Authors Note:
I'm back! So here is my first attempt at a trilogy. I know, the title is very depressing, but it's eye catching and effective, even if it is quite dark. This FF takes place when the icarly crew are sixteen, and centers around another character's battle for their life. But this is a little more emotional, and focuses more on the characters themselves, rather than the things that affect them. This is rated R, as it involves coarse language at times, but mostly very dark themes and references. Please enjoy, and remember to review! Constructive criticism too, or I'll make you sorry :3 Na jk, But I still want you to review :)
Disclaimer: Yeah...Why would I be on Fan Fiction if I owned icarly?
P.S If anyone wants to know why I put this in the Sam & Freddie section was because I think, although the story is told from Carly's view, the shipment is Seddie and Sam and Freddie have much larger roles in the sequel…if I continue.
I stroke the back of my hand feverishly, watching Freddie scribble on his notepad. My apartment is quiet, apart from the scratching of his pen and the hum of the fridge in the corner.
It's drizzling outside, as always. You would expect the universe to produce happier weather when teenagers get the day off school. Even a glint of sunshine breaking through the clouds would brighten my mood.
I'm not exactly…upset, or anything. No, I'm just worried. Carly Shay, the one who is constantly worrying about everyone else all the time, and never worries about herself. That's me.
I shouldn't be worried. And especially not about Sam. She's the toughest and most capable person I know, not to mention she has the physical strength of a gorilla on steroids.
Yet, here I am. Worrying about her. Freddie's not worried about her. So why should I?
Maybe it's because Sam hasn't been around here today. And if you know Sam, you know that's not like her. She's usually sitting on my couch, eating month old Doritos and complaining about schoolwork or Freddie's obsession with Galaxy Wars.
But Sam hasn't been here all day. Taking a glance at my phone, I realize how many times I've called and how many messages I've sent. But no avail. I've even called her house (which I would never do, in fear of her mom answering instead of Sam) and there was no reply. I can't see what could've happened!
…But I do know what happened. Yesterday, Sam failed her English final. It's worth a massive chunk of our grade, and Sam totally dismissed it. No matter how many times I begged her to study, she would not listen. She just rammed another fat cake in her mouth and told me to shut up.
Sam usually pulls an all-nighter at the last minute, spending hours with a large textbook in one hand and a piece of meat in the other. Apparently, beef jerkey helps her study.
But this time was different. Maybe she was distracted, or maybe Sam was just too plain lazy to do it, but she failed the exam. And what does she do when she finds out? Samantha Puckett tips her desk over.
Sam quite literally kicked her desk across the room, threw her textbook at the teacher and stormed out. Not before however, pulling a rather rude gesture at our teacher, Mrs. Morrison. Freddie and I exchanged a look, and straight after class, we went looking for her. It was no surprise that she had been intercepted by Principle Franklin and dragged into his office. When Sam came out, she told us she'd been suspended for three days and would have to re-take her English final next year. I'm ashamed to admit it…but I freaked out. And when Carly Shay looses it, she actually LOO-SES-IT.
"WHAT THE HELL SAM?" I scream at her, shoving her backwards. We're standing in the middle of the car park, and even Freddie looks surprised at my sudden outburst.
"WHAT THE HELL?" I press on, throwing my hands up in frustration, "You're going to have to repeat the entire English year, all because you forgot to study! We're not going to be juniors together anymore. I can't believe it!"
"Carly! Shove off, okay? It's my problem, and I'll handle it," says Sam, clearly exasperated at my lack of understanding.
"No, you won't handle it Sam!" cries Freddie, grabbing his girlfriend's shoulders and shaking them, "We warned you, and now all three of us have to deal with this. You're going to have to stay behind for an extra year, and you won't be able to go to college with us! What about our plans Sam, WHAT ABOUT US?" He yells forcefully, and Sam gives him an almighty shove that sends Freddie sprawling onto the ground.
"Shut up Benson!" Sam yells furiously, before reeling around to face Carly.
"I'll sort it out, OKAY? Calm down, and I'll sort it out. We'll still be juniors, okay? Just…let me sort it out," she pleads, but with underlying anger. I can see something's bothering her, but I'm too pissed to ask her. Instead, I shake my head and storm out of the school gates, Freddie hot on my heels.
I know we shouldn't have left her there. I really do. Something was bothering her, and I should have asked, but I was just so angry! She's put all our plans in jeopardy, not to mention her's as well. But last night, when I was lying in bed, I realized I would have to help her get through it, not matter how frustrating Sam can be sometimes. So when the doorbell rang this morning, I ran to it, knowing it would be Sam. I would hug her, say sorry, and Sam would forgive me before giving Freddie a punch in the guts and a kiss on the cheek for his efforts.
But it wasn't her. It was the post. And here I sit, waiting for a text, or a phone call, the worry plain as day on my face.
Freddie looks up at me and rolls his eyes.
"Stop worrying Carly! Sam's is tough-"
"Understatement of the century," I interject, mumbling. He presses on.
"-Tough, and intelligent. She just needs a day on her own. She's probably lost her phone, and her mum is probably…high? I wouldn't worry Carly, she's fine. Knowing Sam, she's stewing over her actions and trying to figure out how she is going to survive summer school."
None of these words soothe me however. As Freddie turns back to his scribbling, I look anxiously at my watch. Realizing the time, I jump up. Freddie looks up and his eyebrows fuse together.
"I am going to get her, icarly is starting in a few hours!" I say desperately, pulling on my coat before Freddie can stop me.
"Oh for god sakes Carly, this is so-," He mumbles, but I throw him a look, before grabbing my wallet and phone.
"Look, I'll go get Sam from her house. We can meet back here, do icarly, and then we can talk things over... She's probably forgotten about icarly anyway. Knowing Sam, she's still asleep. Tell Spencer I'll be back around five."
Freddie looks as if he is going to say something, but thinks better of it and nods, giving in. I walk from the apartment, in time to see Freddie plonk down on the couch again before I slam the door.
There's a reason why Sam always comes over to my house. It's not exactly…safe, where she lives. It's a really dodgy area, where every house looks like the back of a run down pub, covered in dirt and surrounded by old trash cans. Strange people hang around this area, selling drugs from the back of their cars and making illegal booze and fake passports in their basements. Everyone seems to be hiding under his or her hoods, or shielding their eyes from the sun with the rims of their baseball bats. Hookers stand on corners before climbing into strange cars and pulling their skirts up so high that they could nearly be counted as leather dresses. It seems that there is a constant cloud of darkness hanging over this particular piece of Seattle, and quite frankly, it makes me want to run for the hills. But I'm here on a mission, and nothing can get in my way.
Not even the cab driver refusing to drive up Sam's street because he's too scared. He even warns me in a heavy Irish accent that 'a young lass like yourself shouldn't be goin' into such a dangerous area like that'.
I can't help but agree with him.
I can almost feel how out-of-place I look. Dressed up in my warm winter coat and leather boots, I look like a princess compared to the beggars at every street corner. A hooded figure that walks past eyes me up and down, like I'm a chunk of raw meat. It's really starting to freak me out.
The shops I walk past are all boarded up or closed for the day. Even the "R-Rated DVD," shop, with the naked woman posing in the window, bares a sign that informs me that they are closed for construction. Eying the coat of dust on an aged video, I begin to wonder if it's ever even open.
Finally, I reach Sam's street. At least I can see her lopsided house now, nestled in between an abandoned bungalow and a building that looks to have a bloodied body propped against one of the windows. Shuddering, I approach Sam's house, which I hardly know, but will always remember.
The roof is a rusty red, the tiles barely clinging onto the dirty surface. The paint is peeling away from the sliding on the walls, and the front window has been boarded up, due to three of the panes being smashed. Carefully creeping up the stone steps, I eye the front door anxiously. I can almost smell the cigarettes, which Pam smokes almost three packets a day of. I shudder, before bringing my knuckle up to the door to knock. I pause for a moment…what could be happening inside?
But my worry for Sam overcomes my fear, and I rap on the door. I wait for the click of the lock, and the yell of Pam or the annoying groan from Sam as she stomps over to open the door. But there isn't any of that. There's just…silence.
I wait a moment, before knocking again. Still, there's no sound, and as I cup my hands over my eyes to look in the window, I see there's no movement. But perhaps that's from the large velvet curtain obstructing my sight.
Angrily, I rap again. As the silence stretches on, my panic increases. I have to think up a list of excuses in my head, just to calm myself.
She's probably out, I think, rubbing my hands together anxiously, or maybe she's asleep. But there's something in the back of my mind, reminding me this isn't like Sam. Somewhere inside of me, I know there's something wrong.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial the familiar number and wait. This time, it goes straight to voicemail. Right, I think to myself, tucking my phone into my pocket, time to take immediate action.
After feeling around underneath the threadbare doormat for a while, I locate the key to the Puckett house. Ramming it in the lock, I jiggle it around for a moment before hearing a stratifying click. I take a deep breath, and open the door.
The first thing that I see is chaos. Complete, and utter chaos.
The fridge has been torn from its wall bracket and thrown to the floor, where it lies now, spilling containers and browning vegetables onto the tiles like vomit. From what I can see, there isn't much in there.
The cutlery is spread all over the bench. The plates are smashed, fragments sprinkled on the ground like little, sharp stars. Some of the cupboard doors have been ripped from their hinges, revealing relatively empty cupboards. It seems the Puckett kitchen was the victim of a giant toddler's rampage, and only increases my fear of one thing.
Looters.
Not exactly an uncommon thing in these areas. And as I begin to realize the reality of my situation, my heart jumps into my throat. I can almost taste the blood as my pulse quickens so much that my heart is pounding. I am so afraid. All I want to do is turn around and sprint back up the street. But Sam needs me.
With all the willpower in the world, I poke my head into the living room.
Compared to the kitchen, this room seems completely un-touched. The only thing missing is the television, which usually nestles underneath the window. This only increases the likelihood of my suspicions.
Creeping out of the living room, I head for the hallway. I'm about to go left into Pam's room, when I hear something.
It's faint, but it's there. Like rushing water…spilling onto tiles. I look up towards the bathroom door, and make for it. The only thing that stops me is the squishing noise that my heel makes when it hits the sodden carpet.
I look down to see a pool of water dribbling from a crack underneath the bathroom door. As my foot sinks lower and lower into the carpet, the water slips into my shoes, filling them with a dirty brown liquid. Panic flips through me once again.
Someone is in there. Maybe they've got Sam! Maybe their holding her down and attempting to drown her in the bath tub. I can see her now, fighting with all her might against a pair of strong male hands. Usually, she would be able to over take them, but as the water fills her lungs, Sam becomes weaker and weaker, the image above her blurring…
I slap some sense into myself. Angrily, I pound on the door with my first.
"LET ME IN!" I yell, before giving the flimsy wood an almighty kick with my heel. There's no response.
Wildly, I look around for a weapon. Anything, anything at all. Finally, I see a broken lamp on the floor and I wrap my hand around the jagged base, feeling it's sharp edges cut into my hand. The burning twist of pain is almost helpful. It reminds me of where I am, and what I need to do.
Again, I try pounding on the door. I scream at the top of my lungs, but obviously they can't hear me or are choosing to ignore me. Either way, I realize that my efforts are pointless. No amount of noise will stop this deranged monster from killing my best friend.
You know when you hear those stories of mothers lifting up cars to save trapped babies underneath? The adrenaline fills them up like a hot searing fire, and suddenly their animal instincts over take them. I suppose they want something so bad, they can just suddenly do it.
While that's how I felt now. I knew, I just knew, that my best friend was on the other side of that door, and she was in trouble. She needed my help. The same adrenaline feeling of pure power washes over me, and before I know it, I'm slamming repeatedly against the door, breaking it down with everything I have. I hit it, I kick it and I back up and launch myself off the opposite wall, smashing into it with my shoulder. I can't feel the pain. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, and the satisfying crunching of wood breaking. I feel my way back one last time, and willing the door to open, I run at it with all I have. Every happy memory I've ever had with Sam was wrapped up into that shove. And I watch as the door comes tumbling down, landing with a bang on the tiles. Triumphantly, I run into the room.
I expect to see a man standing over Sam, holding her down in the bath as she fights for her life. I expect to see a shocked expression as I make my way in, and to see the relief on Sam's face as she realizes that I have come to save the day.
But I don't see that.
All I see is my best friend, lying in a bathtub, drowning in a pool of blood.
I KNOW, such a dramatic ending. Mwa haha XD
I may upload the next chapter, depending on reviews etc. Please tell me if you would like me to continue, and I would like to thank you guys for evening reading this! So please R&R!
-ArtsyAmyStars