Part Nine
Hey peoples! I really hope you enjoy this part, even though it's drastically shorter than the last part. They can't all be 14,000 words + every time, considering that school's a pain and I'm sick right now so it's extremely difficult to get anything done.
You know the moment in life you wished everything would just rewind back to the time in your life where all you worried about was what colored crayons you drew with and the answer to 2 plus 2?
Yeah, that pretty much described my mental state this morning.
Dawn had just crested the craggy russet mountains in the distance when my eyelids fluttered open. Had I been Carly the dried remains of tear-tracks would have streaked my face but now all that remained was a sort of bleak hopelessness.
Sighing melancholy I dusted off the skin tight jeans I'd snatched from Carly's dresser just last night, perusing the wrinkles that infested the black, shimmering fabric. The clock adorning the beige coated wall let out a squeaking noise, commemorating the fact that 7am had just struck. In the next second the device groaned suggestively and heaved off the drywall, crashing to the ground with a sizzling pop.
Two weeks ago Spencer would have bolted from his room clad in nothing but boxers, waving a vacuum and threatening to permeate the disorder, but –
In that exact second the artist zoomed into the living room, clutching a vacuum in his sweaty palms, shock battling protectiveness on his face. Well, I guess some things never change.
Once discovering that the disturbance had been caused by the clock Spencer grumbled a host of unintelligible syllables, pressing the power button on the nearest remote. The TV flickered to life and then panned in on an attractive brunette reporting the latest fatalities.
"We've just been informed of a brutal murder near Cromwell Hall," the portly reporter noted with a grim smile at her audience. "The victim was none other than Arnold Briggs, son of Miss Francine Briggs, who barely escaped with her own life."
"Hmm, Briggs had a kid?" I mused thoughtful, unconsciously knotting my fingers together as Spencer slouched towards the cabinets lining the kitchen walls.
"After interviewing several students over the matter this reporter has managed to piece together the facts," the brunette articulated with a perfectly proud smile. "Arnold happened to be crossing Seattle Community College's campus when a tinted van pulled over, yanking the unsuspecting student into the vehicle. Hours later his body was discovered in a dingy alley."
Surprisingly I actually pitied Miss Briggs right now, a feat highly uncommon from my perspective.
"The most disturbing attribute of this specific case was the threatening message carved into Arnold's skin: You're next, Seattle," the reporter concluded tremulously, clearly faking her whole emotional "breakdown."
"Sick bastards," Spencer swore heatedly, changing channels to Celebrities Underwater where Brittany Spears was desperately attempt to claw her way towards a breathable atmosphere.
I rolled my eyes at the normally irresponsible adult, a smirk settling on my lips as Spencer tripped over a random skateboard lying in the middle of the floor, crumpling to the floor and flinging the steaming coffee all over himself.
Agonized screams filled the loft as Spencer writhed on the floor, his skin blistering.
Seconds later Carly stomped down the stairs, bouncing on one foot as she attempted to buckle the strap on her Jimmy Chu boot, "Why are you screaming?"
I noted that the brunette had donned a burgundy, striped long sleeved shirt with a mini skirt that incorporated purple swirls. The skin of her legs was covered in crimson dots and several cuts, proving her poor shaving job that morning and the tights she'd squeezed on did nothing to hide the fact. Her dark hair fell in soft waves but if you looked closely you'd spot areas where clumps of the ringlets had disconnected from her scalp.
Carly was a crumbling mess hidden by skimpy clothing and gobs of makeup.
Spencer muttered a handful of mush words that sounded somewhat like murder, skateboard and coffee, a strangled whimper escaping his parched lips.
With an exasperated sigh the web comedian helped her brother to his feet before clomping into the kitchen and pouring herself the remaining brew of coffee. After adding two pours of hazelnut flavoring, a pinch of creamer and a dash of sugar she raised it to her mouth and took a generous sip.
Carly's eyes sank as she continued to down the caffeinated beverage, clearly disappointed by the result of her chugging choice. It's as if she thought a simple cup of Joe would solve world hunger or something.
And that might be just it, I conceded with a dim frown. Carly was so past the point of rational decision making that she probably wished there was just a quick-fix, a skip button on a DVD menu that would zoom past all the imperfections and pain in her short lifespan.
"Spencer listen…" she began a moment later and I considered bolting for the stairs, having tired of their disagreements.
Then again, if I really only had fifteen hours to live I wanted to spend it around my loved ones.
"Yeah?" Spencer's tone was cautious; he clearly anticipated the same outrageous outcome that I did.
"I –" My best friend paused, as though unable to coerce a coherent statement. "I'm sorry."
I froze in my position halfway to the first step leading to the studio, my mouth flapping open at the two words. What's this?
Just several hours beforehand the brunette had been sobbing heartbrokenly and when I'd gone in to check in on her I'd discovered a pinkish vomit spewed across the carpet and a blood stained knife thrown carelessly to the side. A quick glance at Carly's wrists had confirmed that she'd indeed cut again, but so much worse this time. She'd nicked a vein in her wrist, in fact, nearly causing her untimely death.
Swallowing back the dizzying images I'd seen last night I turned my sole attention back to the siblings. How could you do this to yourself, Carls? You're not ready to die, trust me on this one.
"W-what?" Spencer stuttered, apparently caught off guard as well. His brown orbs widened a bit as he fought to rein in his shock.
"I'm sorry," Carly repeated, the tears welling up her eyes. "I've been acting like a total bitch lately and I'm so sorry."
"Oh." The artist mumbled, shoving his hands into his front pockets.
Carly rocked back on her heels, swallowing hard, "You were right, about what you said last night. I was just too stubborn to hear it."
"I was?" Spencer asked. How stupid can you be?
I moved unconsciously towards the fridge as I watched their lopsided encounter. Spencer looked ready to bolt from the room, a combination of surprise and utter confusion battling for dominance on his face. Carly, on the other hand, resembled a rag doll, ready to collapse into dozens of stuffed ligaments.
"Yeah." Now Carly resembled the awkward one. Taking another deep breath and exhaling sharply she whispered, "I totally understand if you can't forgive me." She turned to head back up the stairs.
"Whoa, wait a second," the elder Shay sibling called out, running a shaky hand through his dirty hair.
"What's going on here?" The words slipped from his lips; stuttering, hesitant. "Just last night you were screaming in my face about how I don't understand and now you're apologizing?"
He wasn't mad; that much I could tell, simply shocked at the whole confrontation.
Carly didn't respond but her shoulders slumped and from my current position near the fridge I could see a glistening tear trail down her cheek; the first of many, I presumed. I and my best friend were very common in the sense that we held all the hurt and pain inside, forcing a fake smile onto our lips to appease our family and friends, assuming that nobody wanted to hear about our issues.
The only problem with this was that over time all the agony and torture built up inside us and eventually exploded out in a random sobbing fit. I had originally thought that Carly had gotten some of it out last night but looking into her russet irises now I picked up on a certain desperation she hadn't shared in months.
"What's going on, Carls?" Spencer wondered, gently.
Silence followed, broken only by a subtle choking sound. Carly's whole body began to shake slightly as more hot tears streaked down her cheeks.
Tell him everything, Carls. Just tell him. He can help you, I thought as I dug into the ham lying on the second shelf in the fridge. But even the action of shoving the delectable meaty treat down my throat brought no sense of contentment or joy like normal circumstances.
I still felt inconceivably empty.
"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Spencer stated sweetly, extending his hand as if to brush his fingers against Carly's shoulder; only, he was a good eight feet away. "I love you, kiddo."
Carly's body was trembling violently by now. "You can't possibly love me after what I've done," she whispered harshly, fighting to keep from collapsing onto the floor.
"You're my little sis; I'll love you no matter what you've done," the artist revealed with one of his old smiles. Sadness tinged the lifting of his lips, but the joy was still there. It was only tempered.
I watched my best friend, waiting for her reaction. Tell him, please…for me.
Finally Carly turned to face her brother, the tears still urgently streaming down her pale skin, "I miss Sam, Spencer. I miss her so fucking much." A sob ripped its way out of her throat.
As Spencer ventured a step forward his sister she backed up a little, "Carly…I…"
What could he possibly say? Nothing he could say could bring me back to life…absolutely nothing.
"Sometimes I wonder if it's actually worth living anymore," Carly continued, her pitch steadily rising past the haunting whisper. Tears fell from her jaw-line and hit the carpet with inaudible splashes.
"How can you –" Spencer began, but he was immediately cut off.
"I broke up with Freddie and now he doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. Sam is gone. iCarly is dead and I'm all alone," the brunette cried desperately, sobs wracking her wasting form. "I've hurt so many people…I don't even deserve to live!"
"Don't you ever say that!" Spencer yelled suddenly, wrapping his arms around his little sister before she could squirm away. "You have so many people that love and care for you…how can you possibly even think about throwing that away?"
Carly's head thudded down on her brother's chest and for a long time she just cried, letting loose all the pain this week had caused her.
I felt moisture gathering in my eyes but pushed it back, unwilling to cry at the sight. Faces swirled in my peripherals: me, Freddie, Carly, Gibby, Spencer, Lewbert, Mrs. Benson…everyone that I had hurt because I was so damn selfish.
"I don't want to leave," I whimpered into the space in front of my motionless form, momentarily blocking out my best friend retching sobs.
F R E D D I E ' S P O V
My fork traveled across the expanse of my blue china plate, simply unable to poke into the low-fat waffles baked with pickle juice batter. It wasn't the scent of the unappetizing meal that sent my stomach churning; no, all that hindered my movement was the color of the plate.
Blue: the color of Sam's eyes.
"Freddie-bear?" My mom's concerned tone broke my thoughts and I glanced up at her questioningly.
"You're not eating your waffles," she continued in the same worried tone, leaning slightly in my direction and allowing the sugar-free syrup coating her waffles to drench her crimson blouse.
Crimson: the color of Sam's blood spilling out onto the sidewalk as she gasped her last breaths.
"I guess I'm just not hungry," I replied evenly, averting my pained gaze from her scrutiny.
"Oh, alright then." My mom gave in, surprisingly, without a fight. I guess it was because I hadn't been eating much in days and she figured that it was related to Sam's death.
She was right.
I endeavored to push the picture of the blonde haired co-host smiling radiantly in front of the camera back at our last iCarly, to no avail. Even when we'd shot the footage to celebrate our four year anniversary since the beginning of the web show I'd noticed the dull gleam to her normally bright orbs; how I could have been so stupid as to push it off, I didn't know.
"I'll be in my room," I mumbled evasively, walking as fast as humanly possible to the safety of my own four walls.
As my gaze traveled around the contents of my room for just a second I wished that I could throw a fit and completely destroy the space. Then again, I probably could; my mom would just faint and then demand I clean it up.
And so, with that in mind, I reached for the baseball bat I always kept hidden under my comforter and swung without abandon at the wall, smiling bleakly as it cracked a dent in the drywall. Another heartfelt thrust of the sports equipment and a gash was ripped through the paint job, marring the normally tidy wall.
My mom didn't come in to check what possible crime I was committing. Smart of her.
A last swing shattered the glass of the window, raining shards of the sparkling material down upon my suspecting form and slashing thin cuts in my skin. And with that I slumped down on the ground, burying my head in my hands.
"Maybe Carly's right! Maybe you're just jealous!"
"Just…just forget it, okay? Fine….don't believe me…" and with that the blonde headed demon began pacing back in the direction of the stairs.
"Look at me now, Sam," I muttered with a silly grin, ignoring the tears that had budded in the corners of my eyes. "I'm so, so happy now!" My voice cracked.
Guilt overpowered his earlier anger, "Give me one good reason why I should believe you!"
She paused, shooting him a vulnerable glance, "Because I came here."
I knew that Sam probably would have been calling me a pansy right about now. She would have forced the robust smirk onto her mouth and cocked her eyebrows, telling me to get up and move on with my life. Because nothing ever got fixed by doing nothing.
He shrugged at her comment, while inside his emotions whirled, the truth smacking him right in the face. She'd actually come to him for help. Sam Puckett never wanted help, especially not from him, her least favorite 'nub.'
"Have I ever come to you before, about anything?" She asked softly.
My fingers hooked around the sleek surface of my laptop, pulling it onto my lap and pushing the power button. I inhaled tensely as the screen flickered to life, revealing the background image of the iCarly trio. We all looked so happy then.
Seeking my own face in the photo I gazed closer, seeing how my arm encircled Carly's waist, my fingers cupping Sam's waist while the blonde attempted to evade my touch. I remembered feeling guilty as I put my arm around Carly and knowing that the picture would resemble a romantic point with a third wheel attached, so I'd included Sam in the sidewise protective movement.
Clicking on my Sony Vega app I maneuvered around the video editing section, pausing as I reached a particular iCarly video. This specific installment had struck a sensitive nerve and now I couldn't seem to forget what had occurred not only in front of the camera but behind the scenes as well.
I pressed on the episode and skipped to the very end of it, leaning back as I prepared to watch the segment.
"Well I think that's everything!" Carly was exclaiming joyfully; her hair was still in the old style, the part directly in the center and the dark brown locks stick straight to the utmost perfection.
"Not quite," Sam disproved with a significant glance at her brunette counterpart. The blonde's hair wove sporadic patterns and yet at the same time it formed an indescribable symmetry. She hadn't yet reached the stage of curling her hair to the extreme, a post-decision that made her look so much younger in this video then six months later.
I broke from my thoughts, realizing that I'd missed another minute of the video while in my memory trance. So, backing the show up fifty-six seconds I resumed watching.
"So, last week, Freddie handcuffed me to a dork," Sam was continuing in a victorious tone, her oceanic orbs brimming with mischievous joy. "And now, it's payback time. Guess what?" She paused for dramatic effect, shooting the boy behind the camera what could have been construed as a slightly guilty look. "Freddie's never kissed a girl!"
Carly's eyes bugged wide as Sam concluded; "Now we're done. Later." The blonde exited the studio and moments later the camera dropped to the floor, cutting the web-show off rather abruptly.
I hadn't even realized that I was silently crying until my fingers touched the tears rolling slowly down my cheeks. What had occurred just the next week was beyond bringing up, not to mention that it wasn't in video form, just in a foggy memory.
"You know that kid…Freddie?" Sam slurred, still under the effect of the laughing gas.
"Yes, I know Freddie," Carly replied in a sing-song tone, confusion touching her gaze.
Leaning closer, Sam's eyelids fluttered closed and she whispered softly, dreamily, "We kissed…"
I wasn't crying because it hurt, but believe me, God did it hurt. Sometimes when I actually took the time to contemplate an eternity without the blonde haired demon by my side my heart just ached. Because no matter how much time elapses after a loved one's death you never, ever forget.
I was crying because the sight of her and Carly doing their thing for iCarly brought with it almost unendurable agony followed closely by radiant joy. I was crying because I knew that Sam wasn't coming back and I had to move on. It was what she would have wanted me to do, I can state without a doubt.
For a second it was almost like Sam was standing there next to me, fixing her gaze on my hunched figure. Her blue eyes seemed to tell me an unspoken message: Forgive and move on. I'll miss you, Benson. She smiled regretfully and then vanished.
I knew what my holographic image of Sam meant by those words. Forgive Carly and move on away from me. Do what makes you happy for once, Freddork; that's what it meant.
The clock chimed seven-thirty, an indicator that I had to finish packing up my stuff and head off to school.
A last tear slipped down my cheek, and with it, my last hope for Sam to return. "I hope you're kicking it up there in heaven, Sam," I whispered. "I'm moving on."
S A M ' S P O V
Storm clouds gathered overhead as I exited Bushwell Plaza, pretending to ignore Lewbert's indignant screeches as he spotted the lobby's front door swing open, inviting some invisible creature into the space beyond.
Fourteen and a half hours left, I counted with a sigh, traipsing slowly towards the first place on my mental checklist of things-to-do-before-I'm-banned-to-hell.
As I crossed the desolate street, my eyes straining for the pizza man sign that signified that Rico's was open for business, a wind whipped around me, sending my arms to cross against my shaking shoulders, encasing the remaining warmth in my shivering form. I brushed my unruly bangs away from my eyes, pulling out a knot in the corner before resuming my walk.
Just down the street an overhead traffic light sputtered and then flickered out; I wasn't sure why the lamp was even on at this time of day, but whatever.
Now why did all that sound so familiar?
When I reached my destination I slumped down against the wall, eyeing the slight stain forever marking the cement. My blood…
A couple clearly went out of their way to avoid the slightly crimson patch, their looks alit with distain.
"Wonder where that spot came from?" The guy wondered, linking his fingers with his girlfriends and shooting a puzzling stare at the ruby tinged surface.
"I heard that a sixteen year old girl committed suicide on that very spot," the woman remarked with a disgusted sniff before tilting her head regally. "Hurry up; I prefer to remain a safe distance from that wretch's blood."
"For your information I'm seventeen, thank you very much," I hissed, my brooding gaze turning back towards the puddle of blood hidden just below the surface. My fingertips tingled with the urge to reach out and sap the life from that spot, as if doing so would reverse time and perhaps cure me of this horrendous predicament. I guess it wouldn't hurt.
Shrugging, I stretched my arm out, pressing my hand against the shockingly cold cement. When I pulled my fingers away, however, the only thing that had changed was that my fingers were drenched in sticky, crimson blood. My blood, the blood of the living just before the murderer struck.
What felt like a rock rolled around in the pit of my stomach and I blinked back tears, ashamed that the simple task of touching my own blood had reduced me into a sniveling female.
Getting up, I dusted off the skin tight jeans that I'd stolen from Carly's closet yesterday, noticing the rips I'd torn in the thighs of the material. I don't even act like normal and yet I still manage to ruin clothing. Figures.
A sudden thought struck me and without a second to even consider the problems with my choice I took off north, sliding right through the traffic stretching to the nearest off-ramp with no problem. My breaths escaped in startling pants as I sprinted, a purpose direct in my mind, causing me to blur away all my surroundings.
As soon as I reached the park I paused, realizing that I'd nearly passed right through a little boy and his mother. It wasn't even the fact that I was about to surpass their flesh and continue on my way, it was who they were.
The little boy and his mother from the bus; the very bus that had rolled down the hill and exploded into an unidentifiable charred mass, killing every occupant aboard.
"Y-you're dead," I whispered, attempting to move my feet that currently felt like stone blocks. "You can't be here." The child's screams reverberated in my ears, the horrific memory of his last minutes replaying until I choked back sobs.
The mother looked at me, sympathy glinting in her proud gaze, "You're not supposed to be here either, Sam, but you are." She petted her little boy's hair and he nuzzled into her neck.
"How do you know my name?" I asked, utterly shocked.
"I know everything about you," she replied, shoving the boy towards in a sudden move.
"But I don't even know you," I stuttered disbelievingly. "I've only seen you once, just before your death."
The mother laughed then, the sound chilling and amazing all at the same time, "Don't you recognize us, Miss Puckett?"
It only took a moment for my entire composure to come crumbling down. Why we looked so much alike and why I experienced maternal instincts while watching the toddler slumber, "You're me. But…but that can't be…I would know if I had a kid."
"This is your reality if you hadn't been murdered," My older self responded with a brief smile.
"Great, so either way I go I die early in life. Just great," I groaned, running a shaky hand through my tresses as I digested all this new information. Suddenly, my expression softened a bit, "W-who…who do I marry and have a kid with?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that," she murmured with an empathetic glance in my direction. "You'll just have to discover it for yourself. But I can tell you one thing. He's loved you for a long time, even though he wasn't quite aware of it. He's a loving husband; he loves you so, so much, Sam. You have no idea." She broke off, her expression still a bit dreamy as she recalled our husband, future and past.
I paused again, looking down at the little boy as he clambered up my leg a bit, straining for me to pick him up. With a tiny smile I did so. "He loves me?" I finally asked her softly.
Future-me nodded, "Very much so. As does your son James." She motioned at the boy in my arms.
"I guess he'll have to move on then," I replied sadly, pressing my lips against James' forehead as his eyelids fluttered closer. Moisture gathered in my sapphire orbs as I gazed down upon my son, feeling a new piece of my heart break off and float away to God knows where. "He'll move on because I'm dead and I will never have the chance to discover that I love him too."
Future-me didn't answer but I really didn't expect her to. What was she supposed to say? Yeah, Sam, you're right. You're never coming back so he'll have to learn to love another woman.
Finally I passed back my son to her, my fingers trailing off of his arm and missing his touch as soon as it depleted, "I should go."
"Sam?" My name slipped her lips as I turned to face the approaching storm clouds.
"Hmm?" I wondered, my eyebrows rising in sync.
"Don't forget about us," she pleaded, sorrow crossing her expression. She didn't reach out to hug me; being future-me, we both hated to accept gestures of kindness, especially physical contact.
"How could I?" The words came quietly and ended the conversation.
With a backwards glance at the duo I erupted into the skies, spreading my arms as I embraced the cumulonimbus clouds, feeling the rain patter against my skin and drenching me instantly. The wind buffeted my shivering form, encasing me in a chilly armor as I ascended higher yet, speeding towards my eventual destination.
And for a brief moment, I never wanted to come down.
C A R L Y ' S P O V
The jingle of the bell chimed as I opened the door of Galini's bakery, inhaling dreamily at the scent of freshly baked pies and hazelnut flavored coffee.
"Hey sweetheart," a waitress greeted me with a sympathetic smile. "I heard about your friend, and…"
"Thanks," I told her, while inside my heart was fracturing into millions of pieces. I didn't want to think about my best friend right now; I just couldn't handle the corresponding pain.
"Can I get a slice of banana cream pie please?" The question that slipped through my lips made me smile; that had always been Sam's favorite flavor of pie.
"Sure, darling," the waitress replied warmly, scribbling something down on a notepad. "Anything else?"
"Um...a cup of French Vanilla coffee as well, please," I added quietly, scanning the diner for an available booth. Luckily at this time of the morning there were only a few commuters gulping down pancakes and a cup of Joe before rushing off to work so several tables remained vacant.
"Sure thing; specifics on your coffee?" She wondered with a slight tilt of her head. A graying wisp of hair escaped her bandana and fluttered to curl around her chin.
"A doll of creamer and a spoonful of sugar, thanks," I mumbled with a brief smile before heading off to a booth in the very back of the diner. Flinging my navy blue backpack into the crook of the sill I allowed my muscles to unwind.
Leaning back against the painted wood of the head-rest I glanced out the smudged glass of the window, watching the rain pour down and plink in insurmountable quantities onto the sidewalk. A number of the chilling droplets were caught on the canvas overhang and finally dribbled down the tarp, splattering the beige exterior of Galini's diner.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," a male voice droned as his body sank into the opposite end of the booth.
My eyes shot upward and inwardly I groaned, "I don't remember inviting you to sit with me."
Austin rolled his eyes, smirking, "Well isn't that some way to treat the boy who saved you from becoming another one of those poor rape victims."
Rolling my eyes right back at him I exhaled shakily, "Whatever. I don't have time for this so if you're just planning to humiliate me then you may as well fuck off."
"Someone's touchy," he noted, his gaze softening as I bit my lower lip, fending off tears. "What's wrong…Carly, right?"
I nodded, affirming my name, "I'm fine."
"Sure you are," Austin responded with a thick sigh. "You know, you're not nearly as friendly as you appear on your web-show."
My eyes widened a bit in spite of my frustration, "You watch iCarly?"
"Yep," he conceded, smiling amiably before settling his joyful expression into a bemused glance. "Whatever happened to that girl you did it with…Susan?"
"Her name was Sam," I whispered, unwilling to approach that subject.
"Right, Sam," he agreed, smiling once more as the waitress appeared juggling my pie and coffee. "So?"
I purposely ignored him, turning a fake appreciative grin upon the slightly flustered waitress, "Thank you."
"No problem, honey," she replied, placing my pie on a supportive tin structure and my cup of steaming French Vanilla coffee on a decorative coaster. "Will there be anything else?"
"Um…" Just as I was about to dismiss her Austin chimed in.
"I'll have a cup of coffee. Just black," he instructed with a wily beam.
"Got it. Would you like a slice of pie to go with that?" Maria questioned. "The German Chocolate Delight is to die for," she hinted.
"No thanks," Austin denied, "I'll just share with my friend here." He nudged my shoulder with the flat of his palm. I flinched away from the casual touch as the waitress sauntered off.
"We're not friends," I hissed through clenched teeth, pulling even further into the confines of my battered heart. "And don't count on getting a single bite of my pie."
"You know," Austin continued, completely passing by my melodramatic temper tantrum as though it had never occurred, "you never did tell me why Sam stopped doing iCarly."
Taking a sip of my blistering hot coffee I savored the rich taste, sipping as slowly as possible so I could avoid the boy's questions. Hail began to smack the window from outside and I feared that the thin sheet of glass would first crack and then shatter due to the irritating lumps.
"Why did you end your friendship with Sam?" He asked a bit sharper this time.
I pretended that I was the window, that the sheets of hail were plummeting and striking my fragile posture without mercy. The coffee cooled in my mouth and I swallowed hard, fading into the inanimate object; because when you were inanimate you didn't have to worry about such things as heartbreak and frustration. You could only exist to serve your individual purpose.
"I'll wait as long as it takes for you to open up to me," Austin murmured in a surprisingly gentle tone just as the waitress reappeared, setting down the cup of straight black coffee and waltzing back to deal with other customers.
I wanted to open up to him. I did; a shocking factor considering that I'd only met the kid once. But something was stopping me and I didn't know what.
So instead I dodged the pointed inquiry and chorused, "I have to get to school or I'll be late."
"You and I both know that Ridgeway's first period doesn't start until 8:30," he corrected with a know-it-all smirk. But his expression was all seriousness this time.
I was the window, the steadily fracturing glass. No human being could puncture my glimmering shield; nothing could hurt me.
"You go to Ridgeway." It wasn't a question. I poked the pointy edges of my shiny fork into the pie, swirling around the utensil until I located a plump banana slice.
"Yep. I transferred a few months back," Austin revealed, gazing a little too intimately into my eyes.
"Oh," I hummed, disconnected from my emotions, my feelings. I wouldn't let Austin do this to me, no matter how well he meant.
Popping the single banana bit into my mouth I bit down on the sweet fruit, enjoying the tangy yet sensible goodness. The banana was tart and sweet, but not too much so, unlike an orange, which Sam had particularly enjoyed. The banana was safe, unlike the orange. I was safe, the good child. I was alive, physically at least. Sam had been the rebel and now she lay cold in her grave buried beneath the soggy earth.
Suddenly Austin frowned, wrinkles popping up to browse his normally clear forehead, "Earlier, you said that Sam was her name. Why did you…?" His voice died off as he connected the dots.
In my head I completed his sentence, already dreading my reply. He knew and I had to confirm his suspicions. Earlier, you said that Sam was her name. Why did you use past tense?
Spearing another banana slice with the tip of my fork I whispered, "Sam is dead."
Neither one of us spoke for a moment; we just sat there sipping our coffee and sampling the banana cream pie. To his credit Austin didn't bolt for the door and race away before he assumed the duties of picking up my crumpled heart and gluing it back together.
Finally Austin cleared his throat and I waited for the words I knew would come: Oh, um, I'm so sorry for your loss, but, um, I have to go now.
"When?" He asked.
I glanced up at him, my vision burning with tears, "What?" Where's the stuttering and fleeing? Why is he still here?
"When did Sam die?" He rephrased the question in a near emotionless tone. Only I noticed the catch in his voice as he regarded me again.
"Last week," I told him with a little shrug, taking another miniscule sip of my coffee. As much as I strived to fade into the inanimate window I couldn't do it. Why, you ask? What was the reason for the sudden warmth that shot across my skin like a wildfire?
Austin's hand curled around mine, his fingers slipping through the gaps and linking themselves with my petite ones. His touch burned; it was almost as acute as a physical pain because I couldn't let anyone touch me. Not after what I'd done to my best friend. I didn't deserve the caresses and fleeting kisses. No longer.
But I didn't pull away, no matter how much my heart was screaming for me to.
"It was a successful suicide attempt," I concluded hoarsely, averting my eyes to the linoleum lest he glimpse the guilt I was trying so hard to hide.
But apparently I didn't hide it well enough. "It wasn't suicide," he muttered, connecting his gaze with mine. Again, he knew.
"You don't know anything about it," I remarked coldly, glaring lasers into his face.
"I can read your face well enough to know that you're lying," he countered smoothly, pulling his hand away from mine.
"Nobody knows. You can't know," I argued stupidly, tears still blinding me.
"You're dying to tell someone the truth. Someone, anyone," Austin hissed, grasping my face in between his hands. For a second I actually thought he was going to kiss me and for the briefest milli-second I wanted to kiss him too.
"It was suicide," I insisted, my voice cracked and frozen beyond measure.
And without another word to Austin I slung my backpack around one shoulder and bolted from the premise, welcoming the feel of the rain on my skin. It diluted the molten lava flowing through my arteries and veins, the fire consuming my heart in its fiery rage.
And in the protection of the rain I allowed the tears to spill down my cheeks. I didn't care that I was getting soaked. I didn't care that all the kids at school would stare, whisper, gossip and mock. I didn't care about any of that anymore.
"How could he know?" I wondered softly, turning my gaze to rest on the boy still camped out in the booth. His russet orbs were fixed solely on my shivering form.
I was drowning, drowning in his pools of chocolate. He was luring me in, bit by bit and soon I wouldn't be able to escape his lustful embrace.
Some inconceivable part of my twisted heart couldn't wait for that moment.
S A M ' S P O V
My house stood out like a crypt reaper in the row of welcoming porches and families playing party games in the living rooms. The bulb lighting the spindly deck leading to our front door flickered out, casting the patio and dying garden in threatening shadows.
I don't know why I wanted to go home. Carly's apartment felt way cozier than this hell-hole ever would. But still, something prodded me to take a peek and figure out just what my deranged mother was up to.
Lightning flashed across the sky like a mutated flashlight peering into the cloudy abyss as I cracked open my front door, peering into the dimly lit interior. A beer bottle clinked from the other room and although I first I rolled my eyes, disgusted with my mother for hosting a party just days after my passing I soon discovered this wasn't the case.
A flash of blonde hair drew my attention to the couch just as a hoarse voice rasped, "Damn cat opened the door again." The words were slurred but comprehensible.
Frothy hissed from his position on the TV, raising his back leg to piss all over the low-rate technology, as if to say I didn't do it!
Peeking over the edge of the couch I saw the most shocking display of my life.
My mom lay there, bunched up in a multitude of ripped blankets, her teeth chattering as she lifted up a greasy onion ring to her trembling lips. After attempting to take a tiny bite of the fatty food that she normally loved my mother spit it out, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, using the skin as a temporary napkin. Bloodshot rings encircled her eyes, accompanied by bruises and what looked like half a dozen hickeys. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes in a despondent manner, sidling down her shrunken cheeks before splashing onto the rumpled blankets.
A random dude lay passed out on the floor, his nether regions thankfully covered up by a spare blanket. By the looks of it his clothes were still thrown in haphazard positions all around the living room. His hands clenched an empty beer bottle and his breath stank of alcohol.
Turning my attention back to my mom I watched as her fingers closed around a half crumpled photograph of none other than my ten year old self, her thumbs tracing the grooves of my face frozen there.
"God damn it, Sammy," she mumbled under her breath, sniffling as her eyelids slowly fluttered closed and she sank into slumber. More than likely she was all tired out from her erotic activities with the guy lying on the carpet, I figured. A last tear strolled down her face before her eyes finally dried.
"You did care," I whispered into the silent space, broken only by the sounds of the two extremely irresponsible adults' snores. "You loved me."
It was never something I'd actually thought about before. It'd always been easier and less painful to accept that my mom didn't give a crap whether I died or not.
Taking another look at the man on the floor I felt my lips curl into a sympathetic smirk as I spotted the shimmering gold wedding band on the fourth finger of his left hand. The smile wasn't for him, however, but his poor wife who probably had no idea of her husband's treacherous acts.
"What have you done, mom?" I asked bleakly, showering a disapproving glare upon my conceiver's limp body. How could you just ruin someone's life because you're feeling a little needy?
Then again her actions did have a definite purpose. It wasn't tolerable, but it did split the guilt to reside in a second party as well.
Me. This was my fault that she'd gone and slept with another guy, probably ruining his marriage. Because I was gone and she couldn't handle it, she stole another woman's man.
Stealing a last look at the woman who'd given birth to me I charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time in my haste to escape the horror downstairs. I slammed open the door to my bedroom without a hitch, knowing that the disturbance wouldn't wake my mother from her alcoholic prison.
My bedroom was still the same as it had been before I'd left the night of my death to go film iCarly and for whatever reason I was glad. Perhaps I just wanted to treasure the one aspect of my life that had remained somewhat normal, or maybe it was because I didn't want anybody touching my crap.
Over the years my room had varied different styles, based on my maturity of mind. At one point I had drenched the walls in spaghetti sauce and spray painted my bed and dresser bright crimson in an effort to appear, sort of, rebellious. The next year everything had been shrouded in mysterious black for my slight emo phase.
And yet, through all that, I hadn't changed.
Sure, I'd donned an assortment of styles but inside I guess I was just desperately searching for an imminent soul that would acknowledge my presence.
Then iCarly had started and I found the nub to argue with and although it wasn't perfect it made me feel alive in a way I couldn't describe. His harsh words gave me a reason to speak brusquely and act out in sketchy mannerisms.
And then he had to ruin it all by dating Carly. Sure, neither of us knew at the time that rather vulnerable and volatile feelings would develop, but still.
I glanced automatically at my mirrored closet doors, wincing as I remembered that I couldn't see my reflection unless I was directly touching the reflective surface. All I could see right now was thin air, all that remained of my once vivacious self. And after the stroke of midnight not even the outline of my ghostly figure would remain as a breath in the swirling wind.
My fingers stretched out then, pressing firmly against the mirror and smudging the clear glass. Instantly my reflection popped into existence and I gulped as I noted the writhing edges of my floating form. Even now little bits and pieces of me were breaking off and floating into the never ending abyss of hell.
And as my oceanic orbs paused on the ripped jeans and shimmering, sequined shirt it struck me like a lightning bolt.
"If I only have one day left to live I may as well dress like Sam Puckett," I stated with a crass jut of my head.
What followed after might best be expressed by the Bird Song Intro by Florence And The Machine; you know, it's like the part of a movie where they show the heroine getting ready and primped and all that junk.
Stripping my clothes off I stepped into the shower, resting my head against the tiled wall as the water tickled my skin with its freezing temperature. Soon enough the droplets heated and began to steam, sending waves of burning pain slipping down my body. And yet I didn't move. I just stood there, too exhausted to move a muscle, enjoying the feeling of the water cascading down my nude form.
After shampooing and conditioning twice I shut off the water and inhaled shakily before stepping out and wrapping one towel around my body. The smaller towel was then used to wring what felt like liters of water from my dirty blonde locks, the silky white bristles brushing against my pallid skin and restoring a bit of the warmth to my heart.
As I waited for my hair to dry I first rushed into my room to pick out some clothes. Unlike Carly my choice of outfits were slightly more limited so I simply threw on jeans and a Penny tee that read Special Ham. On my feet went slightly used socks and my well worn converse with little stars glued to the sides and random names doodled on the straps.
Once finished dressing I returned to the bathroom and began meticulously applying makeup. I know, normally I'm not one for makeup but cut me some slack. Foundation spread evenly and then a bit of blush followed by charcoal black eyeliner that brought out the sky blue in my irises. Next came sparkling blue eye-shadow and waterproof mascara.
Finally I released my hair from its toweled prison and set to drying it. My curler worked wonders and soon I had soft ringlets weaving perfectly around my face, illuminating my facial features and petite figure.
Once ready I shot a last fond glance at my bedroom, pausing as I saw several photos of me, Freddie and Carls just hanging out and having a blast. I knew that I would never see this room again.
Finally, with a bittersweet chuckle I left my home, ignoring the fact that my mom had sat up on the couch and was now rubbing her eyes in a vague attempt to clear her bleary vision. I knew that she saw me. But I didn't care.
Several raindrops peppered my skin, promising whatever sort of destitute reality they could offer, as the storm clouds systematically receded. As I took to the skies once more the winds pelted me in a whirling paradox, thrusting me towards my destination. As I flew I watched the commuters dodge in and out of traffic areas, saw high schoolers trudging towards Ridgeway and the fancy prep school over in the next district. Up here, it was easy to feel invincible.
Spreading my arms I allowed my eyelids to glide shut, my mind taking over and pushing me into an alternate reality. One in which I could just lie down and smell the roses and love life. Up here, I wasn't dead. Up here, they couldn't drag me to hell. Up here, I was Queen of the World.
But eventually even the Queen falls.
I glided down from the skies, my eyes opening reluctantly as I landed on my feet. My gaze shot around the desolate space, connecting with a single headstone with the name Sam Puckett engraved into the marker.
Eventually everyone falls, some sooner than others.
The thought of my body slowly rotting beneath the Earth sent my knees shuddering under the pressure of holding up my weight. My oceanic orbs would remained sealed forever deep in the ground, their light far expired, the heart gracing their movement ceased beating so long ago.
I don't want to leave. I don't know why it was such a hard statement to say out loud. Maybe it was hard because I knew wishing it wouldn't change my horrific fate.
Maybe it was because I knew that after today I would never see Freddie, Carly or Spencer ever again. Eventually they would die and have a jolly old time in Heaven while I remained screaming in agony down in the pit of hell.
"I don't want to leave." I forced the words out in little more than a choked whisper but it took everything I had.
My legs buckled underneath me and I curled into a little ball my grave, my heart hurting more than I'd ever imagined possible. Tears burned my eyes but I wouldn't let them fall; it took unsurpassable strength not to cry, something that I normally had no problem controlling.
And for the first time since the second day of my ghostly state I wondered where Nevel was, "Some guardian angel he is." I muttered angrily. But, unfortunately, I could really use his help right about now.
"Now, now, Samantha, is that any way to ask for help?" The simpering voice asked and the air in front of me shimmered unnaturally.
"W-who's there?" I questioned sharply, crossing my arms in front of my chest.
Seconds later Nevel appeared right in front of me, giving me his trademark pouty expression, his wings flapping gently behind his slightly levitating form.
I gritted my teeth, and growled, "What did I tell you about calling me….that name?" I cringed, glowering dangerously in the nub's direction.
I've always hated been called Samantha, for no reason really. I just always found the name weak and girly, everything that I wanted to avoid at all possible costs. I'd always been the strong one in the family, and so I'd needed a strong name to accompany my position.
The boy in front of me shrank back a little, already intimidated. Good boy. "Fine, I will oblige your request this once, Sam. What do you want from me?"
"Aren't you supposed to be helping me with this whole murder situation?" I hissed, my legs trembling as I fought to a standing position. "So far you've just been a useless lump!"
Nevel stiffened, "I don't appreciate your attitude. You know, I didn't have to respond to your grievous
I sighed heavily, wishing that I didn't have to stoop this low, but also knowing that I didn't really have a choice anymore. "I need help figuring out who murdered me. Can't you give me a hint, or a clue, anything?"
His eyes lit up in surprise and then he smirked that annoying little bratty smirk, "You need help from moi?" He pointed at his chest.
"Don't get used to it, Papperman," I hissed, shifted my feet, glad that I couldn't feel the ache of walking anymore. I would have been seriously screwed right now, with all the traveling I've been doing.
"I'm not allowed to give much away," he responded, losing the smirk, thank God.
"Just tell me what you're allowed to say, please!" I choked out, averting my gaze from him, feeling strangely vulnerable.
"Very well," he conceded, sighing heavily, and adjusting his collar as though preparing himself for an attack directed by me. "I will tell you this one thing. The person you are looking for has been right in front of your eyes the whole time and yet just outside your peripherals."
"Don't give me a riddle, God damn it," I groaned, pressing my hand to my forehead in frustration. "I'm no good with them, and you know it."
"I can't say it any other way without giving away too much," Nevel pointed out and I only moaned, running a hand through my hair.
"Just great, now I'm going to burn in hell," I mumbled, swallowing hard to reign in tears once more.
"It's not that bad…" Nevel began in what I suspected was a comforting tone.
As he stretched his arm out to brush his hand against my shoulder I flinched away, collapsing on the ground once more as the moisture saturated my eyes, pressurizing to the point of agony.
"You don't get it!" I cried, digging my hands into the earth as though I could claw my soul back into my degenerating body.
My lips trembled so hard I was afraid they'd fall off. "After tonight I'm gone! I won't ever get to see my friends again! I'll never fall in love, or get m-married, or…" My voice faded away as my hands touched the tombstone marking my grave.
"Sam, sometimes you have to be willing to let go," Nevel sympathized, conflict blurring his normally narcissistic personality.
"I can't let go," I whispered, my sapphire orbs connecting with the gathering storm clouds, tears fighting to stream down my weathered cheeks. For a second I imagined Freddie's face in the skies, the beautiful smile stretching across his face as he wished me goodbye.
But there was something else there in the nub's face, something he was desperately attempting to get me to understand. He knows, I realized with a start, not even noticing that an un-Samish smile had spread across my face, echoing Freddie's.
And then he was gone.
The person you are looking for has been right in front of your eyes the whole time…That could be anyone that I know, anyone that I've ever met. How am I ever supposed to figure out who the hell it was?
All of a sudden I got it, and my eyes lit up, quickly sinking into despair as a choked gasp escaped my throat.
Thinking about Freddork had reminded me about my funeral where he'd given my deceased body – the one about to be lowered into the earth forevermore – the very same intimate smile.
He'd been letting me go then. As I had to let him go now.
The person I'd been looking for really had been in front of my eyes the whole time; I just hadn't realized it until now. There was really only one person who'd been hanging out with Carly since the time just before my death until now, only one person that Carly wouldn't suspect.
I got it, but I almost wish that I hadn't.
If I was correct, then there could only be one possible person left to point out, and she was with Carly right now. My shoulders heaved with every shaky breath I inhaled and exhaled, and I averted my gaze towards the direction I knew where the school was.
If I was correct, then Carly was in terrible danger right now.
The sun split through the clouds for the briefest second, showering the graveyard in a brilliant glow. It shouldn't have really affected me but it did; it managed to infuse me with the power to go through with this investigation.
"Thanks, Nevel," I called out before scrambling to my feet and shooting into the skies for one of my last flights. The morning stars twinkled merrily around me but I couldn't focus on them now.
"I'm the only one who has to die for this," I whispered to myself, tears blinding me as I rocketed towards the school. I hope I'm not too late.
I would save my friends and let go of them by doing so. I would save them from my murderer.
I would save their lives.
SPARKNOTES:
Alright, so that was still pretty long, I admit. I think it was around 10,000 words, or just over that.
Anyways…I hope you enjoyed this. These take me so long to edit and most time I'll take a week or two to do so per chapter. But it definitely pays off in the end. Or, at least, I think it pays off. You let me know how my writing style is: Really good, good, needs improvement?
Until then, enjoy!
-mktoddsparky