Part Eight

Hey everyone! Sorry I haven't worked on this story in awhile but I seem to be the busiest senior on the planet, so yeah. Hopefully you enjoy this revised chapter. Please review and give me your honest thoughts!

Recently revised September 2010


F R E D D I E ' S / P O V


Hot tears squeezed out of the corners of my eyes, deliberately traveling sluggishly down my face as though to taunt me. I didn't want to cry, didn't want to give Carly the satisfaction of knowing just how much she'd hurt me; but no matter how many instances I repeated that dull mantra: Only the weak cry; I am not weak. Only the weak cry; I am not weak the salty droplets continued to emerge, sodden and secretive.

My feet carried me automatically past my apartment and, sliding open the relatively sturdy glass door I emerged onto the fire escape. We were here just this morning. How could everything go so wrong so fast?

Brushing the wet intruders from my shrunken cheeks I collapsed onto my favorite navy lawn chair; I'd set it up here the day after Sam had exposed that I'd never kissed a girl before.

Just thinking briefly about the blonde haired demon sent a wave of passive sadness coursing into my very soul. Although in reality our best friend had only been murdered five days ago it felt like an eternity; each moment that the second hand on the clock inched forwards reminded me painfully of the empty place Sam used to fill.

No longer did Gibby roam the halls clutching his shirtless chest in terror, waiting for the adversarial iCarly co-host to hunt him down and give him a new wedgie. No longer did Carly and I hang around the studio sipping ice teas with lemon slices and chatting amiably. No longer did Spencer leap around like a toddler, sending sporadic objects on fire every half-hour.

I could have come up with "no longers" for the next three quarters of an hour or so but I decided to brush off the sensitive subject.

A choked sigh burst from my pursed lips, carrying with it an unspoken guilt. No matter how much I attempted to tell myself that Sam would have left the Shay's apartment even if I hadn't kissed my ex-girlfriend some unconquerable mutterings still remained.

"Man up, nub!"

My eyes widened and shot in the direction of the mocking tone, only to narrow with disappointment. The hallway remained vacant, shadows permeating the normally serene atmosphere with a tinge of unease.

"Great, now I'm hearing things," I mumbled almost incoherently, shifting a little to relieve the built up pressure in my tense muscles.

The weirdest part of that inventive comment I'd heard moments before was how uncannily it resembled Sam's sardonic remarks. It was like my brain was so desperate just to hear a touch of her familiar sarcastic, griping mutterings that the nerve endings had resorted to pitching an imitation of my best friend.

My caramel irises shifted to gaze over the incredible view over the bricked edge of the fire escape, noting the countless towering apartment buildings and offices and even a shady casino or two. Yeah there were a few cases here and there for the LASD (Los Angeles Sheriff Department) to handle but for the most part Seattle was relatively safe.

But lately, things had taken a turn for the worst.

First came the brutal strangling of a preschooler named Griffin and his mother Clarise Porter just three days ago in Somerset Park; the most sickening part of the assassination was that threatening messages had been carved into the victims' pale skin.

Soon after was the tragic bus crash on the corner of West Avenue and Sixth Street, a horrendous accident that had resulted in over a dozen fatalities.

And lately, letters made out of magazine scraps had been thrust unceremoniously into several dozen citizens' mailbox. Within each letter a pungent drug had been dribbled over the scribbled words, releasing a surprisingly powerful incapacitating drug. Fathers and husbands had returned from work to find their wives and children lying on the cold floor, their throats slit and their beautiful outfits splattered with fresh blood.

And the oddest part about all of these seemingly unrelated attacks was that they had occurred just after Sam's death. It was almost like a wave of terrorists were sweeping in, devastating the nation and the blonde haired comedian had just happened to be murdered first.

"There had to be a reason why they chose you," I whispered, my voice catching a little as the primal emotion crept in, nearly unhindered.

My dull gaze flickered back to the city of Seattle, the multitude of buildings now cloaked under a swath of storm clouds. Maybe if I stared hard enough, long enough, just maybe Sam would come back.

"We can't do this without you," I fought myself admitting hoarsely.

For the longest time I'd found myself enthralled by Carly, content to simple squabble with the girl who completed our trio. As time had gone on Sam and I had gotten worse, our tempers steeping to the point of physical violence, but it still hadn't meant anything. As a matter of fact, I probably could have walked away from the obnoxious, wedgie-delivering girl without a second thought. And yet, she'd remained in my life like an obnoxious wart on your finger.

But now that my feelings for Carly had evaporated and now that all I wanted was to look upon the saucy, ham loving adolescent… she was gone.

It's funny how that works, huh?


S A M ' S / P O V


Floating down past the spatula robot I squeezed past the thin door at the end of the hall, traversing into Spencer's bedroom. Carly was still a sobbing wreck in the living room and it did no good to keep an eye on her until she'd calmed down and started talking rationally again.

I gazed around for a moment, unaccustomed to the artist's set-up. The only time I'd ever been back here was several years ago during one of Carly's infamous sleepovers:

"So what do you want to watch?" Carly asked me politely, a charismatic smile inching up her face. Digging through the trough of random DVDs the soon-to-be web comedian pulled out several rectangular cases.

I snagged the disks from my best friend, pretending to ignore the disapproving look she was giving me. A quick scan of the contents in my hands sent an immediate frown gracing my lips, "You don't have anything good."

"What are you talking about?" The brunette wondered, confused.

"I mean, c'mon. A Walk to Remember and Moulon Rouge, seriously? These are both chick flicks," I pointed out, tossing them aside.

"Oh look…we're two chicks!" Carly pretended to be amazed, pointing emphatically between our two laughing faces. "Besides, those are both fantastic films. I cry every time I watch them."

"Yeah, because you're a girly-girl," I responded with an over-dramatic eye roll. "Where are all the PG-13 movies with the fighting and gore?"

My best friend shuddered, hugging one of the decorative pillows normally adorning their brand new, multi-colored couch, "We're only twelve, Sam. My dad doesn't want me watching PG-13 movies until I'm fourteen."

"So?" I scoffed, brushing back a curly strand of my faded yellow ringlets. "I'm twelve and I've seen Disturbia and Bladerunner."

"But…Bladerunner is rated….R," Carly whispered with a tiny shiver.

"Your point?" I questioned smartly, my expression softening slightly as I noticed the shocked pauses in my best friend's dark brown orbs. "Fine, let's just find a stupid rated G and watch that instead. We don't want your daddy coming and murdering us, now do we?"

"You're the best!" Carly cried joyfully, flinging her arms around me in a brief hug before releasing me. "Let's find a romance or something and pop it in here," she motioned to the DVD player.

I glanced for a brief second at the darkened hallway to the left of the front door, a mischievous smile working onto my face, "Let's watch the movie in Spencer's room."

Carly had just held up Boogie Bear Takes Manhattan in the palm of her hand and her grip loosened at my brazen comment, allowing the case to hit the carpet with a muted thud, "We can't!"

"And why not?" I challenged, heaving onto my feet with a grunt of displeasure. Padding into the kitchen I reached for a wooden bowl with an intricately designed rim, followed by two enormous bags of buttered popcorn. One wouldn't be enough with me here.

"Because…I…I mean…we…," the brunette comedian stuttered, unable to come up with a good reason. "We'll get in trouble."

"Relax, Shay," I insisted, throwing the two bags of popcorn into the microwave and pressing the 60 second button a couple times. A light flickered on in the contraption and it began to rotate the inner tray clockwise. "Spencer's on a date with Kylie tonight, so it's a non issue. We'll be out of there way before he gets home."

"If you're sure…" Carly's voice died off, clearly radiated how undecided she was on this issue.

"Of course I'm sure. Mama's never wrong," I announced magnificently, pulling open the microwave door as the machine started to beep. Pouring the popcorn into the wooden bowl I made my way into Spencer's bedroom, flopping onto the older man's bed.

Carly slunk in a moment later, her expression torn, "I'm not so sure about this, Sam."

"Chill; everything's fine, Carls. You're such a priss sometimes, you know that?" I told her mirthfully, rubbing her head and causing several strands of her luscious brunette locks to poof straight up.

The movie seemed to roll by too fast and the both of us were so enchanted by Boogie Bear singing his new hit single "Dummy Wubby Bear" that we didn't even see the two adults stumbling towards Spencer's bedroom. Carly's older brother had his arms tightly encircling his girlfriend and Kylie was busy undoing the buttons of his plaid shirt. They were both moaning and locked at the lips.

"Ewwww!" Carly shrieked, covering her eyes and instantly the duo broke apart, blushing furiously.

"Red Alert! Makeout patrol; I'm afraid we have a code 5.67 on our hands here," I pretended to rasp into a walkie-talkie.

Spencer wasn't amused. "You two were supposed to be asleep by now," he growled, for the first time in his life actually resembling a responsible adult.

"We're going right now," I replied smoothly, tugging on Carly's arm and dragging her as quickly as possible out of the adult's room. "Just don't 'make sandwiches' until we're asleep; listening to you two moaning erotically isn't exactly a calming influence!"

"Sam…" Spencer pointed in the direction of the stairs. "Carly, I expect you to explain the rules of our household to your best friend here, now."

My best friend agreed, tremulously.

"What were you thinking?" Carly snapped, her russet orbs glaring menacingly in my direction.

I simply shrugged, "Eh, it's not a big deal. I've already been arrested once, remember?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with you. I mean, no offense, you know that you're my best friend and I love you but face it…you're a nightmare!" She determined, guilt carrying in her melodious tone.

"Yeah," I agreed, nodding my head and patting the brunette's shoulder sympathetically.

Spencer lay sprawled out ungainly on the queen sized bed, the furrows on his forehead suggesting his sudden brooding temperament. It wasn't like the older sibling to drown in seriousness unless the situation absolutely demanded it. Spencer tended to ignore suggestive comments, I pointed out with a toss of my rebellious curls.

Even from here Carly's sobs carried traumatically, drenching the normally cheerful environment with an intense sobriety. With every hic thatemulated from his little sister Spencer shuddered, linking his fingers over his stomach tightly.

I would bet all of my time spent in juvy that Spencer wished he could be out there comforting Carly, but she wouldn't allow it. My best friend was caught in a conundrum so desperate that it nearly tossed me mercilessly into the pits of depression.

Miley Cyrus singing Party in the USA sent me jumping eight feet in the air, only to realize that it was Spencer's ringtone. I should have marked him for a stalker kind of guy.

"Yello?" Spencer mumbled, a hint of his perky attitude peeking through his frown.

"Hey, man, guess who?" A familiar voice blared from the other end; the person was yelling so loud that I flinched, repressing the urge to cover my ears and sprint from the room.

"Um…Justin Bieber?" The artist replied half-heartedly, itching his armpit with the edge of his lanky fingers. Gross.

"Man, you're so far off. It's me! Socko!" The guy responded enthusiastically. "How's my best buddy doing?"

"I'm alright." Spencer's tone was all emotionless nonchalance.

"How's your little sis?" Socko wondered, his voice slimming down about a millimeter. "I know she was taking her best friend's death hard."

"Um…she's…" The elder Shay sibling paused for a moment and his mouth twisted into a grimace as Carly let out a particularly mournful howl. "She's crying her eyes out, actually."

"That's bad chiz," Socko pointed out seriously and several thudding sounds echoed from his end. I could practically imagine the middle-aged dude bounding up and down like some retarded filly. "Anyways, I've got a proposition for you."

"I'm not really in the mood," Spencer reiterated dully, running a trembling hand through his unkempt brown locks. I wouldn't be surprised if he pulled a leech out or something.

"But Putt-Putt International is having their annual event!" Socko cried, feinting a disappointed half-sob.

Spencer's lifeless gaze lit up a little bit. "Wait, the event where everything is one-tenth off normal price?" He asked, astounded.

"You know it!" The man chorused with a cheer. I'm waiting for him to pump his fist in the air and become a blonde haired popular chick.

"But nobody should ever miss it," The older sibling moaned. His lower lip jutted out in a pout. "I can't leave Carls though; she's really messed up over losing Sam. We both are." His mouth trembled a bit.

"Oh." Socko's excited attitude vanished instantly, replaced by forlorn despondency. "I get it; you think you're too cool for me now. Who's the chick who turned you away from our irreplaceable friendship?"

"There's no woman in my life currently," Spencer insisted, his mocha orbs shooting towards the door as Carly sobbed once more in a high-pitched keen. She sounds like a heartbroken puppy.

"Sure there isn't…" Socko mumbled doubtfully and with a roll of my eyes I'd treaded out of the artist's bedroom and back into the living room, breathing a sigh of relief. The scene hadn't really changed except Carly was now leaning against the wood counter, her breathing uneven and clogged with tears but somewhat steady nevertheless.

I hoisted myself onto the counter, watching the brunette closely as she reached for a picture frame, its solitary existence brightening the kitchen a little bit. As her slim fingers closed around the intricate frame I inhaled sharply, recognizing the figures the camera had captured in time instantly.

Freddie and Carly were embracing tightly; the male's head was burrowed into his girlfriend's neck where his nostrils were probably taking in as much of her lilac perfume as possible. Carly's moist lips were pressed delicately against her beau's cheek, leaving a slight smudged outline of her glossy red applier on his tanned skin.

Instead of flinging the print to the floor and shattering it like I would have expected, Carly set the valuable item back on the countertop, shivering slightly as she released her death grip on the frame.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever know how deep my feelings for you were," she mused, her voice fragile as a china doll, "because really, at first, I was just using you to make Sam jealous."

Oh no she didn't. My mouth tightened to a thin slit and my hands curled into knotted fists. I'd make a pact never to hurt my best friend and it wasn't like I could break it now, but I sure as hell wanted to throttle something or someone.

But my best friend was continuing her abstract monologue, I discovered, forcing myself to pay attention no matter how much I just wanted to stomp out of there. I couldn't be petty at a time like this.

"You always were bickering and talking with Sam and I guess I felt drastically overlooked," Carly confessed, her double-chocolate-chip frappacino colored eyes watching the snail-paced movement of the round clock on the eastern wall. "But when I started dating you I found that I really did like you; you were…are a good person, Freddie, but I don't think I can ever fully love you. Remember what you said after the whole taco-truck incident: I just thought I was in love with you? Well, I think that applies here nicely."

Apparently the dark haired adolescent was content speaking to Freddie through the basically empty apartment. She's beginning to get as insane as I am.

Carly sniffled and the tears filled her eyes once more, "But one thing I do know is that I'm going to miss you, Freddie, as a friend and a confidential source to absorb some of my feelings."

"Carl-ay!" Spencer yelled ecstatically as he bounded from his bedroom, wearing an expression so joyful that I burst out laughing for the first time in days. I hadn't seen the elder Shay sibling like this since before my untimely death.

Carly shrieked, first in shock more than anything else, and then anger, "Spencer! Don't scare me like that!" An undertow of depression still throttled the happy emotions in the room, but it was better than nothing.

The artist's grin dimmed slightly at his sister's apparent desire to ostracize herself from the rest of the world, "Socko invited me to Putt-Putt International's annual 10% off event! I just can't pass this up!" There's good old Spencey.

I finally pulled myself back from the senseless giggle fit, turning my mirthful look towards Carly to anticipate her to-be-expected chastising remark.

Instead, she barked, "What the hell is wrong with you?" Carls must be seriously pissed off to curse in even the slightest infraction.

Spencer frowned, trying to make sense of his little sister's depressing soliloquy, "What –"

"Sam was just murdered a few days ago and you're going to golf!" Carly's voice was shrill with disbelief and horror.

"Yes, I know, but –"

"No, apparently you don't, otherwise you'd be staying home!" The brunette planted her hands firmly on her hips and shot her brother a withering glare. "Did Sam mean anything to you, Spencer?"

"Of course I'm devastated over Sam's death, but –" Spencer groaned in frustration as he was cut off yet again.

"Then why are you leaving?" Carly shrieked, her hands grasping at her thin tendrils of dark waves and nearly pulling several clumps out.

"Because I think Sam would want us to move on and live again," Spencer blurted out super fast before his little sister could interject.

Carly didn't bother responding, but her smoldering look was proof enough of her utter disbelief and inner torment. Flipping her black hair over her shoulders she turned her back on her sibling.

"Looks, Carls, I know this is really hard for you, but –"

"No, you don't know! You have absolutely no clue what I'm going through!" My best friend screamed, only the slight twitch to her nose revealing just how guilty this made her feel.

I knew that she hated to argue with anyone; she really did have a gentle heart, just the opposite of me. Well, fine, I do have a semi-warm heart, when I feel safe enough.

"Do we really have to argue over this?" Spencer asked her, making sure to keep his voice level, calm.

"Just go to your stupid Putt-Putt event," Carly snapped, still refusing to meet her brother's extremely concerned gaze. She didn't want to see the hurt in his cool orbs, didn't want to know the pain she was inflicting.

I watched as Spencer gave his little sister a last worried glance before grabbing his leather wallet and disappearing down the hallway. The front door clicked softly shut behind his retreating form.

"I'm sorry, Spencer," Carly admitted a moment too late. Tears streaked in smooth patterns down her face, plopping down onto the counter one droplet at a time.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" I questioned quietly, brushing back my unruly curls in a single swatch attempt.

My dancing cerulean orbs glistened with empathy for the brunette struggling to breathe across the room; it seemed that no matter how horribly she hurt me I always crawled back in a feeble attempt to assure her safety. Love makes no sense.

Several agonizingly protracted minutes passed in which my best friend flitted around the kitchen, fixing herself some chicken parmesan for lunch; the dish seemed a little fancy, I reflected as she sprinkled a healthy dose of grated cheese onto the steaming meal, but perhaps it was just the brunette's way of coping.

I would never subject myself to that kind of labor.

After taking more than ample time to chew each bite Carly meticulously washed the dishes and loaded the dishwater, setting it to normal and heated dry before starting the new cycle.

More than an hour and a half had passed before Carly returned to slump on the couch, pulling out her cell phone, apparently resigned to her mysterious fate. After jabbing in a combination of numbers the brunette sunk into the couch, the color bleeding out of her skin as the dial tone resounded once and then twice.

Sinking beside my best friend I attempted to read the caller ID but apparently Carly didn't want anybody else to view her private business, because I couldn't make out the symbols. Damn ghostly retributions.

Three….four rings passed and Carly's lips began to tremble fastidiously, "Please don't let her answer…"

Now why do I have a sneaking suspicion of the devil she's calling?

Finally an icy voice crooned, "I knew you'd call."

My whole body snapped to attention, stiffening with each passing moment as recollections of the same hoarse tone croaking absolutes to me at the pier revolved persistently. My murderer…

Carly bowed her head, inhaling piercingly and whispered in a tortured tone, "I ended it with Freddie, just like you wanted me to. Please don't make me do anything else. I'm sick of this." There were brief snippets of bravery still visible in my best friend's tone, a defiance she didn't often portray.

The woman on the other end of the line cackled, seemingly unaffected by Carly's persistence, "Ah, but you know you have no choice in the matter, do you not?"

"There are always two roads to choose from, the broad and the narrow," the brunette quoted Pilgrim's Progress easily, her eyelids narrowing just a bit.

The cloaked figure drew in a jagged breath before replying in a threatening tone, "I distinctly recall us discussing what happens to your family if you decide to back out of this." She didn't even have to raise her voice to make her point very clear.

Carly's breath hitched momentarily, revealing how petrified this lady left her, "Please, please you promised not to hurt them! Please, please don't!"

It was an ignominy to see my best friend reduced to this pitiful state. My vision tinted scarlet, a mutinous color, preceding my notably rash behavior.

My murderer chuckled forebodingly, clearly enjoying listening to her figurative prisoner writhe with fear, "A promise is a promise, and I do keep my promises. As long as you don't back out of this I won't have my henchmen kill your family. But, if you fail, then I'm afraid you will never see your brother or your father ever again. Tsk, tsk that would be such a shame." The figure pointed out gleefully.

"You don't know where I live, or where my father is stationed," Carly hissed in a last attempt at insubordination.

But my murderer only snarled, "Don't test me, Carlota Shay! I know, for a fact, that you and your brother Spencer currently reside in Bushwell Plaza in apartment 8C!" ((I apologize if I got that wrong, I honestly don't remember what the apartment number is.))

As my best friend gasped, dismayed, the woman continued in a growl, "Furthermore, your father is stationed currently in Alaska; you pointed out the obvious on your webcast several months prior." There was a victorious edge to the cloaked figure's pitch.

There was a gaping silence in the conversation before finally Carly whispered, defeated, "Fine, you win. But as soon as you have what you want then I'm out. I don't want anything more to do with you."

"That won't be a problem," the voice cooed, "But, you must swear never to unveil this magnificent plan of mine, even after it is complete, or there will be dire consequences." I didn't doubt those words for even a miniscule second.

Carly shuddered, murmuring in a venomous attitude, "I hate you."

The serial killer chortled, entertained by her prey's determination, "As if I actually care what you think of me. You are merely a pawn in this game, Carly Shay."

"What the hell are you talking about? What game?" Carly questioned, utterly baffled.

"You are clever, child, attempting to decipher my plan," the woman responded liltingly, "but you're not that clever, at least, not compared to me."

"If you're so smart then explain why half the nation's sheriff collaborations are out preparing to hunt you down? Apparently you didn't conceal your tracks well enough." Carly antagonized and inwardly I gave her a pat on the back for her surprisingly Sam-like taunts.

But once more my murderer sighed, as though bored of this bickering, "Do you really think I'm that stupid?"

"Um…yes?" Carly's answer came out more like a question.

The cloaked figure guffawed bluntly, "Look around you, Carly; do you see the desecration? All those murders were planned by none other than moi!" She explained, pausing to laugh maniacally.

"You monster!" Carly screamed, completely losing composure. "How dare you kill all those innocent people! I hope you rot in hell!"

"You'll regret those words, Miss Shay," my killer muttered balefully. "Don't forget to complete the rest of your part. I will check in soon."

She laughed evilly and hung up.

Carly literally bent over in grief, holding her sides in a claw-like grasp as the humongous sobs wracked her frail body. I guess all that dread had to come out some time.

All I could do was sit there, utterly and completely stunned. Some part of my psyche was probably pounding at my nearly fried brain and remarking blatantly that I had to quit acting like such a sissy. Sam Puckett had to be strong, no matter what the circumstances. But if such a phenomenon was occurring I'd blocked it out for a bit; no I wasn't going to break down in tears, that just wasn't who I was, but I was allowed what Carls called a "moment" to react like a semi-normal teenage girl.

This whole mystery went a whole lot deeper than I had ever imagined, far more cavernous and despicable, for sure. But I had at least been right about one thing, no matter how tiny it was. Carly Shay wasn't the mastermind behind my murder, someone else was. Well, whoop-de-doo…how does that solve anything?

I laughed humorlessly to myself as the despair weighed on my heart. I had to impede the cloaked woman before it was too late; of course, I didn't have an exact clue of what 'too late' could be defined as, but a rough draft consisted of the end of the world type scenarios.

I didn't have a single lead to go on.

I felt utterly defenseless for the second time in my life. The first had been the night out on the fire escape, the moment when my tongue knotted into inconceivable formations.

My killer roamed the Earth massacring dozens of innocents, thrashing closer to Carly, Freddie and Spencer with each passing instant.

And time was running out.


Hours passed in a wistful fashion.

I must have dozed off or something; that wasn't really a shock, considering who I was. My eyelashes flickered open lazily, my cobalt orbs enlarging to the size of ping pong balls as I spotted Carly slumping down the stairs sullenly.

But this wasn't the same best friend I'd known since elementary school. In fact, she didn't even resembling the peace-keeping brunette.

The iCarly host had slipped on a sequined mini-skirt that ended three-fourths of the way up her thigh, barely concealing her panties from view. Her top was strapless and red velvet, accentuating her B-sized cups. Three inch heels sent her ankles twisting with each incremental step; more than likely she'd accumulate a nasty sprain by the end of the night. Dangly gold hoops hung from her earlobes and several necklaces adorned her slim décolletage, beaming with several carats.

Carly had way overdone her makeup, as well: Black eye-liner obscured half her lids and mascara clumped in miniature piles on her upper and lower lashes; ruby lipstick puffed out her lips, showing off her gleaming white teeth.

"Dear God," I whispered, unable to mumble anything more coherent. She'd basically shocked me into silence with this rebellious act.

The brunette's russet gaze traveled nervously around the room and I quickly guessed that she wasn't at all comfortable with sneaking out like this.

After several instants of deliberation Carly swung a cross-strap, slim, silver purse over her left shoulder and exited the apartment, wincing as she tripped over her enormous heels. I didn't blame her.

Once slipping out of the lobby Carly traveled leisurely towards a tinted black BMW in the car lot. The shimmering vehicle growled relentlessly like a panther, its span covering several parking spaces.

"You're late," a man's voice pointed out sharply, his arm resting in a crooked manner just outside the window. Plumes of dark gray smoke drifted idly from the tightly rolled edge of a Camel cigarette and a moment later the driver took a steady drag, exhaling steadily. "Get in the car, babe."

"Sorry I kept you waiting," the brunette whispered, hooking her fingers around the passenger door and pulling it open before sliding onto the leather seat. Her legs crossed almost automatically while her hands busied themselves strapping her seatbelt and pulling on her chemise and mini-skirt.

"No need to be nervous, sweetheart," the dude chortled, squeezing her shoulder a little too roughly. Tears bloomed in Carly's eyes but she hid them almost instantly, "We're gonna have some fun tonight."

"Can't wait," the iCarly host mumbled, shooting her partner a seductive smirk, the corners of her rosy red lips turning upwards slightly.


My indigo orbs traced the blinking outline of the Hooters sign hoisted several dozen feet in the air. For some unknown reason every time I thought of the place I got a weird image of an owl with a hacking cough in my head; weird, I know.

But now was not the time to be entertaining opinions on wheezing nocturnal creatures.

Tomorrow was my last day to live and even now the clock traced closer and closer to midnight; not to mention that my best friend was currently stepping inside the bar with the creepy driver dude. Some distinct part of me rehearsed the notion that he was probably going to rape my best friend, an inkling I attempted not to bring up, otherwise I might go off on a massive rage.

Glancing down at my appearance I dared a chorus of steps towards the entrance of Hooters, slipping past a couple of dudes with skulls imprinted on dark shirts and circular lobe piercings. After watching Carly sneak out of her own apartment I'd rushed up to her room and grabbed an assortment of clothes; now I pulled off, fantastically I might admit, coal black skinny jeans and a glinting gold sequin blouse. I hadn't bothered with makeup other than a coat of cherry lip-gloss mainly due to stress.

Thankfully I'd caught a taxi with a rich, snooty couple headed in the basically same direction as Carly; I'd automatically assumed that the crazy driver dude accompanying my best friend would be headed to this shady establishment, possibly due to the Hooters flyer that he'd left cracked open on the dashboard.

Crude music from such artists as Rihanna and B.O.B featuring Eminem floated out through the swinging doors of the bar and I shoved my way into the building. A smirk lilted onto my face immediately; this used to be my kind of scene and in a way…it would always remain my get-away route.

Bodies swayed sensually to the beat and beer bottles clinked dangerously. Two guys wrestled for no reason whatsoever over by the Big Screen flashing pictures of a nude Brittany Spears; the bartender flashed me a lazy green, his thumbs tracing absentminded patterns on the maple wood table in front of him, "What'll it be, missy? Tequila, or Vermouth, perhaps?"

For a second I fell back, utterly stunned, "How the hell can you see me?" Instantly I regretted my remark. Oh yeah, those closer to an unstable mentality can glimpse ghosts, my bad.

"Should I not be able to see you, honey-bee?" The bartender slurred, chugging down a bit more of his vodka.

"Never mind," I muttered distractedly, my gaze launching around the swirling colors of the dance floor, seeking out Carly; but neither she nor her driver were in the main room. Just great; he's going to knock up my best friend now!

"You look like you're…looking for somebody," the guy behind the table pointed out with a toothy grin.

"No shit, Sherlock," I remarked sarcastically. "Have you seen a timid looking brunette in a sequined mini-skirt, pumps and a strapless top?"

"You mean the one hanging out with the creepy dude?" The bartender wondered, spinning a little on the spot and whistling a merry tune from a stupid Disney movie or something.

A random dude slumped onto the counter-top beside me, sinking through my steadily fading form without a clue, "Hit me, Casper!"

"Cool, I thought he was creepy too!" I chuckled before zeroing back into focus. "Did you see where they went?"

Casper served the half-stoned guy seated next to me and the adult scurried back off into the mix of swaying, sweating bodies with a grunt of pleasure; by the looks of it, he'd polish off the new drink in about ten seconds.

Flipping my blonde ringlets viciously back behind my shoulders I shot the bartender a cocky grin, "Now tell me where Ca…the girl and the creepy dude went."

I almost gave away Carly's name, pulling back at the last second; it was practically defacement to toss out a name without thinking twice about the consequences. You never knew what people around here would do with the 4-1-1.

"Upstairs, last I saw," Casper shrugged before flipping back to the automated machines churning sluggishly behind him. His jerkin tightened slightly around his rounded belly, exposing just how long it'd been since his last good workout.

"Thanks, Cas," I extended warmly, turning to head up the stairs. Who knows what that sick bastard is doing to Carls?

"Yo, Puckett; you should come around sometime. All the guys miss your company," Casper pleaded good-naturedly. Then again he was drunk half out of consciousness and more than likely had absolutely no clue what he was spitting out; example 1: he's been talking to a ghost for the past five minutes.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the emotions, rolling my eyes at how something so incredibly simple could get me to think to such a great extent, "I wish I could, Casper."

Without another word to the bartender I trudged determinedly up the rusty stairwell, wincing as the individual steps creaked and groaned ominously with each footfall.

Crimson darted through my gaze as I spotted the creepy driver dude pressing Carly a little too tightly up against the taupe colored wall, his lips sucking against her neck. My best friend was trembling horrendously but there was absolutely nothing she could do; he'd overpowered her in a second.

"C'mon, Carls, fight him!" I cried vehemently.


C A R L Y ' S / P O V


Jared's tongue darted out to streak across my now bruised skin, leaving a trail of dripping saliva behind. His fingers gripping my waist rigidly, sending spasms of pain shooting up my spine; every instant I would attempt to break away and flee his iron-hard grip would only tightly incrementally.

My back arched treacherously against the wallpaper; I didn't want to like the shapes his tongue was tracing delicately against my skin but it seemed I had no choice, "Jared, stop, please!"

"We're gonna have some fun tonight, baby," Jared crooned, smashing his lips against my jaw line and leaving sloppy kisses as he went.

"No, I don't want to!" Fear was beginning to overcome the sensual urgencies of my flesh and valiantly I pushed against the man's chest, endeavoring to pry him off my torso.

"Don't fight me, Carlotta," Jared hissed menacingly, kissing my frosted cheek several times. His brooding orbs captured my own in an intense battle for dominion.

A choked sob emitted from my shuddering lips and I pushed at the driver's chest once more, fighting weakly. Instantly, his grasp restrained any former movement I might have obtained, "STOP!"

Jared slapped a hand over my mouth and dragged me additionally towards the bedrooms; the toes of my strappy high heels dug into the burgundy carpet, tearing little slits into the worn fabric. I began to cry.

C'mon, Carls, fight him!

The prodding voice in my head sounded so much like Sam that I froze momentarily in my tracks, allowing Jared to haul me several feet closer to the queen sized beds and packets of condoms, "I'm trying, Sam. I'm trying so hard," I whispered lifelessly, plowing my glittering shoes into the ground once more.

"Let her go." The masculine tenor voice rang out commandingly and my terrified chocolate orbs connected with the russet ones of the boy standing a few feet away.

"Yeah, right," Jared crowed with a chortle, attempting to push past the young man, "now let us through."

My eyes flashed over the boy's figure as he stepped into the dim light of the bulb overhead; his windswept hair gathered in blond clumps on his rounded head and his pale lips pursed defiantly. Emotion glinted in the brown irises so close and yet so different than my own. Okay, so he's a little cute.

"No, Jared; let her go," the mysterious figure exclaimed tightly, feinting a blow to his opponents left hip and covering his own body as Jared swung a fist at his face.

Jared flinched as the guy's fist connected with the side of his head and released his strangling grip on my wrists. I let out a little gasp of pain, massaging my skin where it'd turned first purple and then blue with lack of circulation. Why am I being so stupid? Run while Jared's distracted!

The two men scuffled briefly as I darted for the stairs, pausing when my rescuer let out a grunt. My gaze paused on the blonde haired adolescent and for some inconceivable reason I couldn't seem to move; an indescribable force struggled to propel me towards the boy around my own tender eighteen years and for the moment everything had flipped 180 degrees.

Twenty seconds ago I'd been fighting to get away and now I was fighting to run over and save my rescuer. But I probably shouldn't have worried about the odds anyhow.

The blonde haired boy delivered a swift kick to Jared's most sensitive spot and the latter dropped to the floor with a groan, "Like I said, let her go!"

"Whatever," Jared mumbled with a slew of curses. "Just get the hell out of here before I change my mind and bang the little vixen until she spits up blood!" He glared murderously in my direction and I found myself shrinking against the wall, my eyes cluttered with tears.

"Get lost, Jared," my rescuer spat with a little shake of his head and finally the creepy driver skulked down the stairs to rejoin the fray.

I bit my lower lip, drawing a droplet of metallic tasting blood to the surface of the muscle, "Stay away from me!"

"Don't worry," he began awkwardly, running a hand through his tangled blonde locks. His russet orbs fixated themselves on my face once more, "I'm not going to hurt you like Jared was threatening."

"Y-you know Jared," I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. "How?"

"He's a familiar face here at the bar," the young man explained with a roll of his eyes. "I catch a glimpse of him every once in awhile."

"You don't look legal," I attempted pressing harshly. Anything to make me appear as the strong one in this situation.

"I'm not," he admitted with a little chuckle. "I'll graduate at the end of this semester. But speaking of legal…you could pass of as sixteen."

"I could not!" I argued heatedly, brushing back a renegade strand of my brunette curls.

"Enlighten me then," the boy teased in a familiar tone. "Name? Age?"

"Carly Shay, age eighteen," I revealed in a tone that meant don't-screw-with-me-right-now. I really am starting to sound like Sam. *sigh* But is that a good thing or a bad thing? "You?"

"Austin Romano, age eighteen," he replied, flashing me a saucy grin.

I should have sprinted out of there but I couldn't find the reflex.

"So neither of us are legal," I pointed out dim-wittedly. "I should probably get out of here then."

"Hey, I'll give you a ride," Austin offered and instantly my guard shot back up.

"Um, no offense, but for all I know you could be a total man-whore," I shot back rather callously. "I'll be fine."

"Trust me when I say I am nowhere near Man-whore Ville," the blonde young man countered with a short laugh. "I'm actually looking to major in filming at the University of Central Florida."

"Really?" The question slipped my lips before I could reclaim it, followed quickly by: "My friend Freddie is interested in filming as well."

"Cool, I'll have to meet him sometime," Austin remarked with a casual grin.

"Uh, no you won't," I responded defensively, shrugging off his arm when he attempted to sling it about my shoulders. "I have to go."

"I'll walk you to your car," Austin volunteered quietly. He began heading in the direction of the stairs, pausing to glance, bemused, in my direction when I didn't follow.

"I'll be fine," I persisted coolly. "I don't even know you."

"Technically we swapped names so we do, in fact, know each other," Austin tested mirthfully. It was clear he was getting a hoot out of this whole conversation. Damn my charismatic personality.

"Well, that's all we'll ever know about each other," I defended brusquely, my expression softening slightly as a hurt look crossed my rescuer's face.

"Alright then, I'll just leave you to it, then," he mumbled dejectedly. Don't do it, don't fall for his puppy dog expression.

"Wait!" I called out, mentally slapping myself for my compassionate nature. "I'm sorry, Austin."

He smiled softly,"It's all good. So, where's your car parked?"

I flushed as I realized the corner I'd backed myself into, "Well…um…I…"

"You didn't come here alone, did you?" Damn, he's perceptive, too.

"No," I admitted with a rough sigh. "Jared drove me here but I don't trust a return trip home with that psychotic…" I broke off. Bad-mouthing other individuals just wasn't in my nature.

"Allow me then." Austin crooked his arm in my direction, waiting for my nod of approval before I rested my hand on his ligament.

What the hell did I just get myself into?


S A M ' S / P O V


Seeing as I needed a ride home as well I tagged along with Carls and Austin, shooting destitute glances at the boy's back every few seconds.

Sure the kid seemed harmless enough but I'd learned over my seasoned years never to trust anyone without flat out proof. Not like I can interfere anyways if he does something rash, though.

But after subsisting through a simple twenty minute car ride with the duo I'd discovered that there was absolutely nothing to be afraid of. Was he dangerous? No. How about annoying as hell? Yeah, definitely.

In a way Austin resembled Freddie, personality wise. Physically speaking, however, the boy had accumulated a multitude of finely developed muscles and his blonde haired brown eyed look was to die for. Figuratively, of course, seeing as though I've already passed that rather uncomfortable transition in life.

Carly was smart enough to have Austin drop her off at the corner opposing Bushwell Plaza, so as not to give away her exact residence, at least. She refused point blank to give him her number or any other contact information she might possess and offered him a tiny smile before leaving him there in the parking lot of Jimmy Deans.

I paused, situating myself in the front passenger seat for a second as I studied Austin, noting the especially dopey smirk that had weaved onto his lips.

"You'd better not be falling for my best friend," I started in a vicious mumble, throwing my hands up in exasperation as he turned the keys out of the ignition and popped out of the car. A quick glance caught him loping towards the burger joint. I should have known…

In any other circumstance I would have joined him but considering the inhabitants of the restaurant watching food float in the air turned me away from the idea. Anyways, I had to check up on how Carly was doing, not to mention figure out how the hell I was going to fix everything before the clock stroked midnight tomorrow evening. I know; it's just like a fairy tale.

But sitting there in that moment I sort of wished that I could have just been sitting their waiting for Austin because we wanted to hang out. Sure he might possess nubbish qualities but his hotness made up for it.

For a day or two I just wanted to forget about my impending doom and chill out for old times sake.

For just a moment I wanted to pretend that everything was normal.

As if.


Carly hadn't gotten very far by the time I caught up to her on the sixth floor; our doorman, being his normal crappy, loathsome, Lewberty self had refused to call a repairman to tinker with the busted up elevator.

This left only the stairs as a form of transportation.

Which equaled exercise. which I really wasn't in the mood for.

Anyways, after making my mumbling, grumbling way up the rickety stairwell I reached Carly just as she was sliding the lock into her front door. Just before the wood rectangle slid open, I caught a ghost of a smile on Carly's face, a trace of the joy she used to consistently emit before my murder. Austin had brought the life back to my best friend's face, I realized with a slight start.

And then, the door was open, revealing the totally desecrated living room. The brunette's crude hopefulness disappeared only to be replaced a split second later by a furious scowl.

The couch had been flipped over and currently resided lopsidedly to the side of the kitchen island. The big screen TV was shattered, shards of glass swaying precariously from the jagged gash in the expensive equipment. The rug had somehow been contorted into the shape of a unicorn and now stood watch from the counter separating the living area from Swimmy IV and the rest of the apartment's interior.

And standing, clutching mini-golf clubs in strangling grips, stood Spencer and Socko, sweat dripping from their brows.

Each man bore their teeth in the beginning of a snarl before swinging the wedge shaped weapons at each other's faces. The sticks connected with each other with a sharp whap before pulling back and preparing to thrash once more.

"Spencer, what the hell is going on?" Carly shrieked, too utterly flabbergasted to bother checking her language.

"Well, you see," Spencer began in a falsetto tone, screaming girlishly as Socko's racket hit the former's thigh, "it started out as a perfect evening as Putt Putt International and then when Socko lost he threw a hissy fit and started beating me up with his sand wedge!"

Somehow I couldn't say I was even surprised.

"And you brought the clubs home why?" The brunette's tone had risen to a mere squeak, nearly undetectable.

"Well, the manager kicked us out for unnecessary violence," Spencer attempted to explain rationally.

My sapphire orbs connected with Socko, glancing at his less than fit structure. I'd never met the man; Spencer had mentioned him dozens of times, however, and those recommendations alone had struck my interest.

He looked exactly as I thought he would: neon undershirt, plaid jacket with several holes in the bottoms of the pockets (he'd probably lost a fair amount of cash due to that,) bright green Robin Hood leggings and huge, charcoal rubber shoes. His mouth was chapped and his nose remained a rosy crimson from exertion. His padded belly stuck out due to the uncomfortable position of the tights. His bright (yellow like the sun) eyes widened every time he inhaled, giving him the curious impersonation of an owl with a whooping cough.

"Socko, get out. Now." Carly's tone wasn't one to be trifled with at the moment.

Socko gave a last menacing thrust of the neck towards Spencer before tossing his club over his shoulder in a fantastic golfer impersonation and stalking about.

"Why did you kick him out? We weren't done sparring!" Spencer's bottom lip jutted out as the complaint took root in the atmosphere, dropping the temperature by a figurative thirty degrees at least.

One glance at Carly's incredulous expression was enough to guarantee a screaming match. This won't be pretty.

"I leave you alone for a couple hours and I come home to find the living room trashed!" She began with a waggle of her pointer finger. "You're supposed to be the adult in this apartment, Spencer Cornelius!" Uh-oh. Carly only uses his middle name when she's seriously pissed off.

"But, I -" Spencer started to object but his little sister quickly cut him off.

"Why can't you just be responsible for once?" Carly screamed and for a second I saw the all too familiar darkness flit into her gaze.

"When did you start avoiding me and then screaming over every little infraction, huh?" Spencer countered, his russet orbs widening considerably as Carly leaned over him; this was quite an accomplishment considering the artist had to be at least 6'4.

"Sam's DEAD and you're acting like nothing changed!" Carly yelled, tears brimming in her stormy glower.

Spencer's eyes widened with that difficult admission and as he looked down at his little sister compassion glinted in his chocolate irises, "This has nothing to do with the trashed living room, does it?"

Carly didn't dignify a response, only spinning to face the shadowed doorway, her shoulders sagging incrementally.

"Carls?" The artist whispered gently, reaching out so that his fingertips could brush the iCarly host's shoulder.

She flinched away immediately, her gaze filled with a combination of horror and disgust, "Don't touch me." With those hurtful extrications the brunette fled for the stairs, sprinting towards the solitude of her bedroom.

I watched as Spencer slumped onto one of the barstools, inhaling shakily; after several monumental pauses tears began to drip from the older man's eyes, dribbling in sporadic successions down his hollow cheeks. It felt wrong somehow to be observing the guy I'd always looked up to breaking down like this but I couldn't seem to break away.

I did this to them. I destroyed their lives and now they're suffering. Why did I have to be so damn stupid?

"I don't know what to do, Dad," Spencer mumbled into the growing silence, his shoulder-blades hunched with unimaginable tension. "I don't know how to help her when all she does is push me away." He sniffled once and then brushed at the mucus gathering under his nostrils.

Don't give up on her was what I ached to tell the artist but we were separated by wormholes upon wormholes of dimensions, the final barrier transcending into a place unavailable to those currently living.

The clock struck midnight. I had one day left to solve my murder before God banished me to hell.


I suppose I should have enjoyed my last night of peaceful slumber but my heart and mind were too clogged up with conflicting sensations. Carly tossed and turned on her comforter as well; I could distinctly make out the creaks and groans from my precarious position on the downstairs couch.

But all I could seem to accomplish was staring down the clock as it ticked monotonously, each tick-tock shoveling away another one of my precious minutes. Now I had 23 hours left to live…and now 22 hours.

21 hours struck with a resounding gong and I bit my lower lip, feeling a bit feverish. My skin shimmering incessantly, fading into a beige discrepancy and yet so uniform in the same execution.

The freezing temperature of the apartment stung my pores now and I reluctantly reached for a striped (ugh, stripes) pillow, hugging it to my chest and endeavoring to regain my body heat. But perhaps this wasn't just a physical phenomenon; after all, my mental state must have frozen up with a conscience understanding of my limited time.

I couldn't get warm.

Tossing the pillow with a frustrated moan to the side I crept inaudibly towards the thermostat, wincing over-dramatically as I discovered that Spencer had set it to a breezy 65 degrees. I shouldn't have been so freezing cold, I determined; this whole ghost experience was making me way too mushy inside.

Just then a thump resonated from the stairwell and I craned my neck to glance over at the platform just as Carly descended, rubbing her eyes. A yawn escaped her emancipated lips as she shuffled in zombie-fashion towards the kitchen, slumping into one of the chairs.

"I'm sorry, Spencer." I didn't know that Carly had whispered the words until a long moment later. What? Being tired makes me stupid!

My vision zoomed in a particular sight as the brunette shifted her arm and I started shaking, my fingers tightly gripping the edge of the counter for support. Diminutive ruby dots covered Carly's whole right hand and wrist and a quick glance proved that a similar treatment had occurred to the left ligament as well.

"You're hurting yourself," I stated quietly, unable to muster the rage anymore. I'd been all too furious at random individuals lately but now I just couldn't find the resource.

"C-carly?" A male voice wondered and a moment later the fierce glow of a flashlight permeated the darkness, searing away my earlier serenity. Now I was simply irritated.

Carly whirled to face the hunched figure of her brother; her gaze softened slightly as she noticed the bloated and bruised skin circling Spencer's exhausted gaze, "Um, hey."

"We need to talk," he responded with a yawn, his hand stretching up to cup his gaping appendage.

"There's nothing to talk about," the young woman countered bleakly, struggling to hide the quickly emigrating droplets. Several hics escaped, giving her position away.

"Carls?" Spencer stooped to his little sister's height, his calloused hand gently gripping the brunette's shuddering shoulder. This time she didn't shake his grasp off, however.

"I can't talk about it," she insisted in a barely coherent tone, her voice clotted with tears. Burying her face into her crossed arms she continued in a muffled face, "If I t-talk about it then it just m-makes it all the more r-real."

"You can't run away from your past. Eventually it will catch up with you and pull you into an inescapable depression," Spencer noted wisely, empathy catching in his intense gaze.

"It already h-has caught me," she answered dully. "But that d-doesn't mean I h-have to talk about it."

"What's going on?" The artist wondered as gently as possible. Another grouping of hics emulated from the web star's mouth, causing her brother's eyebrows to rise with concern.

Carly finally raised her head up from the table and met his concerned gaze, the tears sparkling in her tortured eyes, a memorial to just how deep this was cutting her, "I'm finally feeling it."

"Feeling what?" He asked her although he already had a pretty good idea about what resulted in her broken cries during the night.

Carly inhaled sharply, bordering on hysteria, the tears granulating in mismatched spirals down her cheeks. Her chest heaved upwards into a better seating position but the effort caused yet more tears to spill from her narrowed eyes; she resembled one who had lost all their strength.

Finally she whispered in a lifeless tone, "I finally feel the hole in my heart, the place where she's missing."

Understanding dawned in Spencer's eyes and he rubbed his sister's back slowly, "It's hard, isn't it?"

Carly nodded weakly, and spoke again in that small defeated voice, "I didn't think it would hurt this much."

The artist's eyebrows rose in sync, his expression clearly bemused, "You've thought about Sam dying before she actually died?"

Carly paused as though weighing the importance of her answer before nodding slightly. A sob cracked through her previous soundless cries, "I thought about it all the time. I thought about how I never wanted to lose her, and what I would do if I did."

"Ahh," Spencer mused, nodding his head slightly, "I understand." But you don't.

The room lapsed into silence for a moment until the sobs began making Carly's body shake. But these heart-wrenching cries weren't just pure grief; a tablespoon of insanity had been poured into the mix and now it surfaced, rearing its scaly head, "No, you don't understand!"

Spencer looked at Carly, alarmed, "What are you -"

"I did this!" Carly screamed. She's officially gone over the deep end. "I'm the reason she's dead! I pushed her away! I didn't want her to come between Freddie and me! And now, she's dead!"

Spencer was too stunned to speak for a moment, giving an unconscious leeway for his little sister to continue ranting, "Calm down, Carls…"

"No, I won't calm down!" Carly shrieked demonically. "You can't possibly understand what I've been going through this past week. This guilt is KILLING me and it's never going to go away! I could have SAVED her!" She choked on her hysterical sobs for a moment.

"You had absolutely nothing to do with Sam's death, Carly. You couldn't have prevented it," Spencer attempted to appease the young woman pacing frantically in front of him. But she was already way too far past the point.

"No, Spencer, I was involved in her murder. I could have saved her and yet I just stood back and let them kill my best f-friend!" Carly admitted finally, a statement that sent my head whirling with a slew of new questions.

Without another glance at her brother the comedian rushed back off to the safety of her bed where perhaps the grievous nightmares couldn't haunt her.

Being Sam, I hurried over to the fridge and pried it over, satisfied that Spencer was too far in shock to care about his prominent surroundings. Besides, when devastating events occur I eat. I eat and I eat and it makes me feel better.

But as soon as I spotted the banana cream pie from Galini's bakery just several blocks to the south of Bushwell Plaza sitting on the second to lowest shelf in the cooling device my breath hitched and moisture saturated my frequently dry sapphire orbs. As much as I didn't want to face the memory it broke through my rapidly crumbling barriers and forced itself into every nook and cranny of my consciousness.

"I want pie," Freddie mumbled as he attempted to push past Carly.

"No, no no!" Carly cautioned as she positioned herself back in front of Freddie, "No pie."

"Why?" Freddie whined.

"We're trying to make it last until Mr. Gallini is out of the hospital," Carly explained patiently.

Freddie sighed dramatically and then his eyes widened as he saw Sam eating the last Gallini pie, "Then how come Sam get's some?"

"Sam doesn't get any AHHH!" Carly screamed as she turned around and spotted Sam eating the pie, a blissful expression on her face. "Put that down!" She demanded as she rushed towards Sam.

"No!" Sam shrieked, and the two girls began bickering as they rushed around the island, Carly chasing her best friend, and Sam still eating the pie, until Sam rushed into the living room, knocking Freddie to the floor.

They ran around the living room table, screaming their heads off, until Spencer came into the room and shouted, "Whoa, whoa calm down, what's going on?"

"Sam's got the pie," Carly explained breathlessly and Spencer shrieked, "PIE!"

Sam took off running upstairs as Spencer chased after her, knocking poor Freddie back down onto the floor again, knocking the breath out of him. He lied there groaning as there came a door slam from upstairs.

"What happened?" Carly called up as Spencer came down, a grim expression on his face, "She locked herself in the bathroom."

"Well that's it!" Freddie exclaimed, "She's gonna sit down in there and finish it!"

"Well its okay," Spencer reassured the two teenagers. "I called the hospital and they said that Mr. Gallini checked out yesterday."

Carly and Freddie exchanged relieved glances just as the elevator door opened and Sam came out, holding the empty pie tin in her hands. She sighed and then spoke, "I decided to share this with you guys."

"You already finished it," Freddie remarked.

"Yeah, I decided too late," Sam defended herself, giving them a sheepish look.

"What am I going to do?" I whispered to the encompassing silence, a tear slipping down my left cheek.


C A R L Y ' S / P O V


My legs seemed ready to give out with every step towards my bedroom; my hazelnut orbs wheeled suspiciously as though I was about to be caught doing something illegal.

Inhale. Exhale. It should be so simple, right? Breathing is a trait necessary to preserve the human race.

Inhale. Exhale. So why did every pant scrape the walls of my throat and uvula as though threatening to tear my skin into shreds?

Inhale. Black spots danced in my vision and I collapsed to the ground paralleling the rickety atmosphere below. Tears burned my vision.

Exhale. I wasn't dying but I wished to God that I was, that I could somehow escape this merciless reality and transcend into eternal peace.

Inhale. A raggedy sob tore from my lips, permeating the thickening shadows in front of my trembling form. It hurt, God, it hurt so damn bad.

Exhale. Guilt swamped my normally charismatic personality, drowning it and wrecking it into an unrecognizable chaos. Guilt for dating Freddie when I knew in my heart I'd been wrong, guilt for being jealous of Sam and Freddie and the beautiful yet so intense chemistry they shared. There was guilt for myself in the wrong crowd where sadistic temptations whirled unhindered, guilt for allowing myself to stand there and watch as she plunged the dagger into Sam's heart. There was guilt over the countless bottles of alcohol I'd imbibed and the red dots the angry point of a pin had left scattered across my snowy skin.

I felt like I'd just spontaneously combust because there was no possible way I could bind back these crashing emotions anymore. I don't even want to live anymore.

Because nobody cared about me, not after the atrocious acts I'd committed. Besides, I didn't need any of them and I never would.

Inhale. I made a semblance of a bear crawl towards my room, the heartbroken sobs ripping from my chest in quick succession.

"Ah, man, I didn't know that was gonna be here!" Freddie cried.

"She. I'm a she, Freddie, as in a girl!" Sam retorted.

It hurt, so, so bad. It felt like someone was taking a red-hot poker and jabbing it into my heart over and over again, ignoring my feeble pleas. My heart seemed to be pumping out the agony and spreading it throughout every single muscle in my body. I couldn't move, I just couldn't do anything anymore.

Somehow I'd managed to stumble into my room and slam the door shut with trembling fingers.

"David Archuleta," the announcer revealed with a huge grin.

Immediately Sam and Carly jumped up screaming and enveloped one another in a strong embrace.

Ripping open the plastered door of my nightstand I reached for the shimmering blade hidden beneath a montage of journals kept since third grade, a Red Sox ball cap and several dozen pens and pencils.

The agony arched through my body in a torrent and a sickening blackness made my head spin. I vomited across the carpet, watching the pinkish gunk seep through the floor onto unsuspecting heads in the living room below. My very bones seemed to be writhing with the flickering demons.

"I just said I didn't think his videos were all that funny! He's the one who overreacted and started this whole brouhaha!" Freddie snarled, throwing his hands up for extra emphasis.

"Brouhaha?" Sam's jaw fell open with a mixture of her usual sarcasm and shock.

"You can't say things like brouhaha and not expect people to hit you," Carly delegated regretfully, flashing her blonde co-host a smirk.

The knife slid across my pale skin, raising goose-bumps (which Sam had loved to call kinklebumps for no apparent reason.) Another moment and the blade slashed, drawing a stream of crimson to streak down my wrist. Burning pain began flickering around the edges of the incision and it made me laugh, momentarily carefree. At least I can still feel pain. I must be alive.

Exhale. Pain seeped through my very neurons, stimulating what felt like a raging heart attack, although I knew it wasn't. The pain was all in my head, discounting the gash on my wrist, of course.

"Sam and Freddie are here," Carly announced as she walked in to see her brother sculpting a gigantic replica of Newton Balls.

"When aren't they here?" Spencer mused, glancing down at the tree.

"Good point," Sam acknowledged, giving the sculpture a brazen glance.

"So true," Freddie echoed, tousling his hair a bit.

The knife slashed again and agony steeped up my trembling arm before centering on the thin cuts where blood now freely flowed, draining the life from my vital organs. Ignoring the pain I cut once more, wincing as the blade skimmed the edge of a vein, sending a spiral of crimson droplets shooting outward.

I wasn't cutting to kill. I simply wanted to know that I was alive in one of the most basic forms I knew how.

Because as much as the gashes throbbed and ached it sent hope whooshing through my rapidly fluttering heart. It was just like Spencer had told me just a few minutes ago: You can't run away from your past. Eventually it will catch up with you and pull you into an inescapable depression.

"Look at me now, Spencer," I choked out, panic seizing me as my heart fluctuated rather steeply. "I'm done running away from the pain."

"Hey," Freddie greeted his two friends as he entered the Shay's apartment, "What are you guys doin'?"

Sam leaned to the side, eyeing the brunette, "Carly's teaching me how to be girlier."

"And I'm outta here," Freddie mumbled, spinning on the balls of his feet to head for the door once more.

"Wait!" Carly cried, rising to her feet as the young man paused to glance questioningly in her direction.

"What?" He wondered, a tinge of trepidation visible in his tenor tone.

"I want you to roleplay with Sam so she can practice what to do when she likes a guy," Carly told him sweetly.

Freddie's eyes widened a bit as Sam jokingly (or maybe joking, it was hard to tell) puckered her lips and then he made a mad dash for the door.

Rushing after him Carly through her full weight against the door, prohibiting him from exiting, "Come on." She whined.

"No," he grumbled, a hint of fear creeping into his gaze.

"For me?" Carly begged, flashing him a puppy dog look that would surely snag him and reel him back in.

Finally Freddie groaned in surrender and the iCarly co-host's lithe fingers closed around his wrist, pulling him towards Sam, "Come along."

I just wanted to rip my damn heart out and toss it into the street; I wanted to watch it convulse and then erupt as a bus ran over it, splattering the gooey contents all over the street.

If this wasn't true insanity then I didn't know what was.

Another slash and blood dribbled in rivulets onto my clenched hand. The dark splotches were dancing in my vision once more as I resolutely continued slicing up the rest of my arm. My splayed flesh glistened eerily in the moonlight, the skin cells drying to a crackly rose-white distortion.

It felt like I was cracking apart from the inside out, like my bones and muscles were slowly breaking and tearing into dismembered piles. Soon all that was left of me would be a dusty old corpse. A practically lifeless corpse that nobody would ever miss; for though I had no imminent intentions to drain the life out of my heart didn't mean that my mind was already too far gone.

"This is Cal," Spencer introduced with the pointing of his thumb.

"Hi!" Carly chimed politely while Sam grunted out, "Hey."

"He just moved into our building," the elder Shay sibling continued in his spunky tone.

"Nice," Carly commented, being the sweetheart she was.

"So, Cal," Sam remarked dryly, shrugging her shoulders a bit as she rotated in front of her best friend, "you got a teenage brother? Maybe one a little better lookin' then you?" She asserted.

The two web-show hosts smiled at each other.

Finally I flung the scarlet-coated knife to the side, too weak to continue torturing myself with the blissful agony the blade created with every stripping of flesh. Slumping onto my bed I allowed a deluge of tears to spill down my hollowed cheeks, a sentiment to my dead best friend.

For a second I entertained the notion of picturing Sam in my mind but thought better of it. I will be strong.

My eyelids fluttered closed, droplets still leaking from under my dark lashes; the sobs erupted like a ferocious gale from my very soul and I curled into a little ball, the blood dampening my comforter with a ruby tinge. Eventually, some time later, the tears would fade away, for I could only cry for so long.

But the heartbroken realization would remain, tugging of my lifeline and prodding me to let go of my reality.

And so I would slip into slumber, praying that perhaps for the sliver of an evening my battered conscience could experience peace, not the mind-numbing guilt that normally poured through my all too skinny body like sizzling, flammable oil every damn night.

I could practically envision the scene now.

For in my dreams I would be tied to a stake, oil coating my skin and leaving the pores coated with the squelchy liquid. A multitude of black-cloaked figures would be parading around my sodden form, whispering praises to the Almighty God that they would never have to suffer my terrible fate.

And then Sam would be there, clothed in a magnificent, sparkling blue gown; her chilly demeanor would pierce my like a knife, so kindred to the blood-encrusted blade that currently lay on my carpeted floor back in my bedroom. Her fingers would enclose around a black striped match and, striking it against the crumbling millstone by my hip until smoke billowed from the rounded edges.

And with no second thoughts or compassion whatsoever Sam would drop the crackling match onto my soaked body and watch as the simple stick of burning wood would ignite my skin into a writhing pyre.

God knows I deserved it.


SPARKNOTES:

Yes, so depressing, I know, but I really liked this installment, no matter how much time it took me to edit. After it was done I checked the word count and it came out to: 13,466. Not bad, huh?

Anyways, I will continue to edit this story in all my spare time (haha, that was a joke, because I practically don't have any spare time anymore.)

Until then, enjoy!

-mktoddsparky