Chapter 7
A Random Assortment of Facts

Kyle had always made it a point not to go over to Kenny's house. He knew from his father that Stuart had built it himself, and so suspected that it was nothing more than stacked bricks covered in stucco with bits of wiring running through it. The floor was poured concrete, something that Kyle had never seen in any other house. There was no heating or insulation so it was almost always freezing. (Kyle was certain that this was why Kenny always wore his snowsuit.) To add to the discomfort, nothing seemed clean. The furniture, the cracked walls, the floor—everything—was covered by a fine layer of dust and grime. Even the air was somehow stale, rank with the mingled scents of human body odor, marijuana, and old food.

Predictably, Stuart was sitting on the couch when they arrived. He had one hand down his pants, the other clasped his favorite beverage—a Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer. Stuart was yet another reason Kyle didn't like Kenny's house. You could almost always count on him being there and being drunk.

"Hey, boys," he said, tipping his beer can at them before turning his blood-shot eyes back to the television. He was watching NASCAR. Like the lights that flickered and the stove that took two hours to cook eggs, the TV was not fully functional. The picture was grainy, and every once in a while it crackled.

"Hey, Dad," said Kenny.

"Hello, Mr. McCormick," said Kyle, feeling awkward.

With that, Kenny led Kyle to his room. Like the rest of the house, it was scarcely furnished. He had his bed, which was covered in tattered sheets and a threadbare blanket, and his nightstand and dresser, which were both chipped and graffitied. In the corner was a computer desk and computer, but there was an air of neglect to that part of the room, and Kyle knew that it had been ages since Kenny had access to the internet. The closet door hung off its hinges, giving a clear view to his wardrobe; he had maybe three outfits. His cracked and grimy walls were covered in posters of scantily clad women, and Kyle knew that the cardboard box just visible under his bed housed adult literature.

It was nothing like the sanctuary Kyle considered his own room to be.

Kyle stood by as Kenny hit his knees and pulled out his bottom drawer. He reached back in it as far as he could and started pulling out fistfuls of crumpled up papers, which he shoved into Kyle's chest.

"Glad you're so organized. This should make things a lot easier," said Kyle sardonically. Kenny didn't reply, just felt in the back of his drawer for more notes.

Kyle sat down on Kenny's bed to smooth out the papers. It quickly became apparent that there was no sort of order to them; they were just a random assortment of facts written out in Kenny's nearly illegible script, rife with spelling errors.

"I'll have to take these home and rewrite them."

Kenny sat down next to Kyle, watching him as he rifled through the papers. His eyes were bright with interest, every once in a while pausing to reread a line or narrowing as he struggled to make out a word.

"This is so insane," he muttered as he turned another page.

"What?" Kenny wasn't sure if he was talking about his lack of organizational skills or the situation in general.

"Everything. I mean—just earlier today I had my mom take me to go get an MRI because I thought I was going crazy, but now... reading all this..." He trailed and started to knead his forehead. "This is just too crazy to even think about."

Kenny laughed despite himself. "I never had any luck explaining it to anyone."

"And you've had it your whole life?"

"As long as I can remember."

"Well—it's like I said—there must be some reason it switched, assuming that is what happened. Do you think it switched or do you think we're both affected?"

"I don't know."

"I know. But what's your best guess?"

Kenny mulled it over for a second. "I would guess it switched. I haven't died the past two days."

"Normally you die every day?"

"It changes a lot. Sometimes I die every day, sometimes I go weeks without anything a happening, but..." Kenny struggled to explain. Going two days without dying was nothing Kenny would snub his nose at, but it wasn't unheard of either. "I don't know, Kyle. My best guess is that it switched."

"Well, if that's true it gives us valuable insight into the nature of this thing. If it can just jump to another person, then it can't be something that's tied to an individual. It must be more like an illness. Or something."

Kenny stared at him. He used to think that he had his "powers" for a reason and that it would one day be revealed to him. After suffering from disappointment after disappointment, Kenny became less attached to that idea, but it was still hard to hear Kyle say that it was likely something as random as an illness.

After a moment's silence, Kyle asked, "Is there any way I can keep from dying?"

"No." Kenny answered so fast that Kyle was taken aback. "If it wants you, it'll have you. Don't do anything different."

"Really? But what if I lock myself in my room or something?"

"You don't want to get into that habit. Just live your life."

Kyle frowned. "How am I supposed to do that when I'm dying every day?"

"You won't die every day," said Kenny, avoiding Kyle's eyes. "Like I said, sometimes I go weeks without anything happening."

"I can't die again. What do you think the odds are we'll be able to take care of this before that happens?"

Kenny snorted.

"What?"

"Kyle, it's not an unwanted pregnancy; you can't just 'take care' of it. Sorry, but you're probably going to die a whole lot more."

"Well... that's a problem."

"I know it sucks, but—"

"No," Kyle interrupted. "You don't understand. I'm wanted in Hell for high treason and espionage. I can't go back. They'll kill me."

"You're wanted for high treason and espion—God dammit, Kyle! Can't you stay out of trouble for two seconds?"

"I know it sounds bad, but it's not what you think—"

Kenny shook his head. "I'm sure it was all a big misunderstanding. It always is with you." Kyle frowned at this. "But it shouldn't matter if they execute you. It should just put you right back in your body."

"Wow, really? What happens to normal people?"

"As far as I know, they're sent back to the end of the line if they die again."

"What a terrible punishment," said Kyle, not completely sarcastic. "So I can just kill myself in Hell if I want back?"

Kenny grimaced. "I'm not an expert or anything, but yeah. That should work. But after the first time, you probably won't want to."

Not too long ago, while acting as a double agent in Japan, Kenny had leapt from a building in an effort to kill himself (mostly he just wanted free and quick passage back to the states). When he'd fallen into Hell he ended up impaling himself on a stalagmite. He had been immediately sucked back into his body, had felt his shattered bones meld themselves back together and his ruined organs shift back into place, all while his skin casing suctioned him in like vacuum-sealed plastic wrap. Sure, he had sprang up quick enough and given the boys up in corporate a little show, but it had been a wholly unpleasant experience and not one he was eager to repeat. After a death, he would normally just wake up in bed the next day, fully clothed and fully rejuvenated, but following an Earth death with a Hell death seemed to put things into hyper-drive.

"That's good to know," said Kyle. "I may have to do that." There was another small moment of silence, and then Kyle asked, "Have you talked to your parents about all this? It has got to have affected them a lot. Maybe the know something."

"I've asked them. They are as clueless as everyone else in this town." Kenny had in fact talked to his parents about everything on many separate occasions, and every single time they had just stared at him like he was sprouting antennas.

Kyle sighed heavily. "You know... you're really not giving me much to work."

"I don't have much to give. All I know is what I've lived, and as far as I can tell, it's like the universe wants to get rid of me, but just can't. It's like I'm a glitch in the system. I dunno. Maybe whatever it is just got bored of torturing me and decided to change it up a bit. Why not? It's not like any of this makes sense, and if you think those notes are gonna help, you're wrong."

"Pessimistic much?" said Kyle, brow-furrowing.

"I just want you to be realistic."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means don't set yourself up for defeat. Maybe whatever-it-is is on the fritz and will continue to people hop. Maybe tomorrow it'll come right back to me." (If Kenny was honest with himself, this is what he personally believed was going to happen.) "Maybe you'll have it forever. Then again, maybe your Hardy Boys routine will pay off and we'll get rid of it entirely. But we don't know. We have nothing to go on. I've never gotten close to figuring it out. Don't get me wrong—there have been times I thought I was close, but in the end all I ever got was a slap in the face. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"But Kenny, we've got a good lead this time. There has to be some reason it switched. We just need to figure it out before the trail goes cold."

"A good lead? We got nothing. Just... be realistic. That's all I'm saying."

Kenny could tell that wasn't what Kyle wanted to hear, but Kyle needed to prepare for the worst. Kenny knew from vast experience that it was always best to think in terms of 'worst case scenario.'

Frowning, Kyle looked back down at the notes. Why did Kenny need to be such a nay-sayer? They weren't even out of the gates yet, and he was giving up? Irritated, Kyle barely registered the meaning of what he was reading, and only when he came to a particularly interesting set of words did he halt in his skimming.

"Cartman knows?"

"What?" asked Kenny, caught off guard.

Kyle showed him the paper, finger pointing at the line in question: Cartman mite know.

Kenny had forgotten he wrote that.

"What the hell does that mean?" Kyle demanded.

"Nothing," said Kenny, "I was grasping at straws when I wrote that."

"What do you mean? What straws?"

Kenny grimaced. He knew how Kyle felt about Cartman and didn't want him to latch onto the idea of him as a villain. As for why Kenny had written that in the first place... well, there were a million reasons, but none of them were solid and none of them could be easily explained to Kyle.

"I don't have any proof or anything," Kenny admitted. "Just feelings."

"Such as?"

"Like... I've tried to tell you all about my problem, but I could never prove it, and any time something happened in front of you, you would just forget. I've even killed myself in front of you guys a couple of times." He registered the look of surprise and hurt on Kyle's face, but chose to ignore it. "You and Stan and the others all seemed genuine in your disbelief, but Cartman... Well, maybe he's just an asshole and doesn't give a fuck what I or anyone else has to say..."

"He definitely is an asshole that doesn't give a fuck, but that's beside the point. Don't you see, Kenny? It makes perfect sense!"

"What does?"

"Cartman! If you think he knows, then he's the perfect suspect."

"Suspect?"

"Yeah! The one who did this. I bet that fat-ass would love to see me snuff it on a daily basis."

"I dunno," said Kenny, looking doubtful.

Kyle shot him a dark look. "What? You don't think that'd be like Christmas every day for that sociopathic tub of lard?"

This gave Kenny pause. He was very aware of Cartman's feelings toward Kyle. Their relationship had always been rocky, but lately it was downright hostile, and while Kenny had no love for Cartman, he did understand him.

He knew Cartman better than he knew anyone else because, well, he had been Cartman for a good length of time. (The dumb piece of shit had thought his ashes were chocolate milk mix, and he drank him.) He didn't get full-access to Cartman's thoughts and memories while living in him, and instead experienced life as Cartman had experienced it, only getting access to his thoughts, feelings, and memories as they surfaced in his daily life. Cartman had learned to guard his thoughts from Kenny, but he wasn't self-disciplined enough to do it all or even most of the time.

Living as Carman had been a strange and surreal experience, something incomparable to anything else. Until he'd been another person, Kenny had no concept of how much of "reality" is open to interpretation. Even the colors he saw the world in were slightly off. But the real trip had been Cartman's emotional life.

His emotional baseline was completely different. Kenny had felt no love while living inside of him. There were people—like his mother—who he wanted in his life, whose absence would affect him, but only for what they could do for him. Cartman didn't give two shits about his mother's feelings or ambitions. If she were to up and die on him, he'd probably have a complete mental breakdown, but it wouldn't be from grief. It would be because the universe dared to act in a way he found unfavorable. Kenny would not call that "love." The most endearing term he would attach to that relationship was maybe "symbiosis."

He had tried telling Cartman that it was much better to let yourself love, but Cartman had just responded with, "Yeahyeahyeah. Kumba-fucking-ya, hippy. Why don't you write a poem about it?" Knowing everything he knew, Kenny had to admit that Cartman would enjoy seeing Kyle die a horrible death day after day. After all, he was a megalomaniacal sociopath who so actively hated Kyle it bordered on obsession.

"It does make a lot of sense," Kenny admitted.

Kyle brightened, pleased Kenny agreed with him. "Yeah, well—" he began, but Kenny held up a hand to stop him.

"I'm sure Cartman would love to see you die every day, but what if he's like everyone else and just doesn't know? I told you, I have no proof he knows anything."

"But you think he does."

Kenny shook his head dismally. Yeah. It was a thought he'd entertained before. After all, he'd lived in him for a long time. How could Cartman not be aware of the possession? And if he was aware of the possession, how could he not be aware of Kenny's deaths and resurrections?

"Kyle, I think dying all the time with no one to believe you will make you desperate. Cartman probably doesn't have anything to do with this, and honestly there's probably a lot of faulty information in those notes. I was just jotting down ideas, you know?"

He didn't want to tell Kyle just how much he suspected Cartman of knowing. He knew that would only fan the flame.

Kyle looked annoyed. "Okay. I get it. But it's our only lead right now. Let's pursue it."

"Okay."

"Great! We'll shake him down tomorrow. You hold; I'll punch." He chuckled but stopped at the look on Kenny's face. "Just kidding."

"You hating him and him hating you doesn't make him guilty. We'll corner him tomorrow, but don't get your hopes up..."

"Yeah. I know."

But looking into Kyle's eyes, Kenny wasn't sure that he did know. If Cartman's hatred of Kyle was rivaled by anything, it was by Kyle's hatred of him. Kyle had good reason for his sentiments, but Cartman was just evil. Plain and simple.

Not for the first time, Kenny hoped that Kyle would use caution when dealing with Cartman. Being the object of a truly evil person's ire is a dangerous position for anyone to be in.

"We'll talk to him tomorrow."

"He'll be a tough nut to crack," said Kyle. "If he hasn't already taken credit for this whole fiasco he probably doesn't want us to know. We'll have to force it out of him."

Kenny sighed again. How in the world did Kyle expect to do that? "Okay," he said.

Kyle gathered up the papers. "I'm going to go home and rewrite this. You should write a note to yourself about today. Sounds like this thing doesn't like people to be aware of it, so it might be best to keep a record just in case your memory gets wiped or whatever."

"Okay," Kenny agreed. He didn't think he would forget anything, but better safe than sorry.

"Alright, Kenny, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. Bye, Kyle."

Kyle paused at the door before leaving. "Hey—uh... thanks, Kenny. I really thought I was going crazy there for a second."

"Not yet," Kenny muttered.

"What?"

"Oh—nothing. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

A/N: I want to thank everyone who has continued to follow this story! I'm sorry nothing really happened in this chapter. Next chapter will be much funner. I promise!

The QAS—I was referring to episode 53, when Mrs. McCormick gives birth to Kenny and says it's the 52nd time it's happened, implying that all deaths occurred on screen. Like there's such thing as 'continuity' when it comes to Kenny xD