Remember Me- Part Three
Recently edited August 8, 2010
Hey guys, for some of you that have already read this story once I apologize for all the new construction. The thing is, I wasn't happy with how I first wrote these few couple chapters in the beginning of the story so now I'm going through it all and combining stuff and adding stuff and yeah. So, if you're confused, I would suggest you re-read the story and I assure you it will be so much better than before.
I wiped at my invisible tears as I made my way across Rose Creek Lane, the traffic clogged street paralleling the park where Carly still sat on the bench crying her eyes out. My best friends echoed in my ears like flaming darts, first estinguishing my pride and then shattering what was left of my composure. I miss you, Sam. Only four words, eleven letters, and yet they hurt like I was back at the dentist, getting a root canal. Hopelessness dragged in the edges of my conscious, permeating my weakly structured walls and the void of despair threatened to drag me under. God, why the hell did this have to happen to me?
It felt like the Big Man was up there in Heaven rolling around on the clouded and golden hills, laughing his head off at my misfortune and firing down every possible destructive obstacle he could come up with. But some part of my weary brain refused to compute with that mental image; I had for a short period of time in my elementary years attending a Baptist church and although their strict philosophies eventually drove me away they certainly had opened my eyes up to the immaculate power of the Lord.
"Ugh, I'm too tired to think about this," I gave up with a frustrated groan, rubbing my head for extra effect. The tears had since dried up on my cheekbones and I scrubbed at the raw, reddened skin in a final attempt to erase any traces of wet from my face. I didn't want anyone thinking I was some kind of pansy. A heavy sigh escaped my mouth as I remembered that it didn't matter how awful I looked; I was dead, a ghost still banished to Earth for some impossible mission and nobody could see me.
My floating feet had carried me across and down the street by this point and I traversed past the sign advertising Bushwell Plaza: Only One Mile Away! The Best Rates You'll Ever Find! Stumbling, I slid right through a hot dog stand and the dealer gaped as all of his hot dogs crashed to the cement below, spoiling the delectable food. Shooting to my feet I brushed at my hair, only to smirk sullenly as I recalled that nothing could affect my invisible form; I was so preoccupied avoiding the scene of the crime I'd just perpertrated that I didn't recognize the fact that I'd moved the hot dogs from the cart when I'd been so sure I couldn't touch any object.
A few minutes later I took the pleasure of shimmying my tennis shoes on the doormat of Bushwell Plaza, missing the obvious fact that the bristles on the harshly decorated doormat had indeed moved with the connection from my shoes. Brushing my unruly blonde curls back behind my ears I went to open the door, frowning as my hand slid right through it. Damn, I forgot I couldn't touch anything.
Leaning back against the nearest wall about a foot away from the glass paned doors I waited for a customer to walze by and open the door for me. Finally, a redheaded female came on her way donning a totally out of style beige and army print trenchcoat accompanied by baggy sweatpants and holey shoes, a Hollister bag swinging from her lower arm. What Hollister sells that kind of crap, I wondered, scrambling to fall behind the lady as she pulled open one of the Plaza's doors, making her way towards the lobby desk. I scurried quickly up the stairs, noting that nobody was going to hold open the elevator doors for me, the creeps. As I made it to the second story landing I heard Lewbert screaming something about "fashionless demon person-thingy" and the corners of my mouth turned up in a sardonic smirk.
When I finally got to our floor my eyes connected with the twin set of doors on opposing sides of the hallway. My original instinct had been to check in on Spencer but something was prodding me to find out what the dork was up to. Don't call him a dork after all he's done for you, the handsome boy, the prissy side of my brain muttered, disgruntled, and I retaliated by spitting into thin air. Sam Puckett does what she wants.
I slid right through the door to the left, my eyes widening briefly as I realized I'd just moved through a solid rectangle of wood. Maybe it only works when I don't think about it. It took a minute for my oceanic orbs to adjust as I entered the dark apartment, my tense gaze sweeping the room. For the most part it resembled a crazy mother's home, in my honest opinion. There were baby pictures of Freddie all over the place, on the beige and white walls, on the dark wood maple table with rounded edges (so wittle Freddork can't poke his eye out no doubt) and on each shelf of the half empty bookcase. There were burgandy curtains, moth eaten, I noted, and the carpet was littered with pieces of trash. Aggressive Parenting magazines were thrown in a haphazard heap on the coffee table, next to a plate of low-fat cucumber cups, left over from Spencer's snack. It didn't look like Freddie or his psychotic mother was home.
Suddenly I heard a strangled sob coming from down the still darkened hall and I felt my heart sink all the way to the ground, only to be crumpled into a million pieces as I stomped on it with my feet (figuratively of course.) I recognized that sob, unfortunately. You did this to him, my mind taunted and I gulped, finding the urge to hide my face in my hands and dart from the room suddenly inviting. But another impotent part of my mind was screeching for me to get into his room and reluctantly I took a tiny step in the direction of my probable emotional destructive. I needed to know the damage I had inflicted. I made my way ever so slowly down the hall, each step seeming to drain the life out of me, before sliding right through the door I heard the sobs coming from. Freddie's door.
I felt the tears fill my eyes again, sapping the moisture from my arteries and veins, as I took in the scene in front of me. Freddie's normally spotless room was completely trashed, like someone had just robbed it or something. The blue and silver walls were drenched with a gooey red liquid that I prayed wasn't his blood and the grey-ish curtains were ripped and left to flutter like trapped moths. The window hung on broken hinges, letting in a draft of chilling air. Threatening messages were carved into the wood of the dresser in the right far corner and random clothes ranging from polo shirts to Fruit of the Loom underwear were tossed in a careless manner on the floor, the bed, the dresser, hanging out of the window, etc. A picture frame, once holding an image of the three of us, the iCarly gang, at around Christmas time, had been smashed in, the picture torn into dozens of shreds in the carpet. There was remains of what looked like a ham sandwich spread all over the floor, the mustard leaving dull yellow stains here and there.
And there, on the bed, curled up in a little ball, lay Freddie. My heart broke in half, no cross that, a million pieces, at the sight of him. He was facing my direction, his hands clutching the shredded remains of his sheets in a death grasp, his knuckles faded to pure white. His dark brown hair stuck up in all directions as though he hadn't brushed it in days and a piece of ham stuck like a memento of his agony to the skin of his cheek. As I came closer to him I could see the tears streaming relentlessly down his face and his lips trembled with fatigue as he sobbed my name over and over, intermixing his Sams with various curse words. The burning feeling attacked my throat and I bit down hard on my tongue to refrain the tears as I watched him, horrorstruck. The automatic code in my mind had always told me that I'd meant absolutely nothing to the boy on the bed crying his eyes out over my death, that if he ever had the chance he would have murdered me. Well, apparently someone beat him to it, I thought cynically.
My whole petite form began to tremble as I stood there watching him cry over me. Minutes past and Freddie let out a choked whimper, burrowing into the silky comfort of his tear soaked pillow, a few last sobs wrenching out of his chest as he did so. I sank onto the mattress, my hands interestingly enough itching to reach out and encircle around him, to comfort him as best I could. This was whole new territory for me, I reflected as I drew closer to Freddie, lying my head down on the pillow beside him, breathing in the calming scent of his cologne. I didn't know what it was about the dork's smell that drew me to it so much but everytime I caught a whiff I drifted off into a semi-trancelike zone. "God, Freddie. Why did this have to happen to us?" I whispered in a caught tone, the tears fighting to break free, but I reined them in once more.
In this moment, which was in every way weird I admit, it was as if we were one. His pain was my pain, his every emotion bleeding into me, making me hurt more than I could ever possible imagine. I caught a glimpse into his frozen gaze and a shudder ran through my body as I saw the pools of unimaginable pain in his dark brown orbs. And finally, as though he was whispering to me to let it go, I freed the reins and the countless sobs ripped through me like a gale. Reaching out, I held him, interlacing my fingers behind the small of his back. Although I knew I couldn't feel anybody or anything, I could swear that his warmth radiated through me in that moment, his own silent unconscious form of comfort. Somehow in the course of the last half hour I'd gone from helping the tech nerd to allowing him to hold me, well, I could imagine anyways. Freddie covered his face with his hands tightly as he began to cry harder, whispering, "God, why did you take her from me?"
The tears were streaming down my face by this point, no matter how much I worked to control my emotions. Seeing the boy I'd taunted for years fall apart like this...knowing that it was my fault his heart was breaking...how can that not cause immense guilt? I'm not made of stone, like Freddicini would have argued when I was living. And yet, the worst agony of all was knowing that I deserved the agony that was eating me alive. I deserved to rot in hell for what I had done to him and Carly. "Freddie, please, stop." I cried out, forgetting that he couldn't feel or hear me now, my desperation was too great. I couldn't take him crying over me anymore.
And then, through the film of tears, I watched as Freddie choked out another sob, and whispered into the silence, "I never got to tell her how much I care about her." That stopped my tearflow and I started, scrambling to a sitting position, my hands flying to fix my hair. I know, I have a new irritation with mussed up hair.
He...he what? I felt my whole body tense up into full alert as I replayed the words in my mind over and over. I never got to tell her how much I care about her. In this time zone that pretty much equals the same thing as I Love You, I concluded with a spark both unnerved and yet exhilarated. The excited part of my mind I wasn't quite in touch with; obviously I'd comprehended that after our first kiss together on the fire escape things would never, could never, be the same. But still we'd managed to keep to our prowess slash prey bravados for this long. Freddie collapsed in sobs again, burrowing his face into his dark blue, soft pillow. He couldn't have said that, I reasoned, I'm just hearing things, yeah that's it. But I couldn't help but sneak another glance at the dork huddled next to me. His breathing had slowed down a little and after glancing at his unclenched knuckles and slightly relaxed form I realized that he had fallen asleep. How could the dork care about this tomboy in any way shape or form?
I looked over at the unstylishly plain white, round clock on Freddork's dresser only to discover that I had been curled up here on his bed for way longer than I'd thought. The lowest point of the late afternoon sun dipped below the cragged points of the mountain peaks, sending a flare of sunset colors flying through the air and filling this room. Burnt red streaks coupled by flaming orange and beams of yellow swirled in various directions, momentarily painting the walls in a firy spectacle, dazzling me for a brief moment. But in time the barrage of colors faded away as the sun dipped below the hills, leaving Freddie's room to be thrown in shadows. Freddie shivered underneath the tattered covers, burrowing further into the crappy source of warmth he had left. My mind nudged me, letting me know that it was time to go, but at the same time I desperately wanted to stay with the wreck of a boy on the bed just through crying his eyes out over moi. Well, I wasn't about to argue with my rebellious side.
As the dork let out a squeaky snorting sound (I suspected that he was an irritating snorer, damn it) my hands took a trip back up to sift through my dirty hair. Well, it felt dirty to me anyways. I hadn't taken a shower since three days before my death, I remembered with a tiny groan. I wonder...
Creeping slowly towards the off white four wood paned bathroom door I smirked at realizing that Fredlina had left it slightly ajar, just wide open enough for a ghost to slip through, hopefully. Sucking in a breath to make my body as flat as possible I slid through the crack between the door and the wall, emerging in his bathroom. I paused for a moment after inhaling gratefully; the whole room smelled like his enticing cologne, damn it. But I couldn't help but smile a bit as I looked around me. Freddie had a sweet bathroom, I had to reluctantly admit, for a dork anyways. The walls were painted the same dark blue and silver as his room and a pure white rim based all four walls. The towel rack was made of a silver shimmery metal, bolted securely into the wall on the middle of the left well. Two towels hung nice and square from the rack. He's just a nerd, I mentally scoffed. He had probably had someone work on his counter space; there were two sinks dipping in the middle of the granite countertop, the nozzles sleek and shiny. The medicine cabinet spanned several feet, ranging on the wall from one end of the counter to where my hand gripped the right side of the doorway. In the far left corner sat one of those freaky cool bath/shower things.
Stepping towards the bathing/shower thing I reached hesitantly for the shower knob, hoping, praying that I could actually turn it, and to my utter shock, my hands closed around the metal. Turning the knob slowly to the left to allow hot water to begin streaming from the bath tap I let out a victorious whoop. Sam Puckett is a winner, Sam Puckett is a winner. Take that Mother Nature! I felt a smile alight my face. After calming down my ecstatic emotions I pulled up the knob, secreting the gushing liquid from the bath tap to the shower head, where it began spraying in an orderly fashion across the shower. Finally finished with setting up my shower I glanced around, attempting to figure out what I would need. Finally, it clicked. Clothes! Pivoting slowly, I headed across the room, heading for the rest of the Benson's apartment, still kinda mesmerized by the water hitting the bottom of the shower. I mean, I touched it! I rolled my eyes in an overdramatic fashion at myself, muttering under my breath that I was being too OOC, coupled with a few curses, before I reentered Freddie's room.
Freddie was still curled up in a ball on his bed, his thumb jabbed into his mouth like a stupid pacifier, but the tears had sort of dried up, leaving weird sticky trail marks all over his face. Another quick glance at the nerd caught me thinking that he seemed serene in slumber. I tousled his already messy brown hair gently for a moment, wishing that he could be like this more often, more 'Chill out dude' and less 'Anti-bactirial underwear and tick baths and low fat cucumber cups wittle nerd face.' He was so uptight every single moment of every single day all the time, and it tended to kill the mood, as I so often criticized him on.
Wait, get back on track, my mind prodded in an irritating fashion, like a wasp of sorts, and I turned away from Freddie, dawdling on over to his boring (well, not anymore, with the countless remarks carved into the wood) dresser. My mouth twisted into a proud and yet slightly frightened grimace/smirk as I read some of the carved words and phrases: How could this happen? Does God hate me? I feel like such a nub for letting her go off alone! Well, you should feel bad, dork. Then again, it's not your fault you're so enraptured with Carls.
After insisting to my brain that I wanted to open the top right drawer of the now permanently marred dresser I reached out and let out a tight breath as my fingers closed around the round circular plug, easily pulling the drawer open. The contents revealed several sets of white tank tops and plaid boxers. Ugh, stripes, I winced and then shrugged in resignation; it was better than nothing.
Once the clothes were in the bathroom I stripped slowly before the mirror, pulling off my three individual shirts and my khakis, slight groans emulating from my lips as I stretched out my intensely sore muscles. Who knew that being murdered could end so painfully? My oceanic orbs caught the mirror as I stretched cautiously and I paused, horror filling my eyes as I eyed my reflection speculatively, acting as though this were someone else's body, anyone but me. If I accepted that these wounds actually covered my skin then I might pass out, no matter how tough I appear to be. Bruises coated my skin from head to toe, cuts lacing across my chest and back, covering my wrists and ankles in the dozens at least. Nausea wriggled like worms as I finally noticed the wound on my abdomen. It was a nasty one alright, stretching from the center of my back to the corner right of my hipbone, blood caking each tearoff, as though the desired weapon had slashed unevenly from one side to the other. I looked away from the mirror suddenly, feeling a chill sweep through me as I fought to remember how I'd acquired the terrible wound. It was time to warm up, I decided, putting the manner to a temporary hiatus.
As soon as the hot water hit my skin like thousands of silky ribbons, lapping soothingly at my wounds, I let out a sigh of contentment, blocking out the stinging from my numerous cuts and bruises coming in contact with the warm liquid. I had thought for sure that I would never be able to do this again, after all, I was a ghost, and now it felt like I was the queen of Sheba, raised aloft in all my gold and finery. Now all I needed was a can of Peppy Cola and some ham to top it off. I suddenly winced as the water hit the deep cut on my stomach, sending pain shooting through my body and my trembling fingers touched it instinctively.
Instantly everything went black. Like, deep dark , can't make out a damn thing black, to define that little tidbit for you. The wind whipped my hair feriously and, curling my arms protectively around myself I closed my eyes as I went down, down down…
As I walked down the deserted street, my eyes wandered up to look at the night sky. The stars were shining brightly tonight, but there was no moon, making the streets darker than usual.
'Wait a minute,' my mind told me, 'I've done this before. Something terrible is coming, something sinister. But what? I can't think, I don't know!"
For just a moment I wondered what it would be like to float up to the sky and leave, leave all my pain behind. I would never have to deal with anything again. I wondered what it would be like to die, to fade away from the troubles of life, and to sleep in peace forever.
'No!' My mind screeched, 'Stop, Sam, you don't want this. You don't want to die, you want to live and go see Freddie and Carly and Spencer. Stop walking!" But my feet didn't pay any attention. They just kept moving forward.
Suddenly an agonizing pain burst forth in my abdomen, and I heard a quiet laugh. I looked down, my vision flickering, only to see the shining blade of the knife pierced through my body. I wanted to scream, but I felt like I didn't have any energy left. There was another piercing pain as the knife was extracted and I fell to the ground. I pressed my hand to the wound, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of my body, but I was too weak.
Stars burst into my vision as I lay on my back in the middle of the sidewalk, my life ebbing away with every passing second. The blackness stole over me, enticing me with promises of an eternity of peace, but I screamed for it to go away. I didn't want to die, didn't want to leave everything that I knew. But it was too late.
My eyes burst open as a throaty gasp of total terror escaped me, propelling me back into my perpetual reality. I shut off the water, allowing the freezing air to attack my pores as I leaned against the bathroom wall, my breath uneven, shaky like I'd just run thirty miles. I had just experienced my death first-hand again, agonizing pain and all, but this time, I remembered something more, something that I didn't want to believe, but something that I knew I had had to accept.
My death had been no accident.
I had been murdered.
I was tossed awake from my dreams of puffy cotton candy clouds and walking ham suddenly and I fell to the floor with a dull crash. I winced as I got back up, my legs shaking for stability, my fingers grasping the well used mattress for support. Why couldn't I have made myself impervious to that sort of thing? I looked over to see the source of what had pushed me, my feathers ruffled just a tad. No, actually, I was pissed about being woken up. Freddie was tossing and turning on his bed, his arms flailing in a careless, sporadic manner, his face wearing an expression so despondant that it nearly broke my heart. Whatever he was dreaming about, it wasn't good. No duh, my overexerted brain complained. My eyes connected with the clock on the nightstand and I groaned, slapping an invisible hand to my sweaty forehead, soiling my hand instantly. It was only 1 am, damn it!
I suddenly had an insatiable urge to figure out what nightmare was torturing the dork at this hour. And trust me, if his hopefully imaginative yet probably dull dreams wasn't excusable then Mama would grab a figurative pan and smack the boy around the head and undeveloped chest with it. Freddie had always said that he let things go easily, so this was clearly something unusual for him...unfortunately. Damn it, now I can't smack him up with a frying pan! I had always thought of the tech producer as the strongest of the three of us, though I would never tell him that. Pigs would have to start flying around Mama's house first; see how I incorporated that? Mama loves ham so flying pigs would make for a delectable treat. Carly tried to be strong for Freddork and I, but sometimes when things got hard, she cracked, leaving us floundering. I was just all around unpredictable, but what else is new? (insert Sammish smirk here.)
But Freddie was a different story. Sure he had his moments where he would fly off the handle and the two of us would end up in a screaming match. These usually occured around MMA Sunday, although if I was dealing with PMS then the chances of a blowout tripled. I glanced down at the dork, smiling slightly at all the memories of our fighting. They usually ended with the dork experiencing nausea, a loss of hair, or immeasurable agony, preferably the last; I missed fighting with Freddork so much that it literally hurt. I would do anything to go back to the way things were before, but that obviously wasn't possible. I couldn't go back and redo anything; we aren't in fairytale land. So I just had to find a way to make do.
I climbed back into the bed, forcing myself to curl my still shivering body around Freddie's restless one. Wrapping my arms around his waist and sternum, I relaxed into the boy's broad back. Strangely enough, I actually kind of liked being a ghost. I mean, I would rather be alive, duh. But lying here, holding Freddie, well, this was all new territory and the teeniest part of my rebellious brain actually sort of...liked it. Ugh, shoot me now. How could this have happened? Damn emotions. Stupid, female, volitile emotions. The dork and I never got this close when I was alive. Well, we did kiss, but he insisted that it didn't mean anything. If there was one thing I regretted the most, it was not telling him how much that one little kiss had meant to me.
People always say that you will remember your first kiss, and you will probably never be closer to anybody in your life for the rest of eternity. I used to always think that that was total bull. I mean, people get married for a reason, right? They love each other, and they want to be together forever. You don't see a woman walk off the alter unmarried because she missed the guy she'd had her first kiss with. It isn't rational.
And yet, now, I think I understand. In this moment, here, with Freddie, I know with all my heart that I will never be able to forget him (forgive my mushiness, it grosses me out too.) He's like a leech; no matter how much I attempt to dislodge him from my soul I can't seem to. I gave my first kiss to him for a reason, but I never had a chance to relay that reason to him. He had simply moved on and acted like the whole fire escape episode had never happened, like it was a chapter that could simply be ripped out from a book. But I had never forgotten.
Truth be told, my first kiss is my best memory in life. I have always felt so alone, like nobody will ever be able to understand me, and that friends will only hurt you in the end. I know, you think that's a little dramatic, but when you live with a mom who can't hold a job and who switches drunk-ass boyfriends every two weeks and have to deal with your two closest friends dating then maybe you'd get it. Okay, so maybe the last one is true, just a little bit. But I was wrong about the first one. Up until that night on the fire escape I had felt abandoned and alone, and then, after the kiss was over and I was exiting the hallway, I had felt something new. A feeling of safety, like someone actually cared about me. Again, gag, I get it. No more mushy-gushy Sam. No problemo, mon-a-me.
Freddie had calmed down for the most part, but he was still shaking slightly. I felt something wet hit my wrist and I looked at my arm in dismay to spot a tear, Freddie's tear, trailing down the side of my cut up arm. He was crying again, the heartbroken sadness that I couldn't seem to understand. I looked at him, really looked at him, and I knew that I had to figure out what he was crying about, although I had a sinking feeling that I already knew. I touched his cheek gently, my palm cupping his velvet smooth skin, before allowing my eyes to slide closed. Inhaling sharply to prepare myself, I blocked out every sight, smile and whatever other mysterious stuff out from the center of my mind, except for one thought. Please, let me see what the chiz is hurting Freddie. When I opened my eyes, I let out a little gasp.
I was standing in the iCarly studio, but I wasn't me. I tried to look around me, but my head wouldn't move. Why couldn't I move my head? Suddenly the weirdest thing happened. I saw myself rise out of the yellow bean bag mutter something about a good web show. I set down the video camera which had apparently been in my grasp and I suddenly realized that I wasn't Sam anymore, but none other than Fredward Benson.
I felt cool arms wrap around my waist and whoever was controlling my – no, Freddie's – body wrapped my arms around Carly's waist. She smiled up at me, and I felt a flicker of unease. What was she doing. And suddenly I wasn't thinking my thoughts. I felt my head lower and my lips connected with hers. I pulled her closer, pure bliss flooding through me. We swayed on the spot a little, and all I could think about was the brunette's lips against mine. I couldn't believe that I was finally dating Carly Shay.
No, stop, I told Freddie's brain, 'Let me out of here. I don't belong here. This is totally gross.' But I was blocked out again as Carly pulled away, leaving my lips all tingly. I wanted more, I wanted to rent a hotel room and bring my gorgeous girlfriend there, and lie her down on the bed, and rip off her shirt, and…UGH! I forced Freddie's brain to stop thinking about that mature rated hotel room scene for just a moment as Carly blew me a kiss and I turned to see Sam – no, me – looking at Freddie, a look of hurt and betrayal in her blue eyes. I hadn't realized that I had looked so upset. I – no, why won't Freddie let me think? – told Sam that I was staying here for dinner and then, realizing how lame I sounded, I asked her if she wanted to join us. She just shook her head, and then sprinted for the door.
I felt a flash of guilt sear my heart as she reached for the doorknob, and my hand closed gently around her tiny shoulder. She whirled to face me, the tears streaming down her face. We just stood there, staring at each other for a long moment, and then she broke away from me, rushing down the stairs.
The scene skipped to the next afternoon, after Carly had told him the news of Sam's death.
I fell onto my bed as the sobs burst forth. I couldn't contain them anymore, and I didn't want to. This was all my fault, all my damn fault! If I hadn't kissed Carly in front of Sam and upset her then she would have stayed over for dinner and she probably would have spent the night. She wouldn't have been walking the streets.
She wouldn't have died.
Sam couldn't be gone, she just couldn't be. He couldn't imagine his life without Sam, she made it complete. Sure they argued a lot, but that was the core of their relationship. For God's sake, they'd shared their first kiss together! And now, she was gone. He couldn't tell her how much that night on the fire escape meant to him because she would never be here again. Gone, he thought bitterly, as the tears streamed down his face. She was gone, and it was all his fault….
As I broke free of Freddie's nightmare I felt the tears start to slide down my face before I could stop them, tears of rare compassion and sympathy on my part. Sniffling, I buried into the crook of Freddie's neck, begging for someone, something to help me; my brain and heart and God knows what else felt shattered after that little motion picture. How could he blame himself for this? My death wasn't his fault at all! I wouldn't have stayed at Carly's house even if she had asked me. If anyone at all was to blame then it was my cold hearted bitch of a best friend who'd been shunning me for the past several weeks. How could Freddie do this to himself?
I burrowed closer to Freddie, trying to shut away the memories of that night, unsuccessfully. They resided permanently in my heart, trying to shred me apart from the inside out. "It's my fault, Freddie," I choked out through my sobs, "I'm dead, and it's my fault." But they were only words, false ones at that.
Someone else played a part in this tragedy: my murderer lurked in the shadows, waiting to strike.
Carly made her way into the studio where Freddie was setting up for iCarly, "Where's Sam?"
Freddie didn't look at Carly; he was too immersed in his TV screen, "She muttered something about not wanting to wear a stupid dress and ham." He shrugged.
Sam was just about to enter the iCarly studio when she heard her two best friends talking about her. She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob, and listened.
Carly looked down at herself, frowning, "Does this dress make me look too…..saucy?"
Freddie finally looked up from his computer, only to have his breath stolen away by the sight of Carly in a revealing silver dress. He gulped, "Wow." He shook his head, realizing how stupid he sounded, and tried to regain his composure, "I mean….you're supposed to look hotter than normal."
Carly blushed, "Why thank you."
Sam sighed, looking away from her two friends for just a moment, somehow feeling like the three of them were drifting apart. But she was probably being stupid, she concluded. With another sigh, she made her way into the iCarly studio….