Chapter 10

Cry shook his head. He was back in his tidy little room at the retirement home. He glanced at the window. The sky was orange indicating that the day was just about to end. He couldn't help the tears rolling down his wrinkled cheeks. His hair was puffy and grey. Time had done its toll on Cry's body but his pale blue eyes still held the sadness and pain of his past.

The door then swung open, revealing his nursemaid. She had long blonde hair coupled with chocolate brown eyes. She wore a plain white nurse's uniform, a clipboard in her hands. In short she was a stunning image of Marzia. Most of the time Cry saw this as a sick joke, being taken care of by the very woman he brutally murdered years ago. "Mr. Terry?" She asked happily, a genuine smile on her face. She even had the same high pitched voiced as Marzia's.

Cry only nodded and gave her a weak smile. "Today's a special day. You know why?" She asked him. Cry raised an eyebrow. "It's September 21st! We're going to visit him today like we always do, remember?" She said happily, excitement filling her eyes. Cry gave her a weak smile. As he was being helped into a wheelchair, he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off the old Bloody Trapland poster on the wall.

The nurse followed his gaze and smiled. "Do you wanna bring it?" She asked. Cry nodded. After putting a blanket on his lap to cover his legs, the nurse took the poster down, rolled it up and tucked it safely on his lap. He was then wheeled towards the exit. Looking out the window of the taxi, Cry's mind took a trip down memory lane.

"I loved you." He said. Chainsaw raised, pupils dilate, a sadistic smile on his face. He stared down at Pewdie's curled up form when suddenly BOOM! BOOM! The front door fell from its hinges, narrowingly missing the Swede. A squad of policemen raised their guns at Cry. "Sir, lower your weapon and put your hands above your head!" One of the officers shouted. Cry smiled at them. "Gladly." He said before bringing the chainsaw down on Pewdie.

Just as the blades were about to meet Pewds' forehead, gunshots filled the air. Pewdie covered his ears, trembling at the sound. With a loud thud Cry laid on the floor, blood pouring out of his body. His chest rose slowly, indicating that he was still alive. The squad then entered the house. One of them knelt next to Pewdie. "We received a call from your neighbors reporting that they've been hearing strange noises. We didn't think we'd see anything like this." He covered Pewdie in a blanket. He had blonde hair and weird gold eyes. "Sit tight, the ambulance is coming. And I'm sorry that this had to happen to you." He gave him a weak reassuring smile.

"Hey Stephano! You gotta see this!" One of the officers said by the guest bedroom. Disgust filled his voice. He patted Pewdie on the back before going over to his fellow officers. The Swede sighed; he was both emotionally and physically exhausted. He looked over to Cry's form in front of him. "I'm so sorry Cry. I'm sorry I couldn't help you…"

Cry's hand twitched. His body shook as he tried to sit up. He glanced to the side and Pewdie followed his gaze. He froze. There he was. A man was sitting in the corner of the room wearing a white shirt and a black hooded jacket. His poker face mask was pulled back revealing a stitched smile and blood red eyes. In his hand was the jagged butcher's knife Pewdie had dropped earlier.

He looked at the Swede and chuckled. He then slid the knife towards Cry. Once the cool metal touched Cry's fingertips his blue eyes suddenly turned blood red. He looked at Pewdie a sinister smile forming on his lips. His body shook as he stood up. "You're not getting away that easily." He said gruffly before raising the blade. Unable to move Pewdie relaxed, all hope fled from his body. He looked at Cry straight in the eye and actually smiled. He didn't care anymore if he died or not. Marzia was dead. What was the point?

The sound of a gunshot echoed through the thick air. Cry stopped in his tracks, the knife fell from his hands. He fell flat on his stomach, a small hole in the center of his back. Pewdie looked up to see the blonde officer, Stephano, with his gun pointed in their direction.

"Mr. Terry? We're here." The nurse said, snapping Cry out of his thoughts. After being ushered into the wheel chair again, the nurse pushed him through the cemetery. Soon they were in front an old tombstone, an old pair of green headphones sat next to the grave. Cry couldn't help but read what was inscribed.

R.I.P

Felix Arvid Ulf Kjellberg

Born: October 24, 1989

Died: September 21, 2069

A loving son, a caring friend,
Bro till the very end.

Life is too short to focus on the things you hate,
Focus on what you love to do instead. ~Pewdiepie a.k.a myself

Cry couldn't help but laugh, remembering how much Pewdie talked about wanting his own quote on his tomb stone. Cry's laugh soon turned into a harsh cough. "Mr. Terry? Are you alright?" The nurse asked worriedly. He nodded before taking out the old Bloody Trapland poster. The nurse took it from his grasp and laid it in front of the tombstone.

"Hey Pewds, I'm sorry if it's been a while." Cry coughed again. "I'm not really in good shape to visit, and I can't walk anymore either but don't worry about it Pewds." He smiled weakly, tears started to stream down his face. "I-I'm so s-sorry Pewdie…" He sobbed softly. "I'm sorry that I took her away from you. I'm sorry that I nearly killed you. I'm sorry that I-"Cry continued, he could feel himself weaken with each word.

Somehow he found himself actually falling asleep. He felt his weight shifting meaning that he was being wheeled away. Cry felt at ease for once, even though he could hear his weak heartbeat pounding softly in his ears. He felt himself being lifted into the taxi. The end was coming for him and he knew it. As he heard the door close he opened his eyes, wanting to say thank you to his nurse.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Miss me?" Mad said before chuckling.

A/N: Mwello :3 So yeah here's the last chap. It was fun writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading. Again sorry misspellings and wrong grammar usage.