It was a gunshot heard for miles.

Most may see that statement as a figure of speech but some can sense some truth behind it. Take Melanie Puckett as an example. She woke up in the middle of the night in her boarding house in Phoenix, crying for some unknown reason. Or Colonel Shay, who felt the urge to call his daughter despite the fact that there's no reception in his submarine underwater. But those who were nearer felt a harder impact. Seattle literally stood in a standstill. Its citizens remembered the times when they complained how God sent someone like her to plague their neighborhoods. But that reminiscence was overshadowed with the question of how they're going to go back to their lives without her constant presence. Those who knew who she was gave out a unison of gasps, then a chorus of sobs. They all held on to the morning newspaper, welling eyes staring at the image of her bloodstained clothes, her lustrous blonde locks taking over most of her face, a cover most people are thankful for. It was almost too painful to read the article below the grotesque picture. The body of a 16 year old girl, known as the local menace, was found in an alley at one o'clock earlier this morning. She was killed at around 9:00 last night with two bullets pierced through her, one in her chest and the other one through her left wrist. Investigations identified Gerard Sulley and Joe Foley as the primary suspects. The article was neglected though, its words unnecessary. It's because there are only four words running through the minds of its readers:

Sam Puckett is dead.

Her soul's departure influenced many reactions. But only those who were dear to her experience the real damage.

Carly Shay, the girl who always looked up to her best friend for much needed courage, who never did learn how to be strong, who received most of the sympathies from Sam's death, who had to bear everyone's gazes of pity, realized how bare and vulnerable she really is without her pillar of strength. Thus, she succumbed to the pressure of developing a thicker skin. She pushed away those who wanted to comfort her, stating that she doesn't need anyone, that she's sick of being treated as a helpless girl. She later on lived a life of seclusion. Her fear of being left by those who love her lead her to be afraid to love at all.

Spencer Shay, who saw Sam as a bundle of eccentricity and gaiety, who referred to her as his other sister, who tried to supply the parental security her mother has never been able to provide, who understands her need to be different, now see her death as an eye opener. He comprehended the reality that everything has to go. And as he watched his little sister emotionally detach herself from everyone, including him, the responsibility of being a better guardian took over him. The beauty of art no longer inspired him. He began to see matters in a realistic perspective. After finishing his course in law school, he spent the rest of his life sitting in a cubicle with nothing but financial and familial problems to think of. He turned into the person he before despised: a normal adult.

Pam Puckett, the mother who never did found out how to show her affections to Sam, who had her daughter as the only reason to stay out of jail, who secretly thought of her as the only thing she did right, who looked at her with pride for she can never turn out like her wasted mother, now referred to her murder as the final straw. She blamed herself for her death, thinking that she could've been a better parent and prevent the murder from taking place. She lost all hope of turning her life around for her daughter. Instead, she went back to the life that was put off because of her love for Sam. She continued her drug business and was busted after a month of operation. She ended up in prison. The only consoling thought in her head is that she deserves this, after the way she let Sam to be killed just like that.

Ridgeway Middle School was never the same after the incident. Despite the two weeks of grieving period, the atmosphere remained heavy. Sam's schoolmates stop by her locker, recalling how she would shove random passers-by against it. The water fountain, the one she once kicked out of frustration for failing her final exams, now held a special meaning to her teachers, regretting how hard they were with her. The school bullies were suddenly understood by their peers. The teachers started being more considerate to those who had difficulty in classes. All these seem to be their final homage and apology to the irreplaceable Sam Puckett.

All of these happened because of that fateful day. It was at that day that Freddie was deprived of peace of mind. Grief haunted him everywhere, probably because Sam had her way of stamping her memories all over town. But there's this certain place where Freddie goes to everynight, a place that held a special meaning for both him and Sam.

It has been a month after Sam's murder. The changes are still developing around. To Freddie, it was a silent but evident progress. But at that moment, he still hasn't grasped the weight of changes coming his way. Carly's total seclution. Spencer's 360 degrees life change. Pam's downfall.

With his blue foldable chair, he went out of his apartment and went for the elevator. The hum of the mechanism spoke to him, making him think of the numerous times he got stuck in it because Sam would always press the emergency stop button at the lobby. The contraption stopped at the 12th floor, letting Freddie out to go to his silent sanctuary. He walked through the maze-like hallways with mindless familiarity. Soon, he reached his destination. He stepped into the fire escape, set his chair in its usual position, overlooking the magnificent city skyline that now seems bland to his eyes. He turned the stereo on. The song was stuck in repeat. He doesn't mind it. In fact, that's the way he wanted it to be. It was the song that was playing when he had his first kiss. With Sam.

Did I tell you I knew your name,

But it seems like I lost it.

He got lost in the lyrics, recalling how the entire scene played out in this fire escape. Every now and then, he would turn his head around, hoping to see her behind him, the way she entered before. But that prospect never happened.

She's never coming back.

He can never tell her how much he loves her.

oOo

It was a dream that always crept into his slumber. He fantasizes how he could've made a difference. He walked into the alley, the one that he avoids in real life. It looks the same in every dream. The same fly-attracting dumpster. The same puddle-filled pavement. The same sense of anticipation. The two men were right in front of him. They can't see him but their faces are etched on his brain. They're the ones that escaped from the gigantic pants sculpture Spencer once brought home, the same people who duct taped him, Carly and Sam to the chairs. Then, a shadow came to view. It was Sam's. Freddie hurried aside, for some irrational fear that she might see him. She said something, accusingly pointing at the two convicts. Freddie inwardly cursed, hating how these dreams are always in mute. He watched the men throw their heads back, laughing. Disbelief morphed into Sam's face. She retorted words that Freddie was sure angered the muscular duo in front of him. They walked to her slowly, tauntingly. Sam grabbed a piece of wood. But it was soon sent flying off her hands as one of the men fired a gunshot on her arm. There must've been pain but she was too shocked to reciprocate it. Another shot got rid of all possible feelings she could sense. It was through her heart.

Freddie wasn't there when it really happened. But in his dreams, he was. And even there, he becomes crippled with fear. His legs were paralyzed, making him incapable of even attempting to block the shot. He was powerless at what he would soon see. Her bloody body, defenseless for the first and last time. The two murderers making a run for it, no one to stop them. The wood that could have saved her lying in front of him. And every time, he would wake up feeling more depressed than ever.

This time however, the ending turned out to be different.

He winced, about to watch the bullet hit Sam's unsuspecting arm, when the most unusual thing happened. It stopped at its tracks. In fact, everything stopped. Except him.

Didn't expect that to happen, did you?, a Voice boomed, seemingly coming from nowhere and reverberating everywhere.

Freddie looked around, slowly stepping back to the main street. His hunches were right. The Voice did come from nothing. But that's normal. It's only just a dream, right? "No." he replied, thinking that there's no harm in answering back. With caution, he continued, "This isn't exactly how these dreams end."

Hmmm, the Voice mused. It was only then did Freddie hear how sonorous and masculine the Voice was. How did your dreams usually end?

"Sam," he started, only to find himself pausing. He took in the fact that he hasn't said that name for weeks now. As if digesting that realization, he gulped and went on. "Sam… dies."

An ending no one really likes to see. But… you see it every night.

Freddie grimly nodded, though he's unsure if the Voice can see him.

It would've been nice, right?

"What?'

To turn back time. To keep you from having these nightmares. To stop asking yourself what would've happened.

"What… what are you saying?" he took another look around, considering that maybe someone's pranking him. But then again, this is nothing but a dream.

How would you like to get another chance? To go over that significant and tragic day?

"I don't understand. What do you mean?" his tone wavered, emotions pushing through his words. Hope. Confusion. Redemption. Doubt. Regret. You name it, his mind has it.

You'll find out soon, the Voice said, beginning to fade out. Make the most of it, he reminded as the dream came to an end.

oOo

He didn't think about that dream when he woke up. He figured that it's just his conscience talking to him. The conscience that's still in denial about Sam's death a month ago. His pajama-clad legs broke free from the Galaxy Wars blanket. His body felt heavy, the way it has been for a while. Trying to ignore the emotional weight boring him down, he walked to the dining room. All of a sudden, his mom had her palms pushed against his forehead.

"Are you alright?" she said, pulling a thermometer from her pocket.

"I'm fine!" he blurted against the thermometer jammed into his mouth. "Seriously, there's nothing wrong."

He felt his mother's hand loosen at his shoulder. "Then why did you wake up late? It's Monday and you didn't wake up to go to school! So I figured that you're sick and excused you from today's classes."

Freddie threw her a bewildered look and stated, "I have no classes today! It's Saturday."

"No." she stared at her confused son with concern. "It's Monday. October 15th. Are… are you sure you're fine?"

Freddie felt weak, so limp that his legs gave up and forced him down on the chair. He had his head on his hands, as if too heavy with scrambled thoughts to be held by his neck alone. But one thought reigned above the rest.

This was the day Sam died.

oOo

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