If Dietre heard Francis' question, he didn't answer it, only continued to breathlessly ramble what sounded quite like a confession. "I didn't mean to...not her, but she wouldn't stop screaming...! It's not fair to come..come here and...not believe me..."
He covered his face with both hands after a minute and just stood there, shaking. The boy looked terrible, who knows how long he had been tormented by that creature before he had worked up the courage to call Francis and ask him to come home? His shirt was drenched in sweat, his hair fell damply across his forehead, and his skin was a sickly, grayish shade.
Whatever he had been through had left him completely drained, his legs no longer wanted to keep him upright, so he let himself slowly sink to the floor. His 'mother' was gone now, and with Mr. Drake here, he could cling to the hope that it wouldn't come back.