A/N: Let me get this out there: Everything in this is purely fictional. Heath Ledger of course existed and truly died. The Dark Knight is not mine, Rory's First Kiss is not mine, and none of his movies are either. But the other characters and the story told are all developed by yours truly. I did not mean to use this in any way to taint Heath's name. Again, the story is fictional.

I replayed the moment over in my mind at dinner to make sure that what I thought happened, actually had. It gave me a sick, anxious feeling every time. I pushed my mind to its limit trying to imagine Frenchie as more than just… Frenchie. Doing so, I regretted it. It was a scary territory with things I wasn't so sure of. So I put it aside and focused on my pork chops.

Dad actually came home for dinner that night. He said there had been a disagreement at the office and he felt better working at home. I didn't know exactly if that meant he'd be home every night or what. But he was then.

I was the last to finish eating. Mom took my plate from me and began washing it. Dad was sitting down in the living room to read. I was heading to my room for possibly 10 Things I Hate About You. I was walking up the hallway deep in thought when dad stopped me.

"Oh Liza," dad called out. So close, and yet… "Since you'll be walking by there, could you please get my reading glasses off my desk?" he asked

It really frustrated me. Why was he was so lazy? Youth really was a bother in moments like that.

"Can't you get it?" I complained.

"Liza, your right next to my door." he said calmly, but firmly.

I knew arguing wouldn't help any with him. So I threw my arms down and stormed into his room to get the glasses, showing my displeasure with obeying.

My bare feet hit smooth on his wooden floor. It always felt so cool in that room. But I was too heated and in a hurry to take notice to this simple delight. Looking back now, it seems that I forgot so many of those extraordinary little things.

It didn't take me long to find the spectacles. They were laid carefully under the dim light on his desk, on top of some papers, the only light that was on in the room. Papers covered his desk. I guess he really was working at home.

Gently grasping the thin metal in my hands, I was on my way out when I shot a quick glance back. As if on my way in I had forgotten to look at the room. It was fate that caused that glance, I later thought. Cruel, grave, inevitable fate.

Next to his computer monitor there was none other than a small rectangular box. Like that of a video case.

My heart jumped into my throat and stopped there. Chills hit me and I stared at the simple case for a moment. There was something significant in it. It seemed to radiate that message. It was calling me, drawing me closer with curiosity. Then suddenly I snapped back into reality and left the room. With much on my mind I gave father his glasses and went to my room as originally planned. It kept calling. But I would have to wait to answer.

At midnight my parents had been in bed for an hour. Dad took forever reading. My eyes stung red with tears as I opened my door. Over what? I do not know. Over a hurt best friend that I could not help? Over my still deceased love that caused hurt in said friend? Over my fears and feelings I could not explain? So much was at hand.

As I stepped into the hallway in all quietness, my stomach turned with anxiousness. The tape brought a sense of foreboding and yet I was being pulled to it.

I slid my fingers on the smooth knob of dad's office door and turned. Gently, I pushed and the door opened slowly. I slipped in without a sound, then tip toed around his desk. I tried to keep all quietness, but I could have sworn my heart's pounding would have woken my parents up with a startle.

There it laid by his computer. I hadn't imagined it after all. Now I just have to find what it was.

My room didn't have a VCR, so my options were the living room or right there in the office. I chose the office, it being more secluded. As I picked up the tape I grabbed a handful of the papers underneath it and brought them along, reading with curiosity across the room to the television.

The papers had Heath's name on each somewhere and just scanning and finding that made my heart pound with even more intensity. It was really happening. All I had feared was true.

Dad was suing Heath Ledger.

There was a paper with charges that ranked large numbers. At least I thought they were large. Perhaps in the film industry that's what it cost to buy your coffee. I wouldn't know.

I slipped the tape in and it clicked, ready to play. My forefinger was quick to hit the button, but every move seemed antagonizing.

Static came on and then a very dark room was shown. It was through a film grain and a timer and numbers filled the border. It was a foggy view but I could tell what was going on.

People were wondering on the screen, people with headsets and a job to do were more in focus. Mechanical equipment could be seen in the background.

"That's a wrap" I heard one say.

They walked around and soon started talking a bit more casually. Their day was finishing up. Then I noticed one very oddly dressed man in between it all, as he paced back and forth. He rolled his shoulders. He tilted his head like he was stretching. He murmured something that I could not hear.

One of the passerby's stopped to talk to him. The odd man mumbled a little more, uncertainly. But the passerby I could hear.

"What's up Heath?" he asked concerned.

Oh my god. I gasped out loud. Heath. He didn't just say that. He didn't.

It was the Joker. Everything started to register against my will, as I then noticed a tint of green to the man's hair. He was showing his side, so his makeup was not quite visible. But now that I knew, I could tell it was there.

"We need to keep going." Heath said loud enough now. His voice was distressed and it gave me such a grave sense of fear. And yet, I still found his voice beautiful. My heart went out to him. My love.

The other man seemed a tad annoyed, but tried to understand.

"We can't. You've been here for 12 hours. It's one of your longest days!"

"I know," he said quieter as he shook his head, like a school boy who had been scolded every day for not doing his homework "I know," he repeated "But I need to, I mean.. Can we please?"

He tapped his foot and fidgeted with his hands. His voice sounded desperate. Something was not right. He wasn't okay.

"Listen," the man said as he put his arm on Heath's shoulder. "Go home," he said kindly "Get some rest. You need it"

At the unintentional remark, Heath's face squinted in pain.

"I can't!" Heath cried, louder than the people talking around him. A few stopped and stared.

The agony in his voice took the breath out of my lungs. My heart fell on the floor and tears streamed down my face. Heath, my love. He was here on the screen. This was real and terrifying.

It got quieter on the set.

"I can't" he repeated. "I can't, I just- Can we please do that scene again?" he pleaded, backing up from the man's outstretched arm. Heath's face was filled with anguish and fear. So much it was disturbing.

The man then started to worry more about Heath, noticing too how disturbing it was. He took another step towards Heath to try to calm him.

"What's the matter?" he asked and with that Heath backed away from him more.

Without looking, he backed up too far. There was sound equipment behind him. Yet as the man reached out and tried to warn him, Heath backed up faster. The sound panel tipped over with a smash shooting sparks everywhere. Suddenly an orange glow came on the screen as a part of the set caught fire. It was just a little flame but it sent to crew buzzing with panic. All but Heath, who was on the ground about five feet away, laughing. He held his stomach as he cackled the most sinister, deathly laugh. He couldn't catch his breath he was in such hysterics with humor.

What I had started to build after Heath's death was torn down that moment. I called out to him, even touched the fuzzy screen with my hand.

"Heath!" I sobbed as the video cut to static.

"Heath!" I cried out yet again, determined to help him. I pressed my forehead against the glass as well. My tears fell on the screen. I was blocked off. He wasn't there. I couldn't get to him. He was in pain. He was haunted. And I couldn't get to him!

The blaring static was too much for my eyes. It was too hard to fight the television for a man that wasn't inside there. I dropped my hands to floor and cried there helpless, all alone.

That held true until I looked up and noticed my father standing with an emotionless expression by the door, watching me. I hadn't noticed till then and his presence sent a shock through me. I looked up with teary eyes to him. This image was once the one I called out to for comfort. Now it was one I suddenly loathed.

"How could you!" I sobbed

"Liza," he began with that calm, strong voice that I could never understand.

"How could you?" I screamed as I started to stand. I was piecing it all together That night when I asked him about the case, how he so smartly changed the subject, reducing me to tears. And yet I felt a sense of pride as I realized how right I was all along.

"You lied to me! You made me feel crazy!" I felt embarrassed still, remembering that night "But I knew." I continued.

"I was right to lie. Look at yourself now." he said coldly.

He sent ice prickles all over me. How could he be so harsh to his own daughter? Still, even in my grief, I kept vainly hoping. There had to be an explanation. I was desperate.

"Tell me you were on the right side of that 'disagreement' today." I said in between sobs "Tell me you tried to help him!"

There was silence on his end as I continued to cry, and his betrayal became clear as my pain grew overwhelming. I was shaking all over. The room wouldn't stop moving beneath me. My voice was quivering under tears.

"The insurance company wouldn't cover it and Mr. Ledger refused to pay. It is my job to get the company the money they deserve."

Could he really mean what he said? This coming from the man who held me when Heath died, who came home from work to make sure I was okay. Did he really not care about my tears like he made me believe? Was his comfort and understanding before all a façade?

"Your job?" I yelled. "God! It was an accident! He was sick! And now," the words stuck on my tongue like peanut butter "now, he's dead."

"He was crazy, Liza. I'm sorry." Though he showed no sympathy. "And dead or not, they still need money to replace what was broken."

"He was not crazy." I spat with my teeth clenched.

"He was" He said in a matter of fact way.

He made my skin crawl with a burning anger. Every word was like another punch. My body at this point felt like it had been through a war.

"You should be thanking me. Have you seen this on the news? This could have made every headline!" he pointed out arrogantly. He really expected me to bow down to what he had done. Why couldn't he see the torture in my eyes?

"But his family!" I shrieked in between tears. "Haven't they been through enough?" I started to feel nauseous in my pitiful state of hell. My brain was buzzing with the image of Heath. No matter how loud I screamed, my father's face remained smug, content, blank. He was relaxed. I was hysterical.

"I don't think you appreciate how confidential this has been." he shook his head

"What about me?" I choked out. Didn't he care about how this would affect me?

He was silent with no answer. This wasn't my father.

"Oh you bastard!" I cursed. Pushing past him, I ran out of the room and into mine.

I was caught in a disarray of thoughts. I didn't know where I was. Heath's laugh echoed in my mind with my father's unconcerned face every where I looked. Lost and sick I fell to my knees in my room, still weeping uncontrollably. I gasped for air in between sobs but it didn't come. My stomach churned with the overwhelming tears. My hand flew to my mouth for fear I would puke. I looked for an escape from this torment. There was happiness on this earth but I couldn't seem to locate it. I couldn't remember anything.

I tried to stand but fell back to my weak knees. Then again, I tried this time able to walk. My hatred for the world was unbearable with the grief. What did I do to deserve this? What did Heath do to deserve this? Angrily I knocked everything off my dresser with a smash. It felt good for a moment but then the sorrow came back in to attack. There had to be an escape. There had to be a haven. I suddenly knew of only one place. Holding my stomach and hoping not to be sick, I stumbled over to the crashed things on my floor. I picked through it and found my keys to the house and to the beach house. I grabbed everything of importance to me and through it in my backpack. There had to be an escape. I had to get away.

Mom was up now to see what was going on, so I stalled. I could hear her and dad talking outside my door, but it sounded miles away.

Losing energy, I crashed on my floor to wait. I sat on the same carpet I had had for years, in the same room I'd slept in every night, behind the same door I slammed so many times, to block out the same two upset parents. But everything was foreign. I was misplaced.

Sitting there with my packed bag, I listened for my parents to go back to bed, to go on with their lives and forget about the daughter they gave up on. It took longer than I thought. I didn't have the strength to stay sitting upright. Falling against the carpet, I sobbed like a newborn. Again my stomach revolted, but I continued to cry. I wept for over an hour there on my floor, alone.

After an hour of nothing but the sound of my tears I felt it safe to fly. I took every ounce of strength I possessed to pull my self out of the ground but I did. Then with nothing but a kiss to my love, I found another miraculous source of energy. And with it, I ran.