Disclaimer: I do not own iCarly, I need to win the lottery and rob a bank before I buy it
Merry Christmas!
Please read my new one-shot; IWant to kiss you again and again and my old one; ISam Invisible. Seddie of course.
Carly and Sam ran and ran, never once looking back to see if anyone was following them. They turned corner after corner, raced down street after street until after what seemed like they had run the entire length of the city. Carly abruptly stopped and Sam ran into her back.
"Ow!" Both girls exclaimed glaring at each other before bursting into a fit of giggles. Sam recovered and looked forward to see the reason Carly had stopped. There towering before them was Bushwell Plaza, home to some of the wackiest people Sam had ever met, home to iCarly, home to Sam's best friend and the place Sam had spent most her nights, five years ago.
Grabbing Carly's hand she yanked the red-headed girl through the door. Expecting to hear loud cries of "People, in my lobby!" she was surprised when a clean-cut doorman walked up to her and simply said,
"Welcome to Bushwell Plaza, how may I help you?" Carly grinned at him and nodded pointedly at Sam,
"She's with me, Jenkins." The doorman smoothly walked back to his desk and sat down,
"Very well, Miss Shay. Your Brother forgot to collect your mail could you bring it up?" He lifted a book and began to read before Carly could answer and she quickly got the mail and grabbed Sam's hand, pulling her up the staircase. With one last glance at the man, who was now totally engrossed in 'Of Mice and Men', Sam muttered to Carly,
"Where's Lewbert?" Carly caught the question and replied in a monotone, still trekking up the stairs,
"Marta, Lewbert's psycho girlfriend found him again and he had to run for it." But before Sam could reply she noticed that they had stopped moving and where now standing in the hall between the two apartments that had meant the most to her in her teenage years. Carly stuck a key in the door to her apartment and pulled Sam in.
Sam stood and stared at the place that the sight of had once filled her with joy and a sense of friendship and love. The place she had thought of whenever she needed to escape was now only a shell of the place it had been. The living room that had once been filled with Spencer's sculptures and projects was now carpeted in a light cream carpet and the walls had a plain white wallpapered finish. The couch sitting in the middle of the room was red leather, it looked unwelcoming and like it had never been sat on, the TV was gone and in its place sat a large stack of old board games. The computer that Sam had spent so much time had now evaporated and its place was a large bouquet of silk roses. The place looked like a showroom from one of those House and Home magazines and not as if anyone lived there.
Carly shut the door behind and turned to Sam, seeing her reaction to the apartment she looked down.
"Spencer got mad when I started acting up after you disappeared and Freddie became antisocial, he stopped being an artist and went to work in a good nine-to-five office job. He took away everything that he thought was a bad influence or a reminder of the past in an effort to stop my behaviour. When I didn't change, he refused to even talk to me and even now after three years, I doubt we've said more than a few polite sentences to each other. We both led separate lives and we just happen to sleep under the same roof."
Sam considered everything she'd said, all the things that had changed because she left. Freddie, Carly and even Spencer had changed in the wake of her disappearance. Spencer had taken away all reminders of her past and the secure feeling she used to get from this apartment, now nothing was left. Then it occurred to her, the iCarly studio.
She raced away from Carly and up the stairs. She flung open the door to her old webshow studio hoping, wishing and praying that it was still intact but her hopes were dashed when she saw that the room was no longer adorned in slogans and wacky objects but seemed to be some sort of home office. Carly ran in behind her, just as someone in a desk chair turned round and looked her up and down. Spencer.
He was dressed neatly in a pin-stripe suit and had a tired, gloomy and distressed look etched on his face.
"Carly, you know you're not allowed in here. And who are you?" She couldn't take it anymore, forgetting her disguise; she was disheartened that Spencer didn't even recognize her anymore. She couldn't stay any longer, she ran down the stairs and out of the apartment, Carly following her and shouting "Sam!", and into only other place she could think to go. Freddie's apartment.
On her first look, Sam was glad to see the place hadn't changed much in five years but as Carly came to stand beside her and tried to pull her out of the apartment she noticed small differences that shocked her. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of dust, but she knew Mrs. Benson that always insisted on family time, and what appeared to be Freddie's laptop, that they used to do iCarly on, lay smashed up in one corner, along with a mountain of broken plates.
Something seriously wrong had been going wrong in Seattle and Sam had to find out what else had been going on.
Remembering the scars and cuts on Freddie's wrists and the scratch marks across his torso, she pulled away from Carly's yanking grasp, glared at her and stormed off towards Freddie's bedroom door across the room.
When faced with the door, she slowly reached for the doorknob and pushed it open hesitantly, suddenly afraid of the truths that lay behind it.
Starting in the far corner she let her eyes slowly roam the room taking in every detail. The walls had been painted black and were decorated with glow-in-the-dark skeletons in place of the spaceships that had been there the first time Sam had broken in. The carpet had been ripped off to reveal a cold wooden floor with nails sticking up where they had once held the carpet in place. On the floor halfway between the bed and the far corner sat an old CD player that was quietly playing slow, sad music that someone had forgotten to turn off in their rush to leave. A pile of empty tin cans of food sat against the back wall and beside it a little camping stove. Her eyes travelled over to the bed, there was a poster of her, well of Alyssa Kelly, lying discarded in the middle of the bed and beside it lay a sharp knife with a handle that seemed to be encrusted with some sort of dried liquid, but she couldn't make out what the liquid was against the cold black handle of the knife. The thin white sheets on the bed, that would not have protected anybody from the harsh cold of Seattle winters, were dotted with a series of bright red stains.
Everything came together in her mind, two and two added to give four. Looking between the knife and the stains, she gave a quick glance to Carly's expression which confirmed her theory, the liquid encrusted on the knife's handle and the bright red stains that adorned sheets was blood. Not just any blood, though. Freddie's blood. Carly was right, he had been suicidal!
That was the last thought that crossed her mind before it all went black.
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