A/N: Thank you, Invader Johnny and iamfinethanks for your reviews. It was a pleasure to read them. :)

And here we go with the new Chapter. Enjoy reading and leaving reviews! :)

Lil' warning: This chapter includes some swearing.

One

When I open my eyes again, I'm standing on the street. The day is cloudy and rainy but I don't feel the cold which – I think so – drops on my face. Looking at moving branches of trees I assume that a quite strong wind is blowing, but I don't feel it too, just like my clothes – these same I was wearing while death but clean – and my hair – in a ponytail again – they don't move at wind. People is passing me by but nobody looks at me, like they didn't notice that a girl suddenly appeared on the street.

I remember what did Rafael say and the Second Rule of Statute... Nobody will see you, nobody will hear you. I'm immaterial. I'm a ghost. I shake my head – visiting the Underworld seems to be so unrealistic for me like the thought that I'm generally dead.

I'm really, really dead. This all is really happening. And although I've come back to Earth for a week, I'm still dead. And nothing will change it. Never. What will happen after a week, when my time will come? Will a eternal darkness happen then, will my imagination about death come true? What is a week comparing to eternity?

Not so much.

I recognize the place where I am, how couldn't I recognize it? It's a sidewalk in the front of Bushwell Plaza.

Bushwell Plaza. The place where everything started... and ended.

I walk across the street when the red light is on but I don't worry about the cars which just rides across me. Strange feeling.

But the stranger thing is that walking across the street was the last thing I did when I was alive and it's the first thing I do when I'm dead.

I come in Bushwell Plaza's hall through open door. I glance at the calendar hanging on a wall. It's October 21st and it means that only one day has passed since my death. I sigh slightly, not knowing what to expect. After this day everyone surely knows I'm dead but what more? Has there been my funeral already? It sounds absurdly – my funeral...

Behind porter's counter as usual sits mean Lewbert and lazily flips a newspaper pages, muttering something angrily. Actually I don't care, he doesn't see me anyway, but I can't stop myself and I come up to the counter. I reach out my hand to grab an orange lying in a bowl on the counter, wanting to throw it in Lewbert, but my hand only goes through it – like the cars on the street. I try few more times and when I don't succeed, I growl, irritated.

So I don't think I can ride a lift.

I run at the eight floor. Usually I would be panting after it but now I'm not tired at all, what I notice with slight raising my eyebrows. I take a breath and I hold an air in my lungs for over two minutes but I don't stew, I don't feel the lack of oxygen. Wow. Being immortal has some advantages.

What doesn't change the fact I'd rather be alive.

I stand on the hallway, between apartments 8–C and 8–D and I glance anxiously at the doors. I'm not sure if I should walk through any of them but if I'm here, there's surely some purpose... I take a deep breath (which I don't need, though) and I come up to 8–C apartment's door because I feel I should come to my best friend's flat at first.

What should I do? I stand by the door for a moment and then, despite my previous failures, I try to push the door but my hand only goes across the door. Yeah. Why did I even expect I would be able to grab this stupid handle? I close my eyes and take a step. When I open eyes I'm in the 8–C apartment.

It hasn't changed at all since I've been here for the last time, still alive. Actually, what was I supposed to expect, that Spencer and Carly would paint all walls in black and hang up my photos everywhere? The flat is surprisingly empty what makes me worried a little bit. It's strange because this apartment is hardly never quiet. I listen for a while but I hear only a clock ticking in a kitchen. I decide to check upstairs.

I hear sobbing when I'm in the middle of the stairs. I recognize Carly, so I move faster and run at the second floor. My best friend is probably in her bedroom and when I come in here without hesitating, I stand stock–still.

Wearing black, paler than usual Carly sits on her bed curled and cries, choking with tears. Her hair is disheveled, she's wearing track–suit and too big for her hoodie (I guess it's Spencer's) and she has no make–up put up. That all doesn't fit her at all. But not Carly shocks me the most, our photos scattered around her do.

I don't need to breath anymore but I feel the lack of oxygen. It's Carly, Carls, Carlotta, Carly–oh, my clever, beautiful, cute best friend sitting in this dark room among our common photos and crying in a pain, a despair, a longing.

I feel a lump in my throat. Carly, Carly, Carly... She shouldn't cry. She shouldn't experience this. She's too pretty, too good, too precious. She doesn't deserve this pain.

"Carly!" I yell, coming up to her, although it doesn't make any sense because she doesn't hear me and doesn't see me as well. But I don't care about it now because when I see my crying best friend, my heart is breaking in two, I'm mad at the whole world, at the driver who hit me with a car fatally, at the doctors who didn't save my life, at Rafael and his stupid Statute, I'm mad at all of them because my Carly is crying now... "Carly, Carly!" I yell and try to grab her arms, let her know I'm here and I'm crying together with her but my hands just go through her body, I can't touch her, stop crying, baby, I beg you, I'm here, notice me...

Carly calms down suddenly and I'm relieved. Good, Carly. Brave Carly. Don't cry, don't cry for me, kid... My friend wipes the tears out of face and stands up, grabbing our photos where we're both happy and there are smiles on our faces. Carly stands in the middle of the room, contemplating the photos. Then she puts them on the desk and suddenly leaves the room. I want to follow her but I'm too shocked, I can't even move, I can't take a single step. I sit alone in the dark room, trying to think over the things I've just seen. Meeting Carly for the first time after dead was harder than I supposed.

When I'm finally able to stand up, Carly comes back to the bedroom. Her eyes are reddened and swollen but I'm proud of her, proud as damn, that she's not crying anymore because there's no one to cry for, it's just me, that agressive girl with no worth... But Carly can't refrain herself for a long time, she jumps on the bed and bursts in tears again what breaks my heart.

I can't, I can't take it anymore, nothing makes sense, how the hell have I to help my loved ones when they can't hear and see me? Why have I returned on this damn Earth? To look at my loved ones in mourning? "Are you satisfied?!" I yell, I don't know who at, I take my fury out.

I don't want to be here. I can't be here.

I come up to the window, go through it and stand on the cornice, looking down. The street is nearly forty yards under me, it's crowdy of people and cars. I grab the window nervously but I release it. After all, I'm freaking immortal, nothing will happen to me. Despite, I'm reluctant. But I'm so fed up with this everything, I've been on Earth for like twenty minutes and I'm done, I'm mad at Rafael, at the driver who hit and killed me, at myself.

I don't to be here anymore.

"I don't want to be here!" I yell, looking at the cloudy sky. "Do you hear me, Rafael!" I don't want to be here! Take me away, damn it!" I shout as loud I can, my throat is in pain. But – of course – nobody hears me, no one looks up but even if someone did, he wouldn't see a girl who stands on the cornice at the eighth floor.

I don't want it. I don't want this everything. I regret. I want to come back to the place I arrived from.

I turn around and see Carly who's still crying with face hidden in hands. My hearts breaks into million pieces.

I jump.

The flight is short. I don't feel a cold wind on my face and when I fall down, I don't feel any pain. I don't feel anything, although this downfall should kill me.

Well, you can't kill a corpse.

I stand up and run away from Bushwell as far as it's possible. This place isn't the same as it used to be, it's foreign and full of pain. A pain caused by me. I can't take it. I'm a bad person, I know it, and hurting people usually was funny to me. But hurting people I love the most, is not so funny. I scamper, trying to fight with burning tears streaming down my face. I run as fast I can but I don't get tired, I don't have to slow down. I think I could run to the East Coast while this week I've got. Maybe that's not bad idea?

You're here to help your loved ones.

How, how the hell have I to help them? They can't see and hear me. What should I do? Why the hell has I come back here? Why couldn't I just die without seeing my best friends crying among our photos?

I stop. I'm at the Groovy Smoothie. I didn't planned to run here but my legs brought me here. "Stupid legs," I mutter and hit my thighs.

Maybe it's not a coincidence? Maybe I'm here in some purpose? To help your loved ones...

"Oh, shut up," I growl. It's one of the few advantages of being immaterial – you can talk to yourself and nobody will see this and think you're an idiot.

I come in the Groovy Smoothie. I'm surprised by an atmosphere inside – it's gloomy and quiet, so different as usual. There's not so much people as usual, they're sitting in small groups and talking quietly. I come up to the table where Wendy sits along with Brad, Sean and Rebecca Berkovitz and I eavesdrop shamelessly.

"I still can't believe it..." says Wendy quietly. "Sam and me have never been close friends but however..."

I raise my eyebrows. Of course. My death is the main subject, I should've guess it. It's stupid but it flatters me a little. I look around the Groovy Smoothie and my eyes stop at lonely, gloomy person sitting at the table in the corner.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Freddie drinks his smoothie sadly, deep in thoughts. He's pale and looks like he hadn't been sleeping for like... two days? His hair is disheveled and there's a shadow of facial hair on his face – oh, Freddison and a facial hair on his baby face – and his shirt is creased.

"Freddie..." I whisper before I manage to refrain myself.

I hate Freddie. And, at once, I... like him. My heart squeezes when I see him being in such a poor condition, although I don't want it. But I can't fight with it. Freddie, nerdy Freddie, my ex–boyfriend which I'm still in...

No. No. No.

"Freddie..." I repeat and sit opposite to him. He doesn't look at me, although it's the only thing I want now. "Freddie, look at me. Freddie!" I yell, leading over him. There are only five inches between our faces and I'm shouting at him as loud I can but he doesn't hear me. Tears of rage and weakness stream down my face.

Fucking tears.

I raise my hand and try to knock Freddie's cup down to make him notice me finally but my hand just flies through his cup without any harm. I stand up violently. Normally I would fall over the chair but nothing happens.

Nothing. Nothing, damn it, happens!

"Fuck you, Rafael!" I yell, standing in the middle of the Groovy Smoothie and I point at the ceiling. "Fuck you!"

I run out of the Groovy Smoothie.

I spend rest of the day wandering in Seattle, trying to calm down. I shake and can't stop the tears what makes me angry even more. I want to eat something but I know I can't eat – it's the worst thing of all of it.

You should be thinking how to help your friends!

"I KNOW, OKAY?!" I stop suddenly. I know, damn, of course I know I have to 'help' my loved ones. But after seeing Carly and Freddie I'm too shocked to think about anything making sense. That's why I'm walking around Seattle for the rest of the day. I don't get tired and I don't notice all the miles I walked.

I saw only Carly and Freddie but I feel I should find out how is the rest – Spencer, Gibby... my mother.

My mother.

I should go home. After all, it's the place when you come back with pleasure after long, tiring journey. But not in my case. My home is – was – Bushwell Plaza. That's where I died, that's where I started my new life. Not in my tiny, dark flat – in Bushwell Plaza.

It's getting dark and cold but I don't feel the cold. I reach to the Pike Place and go toward Waterfront. I stand by the crash barrier and look at dark, unfriendly bay and soon after I raise my head to look at the sky. It's cloudy, I can hardly see any stars.

To help your loved ones, to help your loved ones. Those words are still crashing in my head. I know I have to help them, that's why I'm here. Besides, I saw them and I know they need my help. I want to help them.

How the hell?!

"Will you give me any sign, Rafael?" I ask, staring at the sky. I feel incredibly stupid but after a while with a bitter surprise I remember that no one sees and hears me because I'm dead.

Dead. A cold, harsh word.

"I want to help them!" I yell. "Just tell me how to do it! Am I asking for too much?"

Silence. I close my hands into fists. Almost never I ask someone for help and in this rare cases when I do it, I hope the help will come. Mortified, I lead my head and look at the dark mass of water under me.

The noon passes and I'm still hearing crying Carly and seeing pale Freddie.