When They Were Lost . . . (Sequel to That Time In 1987. . . .)

28: A Single Second

Chica's POV

WARNING: FEELS

The adventure was amazing, looking back on it. 

Every single simulation they had been through seemed like a preparation for everything that Chica knew she would endure in the future. She decided that she was nowhere close to ready. Nowhere close to ready to fight Jonathan and to destroy the evil he had created. The evil he was. Chica wasn't ready. 

Her friends definitely were. Freddy had wings. Bonnie and Foxy had powers. Chica's supernatural power seemed to be random visions. Was there something else she could do? Was there something she couldn't do?

"What can you do . . . ?" she asked herself, knowing there was a spirit within her.

Chica was alone, yet she was never alone.

Could the spirit communicate to Chica? If it could, that would have always been much more helpful. Since the beginning when they had first gained their powers, if the spirits of the children could communicate, would Jonathan be dead? Would everything have ended?

And why did they need to wait so long for the truth? Why couldn't Ben have told them everything in the simulation? Now he was somewhere else. Now they needed to save him somehow, while trying to destroy Jonathan . . .

It was all too hard to think about. Chica decided to stop thinking and continue walking home. She would get home, pack up, and meet her friends. Get home, pack up, meet friends.

Get home, pack up, meet friends.

Get home, pack up, meet friends.

That was Chica's mindset throughout her small walk as she passed through blocks and many other houses. It was quite relaxing. Hopefully these people didn't know what was actually going on with Jonathan. Chica didn't want them to worry. They didn't need to worry about the future.

Chica's heart leaped as she stood at the end of her street. She stared into the welcoming eyes of her home, her own eyes dazzled. Finally, she was home. But she had to leave soon. She would meet her friends after she got what she needed.

She walked down a few houses before finally making her way up the sidewalk and toward the door. Chica smiled as she grasped the knob quietly. As she twisted it and pushed it open slightly, she thought she heard . . . crying.

Tilting her head slightly, she completely opened the door and looked around. She saw her living room and the kitchen a few paces away. The area looked dirty. Chica didn't understand.

Crying.

It sounded like a woman . . . possibly Chica's mother? Why was she crying? Because Chica had been lost? Chica could relate. If she had a daughter that went missing, Chica would definitely be worried sick. But these cries seemed different, like tears of sadness and loss. What was going on?

Slowly, Chica walked forward and made her way to the living room. Her vision was filled up with her mother, gasping. "Chica! You . . . you're home!" Chica could see her face, but only for a second. Chica's mother launched forward and pulled Chica into a hug, sobbing hysterically. 

"Mom! It's okay! I'm home--"

"No!" her mom interrupted. "It's not okay! Please! Stay with me, Chica! Stay! Stay!"

Now, Chica had tears running down her face. What was causing her mother such trouble? She had a horribly unsettling feeling she would find out soon. And when she did find out, Chica wouldn't like any of it. Her hands shook, her stomach deflating like a balloon. 

She had to see what was going on. She had already lost her innocence. She could handle it. 

Chica broke from the hug and advanced forward. Her mother screamed at her, "CHICA! NO! DON'T GO IN THERE--"

Another cluster of tears broke from Chica's eyes as she put her hand up to her lips, shocked and terrified and absolutely . . .

Nothing . . .

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she was seeing. 

She didn't believe it.

Chica wanted it to be a dream.

But no.

All of it was real.

Her shoulders relaxed with shock, more tears building up on her eyes.

What laid on the now bloodstained carpet was Chica's little sister.

Toi.

Chica rushed forward, a sob and a cry escaping her throat. Not caring if her knees got bloodsoaked, she crashed into the drenched carpet, wails wrenching from her mouth. Toi. Her little sister. Dead.

Her eyes had been glossed over, the light inside having gone somewhere else. Toi's light blonde hair now had blood along the tips. Her skin was cold. Chica could feel it from where she sat. 

Still not caring if she got blood on her clothes, Chica grabbed the little girl's dead body and pulled it against hers, the crimson liquid that spread from her chest getting all over Chica's t-shirt. 

"M . . . mom . . . what . . . what happened . . . to . . . to . . ." Chica didn't want to finish it, her muscles quivering out of fear and desolation. 

Her mother's voice was scratchy with old cries. "All I saw was a purple man . . . pulling a knife out of Toi's chest. . . . I wanted to stop him, but he vanished." She collapsed to her knees and wailed, tears spilling from her temples onto the floor.

Chica looked back at Toi, a fresh sob racking her body. "Oh . . . Toi. Please . . ."

As she looked from her miserable mom to her dead little sister, Chica's own misery began to shift. Shift to something darker. Something angry. Something vengeful.

Chica put the young girl down and looked up, her face stone hard. She was determined to get revenge on Jonathan. Determined to end all the hell she had been put through. No matter what it took, Jonathan would die in the end.

And if there was going to be blood on the floor, it would not be her own.

END OF BOOK TWO