(A/N: I must be butter, 'cause I'm on a fanfic-roll! Haha, I've always wanted to say that .. well here's my first attempt at a multi-chapter. It should be complete some time around Christmas .. you know, the holiday spirit and all. Benny isn't my fav character, and I don't really have a great grasp on his POV, but it's an attempt. Enjoy!)

Chapter One: Hell, It's Christmas Eve

Benjamin Coffin the Third was tired. Not just in the physical sense, but in a whole: he was a bitter, tired man, and he wanted out. Roger, Collins and Mimi had all passed on. Collins was the first to go- perhaps it was for the best, for he was finally with his Angelcake again. Benny couldn't help but smile at the memory of those two- the only Bohemians who still spared him a shred of respect. Roger and Mimi each went within a week of each other, leaving their HIV-infected daughter in the care of Mark, Maureen and Joanne.

Benny sighed. His beautiful Mimi had died without any dignity to her name: it was a long, drawn-out process. He couldn't stand seeing her get paler and weaker with each passing day, watching the light in her liquid chocolate eyes dull fade into a flat brown. She left first, leaving Roger to die only a week later. After Mimi died, Benny had entered a state of extreme depression that resulted in Allison divorcing him. To pay the bills, he had been forced to start up an insurance company, Coffin Life Insurance (A/N: haha, that's really ironic.) which had become extremely successful. Benny sighed again. That whole month had been horrible for everyone- especially Miranda.

Miranda looked so much her mother it hurt: she had Mimi's mocha skin, long dark hair, and beautiful chocolate eyes. She was born with the disease: when her parents died, the combined salaries of Mark, Maureen and Joanne could barley pay for her AZT. The last time he had checked, the three remaining bohemians were all living together, trying to make it work.

"Ben- I mean, Mr. Coffin?"

Benny was jolted from his train of thought by his secretary, who was none other than Mark Cohen.

"Mr. Coffin, um, its about closing time," Mark reminded him. After Mark's movie had lost at Sundance, he had been forced to enter the corporate world due to lack of money. Unfortunately, Mark had morals, and was therefore still stuck in the secretarial position after 4 years.

"Yes, Cohen, I've realized its closing time," Benny snapped, wincing internally. He knew that Mark hated him with a burning, unquenchable passion, and feeding the flame with his attitude wasn't helping. Give the poor boy a break, Benny's internal Angel chided him. He wants to go home to what family he has left. After all, it is Christmas Eve.

"Um, right," Mark mumbled, "Listen, Mr. Coffin, tomorrow's Christmas, and I was wondering if I could – could have p-part of the day o-off?" Mark faltered under Benny's severe glare.

"No, Cohen, you cannot have 'part of the day off.' Have you every gotten 'part of the day off' before?" Benny hissed. Sugar, calm down! The internal Angel tried to soothe him.

"Um, yes, I've realized that, but Roger's will have been dead 5 years tomorrow, and we were thinking of bringing Miranda to his grave, you know, to show her - "

"Honestly, Cohen, I could not care less about Miranda or Roger, or anything to do with that, thank you very much!" Benny spat, his internal Angel gently calling him out all the while: You do care, Honey. You care a whole lot.

Shut up! Benny yelled back at her. I don't care! These people don't give a shit about me, so why the hell should I give a shit about them, huh? The imaginary Angel had no answer to that, and Benny turned his attention back to Mark.

"I will expect you here at 7 o'clock on the dot tomorrow morning, Cohen. Don't be late."

Mark sighed. "Okay," he mumbled in defeat. Dejectedly, he packed up his things and turned to leave the office. Abruptly, he paused. Benny studied his face. It was an odd mixture of anguish and derisive anger; he opened his mouth to say something, perhaps to yell at Benny, but closed it again, defeated. Then, with the air of someone forcing himself to do something very unpleasant:

"Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, and all that jazz," Mark choked out, grimacing as he said it.

"Yeah, yeah," Benny mumbled, busying himself with his papers. The tinkling of the bell on his door, told him that Mark had left.

"Bah humbug," he added to himself, chuckling internally at his amazingly pessimistic outlook. In a blast from the past, Roger's words came echoing back to him: What happened to Benny? What happened to his heart, and the ideals he once pursued?

Wish he could see the great Benjamin Coffin now, Benny mused bitterly as he locked up the store for the night and set off down 56th street to his lonely penthouse apartment. En route, he passed a flock of homeless people, brandishing their cups like futile weapons against the cruel, erratic city they lived in. Benny merely shrugged them off as he climbed the steps his building, hastily squashing the small bubble of guilty that had risen within him. Then, he froze.

For a single heartbeat, the small patch of mold on the apartment door had looked different. It had not been shaped like a lopsided butterfly, but an eerily familiar face.

Roger.

Benny blinked. The features had been perfectly ingrained into the penicillin; even Roger's hair had been arranged into the casual state of curly disarray he was so famous for. Benny was sure, so sure, that his old friend had been calmly smirking at him. But mold couldn't randomly change shape into ghosts of your past …

Could it?

Benny shook himself as he bolted up the stairs. He was just tired, that was all. He had had a long day, and the lamplight must have hit the door at an odd angle. He was just letting all his dark thoughts get to him. It was just a trick of the light, he kept repeating to himself. You're not insane- just tired. Once he had reached the safe haven of his apartment, Benny sunk into one of his armchairs with a bottle of Stoli and let himself unwind. He chuckled slightly at his panic before. That is, he chuckled until the thumping started.

At first, Benny thought it was the washing machine. It was a dull, low thumping, growing steadily louder all the time. However, it was not coming from the direction of his laundry room, but his penthouse door.

Its just someone moving some furniture in the hallway, Benny tried to reassure himself as he glanced nervously at the door. Yet the thumping grew louder and louder, faster and faster. As Benny began to sweat, it grew louder and faster still! He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to drown out the thumping, which grew louder, louder, louder …

Then, it stopped.

And all the clocks started chiming at once.

Benny sat, terrified in his faux leather armchair, as all his clocked began to chime daintily as he heard a horrible scarping noise outside him door. It sounded like something heavy being dragged over a painstakingly long distance. The clocks were all silenced at once as the door swiftly banged open.

Benny's scream turned to a gasp of horrified recognitions.

"You," he choked out.

"Me," the ghost of Roger Davis said calmly as he lowed himself into Benny's other armchair.

(A/N: GAHH! What will happen next? I think I did an okay job in this chapter .. especially with all the Roger suspense. Next chapter: Benny and Roger's ghost have a little chat. It should be pretty funny, with our favorite badass emo rock star being back from the dead and all .. ; )