Okay, so last chapter I wasn't really sure whether there would be three or four more chapters. I was leaning towards three, but it looks like I was wrong, because I ended up splitting the next part into two parts. So NOW there will be three chapters left after this one. Probably. I'm pretty sure. I think.
Disclaimer: I'm not sure of much, but I'm sure that I don't own iCarly. I'm also sure that I will never be a professional rodeo clown. I'd surely end up hurting myself. Besides, clowns are scary.
I didn't ask for permission to leave the school during the lock-in, or even bother to tell anyone where I was going. I just ran. I ran out of the school and into the dark Seattle night, holding up two fingers until a lonely taxi came into view and stopped for me.
"Seattle Memorial Hospital," I said, getting into the cab. The driver nodded and headed in the direction of the hospital.
I'd never been in a cab before. Mom always said they were dangerous. But she also said that driving after dark was dangerous, which is why she had been the one to drop me off at the school that night, so I really had no choice. I just sat back and tried not to think about all the horror stories mom had told me about scam artists and murderers posing as cab drivers. Besides, the guy seemed harmless. He whistled cheerfully as he made his way to the hospital, thinking about the baseball game playing over the car's radio.
Before long, we arrived at the hospital. I shoved a twenty into the driver's hand, told him to keep the change, and ran into the building.
"Room number for Moira Bell," I said as I arrived at the front desk and tried to catch my breath. "Please."
The receptionist looked down at her computer and typed something on the keyboard before looking back up and giving me a big, fake, red lipstick-covered grin. "Room 363. But it's way past visiting hours. Unless of course you're family."
"I am." The woman nodded. It was kind of true. Mom and I were about as close to family as Moira had anymore. I fast-walked to an elevator that was already open and stepped inside just before the doors closed.
"What floor?" the tall man standing next to me asked.
"Third," I said. He pressed the button for me and I closed my eyes as the elevator started up its path. The trip to the third floor seemed to take an eternity, though in reality it was probably less than a minute. Finally the doors opened and I followed the signs in the hallway to room 363.
I hesitated for a moment before carefully knocking on the heavy wooden door. The door swung open and my mom stood before me wearing her light blue nurse's scrubs and a frown.
"Moira," she called into the room. "You have a visitor." She didn't wait for Moira's response before stepping aside and letting me into the room.
"If it's Nurse Larry again, tell him I died," Moira called back.
My mom sighed, obviously not finding much humor in Moira's joke. I walked around the corner and found Moira fully awake in her bed. In a way I was relieved. Mom hadn't given many specifics over the phone, besides the basics: Heart attack. Bad one. Surprised she survived it. I had half expected to walk in and see her lying unconscious, so seeing her eyes open and hearing her talk was definitely a relief.
On the other hand, other than being awake, she didn't look so good. Her skin was pale and sickly, and her eyes looked tired. She was lying down with the bed tilted up only slightly, apparently unable to sit up much. Still she seemed to be the only one who wasn't bothered by the rhythmic but way too slow beep beep beep of the heart monitor.
"Marissa," she scolded. "Why'd you tell the boy? He doesn't need to be here. Has no one ever heard of patient confidentiality? And Freddie, don't you have a project to be working on at school?"
"I thought he should be here," Mom said. "That heart attack was a bad one Moira. It did a lot of damage. We don't know if this might be the last…" She turned her face away and choked back a sob.
"Oh, no need to be so dramatic," Moira said. "I'm not dead yet. And this won't be the last time either of you sees me. Leave Freddie. And Marissa, don't bother the boy again."
"But–"
"No buts. I said this won't be the last time either of you see me, and it won't. You're not rid of me yet." She turned her head and looked me straight in the eyes. "You'll see me again."
"But–" This time Mom was interrupted not by Moira, but by her pager. She sighed and walked out of the room without so much as a goodbye, but with some words I never thought I'd hear my mother use to describe her feelings about working the late shift.
I turned my attention back to Moira. "I'm not leaving," I said firmly.
"Yes you are," she said. "Go work on your project. I'm alright."
"No you're not! You look awful!"
"Gee, thanks. Just what every woman wants to hear."
"Moira–"
"Leave," she said sternly. I didn't budge, and she sighed. "Listen. I'll let you know when you should come and see me again. But for now I need my rest, and you need to go work on that project. Okay?"
"So what, are you just going to call me up and say 'Hey, Freddie! I'm dying! Why don't you come down here and talk to me before I kick the bucket?'"
She rolled her eyes. I'll let you know. Trust me on this.
I thought about it for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Okay," I sighed. "I trust you."
As soon as I unlocked the side door with my AV Club keys and let myself into the building, I was bombarded with questions.
Where have you been?
What were you thinking?
Young man, do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?
After telling everyone that I had just decided to take a walk because I was feeling claustrophobic and apologizing profusely to Principal Franklin, I made my way to the back of the school and went out into the courtyard, taking a seat on the steps where Sam had been sitting earlier and looking up at the sky. With the bright lights of Seattle everywhere, there really weren't any stars to speak of, but I could still see the bright crescent moon overhead, looking like a smile or a frown depending on how I looked at it.
The door a few feet away creaked open and then closed again, but I didn't take my eyes off the moon.
"Yo yo," came a familiar voice, using the same greeting I'd used on her earlier.
"What is it, Sam?" I said.
"I want to know what's wrong," she said simply.
"Nothing's wrong," I said, though I still couldn't bring myself to look at her.
"Please, one minute you get a phone call and the next you're running out of the school like your pants are on fire and you're gone for over an hour. And I'm supposed to believe that you just 'went for a walk'? I can smell a lie from a mile away, even on you." Finally I managed to tear my eyes away from the sky and look at her. She looked completely serious. "Now spill."
I sighed. No use in denying it. "Moira had a heart attack," I said.
"She alright?" she said, coming to sit next to me.
I shrugged. "Probably not."
She nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."
I scoffed. "Yeah. Because that's going to fix it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows together.
"You used to say that you hated to apologize. Now you think you can fix anything with it, just because you're you and if you say it, then it must mean something."
"I was just trying to be supportive!"
"Oh, now you want to be supportive? Where were you all the times I was mad or upset over the last six years? Oh, that's right. You were the one who caused it!"
"Now listen–"
"No! For once in your life, you're going to listen to me! Understood?" She backed away slightly, looking completely shocked at my sudden outburst, but nodded anyway. "Sam," I sighed. "You can't fix everything by just saying you're sorry. Maybe some things…but not this. This is my best friend we're talking about here. And she's dying. Saying you're sorry won't make it better this time."
"I thought I was your best friend," she grumbled under her breath.
That's when something inside me snapped. "No! You're not! Best friends don't constantly cause each other pain on purpose and then laugh about it. Best friends are there for you when you need them!"
"Well I'm trying to be there for you now, if you'll just let me–"
"You know what Sam?" I said. "For once, just leave me alone. Okay?" She didn't budge. "LEAVE!"
Even in the dim lighting, I could see her face grow red in anger. "Fine!" she shouted. "I will!" She pulled the door open, stepped into the building, and slammed it shut behind her, a quiet "Fuck you, Benson," just barely audible from across the courtyard.
I groaned and dropped my face into my hands. I was angry. I was upset. I was confused. But mostly, I was tired. It wasn't long before I found myself slowly drifting to sleep, having a dream I hadn't had in a long time…
I woke to the sound of cold, steely cackling. I looked around, wondering where I was. The sky was a deep purple with just the faintest hints of gold at the horizon that meant the sun would come up soon, and the concrete steps around me were cold. That's when I remembered what had happened the night before. So much for pulling an all-nighter at the lock-in. Though at the moment, that was the least of my worries.
It was just a dream, I told myself, remembering the harsh laughter and cruel eyes that had been tormenting me for the last few hours. But the truth was I could still hear the cackling. The only question now: Was it really there? Or had I simply gone crazy? I suspected it was probably the latter.
"Ahem."
An inpatient cough snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned toward the offending sound and my eyes met those of the very person I was hoping to avoid for the rest of high school. So that's what I did: I avoided her, turning my gaze back to the skies and pretending like she wasn't even there.
"Um, Brad wanted me to tell you that we finished the project," said Sam, trying her best to sound bored.
I chose not to respond to that either. I suppose none of this was really Sam's fault, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone at the moment. That went double for someone I just had a nasty fight with. Triple if I also might have feelings for that person.
"Okay, what's your problem?" she yelled after several minutes of silence.
I shrugged, but didn't answer or look at her. Even though I couldn't see her, I knew she was frowning and that her face was probably starting to turn red.
"Fine," she spat. "If you're just going to ignore me, I'm leaving. Forget what I said last night about liking you or being sorry or whatever the chiz I said that might make you think I actually care. Because if you think that after last night I still actually give a rat's ass…" The cackling I'd been hearing since I fell asleep the night before suddenly grew louder, and Sam trailed off. "Did you hear that?" she asked, voice cracking slightly.
I finally turned to look at her. Her eyes betrayed the confident façade she was trying desperately to hold onto. "So you hear it too?" I asked.
"The laughing?" I nodded. "Yeah. It sounds like…" Our eyes met, and that's when I knew that this wasn't all in my head. Far from it. This was all too real.
I saw Sam reach behind a bush and pull out a baseball bat I hadn't noticed was there. Probably one of her many secret weapons she'd hidden around the school. "Show yourself!" she barked, tightening her grip on the bat. "We both know you're here! There's no use in hiding!" The laughter got louder. Sam's voice got weaker. "I mean it! Whatever you are, come out, or…or I'll find you myself and get swingy with this bat!"
"Sam," I said. "If this is who we think it is, I don't think a bat is going to do much good."
"We? I thought you didn't even believe me about her!"
"Well maybe I changed my mind! I thought you were past being mad at me about this!"
"Well maybe I changed my mind too!"
"Oh, so just because–"
The laughter was now so loud I wondered how everyone in school couldn't hear it. The air grew cold as a sudden gust of wind made its way between us, seemingly bringing the laughter along with it and sending a shiver up both our spines as it passed.
The wind blew harder, practically alive. Leaves were blown in a miniature tornado funnel, spiraling closer and closer together until they exploded in a yellow blast of light so bright that I had to look away.
When I looked back, something was materializing. Or rather, someone. A very familiar looking someone. The same dusty clothes, withered face, and thick glasses she'd had in Moira's memories and in my dreams. The same haunting yellow eyes. And as much as I didn't want to accept it, I knew that she was no dream.
Standing before us, laughing like a maniac in all her ancient, ghostly glory, was none other than Madame Gertrude McCraw.