(A/N: I got the mandatory 3 reviews for me to update, so here's the next chappie! It should be pretty funny, with Roger being back from the dead and all .. Enjoy!)

Chapter Two: Truth Like a Blazing Fire

Benny's scream turned to a gasp of horrified recognition.

"You," he choked out.

"Me," the ghost of Roger Davis said calmly as he lowed himself into Benny's other armchair.

Benny stared, horrified and disbelieving. It was the same old Roger- the same curly hair, frayed sweatshirt, and tight plaid pants. Yet he was transparent; Benny could see the fake leather of his chair through Roger's stomach. And unlike the live Roger, he was covered in chains. Benny recoiled slightly as he noticed them. Cold, hard, unyielding chains that attached his guitar to the unreachable place on his back and his pick to the back of his hand.

The ghostly Roger propped his feet up on Benny's glass coffee table and grabbed his bottle of Stoli.

"You know, for someone whose head is so far up his ass, your taking this rather calmly," Roger stated matter-of-factly as he attempted to drink the Stoli. It merely passed through his body and drizzled onto Benny's armchair. Benny swallowed, and attempted to ask the only question he could summon up in his mind.

"Are y-you r-real?" he mouthed.

"If I was real, I would be able to drink this motherfucking Stoli," Roger grumbled, glaring at the empty bottle. He glanced up at Benny. "Oh, you mean whether or not I'm actually here. Well, yes, the ghost of Roger Davis is here, Benny-boy, and you better make yourself comfortable, 'cause we are going to have a little chat."

"Oh."

Roger laughed. "'Oh' is right." He stretched and folded his hands behind his head.

Benny's logical mind took over. Roger is dead! He can't be here! You saw him go six feet under! You just drank some bad Stoli, that's all. After all, you are tired. You are tired and overworked, and probably just dreaming.

"I don't believe in you," Benny said firmly, staring the figment of his imagination dead I the eye.

Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"

Benny's laugh bordered on hysteria. "Because its impossible! There is no such thing as ghosts! I was at your funeral; I saw you get buried! You are just a figment of my imagination, induced by some bad Stoli! You're just-"

He was cut off by a terrible, bone-chilling wail. Benny quaked in his seat, terror flooding through him. He knew that cry. It was the same cry he had heard when April had died, when Roger was in the midst of withdrawal, when Mimi lay on her deathbed. It was Roger's cry of utter despair.

"Now do you believe in me?" Roger panted, trying to catch his breath.

"Y-yes," Benny peeped.

Roger smiled, satisfied. "Good." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "So … what's all this I hear about you not letting Mark off from work tomorrow to bring my daughter to my grave?"

Benny cleared his throat. "He has to c-come in. We have a very important new c-client, and its just-" he protested weakly, but was cut off again.

"Yeah, I'm sure this new important client is so much more important than a dying little girl wanting to visit her daddy's grave," Roger snarled, suddenly angry. He attempted to stand, but one of his guitar's pegs was stuck in the pleather. "Dammit," he growled, trying to jiggle the peg out.

"Um, if you don't mind me a-asking, what's w-with the chains?" Benny asked quietly, not wanting to instigate Roger's famous rage.

Roger looked up, surprised. "These?" He looked at the unfeeling metal shackles that separated him from his life and smiled grimly. "These, my friend, were formed during my short time here. Every time I shot up, or blamed someone else for my problems, or whatever, one of these links was formed. Now, they punish me by keeping me away from my music." He sighed, dejected. "The afterlife is a bitch, let me tell you."

He looked Benny dead in the eye. "You'll have these, too. Once you're done polluting the planet with your evil existence, you'll get to spend an eternity locked up in chains … with me by your side. Fun, eh?"

"B-but I never shot up or anything! Why-"

"You get chains for doing bad things, and trust me, you've done enough to give you a chain twice this size, easy."

Benny gulped. "I don't want-"

Roger cut him off. "No one gives a shit what you want. Might as well figure that one out now, before it's too late. Now …" He stood up and pulled a transparent list out of his pocket. "Okay, at midnight, the Ghost of Christmas Past is gonna come and give you a tour of your past Christmases. At one, the Ghost of Christmas Present is gonna take you for a spin around the neighborhood to show how other people are celebrating. At last, but not least, the Ghost of Christmas future is gonna come at two, and tell you how you're life is gonna end up if you don't stop fucking up. Any questions?"

Benny gulped. "Wait, I don't need anymore ghosts! I'll change now, we don't need to involve all these other dead people!"

Roger grinned. "Unfortunately for you, its not that easy. Oh well." He paused abruptly, cocking his head, listening to something that only he could hear. "Okay, I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying! Jeez, Meems, keep your hair on!" he shouted at the ceiling.

Benny's stomach dropped. "M-mimi?" he asked, his voice quavering. Without pausing to think about it, he cried to the heavens. "Mimi? Can you hear me? Oh Mimi, I am so sorry! Please-"

Whack!

"OW!" Benny rubbed the back of his head where the empty Stoli bottle had just hit him. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For being an idiot," Roger spat. "Leave my Mimi alone, if you know what's good for you."

"Okay …" he compiled shakily, still massaging the tender spot on the back of his bald head. Roger then perked up.

"Hey, they're here! C'mon and check this out!" He grabbed Benny and dragged him toward his window.

"Oh my god …"

Hundreds and hundreds of ghost floated through the frosty Manhattan air. He recognized so many of them. Gordon, from Life Support. The Bag Lady, from his old days on Avenue B. Squeegee Man, who he had once kicked off of his car. And-

"April!" The redhead floated over to the window, grinning. Her eyes were sunken into her hollow face, and there were two dark lines marring her pale wrists.

"Hey Benny!" she laughed, and sobered up at once when she noticed who he was with. "Roger," she greeted him solemnly, her head bowed.

Roger rolled his eyes. "Hi April," he said tiredly. He leaned over and hissed in Benny's ear. "She's still cut up about me and Mimi."

"Quite literally," Benny added with a forced chuckle.

Roger laughed as he clambered out the window. "Okay Benny, the first ghost should be here in about a half-hour, so I would get some rest, if I were you. You're in for a hell of a night!" With a last smirk in his direction, Roger zoomed off into the darkness, the rest of the bohemian ghosts in toe.

Benny stood there for a few seconds, staring into the inky black sky. Without warning, he keeled over in a dead faint. A half hour later, he awoke to the sound of a quiet, rhythmic tapping coming from his bedroom.

(A/N: Yay! Roger came out pretty good I think. Next chapter should be pretty long, with Benny visiting his past and all. Okay, I have a deal for you guys:

If you can guess who the three ghosts are in the right order, I will give you a cameo. Just review or PM me with your guess, and be sure to include your physical description!

Thanks for reading!)