Chapter 7

Bloo was with Eduardo again, playing games as normal. Both of them, in a state of rivalry in multiplayer, were determined to win the game. They were keeping their focus and attention to the screen, when it happened. Other imaginary friends ran down the room to the hallway, all them having a worried, horrified look upon their face. Eduardo and Bloo, noticing them passing by in such an anxious state, wondered what was going on. They paused the game, exchanged glances of uncertainty, and exited the room with them.

There was murmuring everywhere. Soon, Bloo could find some people crying. Everybody was gathered out into the living room, and there was hardly any space for Bloo to get a glimpse of what was happening. The dark, tall front doors were opened, and Bloo could see the faint flashes of red and white lights flaring inside the house for instances.

" What's going on?" Bloo muttered to himself. He could hear the sorrowful murmurs and whispering all around him, yet this only grew the worry and fear. Ambulances? Did someone get hurt? Bloo thought, which energized the nerves running through his body. He began to feel nervous. Eduardo was tall enough to see the event, and his eyes were wide, mouth ajar, and his arms trembling slightly. The tears filled his eyes.

" What happened, Ed?!" Bloo cried, but it wasn't enough to break Eduardo from his state of horror. Bloo turned back to the crowd, and could see Wilt's tall figure beside 's office, and he as well, had the same expression. He then made his decision and made his way through the crowd ahead of him, moving forward to get a front view. Excuse me, Pardon, Bloo uttered the words as he maneuvered past the others around him, to ingress his way in a fearful curiosity.

" I never thought it would happen." An anonymous figure uttered, and Bloo turned around to see the owner. When he couldn't pinpoint anyone who could've said it, He continued to the front until he pushed through the barrier of people, to where he beheld the sight, before him, was police tape.

" Bloo!" Wilt called. But Bloo didn't pay attention. The sight of 's, bleak face scared him. It sent chills up his spine, to see such a limp figure, one who he knew well, to be upon a stretcher, with detectives taking pictures. Mr. Herriman's eyes were open, and the iris that Bloo could see was gray, and his was hat tipped off on the ground. They carried him a way, and his monocle that was always covering his right eye, slipped off his face and smashed into pieces on the ground. One of the authorities firmly said Watch it at the two who were currently carrying him away. Bloo felt his insides wring. It made sense. He hadn't seen for a while now. He must've been sick. But it was the motionless and the blank expression that made Bloo feel horrible.

" Bloo, you shouldn't be here." Wilt said to him in hushed words, and lead him elsewhere.

" Mr. Herriman's…dead." Bloo replied. Wilt stayed silent for the passing moments, before he gathered the courage to accept the fact himself. And Wilt only nodded at this.

· · ·

Mac visited the Foster home today, his mom allowing him after she learned the fact that one of their headsman died. She thought she could allow him this once to go for the week. When Mac saw the tall mansion at a distance, he could feel the disposition of the entire house was different. It almost seemed to have morphed, but not physically. It began to snow lightly, and Mac saw a few cars that were parked at the street in front of the Foster home. Those aren't police cars…Mac thought to himself as he passed by. He entered the front yard, and zipped up his jacket.

Mac knocked on the door, and a little earlier than expected, the door opened. A man in a suit allowed him in and he noticed a few more of the men were talking with Madame foster. She was dazing in the void, and her eyes didn't move to meet the men around her. Her blissful expression which could always cheer anyone up was now faded into a pale, emotionless countenance.

" Madame foster?" one of the men called. Her eyes then slowly looked up at the man, and she seemed to have a detached, icy disposition about her.

" You've had your druthers, and I told you all you needed to know. What more must I say?" She asked with hostility. "…Leave me." Madame foster than removed herself from the seat and made her way to Mr. Herriman's office. The men looked at each other and walked outside the doors, murmuring to themselves. Mac felt as if his presence wouldn't be appreciated at a time like this, and he felt awkward being here.

" Mac." Frankie noticed him in the doorway. She approached him. " Hey there. I'm sorry about that, they were just some agents wanting information. Are you here for…Bloo?" She asked, trying to grace a smile, but he could tell she let the situation get to her too; there were bags under her eyes, most likely from loss of sleep and stress.

"…Kind of…I wanted to talk to Madame Foster…but I'm not entirely sure if she wants to be bothered." Mac said, glancing back at the green doors to Mr. Herriman's office.

" I'm sure my grandmother wouldn't mind. She likes you, and right now, I think she needs the company." Frankie said, placing her hands into her pockets of her green sweater. Mac nodded to this and after thanking Frankie, Mac made his way to the door and knocked gently.

" I told you to leave!" She exclaimed. Mac shrunk against the door, and slowly realized that she thought she might've been talking to the agents.

" Madame Foster?" Mac said softly. A few moments later and the door opened, and she let a small chuckle pass.

" I'm sorry, dear, I thought you were those agents. Hah, prying their noses into everything." She said, and allowed him in. Mac felt a fear crawl in his body once he entered the room; he now recovered the thought that he was in a dead man's office. And it seemed to change the aura in the room to that of a cursed realm, which Mac didn't like.

" Is there something you want to talk about?" She began. Foster took off her glasses and wiped them from a cloth, squinting at him before she placed them back at her nose bridge.

"…If you don't mind…Madame…I was—"

" Wanting to know about Herriman's death." She finished, and brought her hands together, clasping her fingers. " I know child. Curiosity is one of the strongest desires any one person can have." She stated, and her eyes returned to the state of daze. After her temporary pause, she took a deep breath and looked at Mac in the eyes.

" Mr. Herriman was…ancient. He was my imaginary friend, and as a child, he would do all these dances for me." She said, chuckling, contenting in the past. " Even to his own slight embarrassment, but he was still my friend. We grew up together, and known each other for around 75 years." She claimed and sniffled, wiping her nose with a tissue. " As a girl, I never wanted to let go of him, and I knew that when I were to create him, I would eventually have to. So I imagined him to live up to be very old so that I wouldn't have to let him go." Madame foster sat up in her chair and brought herself closer to the desk.

" You see, Mac, I wanted Herriman to live to be 89. That was my wish. I wished for him to be alive for almost forever, and I got my wish. And I knew this would come one day." Foster paused and grabbed another tissue, blew her nose, and threw it away. She received another to wipe her eyes. " He became sick…drastically so. He couldn't leave his bedroom. He was always coughing. Those terrible gasps of air. I bought medicine for him and it helped none. It came to the point that he became scared. Terrified. He didn't know what was happening to him, and neither did I. Sometimes I'd hold on to his hand, and his grasp was…so weak." She said, and her hand clenched from the memory.

" Until a few days ago, we had our final conversation. I told him about my wish, and how his time was coming. He would only nod at me, talking would hurt his throat to much. And my visits to his bedroom would have to cease, because I was old and frail, and if I'd were to catch his sickness, I would end much more quickly." She said nodding, allowing a tear to fall.

" That's one thing I admired about him. Even though he was afraid, he was trying his hardest to get better…then…he passed last night…at 8:50 pm…"

Madame Foster remained quiet for a few minutes, her eyes closed and she decreased her breathing into deep breaths. Mac waited patiently and thoughtfully. Even if he wasn't that close to , he still felt his eyes watering when he heard about his condition. He allowed Madame Foster to take occasional breaks like this, refocusing her mind and calming the tempest of her emotions. She began to tell him more about Mr. Herriman, herself, and Frankie.

" Frances never wanted an imaginary friend." She said, chuckling. "It wasn't uncommon for kids not wanting one, but Frances' reasoning was more…well, moral." She said, glancing at Mac. " Frances believed that imaginary friends weren't treated right. They were looked upon as objects who were tossed at a certain part of the age when a child matures." Foster said.

Mac thought to himself. I never would've thought…

" She thought that if she were to make one, she would never forgive herself for throwing them out like the rest. Even if she made one to be as old as I am, she would still have the guilty feeling for having them to live in a life, where they were looked at as pets. She felt that they were more human than actual humans, and in ways I agree. If treated right, they can be like a blossom." Madame foster sighed. "Frances has feelings for everything, and that's not a bad thing. But there are things in life that we cannot change. And that is why she didn't want one. Because she knew she couldn't change the way how people look at Imaginary friends. Just their simple titles say it all." she said and as usual, her eyes entered the void. Mac felt more respect for Frankie and Madame Foster. Knowing them more, he could relate to them and sympathize with them. And it made him glad, in a way. He daydreamed a little more before he got the thought that he could ask her a question.

" Madame?" Mac named. After a few seconds, she looked back up at him and a small smile appeared.

" Yes dear?"

"…I was talking to my friend's dad…um…you don't know Adrian, I don't think." Mac shook his head. " And…he mentioned something about…15 years?" Mac asked, fidgeting his fingers. Madame foster tilted her head slightly to the right.

" 15 years?"

"…yeah, I'm not entirely sure what he was talking about, because he was interrupted and stuff…" Foster remained in small confusion before she raised her eyebrows.

" Oh…15 years…yes, I know." Mac felt almost excited.

" What did he mean by it?"

" If you don't wish a specific age for an imaginary friend, their default age is 15...when they…" Madame Foster paused, noticing that the way she was speaking was too casual for the look on Mac's face. He already knew what she meant. She swallowed hardly and Mac's eyes left her face and at the wall, horrified. "…after 15 years…they pass…"

· · ·

Bloo could hardly sleep last night. He stayed at his bed and he could only stare at the light the moon provided. His mind was filled with thoughts and concerns. And the terrifying sight. It made his stomach twist.

When it was morning, Bloo didn't eat breakfast either. He wandered around the hallways, trying to make sense of things. Sometimes he would pass by other friends who would murmur to each other and he would ignore their presence. Once he arrived in the living room, he made his way down the stairs, and the scene from last night flashed in his memory. He stopped at where he was, and closed his eyes. No wonder no one was in the living room. Bloo thought to himself. Though he forced himself down and made his way to the entertainment room. He creaked open the door and there he found Eduardo, Coco, and Wilt. They were talking with each other, in quiet, gloominess. Bloo wasn't so sure if he wanted company at the moment, but after trying to close the door, Wilt called to him.

" Bloo? You there?" He wondered. Bloo closed his eyes and sighed. He entered the room and made his attendance known. He approached them and sat at the space on the floor in front of the couch. For a while, Bloo didn't join in their quiet conversation, but Wilt did try to associate him. Bloo remained quiet however and only listened.

" I wonder how old he was." Eduardo wondered to himself, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

" Must've been pretty old…I'm not sure how old though." Wilt added.

" Coco…CococoCo." She remarked. They all nodded but it remained as a dull unexplained message to Bloo.

" It kinda just makes you realize…like…how close you are to….you know, death." Wilt stated. " Like…to think we only have a few years." Bloo then felt his breath shorten. Fear passed through him and he slowly looked up at Wilt.

" What?" Bloo asked breathless. Wilt glanced at him, puzzled.

" Huh?"

" What did you say?"

" I said…that we only have a few years." Wilt reiterated. Bloo's mouth became ajar.

"…What do you mean? a few years!" Bloo raised his voice, but not from anger. The emotions of fear, anxiety, and misery trembled him. Wilt shook his head.

" I mean what I mean…sorry, but it's just the only way to explain—"

" I'm going to be alone in a few years! I mean…How do you—Why…" Bloo sighed and covered his eyes, going over the impossible information he'd just received.

" No, Azul. We all only have a few years." Eduardo claimed. And Bloo stopped breathing all together. He widened his eyes and glanced at Eduardo. Hoping for a sense of fault.

" I guess it also depends on how much your—uh, owner?—wished you. I'm currently 11, so I have 8 more years." Wilt shrugged.

" Cococo coco co." She added, and Wilt nodded at her statement. " 7 left, huh. I didn't know you were 11 too." He remarked.

" Tengo 10 años. But I have 7 left too." Eduardo shared. Bloo couldn't help but exchange glances at all of them, confused and upset at how calm they were sharing their last years.

" What? How do you even know these things?" Bloo exclaimed.

" Bloo, calm down. You're usually going to be the same age as your owner, probably a year younger, but it's normally the same." Wilt explained. Bloo took a deep breath and covered his eyes, upset about their serenity. After a few moments he decided to answer.

" 9...I'm…I'm 9—I think." Bloo said, regaining his breath. He swallowed and opened his eyes, looking down at the carpet.

" Okay…How old did Mac wish you to be?" Wilt asked.

" He didn't…I don't think…" Bloo responded.

" Okay…so…you'll live up to be 15." Wilt said reluctantly. Bloo then realized how many years he had left.

"…I only have 6..." He whispered.

· · ·

It's been a few days since Mac spoke with Madame Foster. Actually, since he last visited Foster's home in general. He was too involved with family problems and confusions of his own to be able to go back. And after knowing the last few years Bloo was going to have, he wasn't able to will himself to go back there. It was heart wrenching.

At the end of the school day, Mac stayed after to finish some work he had to do. Afterwards, Mac was walking his way home, when he was stopped by Dan. There wasn't even a confirmation; just a confrontation, and a ruffle. Mac was able to get a few vital hits at Dan, stumbling him at times, but Dan's little posse gained up upon him, overwhelming him and taking him down with a matter of minutes. It never got this bad before. At the moment of his severest pain, Mac could regret with every fiber of his being for taking the grade sheet. He willed himself not to cry, fallen in his enemies front, but he couldn't hold back, all the pain trembled his body. Afterwards, they left, after laughing him to scorn.

Mac stayed down for the longest time, trying to let his aching body rest. The sun began to set, and it painted the sky a bright pink, and further away, a calmer lilac. He stood to his feet, his knees shaking, and his stomach burning, but he raised to his feet, and began home. Mac could feel his brow bleeding, and his cheek puffing. He also felt some scraps around his torso, but he didn't want to concentrate on the misery he felt. And what made matters worse, Terrence was in the distance. And once he came in a line of sight, His expression morphed.

" Mac…who…" He began, his hands raising to hold his face, but they were shaking from fury. "…who did this to you?"

" I don't want to talk about—"

" Tell me, Mac! Who hurt you?" He exclaimed and stopped him, holding firmly at his shoulders. Mac didn't say anything to him, and only kept his eyes glued to the cement of the sidewalk. He wanted to cry again, and he felt all the anger he held inside begin to simmer.

" Mac! Tell me!" Mac hit his arms away, and shoved him.

" You're not any different than them that did this to me!" Mac cried. " You are just like them! Hurting me every single chance you got!"

Mac began to run, sprinting as fast as he could away from him, away from everyone. He didn't want to be here anymore. He felt that everyone only tried to bring him down. Hot tears spilled from his eyes and all he wanted was to be gone.