Arthur had killed many men at one point, so many that I felt like a freak for counting. I was under the impression that Arthur wasn't really counting his victims, but I kept count so I could constantly remind him that he was on a horrible streak. I was always asking him not to do anything to anyone anymore, but he rarely listened to me. I was simply his friend that couldn't leave, and he had long since left the lonely excuse behind, he was simply killing. Actually, he told me that he was killing to keep me with him. I questioned him on this, and he explained the observation he had made.

After he killed me, I remained with him for a while, then I left. He then killed Francis and I came back again, then he killed Toris and I remained with him longer than the first time. He stopped killing for a while, and I left again, so he killed the man from Denmark, and I came back. Of course, my arrivals and departures were not on my own accord, so he figured that if he continued to kill, then I would stay forever. When he came to that conclusion, I felt like I wasn't a very good guilty conscience, or whatever mind message sender wanted me to be. I was the reason for Arthur's murder spree, and I don't think anyone would want to be in that position, especially if you were dead yourself.

"You're going out. Don't pick up anyone please." I had asked Arthur this before he left that night, and he simply shrugged and apologized in advance. He had begun to apologize at some point, but I didn't quite remember when, but that was not the first time he did so. I stopped cooking food for him for when he came home, it seemed inappropriate, and I would not encourage his schemes with food. However, he got a job before he slaughtered Roderich, which left me alone in his apartment until he came home. At these times, I would cook for myself often, out of boredom. I would eat it and share it with the cat that came around outside sometimes. That cat disappeared after a while, which saddened me, but so goes life, I mean death.

The door opened and in came Arthur, looking absolutely irritated. "Francis, I picked up someone absolutely horrid. No one will miss him. I think even you would slit his throat." I shuddered at that, wondering when he had come to the point where he was killing just to kill. "He's coming, he's just strapping himself into his seat continuously. He didn't even drink and he's a damn idiot!"

I raised a brow at him and headed to the corner of Arthur's room that muffled sounds the most, until I heard a very familiar voice complain about how ugly Arthur's apartment was. "It smells really French in here! Do you have a French maid or something? It smells so damn French!" At that, I took a peek around the corner to see who this person was.

"Stop complaining, my god I think I'm going to hit my head against the wall." Arthur mumbled as he threw away the remains of the meal I had cooked for myself. The person he was speaking to was my friend, Gilbert, and I hadn't seen him since...I hadn't spoken to him since I had asked for a ride to Veronique's house. I couldn't help but gape at the man as I realized that he was exactly the same as I had left him, always trying to make fun of my background. We all did so to each other, so of course I didn't mind it, but it just seemed so...

Gilbert stared down at the food Arthur threw away. He probably would have recognized the food as the dish I had cooked for the last birthday of his that I was alive to celebrate, but considering that he thought of it as disgusting and hid it in his fridge, I wouldn't have expected him to remember. "I'm not complaining! It's just um...familiar." Feeling quite touched, I sat down on the couch and watched my life-hood friend stroll around the house, watched the small reminder of my old life begin to fall into Arthur's trap. "Ah hey man, got any chips? Beer? What?"

"We just left the bar! Ugh just... here, stay in here and watch TV, I'll get those." Arthur led Gilbert to his room and closed the door. He came into the kitchen and searched his drawers for the knife that he felt would cause the most pain. I jumped up and grabbed the knife out of Arthur's hands.

There was no way I would let him kill Gilbert. I may have been dead, but I was still his friend, and I certainly wouldn't allow my friend to be killed. "Arthur, if there was anyone out of all of these unfortunate souls that I had the power to spare, it would be this one." He raised a brow at me and chanted the dropping command. I dropped the knife back into Arthur's hand, but without an ounce of fear, I began to plead my case.

"Gilbert happens to be a good friend of mine that, along with other people, I happen to adore in a brotherly way." Arthur shrugged and walked pass me with the knife in hand. "And my deal was that I wouldn't kill you as long as you attempted to make friends and..." The man froze, most likely remembering very well the next part, "as long as you didn't harm anyone I knew and loved." As sick as my deal seemed, only using such a threat for people I knew, it seemed a bit more technical that way, therefore it seemed a bit more threatening.

He turned to me with a glare, still clutching the knife. "You wouldn't hurt me, right? I mean, I've been nothing but good to you, though I suppose I-I'm not a good listener at times but I'm always good to you!"

"As soon as you touch Gilbert, I will stab you a million times in the heart and you'll never see me again." I let that sink in for him, and I could tell that the mere idea of it was displeasing to him. I decided to emphasize it with a dramatic lean towards him, "Never. And I'll make sure of it." With this he put away the knife and went back in the room with Gilbert. I followed him in, watching as the two simply watched a marathon of an old cartoon.

That night, for once in Arthur's killing arc, was somewhat nice. All three of us were curled up on Arthur's bed, almost falling asleep, watching that show. Nothing else. In fact, as Gilbert spoke through most of the episodes, though it was more like mumbling, Arthur hardly said a word, I spoke more than him even. I caught up with Gilbert and his life, though he didn't know it. I kind of wanted to hear about Antonio too, but he never mentioned him. He seemed to be doing fine, and it was interesting to see that he had wandered so close to Arthur's new apartment. He lived a couple of blocks away from the apartment, and Arthur's old home was apparently a couple of cities away, so Arthur was closer to where I used to live. Gilbert had told Arthur some time that night that he wouldn't be able to visit him again because he was moving to the place that he had always wanted to go. He had never told me what it was when I was still alive, and he hadn't told Arthur either. I think...he simply wanted to move away.

When both Arthur and I woke, we noticed that Gilbert had left. He had left us a note, well he left Arthur a note I mean. It simply read, "Thanks! I really needed this!" I read the note over and over again, his childish writing bringing back fond memories of He, Antonio, and I. For the rest of the day, Arthur listened to me spill all about my childhood and my teenage years. I had to stop at certain parts since they hadn't been finished, but my story seemed to intrigue him, which for some reason I was really happy that it did. I never thought that I would be able to tell someone my life story after I died, and in the end, I did.