop this, but I had no where to go. The system would just say that I was making stuff up because, I don't know, he grounded me or something. I needed a guaranteed way to get away from him, forever. Oh God, is he kissing me?!

I opened my bleary eyes to see him stroking my hips with his hand and kissing me on my chest. I struggled to get my hands free, but he held his grip tighter. Only one thing left to do…

I opened my door, heading straight for the kitchen. I threw my jacket onto the chair and tossed my keys on the table. As usual, I reached into my fridge and grabbed a beer, opening it with the bottle opener always on my table. I took a drink and crossed over to my couch, flopping down, worn out.

His hand was getting a little too comfortable, as I could feel his fingers brush against the band of my pajama pants. His disgusting kisses left my chest bruised and red. He stopped and let go of my hands, only to pull off my pants with both hands. I grabbed for my pants but he slapped me and threw them across the room. His kisses started up again on my stomach, testing to go lower while his hands ran across my thighs rather harshly. I cry out again, feeling even more helpless and alone. Then, he just stopped.

He looked back up at my face, a soft smile growing on his face, and he clutched the edge of my boxers and chuckled.

"It's okay, Toby. Don't you worry. We're going to have fun, just you and me," he cooed in my ear. I took the moment. I quickly brought my knee up to meet his crotch. He howled in pain as I rolled off my bed and ran through the bedroom door. I slid down the stairs and ran towards the garage. I knew I had to do something in order to escape from here for ever.

I wasn't sure what I was looking for in the garage, but I knew that an idea would pop up soon. Or at least soon enough for him to not catch me… I looked around and saw his nicely polished Volkswagen. I could take that for a spin and possibly crash it, but I'd rather not chance it. I scoured through the garage for no more than a minute until I saw it. Donald still left a full container of gasoline for his lawn mower in the corner of the garage.

I held onto the container tightly as I could hear his thoughts getting louder in anger. All I needed was a match… There! Donald put everything in his toolbox. He has to have something in there. I rushed over to the rusted box lying on the wooden table and searched through its contents. He didn't have any matches, but he did have an old Zippo lighter. I quickly took off the lid of the gasoline, hearing mad stomps clambering down the stairs. I ran around the garage, dumping the gasoline over everything. I then dropped the container and hurried over to the side door in the garage. I lit the lighter just in time to see a red-faced Donald dash through the other door. He stopped, noticing the smell of gasoline and the lighter in my hand. He screamed at me, but I already let the lighter fall from my hand into the puddle of liquid on the floor. I saw the flames dance in Donald's dark eyes as I threw open the door and ran outside.

The neighbors must have called the cops, because when I ran down the driveway a pair of lights were racing down the street, followed by a fire truck and ambulance. A police officer dashed over to me, asking me questions, but all of the neighbors' thoughts were in my head and I could only answer with a yelp of pain.

He picked me up and placed me inside the back of the ambulance while another police tried to ask questions to a bewildered Donald who was now yelling and watching his garage burn down.

My head was in my hands and my beer was left abandoned on the small table in front of me. My eyes were watery and my throat felt coarse. I quickly snatched my phone out of my pocket and dialed a number.

"Hey, Ray. Could you come and pick me up and take me to your place? I'm remembering things," my voice shook, but I knew he understood. He always did.