Oh my. This is it. This is the end. If it was too soon, sorry if you're disappointed, but this is what it is. This is the last time I'll be able to say "enjoy" with a funky little squiggly at the end. Until my next story. Sniff. So, everyone, please, go check out the poll on my profile and give me your thoughts (if in need of more detail, or just to re-emphasize your point) in either a PM, email (on my profile, please go right ahead, as its a special fanfiction email I created specifically for this usage), or review, and pretty please, all of you that have alerted this story, I'd love to hear what you have had to think about this story. It doesn't take long, but the feeling it gives one is forever. But if not, I understand completely, and I thank each and every one of you for taking the time out of your lives to read about a silly story that I wrote late at night. Let me know if you think it's good or not, but I only want one thing: that you have enjoyed. Speaking of that, I'll let you read the end of Third Wheel. Because all things have to come to an end sometime. Enjoy~
Third Wheel—
Epilogue
It's raining slowly and peacefully, like it usually does at this time of year. The streets are draining slower than usual however, creating small murky black iridescent ponds, mixed with grime, oil, and paint. They litter the street sides and parking lots, and one can't help remembering those times when they were younger and they used to play in them carelessly.
A clean-shaven man is driving a small car hesitantly and cautiously, almost as if he was trying to run through deep water: deliberate and painfully slow. The road he is following takes him outside of the city, and snakes north beside the ocean. Although the views are breath taking, he doesn't even give them a second glance. His dark eyes have equally dark bags, and are stained red with past tears. His drive is silent, and the only sound he hears is of his own breathing, rain pattering quickly onto the window shield, and the quiet rumble of the car he is handling.
He flicks on his blinker, and turns onto a single lane street. The rain slowly fades away as he drives closer to the rocky coast. Mist takes its place.
The road ends in a parking lot, and in front of him is a large, sprawling gray building, with the words carved into a large slab of stone, West Side Ocean View Psychiatric Hospital. He parks the car carefully, and, after pulling an umbrella out from underneath the seat, steps out of the car and walks toward the main entrance.
The door twinkles too cheerfully as he enters into the hospital. He looks about, and, after finding a sign pointing him in the right direction, begins a long, solemn walk down a wide hallway, painted with almost sickening colors. He opens the door into the Juvenile Ward, and looks about him.
A receptionist that is sitting behind her desk looks up at the bell tinkle. She beckons to the man.
"How can I help you?" she asks.
"I'm here to release Samantha Puckett… I'm Steven Shay," He explains.
She flips through a mess of papers, and grins. "She's been expecting you. She's in the visiting room, hasn't left since she heard she was being released. Samantha's a little trouble maker, but I suspect you would know that."
Shay threads his hand through his hair. "I wish I had."
The receptionist wilts visibly. "You'll need to fill out these papers for her release to be official."
Shay fills them out with a monotonous hand, nods good-bye, and then begins the walk to visiting room. He tips his hat to the security guard, who lets him pass through the metal detectors after Shay shows him that he has appropriate clearance.
Shay looks around, and there, in the corner, is a small, blonde girl. She's slouching into her red chair, trying to become invisible. Even from the distance, Shay immediately knows that she's been trying not to cry.
Shay steps forward, nervous for the first time, and sighs heavily. He takes off his hat, and begins to walk toward the little girl, realizing how small and insecure she really is.
He pauses for a second in front of the girl before greeting her.
She looks up before he can have a chance. "What do you want?"
Shay's eyes soften. "I want to make this right."
Her hands shake with what Shay thinks is grief. "Who are you?" her voice cracks.
"I'm Steven Shay."
She can't hold back the tears any more. They come quickly and easily, and she doesn't attempt to try to brush them away. Shay can't help but admire her courage. Her shoulders shake, and Shay feels a bit awkward yet proud to be around this incredibly free spirit.
Shay finally resorts to giving the girl a pitiful hug, and she in response throws her arms around him, even though they have never even met.
"Does it hurt?" she murmurs between sobs.
Shay sighs. "Every single second. I miss Spencer, I miss Freddie… and I miss Carly. I miss them all so much it aches like someone is ripping my heart out."
"Then try to imagine what I feel like. I am the reason they're gone. I am the reason Carly left Seattle to live up in Yakima… I am the reason everything in everyone's lives have gone wrong."
She speaks with a soft, sensitive, tear-stricken voice; Shay can hardly hear it over the air conditioning. He can't match this broken songbird in front of him to the loud, boisterous blue jay he was told of by his children.
Shay blinks back a wave of sudden heartache. "Sam, this isn't your fault. If it is anyone's, it's mine. I wasn't there when my family needed me most. I wasn't there when Carly needed me, and—"
He breaks off, his chest trembling with the weight of the tears on his heart. She doesn't question his pause, but simply listens with open ears and a deep caring soul.
"I wasn't there when my wife, Lisa, needed me," he says quietly. "She committed suicide, and I wasn't there in time. Carly only wanted what was best for you—she only did what she knew I would have done for Liz… I wish I could take away your pain. Trust me, I know what you're feeling."
"I don't understand why this hurts so much. I—I've lived my entire life with pain, and I don't know who I'd be without it. But… but this is the worst, knowing that I'm the reason this all happened. Knowing that if I had made a different choice, I'd still be happy, and so would Carly, Freddie, and Spencer. Mr. Shay, I ruined everything…"
Her tears overtake her.
"We can work through this together, Sam. I'm here for you. We can make our lives better, one step at a time."
"But we'll never be able to make their lives better. They're never going to have a second chance. I don't see why I was given one."
Shay looks down. "Maybe it was because you have to complete something in your life, your purpose wasn't fulfilled. Spencer and Freddie did what they were supposed to do, but you, and Carly, still have many years ahead, and you both still have many things to do in this life."
"You really believe in that nonsense?"
Shay grins through his tears. "Yes, I do. It gives me hope on the days like these, when it seems like there is nothing to look forward to."
Sam blinks carefully. "I don't know about you, but I'd look forward greatly to getting out of this place, if you don't mind."
"Not at all. Let's get you home." Shay leads the younger girl out through the double doors, and down the hallway.
It's raining outside, and Sam smiles broadly, ignoring Shay's offered umbrella. She runs out into the parking lot and dances in the rain, relishing her first time out in fresh air for a long time. She falls into the pavement gracefully, and sighs with relief, as rain sweeps over her, making her tears seem like raindrops, making symbols of sorrow into symbols of joy.
Shay watches her, feeling like he doesn't belong there, watching her simple ritual of relief and joy and grief.
"We better be going," she says when she is finished. She walks over to the sole car in the visitor's lot and waits by the door.
He unlocks the car, and they both get in quickly, and they drive away, leaving behind the girl's prison.
::
Two months pass, and the sorrow is slowly ebbing away. There are days when it hurts so bad, all they can do is lay in bed crying, and others, they hardly even can tell. They moved out of the apartment, where the memories were too fresh, into a small little condo out in the suburbs.
Shay is driving Sam to have a tour of her new high school one hot July morning. They turn the corner into the school parking lot, and park. Shay is just stepping out of the car; Sam is still buckled, when, out of nowhere, a SUV hurdles directly into the driver's side of the car. The car flips, and Sam, albeit bruised and in pain and confusion, survives.
Shay is a different story.
He's rushed to the emergency room, where the doctors do everything in their abilities to try and save his life.
But it slips away.
And he's gone.
::
The funeral is surprisingly large. Military friends, distant relatives, and even the doctors who failed to save his life show up. Sam knows that somewhere, Carly is in the crowd gathered to pay their humble last minute respects. Why she wasn't closer to the front, why she wasn't mourning publicly is a mystery to Sam, but she doesn't think twice. Gratefully, Sam manages to avoid her until the end of the simple ceremony.
But she knew it was inevitable. For the first time in a year and a half, Sam meets up with Carly.
Carly's brown eyes are swollen with tears, matching Sam's almost perfectly except for in color.
"I am so sorry."
Those are the only words needed to make a small flicker of friendship kindle in shaky existence.
Carly's grandpa decides to take Sam under his wing out of respect for the passed Steven Shay, who was kindhearted, gentle, and, as Sam liked to say, her hero. They return to Yakima, where Carly vows to never hurt anyone again.
Sam never manages to fully come to terms with Shay's death, and she never fully forgives Carly. Carly and Grandpa Shay finally convince Sam to go to Carly's grief therapist as well to help her overcome her unending misery Coincidentally, the therapist she goes to is the same Dr. Lewis she knew before. Dr. Lewis is happy with her new profession, happy that she feels that she can finally help people to the best of her capabilities. However, Sam's agony is still lingering, and her only source of strength in these days is remembering that she has lived with unbearable pain before, so she can do it again.
Every now and then her mind slips back into its old ways, and thoughts of suicide spring up unwelcomed. But every time one does, she forces herself to think of what happened the last time she decided to try to kill herself, and she cries for hours alone, locked in her room.
Slowly, and in strange lurches and drags, time passes, but no one is sure how. Sam graduates from high school with honors, to the surprise of everyone, and goes off to be successful in college, majoring in grief counseling. She marries a kind man who loves her for who she is, and she finally finds a place in this world where she is accepted unconditionally. She gives birth at the age of 27 to a daughter, who she names Faith.
Carly stays in Yakima for the remainder of her life, and although Sam occasionally speaks with her, contact is limited, as every conversation they had would somehow turn to those who had passed on.
When Carly tells Sam that she's diagnosed with cancer, Sam immediately drops everything she is doing and flies to Yakima to spend Carly's last days with her. For two long months, Carly holds onto life, and together they attempt to make right what was wrong.
But no one can live forever. Carly passes on at the age of 32.
Sam attends the funeral, and returns to her home in Vermont. She is emotionally exhausted, and her family does the best they can to try and comfort her.
Eventually she manages to resume normal life, but she can never forget her emotional scars.
She never planned on being the last one standing, the sole remaining member of the famous iCarly team. She had planned to be the first one gone, to leave behind Earth and its strong emotions and tragic stories.
Her plan didn't go as she had intended, but instead it opened up an entirely different world to her. Out of the tragedy came new lives and a strong hope for a better future. Although Sam never put behind the past, she looked ahead, and managed to what was once depressing into something marvelous.
The sunset is even brighter than the sunrise.
—The End